With a sympathetic nod, Violet retrieved a bottle from another cupboard. Attention focused on opening it, she voiced her concern casually. “Is that what we’re doing? Drowning your sorrows? What happened, dear? Kyle isn’t bothering you again, is he?”
“Nay, nothing like that,” Aila assured her. “He hasn’t given me a hint of trouble since ye laid into him the last time he dared show up at yer door.”
Fetching a plate of meat, cheese, and grapes from the fridge, she carried it to the table. Rab caught the scent of meat and followed, flopping down at her feet as she sat, confident a snack would be coming his way. He’d trained her well over the past week.
Kicking off her shoes, she drew one foot onto the chair seat and hugged her knee. She’d taken a minute at the inn to change from her historic clothing into a pair of leggings and an oversized jumper. They provided ease of movement and shed the constant reminder of where she’d been for the past eight days.
The visual one at any rate. She hadn’t been able to keep her thoughts straight on the way home any better than she’d managed to keep to her own lane on the motorway.
Violet brought the glasses to the table, covering the short distance without her cane. She sat and allowed Aila the courtesy of enough time to take a sip. “If not Kyle, what is it?”
How could she explain? Brontë had gone from single to a serious relationship in the relative blink of an eye, have a boyfriend who was technically over a hundred years old, and shuffle both him and herself back in time over and over for months at a time without once tipping off her grandmother to the truth of it. Violet was a clever woman. It wasn’t easy to pull the wool over her eyes.
Brontë had done it by telling the truth of who Tris was, where he was from, and how she’d found him with just enough sarcasm to turn truth into jest. Despite her practiced talent in that area, Aila didn’t have the fortitude or the heart to pull that off right now.
Moreover, she didn’t want to deceive in any way the woman who’d taken her in and given her a place to live at the worst moment of her life. The worst. That was saying a lot, given the life she’d led. In the months since, Violet had offered her friendship, kindness, and caring. It’d be a pure bitch move to repay her with falsehoods.
Damn, Aila had truly missed the woman who’d become such a blessed friend to her.
Swirling her wine until it climbed to the rim of her glass, Aila pondered what she could reveal. “How well do ye ken Auld Donell, Vi?”
It was as good a place as any to start.
Since Aila had recently cursed the man in her presence, the older woman wasn’t surprised by the question. “I first met him decades ago, not long after my dear Peter died. I can’t recall how precisely, but he offered some kind words and encouragement that resonated with me for many a year afterward.”
“What did he say?” Aila lifted her glass to her lips.
“Something along the lines of ‘what has passed is in the past, let it go and carry on.’”
A high-pitched squeak of disbelief ended with a snort into her glass. Aila set it on the table and wiped her lips. “Of course, that’s what he’d say. Bastard.” The last word was muttered under her breath.
“Oh, it was phrased far more kindly than that, I assure you. And much needed at the time.” Violet tasted her own wine. “I saw Donell many times over the next few years, then not again until my granddaughter brought him home a few months ago.”
Brontë hadn’t invited him here. It had been part of his ploy to manipulate her life and future. Aila ate a piece of prosciutto and offered two more to Rab. “Then ye ken he has a way of sticking his nose into people’s business.”
Violet nodded as she popped a chunk of gouda into her mouth. “I know he considers himself something of a matchmaker. He had a hand in Brontë meeting Tris, though she wouldn’t say precisely how. Did he try to set you up, as well? Is that why you were so angry with him? I know how you dislike being managed.”
“After a fashion.” Too tense to eat anything more, she continued to feed the dog. “He asked me to run an errand for him. He never mentioned the man who would be there, though I believe it’s what he had in mind all along.”
Violet clicked her tongue. “It must have gone badly if he managed to upset you to that extent before brunch? I’ve never known Donell to choose so poorly.”
There was a hint of something in the old woman’s tone. Not a falsehood precisely so much as artifice. Aila’s eyes narrowed. “Do ye ken something ye’re no’ saying, Vi?”
Vi ate her grapes with wide-eyed innocence. “I don’t know anything…unless there is something you know that I should know.”
“Like…ye know?”
Violet shrugged. “You tell me.”
She might know what Aila thought she knew, or it might be something completely benign. Aila wasn’t going to divulge the truth of where and when she’d been and for how long until she was certain they knew the same thing. No point putting the older woman at risk for a stroke or heart attack.
“Let me ask ye this. Ye’re a rather fierce proponent of women’s rights,” Aila began, shifting the subject. “I ken ye marched and took part in protests in the seventies.”
“I did. I’m proud to come from a long line of proponents for women’s rights.”
“How did ye handle having a relationship during a time of rampant chauvinism then?”
“Are you asking if Peter thought my proper place to be was barefoot and in the kitchen?” Violet pushed herself to her feet, waving Aila down when she started to rise. She shuffled on her plastic cast to the counter and returned with the wine bottle. “Somehow I think we’re going to need the rest of this before the sun even sets. To answer your question: to some extent, yes. You have to understand that it was a different time with a far different mentality. Men ruled the world.” She grinned, eyes dancing. “Or at least they liked to think they did.”
“Amen to that.” Aila held up her drink and they clinked their glasses together before they drank.
Violet topped them both off. “Despite being deeply in love, we had our share of spats. Especially in the beginning. Eventually, Peter came to respect my opinion and my contribution to our partnership.”
Aye, that had been a revolutionary time in the battle for women’s rights, however. A technical win against sexism on paper, even if the concept hadn’t completely taken as yet. There was an entire history where touting equal rights would have no effect whatsoever. Many times where it could get a woman stoned or burned at the stake. Or put into a mental institution if the memes were correct. What if there was no fighting it?
“Yet ye still played the role,” she pointed out. “Mother, housewife and all that.”
“It wasn’t as much of a burden as you might think,” the older woman insisted. “I had no great ambitions to rule the world, merely my corner of it. Peter and my girls were my passion in life. I enjoyed taking care of them and making a proper home for them.”
Aila tapped the side of her glass with one fingernail, deep in thought. She enjoyed those few days in the nursery with Finn and the children, too. That didn’t mean she wanted to make a career of it.
Her mind stalled as Aila realized where this was leading. God, was she trying to convince herself she could have a life in the past? That she could tolerate one? She hadn’t known Finn long enough to give up her whole world and consign herself to a life of relative subservience. There was no amount of time that could persuade her to assume such a role.
Not after a lifetime of watching her mother make those mistakes. Emphatically not in the wake of years with her now ex-boyfriend. He’d been specific about what her role in his life should entail.
“Ye ken, Kyle always wanted me to play the part of the ‘little woman.’” She couldn’t help the derision in her tone when she said it. “For a long time, I let it slide because he was only home for a couple of weeks at a time. I ignored him when he’d talk about married life — he never asked me, mind ye; he assumed — when
I would be a full-time wife at his beck and call.”
“Nothing like the forceful independent he’d met and declared to love. I always knew he was a bit of a boaby.” Violet grinned. “Here’s where Brontë would have chided me on my language. You and I are far more alike. I would have dumped the numpty, too.”
“Then ye can see why I wouldnae want to date another man with the same mentality.”
“Yes.” Vi eyed her over the rim of her glass as she drank, then set it on the table. “That would be a misstep if the two men were alike.”
Aila gulped half her glass and ignored the statement.
Violet didn’t let it go. “It is my belief, given what I’ve learned about you over the past several months, that you never intended for your relationship with Kyle to be a long-term one.”
“I lived with him for two years.”
Violet reached across the table and patted her hand. “Yet you referred to him as Mr. He’ll Do For Now. Yes, my granddaughter told me. She also told me how she worried over you. How you were happier when he was out on the oil rig for weeks at a time than you were when he was home. Admit it, you gave up on him long ago. Perhaps without knowing it at the time. Long before he proved himself a boaby.”
Refilling her glass, Aila scoffed at the assessment. “Aye, well Brontë also believed that a white knight was going to sweep in and carry her off into the sunset.”
“You’re mixing your metaphors, but isn’t that the essence of what happened with her?”
“Tris is a special case,” she argued. “He’s no’ like other men these days.”
“No, he isn’t.”
“He never puts her down, makes fun of her ideas, or dismisses her opinions and preferences as if they’re unimportant.” Her grip tightened around the stem of her glass and Aila drank again before she snapped the thing in half.
“No, he would never do that. He loves Brontë as she is and respects her.”
Kyle had claimed to love her, but he’d gaslighted her at every turn. He’d been verbally and emotionally abusive long before Aila recognized his behavior for what it was. As if sensing her upset, Rab rose and rested his chin on her thigh, gazing up at her with those sympathetic brown eyes. Petting him was surprisingly therapeutic.
“I fell into the same sort of toxic relationship my mother had a habit of getting herself into,” she admitted aloud, acknowledging the pattern for the first time.
“You stayed with him because he was easy to control. Because he was safe.”
Until he wasn’t. Aila touched her cheek, recalling that final fight. “I’m just sorry it took me so long to leave.”
“You’re a strong and admirable young woman.” Violet’s praise warmed her. “Do you know what Aila means in Gaelic?”
She shook her head.
“It means ‘from a resilient place.’” Vi clasped Aila’s hand between hers. “You are resilient, powerful, and wonderfully spirited. Kyle did not appreciate those qualities. You left him and he well deserved it. As I said, he’s a tallywasher.”
“I believe ye said boaby.” Her first temptation to smile since she’d left the past teased Aila’s lips. She really did love the older woman. “Ye keep that up and I will call ye on yer language.”
“He was a proper diddy. He deserves that and more.”
“Aye, he does.” Aila sighed and sipped her wine. “I guess my point is, I’m no’ willing to make that mistake again.”
“And this man Donell introduced you to? Would he be a mistake?” Violet leaned back in her chair, head cocked to the side. “There must be something special about him to have made such an indelible impression after so brief a meeting.”
There was no denying that.
Aila rolled the stem of her glass between her fingers as she considered the question. “He has the potential to be the worst mistake I’ve ever made. As the old saying goes, he’s everything I never wanted. He’s knee deep in baggage, sexist enough to have ideas about a woman’s place in the world. He’d be the possessive sort.”
He’d put a stamp of ownership on her already. He would expect her to be his and his alone.
“And naturally that would bother you.”
Problem was, none of it bothered her and that terrified her all the more.
Violet reached out and patted her hand again. “A good man is hard to find, dear. It takes effort and often some sacrifice. Don’t fret. If this one doesn’t work out, you’re young. You have plenty of time.”
Time. It had come to represent so many things.
“It’s for you to decide,” Vi went on, “whether this young gentleman you met today might be worth taking a chance on.”
“I dinnae ken. Maybe? A life with Finn could be just as toxic as my one with Kyle.”
“Finn, is that his name?”
“Aye. It’s short for Finlay.”
A low chuckle shook Violet’s shoulders and continued even when she bit her lip to stifle it.
“What? What’s so amusing?”
“You probably won’t appreciate the irony.”
“Tell me!”
“Well, do you know what the name Finlay means in Gaelic?” Aila shook her head and Violet laughed again. “Look it up.”
“Vi!” Aila protested as the older woman retrieved her cane and hobbled out of the room with a laugh and more speed than a partially disabled octogenarian should be able to manage. “Tell me!”
“Look it up!” the words and more laughter drifted from the other room.
Digging through her purse, Aila pulled out her phone and confirmed it was dead before throwing it on the table. With a string of profanities, she found a charger, retrieved the phone, and plugged it in.
Waited for it to wake up.
Googled Finlay Scottish Gaelic meaning…
Aila threw the phone across the room as it were a fiery brand in her hand.
“Are ye fecking kidding me?”
Chapter 23
A week later
Meditation and yoga, once reliable friends, had become traitorous bitches. Aila hadn’t been able to shake her yearning to return to Finn even while the staggering impact of that final night with him continued to rattle her to the bones. In the entirety of her twenty-seven years, she’d never felt so deeply. Sex had never been anything more than a meeting of bodies, an exorcism of the libido. It had never been about connection. Nevertheless, she could have sworn she saw into Finn’s heart and soul that night.
That was unnerving enough.
The idea that he might have been able to do the same was alarming.
So, she’d run. Run from Finn. From the possibility of what he might have seen. She’d fled like the hounds of hell were on her heels and all the meditation of the mind hadn’t been able to convince her heart that she’d done the right thing. Aila then turned to Brontë’s drug of choice: running. In truth rather than figuratively.
Turns out she was too out of shape to manage anything faster than a brisk walk, though Rab appreciated her efforts. There was something soothing about those long hours. Just a girl and her dog. They talked out the problem…. Rather he listened and offered the occasional garbled woof of understanding while she tried to make sense of the mush her thoughts had become. He licked away her tears when she cried, another new hobby of hers. At night, the warm weight pressed along the side of her leg was a comfort, though obviously couldn’t compensate for the loss of another presence next to her.
She couldn’t let it go.
Normally she’d lose herself in her work. Even that couldn’t distract her enough to push Finn from her mind.
Oh, Violet and her buggered sense of humor. That hadn’t helped either.
“There you are! What is this Granny tells me about you finding your white knight?”
“Brontë!” Aila ran to her friend as Brontë leapt from where she’d been sitting on the settee and hugged her…perhaps a little too hard given Brontë’s playful yelp.
Her friend drew back and grinned at her. “Oh my God,
look at you! I almost didn’t recognize you without makeup. What is going on?” Brontë smoothed back Aila’s hair to reveal her ears. “And no piercings? Even the belly button one?”
Aila batted away Brontë’s hands when she playfully reached for the hem of Aila’s shirt. Aye, that one was gone, too. As for the makeup, she hadn’t rocked any of her usual over-the-top looks since she’d been back. Reluctant to explain why, Aila instead turned to the man behind Brontë and hugged him, too. They’d become good friends over the past few months. “Tris, so good to see ye. How are ye?”
“Verra well, Aila. Dinnae let Brontë tease ye. Ye look lovely.” He kissed one cheek and then the other as he stepped back. “How are ye?”
Unfailingly polite. Kind. Tris was a perfect gentleman as well as being a braw, handsome Scotsman. The perfect product of his time. The universal philosophy that things got better with time was so off. The past had proven to produce some of the best.
A lump formed in her throat. She swallowed it back without answering his question. “What are ye two doing back so soon?”
Brontë laughed and leaned back against Tris. “A little birdy told me I should get home.”
Aila’s lips scrunched. “That reason better no’ be a wrinkled auld bawbag of a man with ruddy ears and a drinking problem.”
An inquisitive light lit her friend’s gaze. “It doesn’t, however I’m incredibly curious now. Has Auld Donell been back? He’s not been hanging around Violet again, has he? I swear I sensed something was going on last time I was home.”
“Nay, I have no’ seen him.” Aila drew back with studied innocence. “Why would I see him? He hisnae been about here since Cyrano closed.”
“No?” Her friend’s gaze filled with skepticism before affection filled them. She hugged Aila again. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed ye, too.” Oh, she truly had. Both of them.
“We’ve got to catch up.” Brontë dropped back down on the sofa with a grin and cuddled up against her man when he joined her and put an arm around her shoulders. “First, you must tell me what Granny meant when she said you’d found your white knight. Have you met someone?”
A Good Scot is Hard to Find (Something About a Highlander Book 2) Page 20
