by L. L. Muir
Don’t think about it now, you idiot! This is no time to cry!
“Beggin’ yer pardon, lass?” That deep voice rumbled through the room and seemed to echo in the rafters. Or was it her bones? “I considered leaving the house to ye, but then wondered if perhaps ye’re in need of savin’, aye? And here I find ye, hoisted on yer own petard, as it were. Do ye need a hand, then?”
The thick seam of the dress’ waist caught across her open mouth, but she spoke anyway. “Juss a ittle ivathy, pleathe.”
He chuckled and the vibrations of it nearly shattered her. “If ye’re certain…”
“Uh, huh.” No way would she try talking again. She wasn’t going to move either. For the moment, the huge skirt covered her important parts. And she’d rather stand there with both her arms sticking out the top of the dress like a couple of sock puppets than risk it all falling into a puddle at her feet while he watched.
“As ye wish.” The door clicked shut.
She waited for a few seconds, listening for the sound of his breathing.
Who am I kidding? My ears are covered with satin!
She managed to get the rope-like seam out of her mouth and down past her chin, but then the zipper caught on her up-do. Expensive zippers had no business catching on hair!
She growled, then pulled the dress back off a bit, turned her head, and tried again. She felt a slight adjustment to her hair that had nothing to do with the movement of the dress and she froze. The guy was still there! Standing close enough to touch her!
Better to face him with a dress on and half bald than to face him in my underwear, right? So she braced herself for pain, pulled her arms and elbows through the holes, then forced the bodice down over her boobs. Miraculously, her hair never caught. She reached behind her skull to see how bad the damage was and turned. But no one was there.
However, a mouse-soft click of the door handle told her she hadn’t been imagining it. Either that, or the place was haunted.
CHAPTER FIVE
Alexander paced back and forth along the hearth and wondered which woman would appear first, the lass from the bedchamber or the wee witch. He’d performed some noble deeds already—helping the lass get free of the metal teeth of a hungry zipper, sparing her dignity while doing so, and leaving her untouched when she had obviously meant to waylay him in his own bed. He was only grateful she’d kept her shift on.
It had been a surprise to find her with a modern wedding gown at the ready. He’d thought such machinations to gain a husband had ceased long ago.
He strode to the cottage door and pushed the curtain aside. The empty drive was slowly losing its shade as the sun climbed toward its zenith, but there was no sign of a lass in a black robe, or a green ring of light headed his way. His actions were by no measure heroic, but just the same, it was a noble thing to walk away. However, since Soni did not deign to show herself, the acts of a gentleman apparently didn’t qualify.
The floor creaked and he turned to find the lass bedecked in her white gown stepping out from the bedchamber. His fingers tingled at the memory of her soft, rich brown hair. When their gazes met, she stopped moving and swallowed. It was a long moment before she smiled.
The room lit up instantly.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I hope I didn’t freak you out.”
American then.
“I’m nay the sort to freak out, lass.”
From across the room he discerned a shiver pass through her, but he dared not offer her comfort until he knew why she’d come. Other than losing a battle with a zipper, the lass seemed capable enough. She was beautiful, not fragile. And he doubted she was there because she needed a warrior to rescue her.
Thus, if she wasn’t in some sort of danger, she must be trying to seduce him into marriage, as he’d first suspected.
“Are ye with child?” He looked to her midsection and gestured with his chin. “Is that why you would attempt to seduce a man before ye’ve even set eyes on him?”
Her frown of confusion turned to that of displeasure. “Are you kidding me?”
Her mouth opened and closed a few more times while she looked about the room as if searching for the words to continue. Finally, she found them. “You think I broke in here to seduce you?” She grunted and the sound of it was quite charming, he had to admit—like a small animal throwing a tantrum.
It was a pity, truly, that the lass didn’t need his aid, for he could clearly imagine her throwing her arms around his neck and bestowing her heartfelt gratitude on his lips. And he was tempted to remind her that he’d not only helped her with the zipper, he’d kept her presence a secret from the proprietor. But at the moment, gratitude was likely the last thing she was feeling toward him after his tactless accusation.
“Forgive me, lass. I should have allowed ye to explain before I made assumptions. Can ye forgive me, then?”
Her indignation subsided and she nodded. It was a fine woman who could forgive easily.
A familiar noise grew in the distance and the woman panicked, her eyes widened, and she appeared to be genuinely frightened.
“I’m not here,” she said and waved her hands out in front of her. “Just… Please! I’m not here!” She turned and disappeared back into the bedroom and closed the door with a boom.
Alexander’s heart danced a wee jig then, given the renewed hope that the lass might be needing his help after all. At the moment, if someone asked him if he would prefer a kiss from the lovely lass to a few moments to vent his spleen with Bonnie Prince Charlie, he couldn’t say which he would prefer!
The only explanation that offered itself was that he was easily charmed after so many years of speaking to no women save young Soncerae. And before Culloden…
Well, he’d best forget all that…
He walked outside to clear his head a bit, for surely his imagination had grown cagey from being indoors so long at a go. And judging from the lass’ reaction, she might need protection from whomever was approaching on utility vehicle.
Alexander had a grand ear for car engines, and whatever was headed down the road in his direction sounded much like the Cushman Utility Buggy driven on Culloden’s grounds by the security guards.
The small set of steps off the wee porch were made of a material that resembled wood but felt foreign to his hand. Though the surface was by no means smooth, there were no slivers in his palm after he ran his hand along the railing.
Impressive. But how would it fare against the winter weather of the Highlands? He stomped a foot, and though the steps shook, they were sturdily built. The pleasant surprise came with the realization that Soncerae, bless her, hadn’t left him defenseless after all. The weight of his skean dhu shook against his ankle to let him know it was there.
And the handy thing about the wee dagger in his sock was that he could use it to make other weapons. With some unknown calamity due to arrive sometime in the next few minutes, or at least the next two days, he determined there was no time to waste and set about searching the edges of the yard for a sturdy branch. All the while, he watched the drive, of course.
He had just freed a straight from a tree when a strange sight appeared at the bottom of the hill. The buggy was expected. The two men riding inside it were not. They were dressed in morning suits instead of guard uniforms.
The vehicle rolled to a stop in the same spot the old man had used. Both men dismounted and headed up the incline on foot. As they neared, Alexander was able to immediately identify which man was the more likely threat as the one on the left whose eyes narrowed even as he smiled. The other man was taller, of a size with Alexander, but there was nothing threatening about him.
He sliced off a bit of bark and sent it flying to land at the feet of the dangerous one and both men stopped. Ten feet still separated them.
“Good morning,” said the taller one.
“Good morning.” He sliced off another slab of bark before giving the man his attention.
“I’m Austin. This is my friend, Rick. We�
�re sorry to bother you, but we’re looking for…” He rubbed a hand across his face. He was clearly uncomfortable, and there was a redness to his eyes. “Well, we’re trying to find my fiancée. We were supposed to get married this morning, but it looks like she got cold feet.” He waved both hands defensively. “Not that there’s anything wrong with her getting cold feet, of course. But she ran off. No car. Probably still in her wedding dress. And I just don’t want her getting hurt out here in these woods, you know?”
Alexander hid his surprise and disappointment in the woman hiding in the house and played the part of a simple huntsman. “Aye. A lass alone in the woods wouldna fare well for long, I would think.”
“So, you haven’t seen her?” The other man looked relieved, but his eyes kept darting to the door of the cottage.
“I’ve only just arrived,” Alexander said. “I checked the house a moment ago. I’m afraid ye’ll need to continue yer search.”
The tall one nodded. “Thanks anyway. Sorry to bother you.” His demeanor was clearly dejected as any man’s would be after being left at the altar, as he appeared to have been. Alexander would have invited the man in for a drink of wine and some commiseration, but under the circumstances, he still felt compelled to protect the woman in spite of what she’d done.
“Nae bother,” Alexander said. “A pity about the lass. I hope she is found safe.”
The groom nodded and headed back down the hill. His friend took one last look at the cottage, windows and all, then stepped close, ignoring the end of the branch held between them.
“Look,” he said, and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small card and offered it. “If you do see her, I want you to call me at this number. And I’ll make sure you get a nice finder’s fee. Got it?”
Alexander took the card only because he expected the man to keep at him until he did. But he said nothing.
“Look,” the man said again. “This is the first house in two miles of the castle, so unless she found a ride—on a road that has had no traffic all morning—I’m sure she stopped here. If you’ve got her in there, fine. Just have her call someone and let them know she’s all right so Austin can stop looking for her. He doesn’t deserve this.”
“No man deserves such betrayal,” Alexander said, more to himself than to the troublesome man before him.
“So, you don’t deny it?”
“Deny what?”
He looked askance at Alexander. Though they spoke the same language, there always seemed to be a breakdown in communication between Scots and Yanks. And this time, it seemed to work to Alexander’s advantage.
“Well, if you see her,” the man said, uncertain again, “make sure you call me. Okay? Don’t call anyone at the castle. I don’t want the Forbes family bothered with her inappropriate behavior ever again.”
“Understood,” Alexander said, and went back to sharpening his new weapon. It wouldn’t surprise him if, when all was said and done, he found the need to use it on the fellow before him.
The fellow assessed the cottage again. “What is this, a hunting lodge?”
Alexander watched a chip fly off to the right. “Today it is.”
“And what are you hunting? Wild boar?”
Alexander sent another slice at the man. This one hit him just over his heart. “Nay. Not today.”
The small pucker between that one’s eyes said he was confused again, though Alexander supposed the man would understand the threat after he took some time to ponder their exchange. And when he did understand, he suspected this Rick to come back. Until then, he would continue to play the innocent.
“Have a fine day,” he said casually.
Rick studied his expressionless face for a moment, nodded, and turned away.
But Alexander didn’t go back inside the cottage, he continued to prepare his new weapon. Because, although one possible adversary was gone, fading in the distance with the sound of the buggy, there was still another enemy waiting…inside the house.
CHAPTER SIX
Chelsea listened to the whine of the golf cart move up past the cottage and slowly fade into silence. But still she didn’t dare move. The glass doors of the shower were frosted, and looking in, her white dress would blend with the white walls, so it wasn’t a completely stupid place for her to hide. But one thing was for sure, she wasn’t about to hide in that guy’s bed again. She could just imagine the snide comments Rick would have if he found her there, not to mention what Austin would think.
Austin.
Her heart twisted like someone was holding it over the sink trying to wring out every drop so they could hang it on the edge of a counter to dry. Every breath hurt. Every thought was a kick in the gut.
What have I done to Austin?
It was too painful to think about. She’d never get out of this guy’s house and get back home if she curled up into a ball and wept like she wanted to. So she had to concentrate on something else. She had to think about Rick and how she might ensure Austin knew who had really ruined their wedding.
And no matter what Rick had to say, no matter what lies he told, she held onto the hope that one day his story would have one too many holes. He couldn’t keep lucking out like he did. One day, his hatred of her would slip out and Austin would realize his twisted friend would have done anything to keep her away from him.
Sadly, though, Austin never seemed to recognize that Rick protected him like he did, not out of love or loyalty, but out of defense of his own ambition. He wanted Austin to run for Congress one day because he wanted to hitchhike on his coattails. He wanted to share in Austin’s glory without the need to do any work for it. Just like he’d done all their lives.
And Rick was too ugly, deep down under his pleasant face, to ever go far himself. And if he did try to run for office, ever, Chelsea would make it her personal mission in life to make sure he never won an election.
Way to go, Rick. You’ve got a bitter enemy for life.
He could have settled for second place, allowed Chelsea to marry Austin and take first, and would have still had Austin’s friendship and political connections. Chelsea would have never ruined their friendship if it meant hurting Austin to do it.
But not anymore. Somehow, she’d make sure Austin got a good look at the snake standing next to him, and it would all be over.
Rick probably thought she would run home and lick her wounds, and one day look back at the fairy tale she almost lived. But she couldn’t allow someone that ruthless, that hateful, to remain so close to the man she loved. The man she still loved.
Had it only been hours since hope had been a living, breathing thing in her life?
She sucked air into her lungs and reminded herself that she was still alive, and she needed to stay that way, even if her heart had taken sick leave. She had to get to the airport, change her ticket, and get home. When she was safely behind her locked door, she would finally be able to deal with the hurt.
Thank goodness she’d taken two seconds to grab her purse with her passport, or she’d have no choice but to tuck her tail between her legs and go back to the castle grounds.
Finally, she couldn’t take the chill of the shower tile any longer and summoned the courage to leave the bathroom and face reality again. The Scotsman wasn’t in the bedroom, for which she was grateful. That was a vision she didn’t need haunting her for the rest of her life—a Highlander in a kilt, with broad shoulders and long dark hair, standing next to a large inviting bed…
He wasn’t in the living room or kitchen either. So she carefully peeked out through the sheer curtains over a window and saw movement.
The guy was whittling a giant stick and the little pieces of wood flying from the end of his knife were the only things moving in the yard. No one else. No one she needed to hide from. So she tucked her purse under her arm, pushed the door open, and stepped onto the landing. She was trying to choose her words carefully, but she got distracted by the bulge of his triceps as he gripped the heavy branch under one arm and car
ved with the other. His shirt sleeves were rolled up high and the muscles he’d been hiding looked like something on the cover of a fitness magazine. Sweat had just begun to dampen the hair at his left temple and drip along his jaw.
Whatever she’d hoped to say was forgotten.
She might have watched him for five minutes straight before he noticed she was there. Or at least, he pretended to just be noticing her. With the noisy swish of tulle and chiffon sliding against satin, she couldn’t move quietly. But after getting a look at the scowl on his face, she realized he might have been deep in thought and really hadn’t noticed her step outside.
“So…” she began.
“So,” he repeated, then ignored her and turned back to his project.
“Did someone come looking for me?”
“Aye,” he said. “The man ye promised to marry. Austin, was it? Aye. A man with the broken spirit if ever I’ve seen one.”
Broken spirit! Austin’s name, said aloud, brought tears to her eyes. The rest was a punch in the gut. It took a painful swallow before she could reply. “But he wasn’t alone, was he?”
“Nay. An unpleasant fellow came along.”
“Rick.”
“Aye. Rick had a message for ye.”
Rick? But no message from Austin…
“He prefers ye make a telephone call and let folks ken ye’re safe, so they can stop searching for ye.”
She finally noticed how violently the brawny man was whittling. If he wasn’t careful, he might cut himself. Small chips of wood went flying six feet away, but the pile around his feet proved the violence was a recent development. Obviously, he was angry.
And if he was feeling so sorry for Austin, he had to be angry with her. But she wasn’t going to bother explaining herself. She felt stupid enough for falling into Rick’s trap, and now she wasn’t sure The Worm hadn’t been right. If Austin would have come to the back of the chapel, she was pretty sure he would have convinced her that marrying him was the right thing to do, and everything would have been fine. But the question was, for how long would it have been fine?
