by Darci Balogh
While she did this Michael kept busy at a tiny wood stove that was positioned in the corner of the room. He purposefully averted his gaze from her as she undressed, grabbing wood and paper and kindling from a wood box and filling the stove.
Her blanket gaped open in front as she worked the zipper on her shorts. When she bent over to push them down her legs it gaped even further, but she wasn't facing Michael so she didn't think it would matter. It was as she struggled to push her wet, unyielding shorts past her knees that she felt the blanket slip.
"Oh!" She yelped as it dropped with a soft plop at her feet, leaving her standing in her undies only, her wet shorts wrapped around her ankles like shackles.
At the sound of her distress Michael stood and turned quickly. Seeing her almost completely naked backside, he turned away from her even more quickly and faced the wall.
He cleared his throat. "Are you okay?"
Tawnyetta snatched the blanket up off the floor, her chilled fingers fumbling with the soft folds. "Yes, I'm fine." But she wasn't fine. She was mortified, and freezing.
There was an awkward pause as she adjusted the blanket so it was once again covering her whole body.
He cleared his throat again. "Do you need any help?"
She couldn't tell if he was sincere or being flirtatious. The reality of the fact that she was basically naked in a shack with a handsome Scottish Laird, who was also basically naked, sent her emotions all over the place. She was nervous and embarrassed, that was for sure, but she was also more than a little thrilled at their situation. She wondered if he was, too.
"I'm fine," she told him.
When she was completely covered and safely clutching the front of the blanket closed in front of her, she turned back toward him and was amused to find that he was still standing stiffly, staring at the blank wall. Cloaked in his blanket, his well formed calves sticking out from underneath, he looked like he'd been sent to the corner. She suppressed the urge to chuckle.
"I'm decent," she said, releasing him from his stance.
In short order they were sitting next to each in front of a cheerful fire in the wood stove. Michael had moved a bench directly in front of the stove and positioned Tawnyetta so that she received most of the heat that poured out of the front. There was just enough room on the bench for both of them to sit with their shoulders and arms touching. The crackling fire did more than warm her body. It helped her forget the relentless sound of pounding rain on the roof, not to mention their narrow escape from a flash flood.
"What is this place?" she asked.
"This is a bothy. They were built all through the hills to offer travelers and hunters shelter when they need it."
Tawnyetta let her eyes roam around the small, square building. It was equipped with three rickety old wooden benches and one twin size iron cot that held only the exposed bed springs, no mattress or bedding of any kind. In one corner of the room there were upper and lower cabinets along with a steel sink that looked more like an old bucket with a hand pump sticking out of one side. Besides that limited indoor plumbing, there were no lights and no electricity. But the fire crackling spunkily in the wood stove gave the room not only light, but a warm, comforting glow.
"So anybody can use it?"
"Yes, they're kept unlocked."
She glanced at the splintered wood from the door, which Michael had pushed back shut. "So it wasn't locked?" she asked.
"It was stuck...and I had my hands full," he answered.
"Thank you so much for coming to get me," Tawnyetta said. She looked sideways at Michael who had turned his attention back to the crackling, popping flames. Tawnyetta took a deep breath and admitted to him, "I wasn't prepared for the storm."
He nodded. "When the others said you were nowhere to be found and you may have gone on a walk, I remembered seeing you head into the woods. The Highlands are known for the wild weather that can turn on a dime." Not an ounce of regret or scolding in his tone.
"How did you know I came all the way up the hill?"
"I didn't know for certain. But the hills have a way of calling a person into them, so I thought I'd better check."
An interesting way of putting it, she thought. She had felt like the hills were calling her to climb higher and higher. Telling her that if she got to the top she could turn around and see the castle and the whole world beyond. It had been absolutely beautiful until the clouds came in. Tawnyetta looked down and pushed her toe through a layer of dust on the stone floor. This place had not been used in a while.
Michael looked at her and smiled. "I hope you don't feel foolish for getting caught in the rain. Those sudden storms could take anyone by surprise. Especially a wee American lass." He delivered the last comment with a grin.
She grinned back. "How often do travelers use this place?"
"Not often from the look of it," he answered. "It's been a while since I've been up here myself." His eyes wandered around the room and he appeared to be lost in thought.
"So, you used to come here?"
"Ach, yes." He didn't look at her when he spoke. "My brother and I used to come up here all the time when we were kids."
A twinge of sadness in his voice plucked at her heart. They fell silent and Tawnyetta watched him out of the corner of her eye as she pretended to gaze at the flames in the wood stove. He, too, watched the fire, but his thoughts were obviously far away. They stayed that way for a while until Michael took in a deep breath and came back to the present.
"In fact..." He stood up and Tawnyetta, newly reminded that he was not wearing any pants, averted her eyes. Michael went to the cupboard above the sink. "If I remember right." He opened the cupboard and rummaged around for a moment before exclaiming, "Here we are!" He held up a green and black tin to show her.
"What's that?"
"Tea!"
Now on a roll, Michael pulled a teapot out of the cupboard and blew the dust off the top of it. Using a corner of his blanket he wiped it clean then placed it in the old sink as he started pumping the hand pump.
He was making tea. The idea of it made her shiver. Hot tea would be wonderful right now.
Water spurted and gurgled out of the old pipe and Tawnyetta was afraid to look at it, thinking it would be a sickly brown color. Michael didn't seem fazed. He let the water run for a minute then rinsed and filled the tea kettle and placed it on top of the wood stove.
"Can I help?" She felt a little useless just watching him.
"Aye, you can put some more wood in the stove if you like."
Tawnyetta got busy stoking the fire, glad she didn't have to leave its warm glow. Meanwhile, Michael rinsed out two bent tin cups in the sink. Then he twisted off the top of the green and black tin and took a whiff of the contents.
"Still good," he said, pleased.
Soon steam pulsed out of the little spout on the kettle. Using the corner of his blanket again, this time as an oven mitt, Michael pulled the lid off. He tilted the open tin and poured some loose tea leaves directly into the bubbling water and replaced the lid.
His homey activities made Tawnyetta relax. The storm that pounded this little bothy didn't seem as terrible when they were playing house.
As they waited for the kettle to boil they spread their sopping wet clothes over the bare iron springs of the cot. Michael carefully lined up the seams of his shirt and slacks before laying them flat. It seemed the Laird of Claymore Castle was adept at doing laundry as well.
"You're kind of domestic for being royalty," she observed.
His eyes twinkled. "I'm not really royalty, not exactly. Besides, I am more of a replacement Laird."
"Oh, right," she said thoughtfully, "Your brother was Laird before you, wasn't he?"
A shadow flickered across his face and she couldn't believe she had said something so insensitive. She had two older brothers, much older. She'd been a surprise to her parent's retirement plans. Still, if anything ever happened to one of her brothers she would be devastated.
"I'm so
rry, I didn't mean to ask you such a personal question," she said.
Michael looked down at his nearly nude body encased in a blanket then indicated her similar attire with a quick nod of his head. "I don't know if we could get much more personal than this if we tried."
Before she could stifle it, a giggle escaped Tawnyetta's lips. Michael grinned mischievously.
He swept his arm gallantly toward the bench. "Have a seat m'lady and I shall pour the tea."
They nestled comfortably on the old wooden bench, cupping hot tin cups full of steaming tea in their hands. Maybe it was her imagination, but it seemed like the rain had calmed some and it was now landing more softly on the roof.
"Do you have any siblings?" he asked.
"Two brothers, Kevin and Lonny," she answered. "Kevin is a salesman for a software company and Lonny owns a ski lodge in the mountains near Breckenridge. They were already in college before I was out of elementary school, but they're great guys. And I love their wives. They're more like my aunts than my sister-in-laws though," she explained.
Michael grunted his understanding as he took a sip of his tea. There was a lull in the conversation as he considered the steam rising from his cup. He didn't look up when he started talking.
"Greg and I were two years apart," he told her. "We grew up right alongside each other. Very competitive...in a good way for brothers I suppose."
"What were you competitive about?"
"Ach, well, just about everything really. Sports, grades...height!" He chuckled at that. He looked sideways at Tawnyetta and added, "Bonnie lasses."
She lifted her eyebrows. "Oh, really? Were you ever in love with the same girl?"
"I don't think either of us were ever truly in love growing up. But we did like to try and outdo one another by impressing the bonnie ones."
She wondered what that must have been like for whichever lucky girl the two young lords were competing over. Given genetics, Greg had probably been equally as impressive as Michael. It must have been quite an experience for a young lady to have them both vying for her attention.
Michael had a thought and craned his neck trying to look into the far corner of the room. "In fact..." he said, almost to himself, as he stood and went to the corner. He crouched down and scratched at an open space about the width of his finger between two stones in the wall. He was able to work his finger into the space and pull out one of the stones. It fell with a thud to the floor and Michael peered into the hole that it left. "I can't believe it."
"What is it?" Tawnyetta asked.
He reached into the hole and retrieved something then stood and turned to present it to her with a flourish. In his hand he held a fat, round bottle of amber liquid. She couldn't read the label, but knew that it definitely was liquor.
Michael brushed the rock dust off of the label and laughed a little as he read it out loud to her, "Aberlour, Highland Single Malt Scotch Whiskey."
"Why in heaven's name was it in the wall?"
Chapter Eighteen
Michael held up the bottle of whiskey with an expression of joy on his face similar to one a child might have if they actually won a toy out of a claw machine. Pure unadulterated happiness.
Tawnyetta was still full of questions. "How did you know that was in the wall?"
Michael inspected the bottle as he sat down next to her again. "My brother hid this up here when I was 16-years old."
"16?" She was surprised. Hard liquor for a 16-year-old?
Michael nodded thoughtfully, his eyes still on the bottle. "Greg took to drinking earlier than most." It wasn't a judgment or a statement of approval, he seemed to be lost in memories. Tawnyetta got the feeling they weren't necessarily good memories either.
"Did your parents know?"
He shook his head once. "No, they were lost in their own vices. And when you have several full bars scattered throughout a castle, it's an easy task to get your hands on liquor when you're a teenager."
Tawnyetta looked at the bottle in his hands and back at him. "But you didn't hide this bottle?"
"No," he said the word like it was a sigh, like he was admitting something not only to her, but also to himself. "Greg knew that I was bringing a lass up here. And he told me he'd hide this for me in our hiding place..." his voice trailed off.
"So you could get her drunk?" Tawnyetta was surprised again, not to mention offended.
"No, no, nothing like that. Well, at least I wasn't thinking of anything like that." He looked at her sincerely and she believed him. "I think on one hand Greg thought I needed to loosen up, I was always nervous around the lasses," he admitted. He hefted the bottle up and down a few times, feeling the weight of it. "And on the other hand I think he wanted to get me into trouble. Then he could show up like a knight on a white horse and save the day. Ride off with the pretty maid."
"The brotherly competition thing?"
He nodded.
"So what happened?"
"Neither," he answered. He thought for a moment. "If I remember correctly I froze like a deer in headlights and never even dug the bottle out. Greg showed up, unannounced, but he was completely blootered and that didn't go over well either."
"Blootered?"
"Drunk."
"Oh," Tawnyetta said. She made a 'yeesh' face. "That sounds awful."
Michael nodded. "Aye, it was."
"What did the girl do?"
"Well, she yelled at both of us, rightfully so. And then she made me take her home."
"She wasn't impressed?"
"Decidedly unimpressed," he admitted. He let his gaze wander around the room, remembering. "She wasn't really impressed with the bothy either. I think she was expecting to be wined and dined by the son of a Laird. Not stuck in an old shack with an awkward teenager."
She chuckled at his self-deprecating remark. "A little stone shack and a bottle of whiskey hidden in the wall wasn't her dream date?"
"I don't think so." He unscrewed the cap and tilted the bottle towards her. "Would you like a wee bit in your tea m'lady? It will warm you up from the inside out."
Tawnyetta considered it for a moment before she shrugged, "Why not?"
The whiskey did warm her up. The amber liquid burned a little going down, but it sent a warm tingling sensation through Tawnyetta's blood and she noticed Michael relaxing a little, too. Soon they were sharing completely embarrassing stories of their youth.
Tawnyetta had plenty of horrible dating stories from her teenage years. She told him about homecoming her junior year when she refused to admit that she had the flu because she didn't want to stay home. Instead she threw up in the middle of the dance floor, all over her new dress and her date.
"No!" Michael laughed, lifting his palm towards her as if to ward off the very thought of it.
"Yes!" Tawnyetta giggled, taking another sip.
He told her how he and his brother had snuck out of the castle when they were kids and ran away to the village. How Dougie had found them when he drove through Eldin on his tractor, hauling a trailer full of manure to lay across the spring fields. How he had made them sit on top of the pile of manure the whole ride home.
"By the time he marched us back in to see our parents and let our father deal with us, we stunk to high heaven," he admitted, the memory obviously amusing him.
Tawnyetta smiled, her thoughts drifting to the elderly little man she'd met in the garden and how fondly he had spoken of Michael. "Dougie certainly thinks a lot of you," she said.
"I suppose now he does," Michael laughed. "When we were kids he was always on top of us. Trying to control two unruly boys." He fell silent for a few moments, thinking. When he spoke again he was still looking down into his cup. "Of course my parents would only let Dougie go so far in teaching us lessons. That's probably where Greg got into trouble. We never had consistent discipline."
"Your parents weren't tough on you?"
"No," he answered. "They left us to the nanny and the servants for the most part. We were terrors to have around, of
that I am certain."
She looked him up and down as he sat next to her lost in reverie. His blanket had slipped a little low as they talked, revealing round, muscled biceps and shoulders. He had stretched his legs out in front of him toward the warming fire in the stove. He exuded confidence, intelligence, and strength, even wrapped in a blanket warming by a fire. In fact, he had captured her attention so completely that she had all but forgotten about the storm outside and their predicament.
"You seem to have turned out all right," she said.
There was a hint of reddening on his cheeks as he looked at her. Then he lifted one shoulder and let it fall in a half shrug to brush off the compliment.
"I left when I was eighteen. Wanted to make a life of my own, away from the castle and the lairdship...and my family."
"Where did you go?"
"I worked for a few years doing general construction and landscaping. I didn't know what I wanted to do. But then I decided to go to university in Edinburgh."
"What did you study?"
"History, my father insisted." He gave her a sheepish look. "And social work."
Tawnyetta was surprised. "Really? You wanted to be a social worker?" She tried to imagine him helping the needy. Sitting in this humble shack, making her tea, she could see it. Though she imagined it was a far cry from being a Laird.
"I thought, perhaps, I could use my family name to help people," he continued. "Maybe start a foundation for wee little ones growing up in poverty." He paused, waiting for a response.
She pushed out her jaw and nodded thoughtfully, indicating his thought process sounded reasonable. "I can see you as a helper," she offered.
Giving her a nod of thanks, he half-shrugged again. "It didn't work out that way."
"Because you had to come back here?"
He nodded and looked back into the flickering fire. "Not much social work going on at the castle." An air of melancholy rose around him, but then he switched his attention to her. "What about you?"
"Me?"
He nodded, pushing his shoulder gently against hers as encouragement. "Where are you from in the United States? Did you go to university?"
