The Great Scot

by Donna Kauffman

  Yeah. Planning fantasy dates. With Dylan. Great.

  Why hadn’t it occurred to her that getting him to help her find romantic date locations might not be such a great idea? Definitely not clear thinking on her part. A growing problem the more time she spent around him.

  “Actually, you’re more on track than you know,” he said.

  She knew better, she did, but she heard herself saying, “I am?”

  “There is real value in putting others’ needs first, in doing the right thing, even if it’s not the thing I’d have chosen for myself alone. I had plenty of years doing exactly that. In the end, it was a hollow achievement, and no’ so fulfilling.”

  She didn’t say anything to that. She would have thought he’d had plenty of experience putting others’ needs first, what with being married and all. But his declaration in the car, about staying in a loveless marriage so he could hide in the city and avoid his obligations at home still echoed in her mind. Had he really been as self-serving as all that? Sure, he didn’t come across as Mr. Happy Innkeeper, but he was literally devoting his entire life to the project.

  “Cat got your tongue,” he said, at length.

  “I’m just…processing.”

  “What part, specifically?”

  He was standing in front of her again, only she didn’t shrink back this time. Instead she looked up into his face, into those guarded eyes of his. “It’s just…you strike me as a man who, when he wants something, or believes in something, is very devoted to it, very committed.”

  “Aye, ’tis true.”

  “So—” She broke off, shook her head, and this time she did turn away.

  A gentle hand on her arm had her turning back. “So, what?” he asked. “No censoring, remember?”

  She paused, thinking there was a time for everything and perhaps now was the time to curb her curiosity about him, for his sake and her own. She had a list longer than her arm of things she needed to be focusing on. Learning more about Dylan Chisholm wasn’t on that list.

  “Erin.”

  She sighed. Damn. Her name, with that accent…She looked up again. “Okay. You said you stayed in a loveless marriage, but that your reasons for doing so were selfish.”

  “Aye, they were.”

  “So the fairy-tale relationship with Maribel—”

  “Wasnae much of a fairy tale, I’m sorry to say, for either of us. Perhaps in the beginning, when we were young, quite foolish and headstrong, we believed it to be.”

  “So…you’re saying you both…fell out of love?”

  He nodded. “If we were ever truly in it. She married me to rebel against her parents controlling her every move. I married her because she was the epitome of what I’d dreamed of for the life I knew I was destined to have in the city.”

  “But you thought you were in love. At some point.”

  “Oh, aye, quite infatuated we were. But we soon came to realize the infatuation was as much from the rebellion we’d mounted as it was true infatuation with each other.”

  “So…if neither of you loved the other, then why stay together? I mean, you say you did it to keep the fairy-tale premise alive, keep your reason for staying in the city. What about her?”

  “Somewhat the same thing, to keep her parents at arms’ length. They are excessively wealthy and if given an inch, they tend to take over completely. It was…convenient, I guess, for both of us. At the time, if you’d asked me, I would have said we were being quite mature, accepting our limitations and being adult about them.”

  Erin bit the corner of her lip, then asked the question on the tip of her tongue anyway. “So, did you have an open marriage then?” His immediate look of surprise made her feel inordinately better, which was silly since she wasn’t supposed to feel anything where he was concerned. What he did with his life was certainly no business of hers.

  “No. We’d have never done that to each other. We had a marriage in full, we had enormous respect for one another, we just weren’t madly in love with one another.”

  “But—”

  His lips quirked in that almost smile of his again. “Sex?”

  “Well, yeah,” she said, swearing she wasn’t blushing, but possibly she was, a little bit. Maybe more than a little bit. How sick was it that the idea of him having sex only with his wife was making her hot? Well, the idea of him having sex at all was going to make her hot. Him standing there, breathing, was doing that.

  “We knew how to take care of each other. I’ll leave it at that.”

  “It sounds…”

  “Cold? Clinical? It wasn’t. We just…” Now he trailed off, then shrugged. “It was what it was. She was on a cruise with some friends of hers in the Mediterranean when…when she died. There was a malfunction and the boat essentially blew up. Maribel and the captain were the only ones aboard at the time. Neither survived. I was working insane hours and was out of contact, so the authorities tracked down her parents first.” He shifted then, looked at his feet, then out at the view, before looking back at her. “I never quite forgave myself for that. We might not have had the fairy tale, but she deserved better than that from me. She certainly deserved to be protected from them better than I protected her.”

  “What do you mean? You were next of kin. Didn’t you have more legal rights than they did?”

  “Technically. But in foreign countries, things can get confused. And her father has deep pockets and knew how to pull strings. To be fair, she was their only child. They were beyond themselves with grief. Maribel was gone and I…they handled it like they wanted to…and at that point, it was too late to interfere. They had her interred in their family mausoleum. Perhaps I should have fought harder for that, but it was the closest thing to any home she’d have had. We’d never…we’d never done anything about that kind of eventuality. Anyway, I tried to stay with them, console them, but they blamed me.”

  “How? You weren’t even there.”

  “Exactly,” he said, his tone sardonic, but his expression pained nonetheless. “They were traditionalists. When they weren’t nagging us about starting a family, they were begging us to move back into the Leighton manse so they could have what little family they did have around them in their later years. They couldn’t understand why we’d take separate vacations, or…well, separate anything. They were convinced that had we been together on vacation things would have been different and she wouldn’t have died. He trailed off, shook his head. “So I let them do what they needed to do to make peace as best as possible, but I’ve never really reconciled with the fact that I didn’t stand up more for what Maribel would have wanted.”

  “As you said, she was gone. Her parents are still here.” She touched his arm. “You did what you had to do at the time. If she respected you as you say she did, then she’d have understood, right?”

  “It’s what I tell myself, aye.” He let out a short bark of a laugh. “Why in the bloody hell I’m telling you all this I have no blinkin’ clue.” He gestured to the car. “We’re wastin’ your valuable time.”

  Erin turned toward the car, still absorbing everything he’d told her, not sure what to think, or how to feel, then suddenly stopped and turned. He plowed into the back of her, but quickly steadied her with his hands.

  “This is becoming quite the pattern with us as well,” he said, and the small, but noticeable gleam in his eye made her feel inordinately better.

  She hadn’t meant to drag him along what had to still be a painful path of memories. “Aye,” she said, mocking his accent.

  “No’ bad,” he said, his lips curving a wee bit.

  She had an almost unbearable need to make him smile. He might have reconciled himself with his past, and with his future, but something told her he didn’t smile nearly enough. “I’ve a knack for it, dinnae ye ken.”

  A little bit bigger quirk, almost there. “Why did you turn about?”

  “Oh, that.” All caught up in that half smile, she’d forgotten. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For wh
at you’ve been through. And for making you relive any of it just to satisfy my curiosity.”

  “I’m a big lad, Ms. MacGregor. I could have thwarted your questions if I’d wanted to.”

  “So why didn’t you?” The question was out before she thought better of it. But he was inside her personal space again and she didn’t think clearly when he was this close. Or in the same room. On the same planet. Whatever.

  “You’re safe.”

  “I’m—” Safe? Oh joy. That’s what every woman wanted to hear. She felt instantly foolish for entertaining, even for a brief second, that he was feeling some kind of connection to her, as she was beginning to feel with him. Of course he wasn’t. She managed a smile, prayed for a casual tone. “Well, if you ever need an ear or a shoulder, I’ve got two of both.”

  His hands were resting on her shoulders and he tightened his hold for a brief second. “Thank you.” His expression changed, his eyes darkened a bit, and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what he was thinking or feeling. Just when she thought he might say something else, he dropped his hands away and stepped around her, sweeping his arm in front of him toward the car. “Your chariot, miss.”

  Erin sighed inwardly. Outwardly she gave him a little curtsy. “Thank you, milord.”

  “Och, dinnae be callin’ me that, lass,” he retorted with an exaggerated accent that made him sound exactly like the lord of the manor.

  She laughed and opened her door before he could do it for her. He had a playful side to him somewhere. It wasn’t something she had any business thinking about, much less even consider doing anything about. He was not her project. Your Prince Charming was. But there were a couple of fantasy dates to be planned. And the farther away she got him from Glenshire, the more he’d seemed to loosen up. So as long as he wasn’t haranguing her about the work crews, or in any apparent hurry to get back, she’d take what help she could get from him. And hey, if it gave him the chance to let his guard down a little and maybe get a much needed break, all the better for both of them. A happy Dylan was in everyone’s best interest.

  Sure, and that was the only reason she was grinning like a fool as Dylan peeled out of the overlook, spraying gravel behind him.

  “Hang on,” he said, unnecessarily, as she was gripping the door handle and dashboard, heart in her throat, while he let the car do what it was built to do…hug the curves. Tight.

  Erin MacGregor, thrill seeker. Who knew? She glanced over at Dylan, who was intently focused on the road, his thoughts his own once again. But he looked like a man on a mission, so she asked, “Do you have a particular destination in mind? Because I was thinking maybe you knew of other nearby villages where there might be something that would suit my—”

  “I know just where to take you.” He glanced at her briefly, and there was something about the intensity of his gaze, even for that split second, that made her entire body come alive all over again.

  I know just where to take you. She swallowed a little sigh. Oh, aye to that. She didn’t care where they went, as long as he took her.

  She knew she should consider getting herself under control. But she was in a hot sports car, with an even hotter Scot behind the wheel, careening down the side of a mountain, with the sun on her face, the wind in her hair…and lust in her heart. She stole another look at him. And had to shift in her seat, press her knees together a little more tightly.

  They reached the bottom and the road straightened out as they shot across the valley floor. Low stone walls lined the single track road, with the occasional farming croft and herd of black-faced sheep breaking up the endless sea of brilliant green grass. Not one of the sheep dared to leap in front of them.

  She was dying to know where he was taking her, but the silence was companionable if somewhat electric, on her side of it anyway, and it felt good to let someone else be in charge for a change. Like as not, he had no clue what constituted a good date site, but she’d deal with that later. He didn’t strike her as being all that romantic-minded, far more the pragmatic sort, given both what she knew of his behavior in person, and the little he’d shared of his past, as well. But he was trying to help. And she was still trying to convince herself that as long as she kept him out of Tommy’s hair, she was doing them both a favor.

  The valley road eventually became more winding as it sidled along a creek bed. The creek eventually widened into a narrow river, and just before they began climbing into the mountains on the opposite side of the valley, it emptied out into a beautiful loch. The blue sky and sunshine made the water sparkle. “It’s gorgeous,” she said, finally breaking the comfortable silence.

  “Aye.” He said nothing else as they began the climb back into the mountains. The Jag didn’t tackle the steep ascent with quite the same aggressiveness as their roaring descent earlier, but Erin enjoyed the ride nonetheless. Minutes passed and the foliage blocked the view of the valley floor. Curiosity was finally getting the better of her and she’d just decided to ask him to give her a hint, when he abruptly turned off the main track onto an even narrower road, gravel this time, that took a tightly curved line almost straight up the mountain. Digging her fingers into the leather upholstery, she finally braved a look in his direction. “Wow.”

  “Almost there.”

  “Almost where?”

  They took another exceedingly tight turn that sent gravel spitting, and the road abruptly dead-ended into a small clearing. A muted roaring sound filled the still midday air. Beyond the small turnaround they were parked in, there was a narrow patch of grass and a skinny stream strewn with boulder sized rocks, wedged between towering stands of pines. “It’s lovely, but—”

  “Come on,” he said, opening his door and getting out.

  She slipped off her seat belt and did the same.

  “How good are you at hiking?”

  Erin looked down at her shoes, which were comfortable lace ups, but far from hiking boots. “Not much on traction,” she said, “and I’m kind of fond of these.” She glanced at him and smiled in the face of his obvious anticipation. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was maybe a little excited. Or nervous. Or something. It was that something that made her smile broaden. Whatever on earth could make the Great Scot nervous was something she had to see. “What the hell. I can always buy another pair if I trash these, right?”

  He nodded in approval, then gestured for her to go in front of him.

  “I don’t know where I’m going. Why don’t you lead?”

  He pointed. “See that trail there, angling off by that split tree trunk? We’re headed that way.” He stepped up behind her, making her quite aware he was in her personal space again.

  Just as she was quite aware she did nothing to move herself out of it, either.

  “I’d go first,” he added, a teasing note clear in his tone this time, “but ye have this alarming habit of stumbling about. Best I stay behind ye, in case ye need catching.”

  She shifted just enough to look up at him over her shoulder. His eyes were crinkling at the corners. Probably the sun. But maybe not.

  “What?” he asked, making her realize she was staring.

  “When was the last time you laughed? Really laughed?” The words were out of her mouth before the thought had even completed itself.

  “Far too long ago, I’m certain. I’ve been busy.”

  She turned to face him. “Since when did busy and laughter become mutually exclusive?”

  “Good point. I have no idea.”

  “Before, when you lived in the city, were you happier?”

  The question seemed to surprise him. “Since when was happiness measured by laughter?”

  “How would you measure it?”

  “Fulfillment. Contentment.”

  She nodded. “Valid. So, were you? Fulfilled and content?”

  “At times. Never completely, but then that’s what provides the drive necessary to fight on, does it not? Are you?”

  That gave her pause. She’d poked and prodde
d him almost since the moment they met. This was the first time she could recall him asking something about her. “No, not completely. But I am happy. Maybe I should have used the word joyful. Are you a such a serious man as all that? Or is it life circumstance that has made you so dour?”

  “Dour? Dour am I now?”

  She merely arched an eyebrow.

  He shook his head. “Och, if true, that’s a sad state of affairs then. I’m no’ a dour man, Erin. But perhaps ye have a point about me no’ finding much to be joyful about, not in the sense you mean. But my business has been serious of late. My new life is fulfilling in ways my old life never was. And there is peace in that, which is a good start. The rest will come in time.”

  “So you’re saying you’re an optimist.”

  “You think me the opposite?”

  Now she smiled. “Honestly, I don’t know what to think of you. I guess that’s why I keep badgering you with questions. You aren’t easy to figure out, Dylan Chisholm.”

  Amusement did shift into his eyes then, and the resulting gleam was no trick of the sun. She swallowed hard. Perhaps it would be wiser not to provoke the playful side of him after all.

  And then he was lifting his hands, pushing back the errant strands of hair the car ride had likely blown into a complete rat’s nest around her face. Suddenly painfully aware of her looks, or lack thereof, and at the same time exquisitely aware of his touch, almost to the point of pain, she wanted to shrink away, pretend this moment wasn’t happening. Because whatever he was thinking behind those dancing gray eyes of his, no way could it be anything she found herself suddenly hoping, praying, it would be. She didn’t attract men like Dylan Chisholm.

  Gorgeous, confident, successful men were typically attracted to beauty first, and brains a distant second. Erin was used to falling in the distant second category, okay with it even. When it came to men like the one touching her now, looking at her so intently, well…it simply didn’t happen. So it had hardly been a problem for her. It would be the epitome of foolishness to allow herself, even for a second, to think this was somehow different.