Oh, Bri! I felt a shove from behind and almost stumbled, but someone else caught me by the arm. I smelled alcohol and clean, manly sweat.
“Sorry,” Aidan whispered in my ear.
“What are you doing?”
I don’t know why I whispered, too, especially since two women next to me were now singing “La Marseillaise” to egg on the Frenchman. Just a couple more yards to reach Bri.
“I’ll take care of this. You can go back to your schnapps,” I said over my shoulder and took a few more steps. “And take your bad mood with you.”
“Touché,” Aidan said, following me. “But I’m drinking Scotch—miles from the hooch your German potato farmers secretly distil in their sheds.”
“Beat it,” I hissed.
But Aidan pushed me aside and stepped between the two men like a referee in a boxing ring.
Monsieur Barneau had handed his cap to Bri and was rolling up his sleeves. He did so meticulously, but kept his eyes fixed on his opponent. The Scotsman danced to and fro with raised fists, swaying a little. The spectators hooted, stamped their feet, and clapped, while my aunt looked at the cap as if it were a hot potato.
“What the hell is going on here?” Aidan thundered.
The element of surprise was on his side. Barneau stopped adjusting his sleeves and the Scotsman forgot to bob and weave like a prize fighter. I noticed that Gavin returned the baseball bat he had been brandishing to its place on the wall and stood behind the bar, watching, his muscled arms crossed. Bri was the only one who was not impressed by Aidan’s interference.
“Heavens, did women’s lib pass this country by?” Bri ranted in German. “This is the twenty-first century, gentlemen. Women earn black belts in judo and preside as judges. Step aside, please, and I’ll deal with the drunkard.” She drew a deep breath and continued in a dignified tone, “I refuse to move from this spot until he apologises for spilling beer on my Barbour jacket—even if I have to spank him. His mother apparently failed to do so.”
Aidan raised his eyebrows while the Scotsman stared at her without understanding a word. Monsieur Barneau rolled down his sleeves with a smile, making some female onlookers sigh with disappointment.
“She didn’t mean that,” I said quickly, finally managing to grab Bri’s arm. “Our apologies! My aunt is a little—”
“Furious!” She violently pulled away from me.
“Confused.” I pointed meaningfully to my forehead and grabbed her wrist as firmly as I could.
“Ouch,” complained Bri. “You’re hurting me.”
“I haven’t even got started,” I hissed, and dragged her out of the strike zone.
Aidan had placed an arm around the shoulder of his countryman and was talking to him quietly. From a safe distance, still holding on to Bri, who squirmed to escape my grip, I looked on in amazement. The combatant’s expression went from anger to astonishment, and he ended up looking almost guilty.
He pointed to Bri, raised his hands—palms up—and shook his head. Aidan patted his back and winked, which made the other man laugh out loud. He turned around. I stepped forward to block his way, but the Frenchman was faster.
The talk that followed consisted only of gestures and grimaces, but it resulted in a handshake. Grinning, Monsieur Barneau ceded the ring. The short Scotsman now stood in front of my aunt like a sheepish schoolboy. Her furious expression was unchanging as he showered her with a stream of strange words that sounded something like English. He finished with an awkward bow.
“Dudley says that he’s very sorry he spilled beer on your lovely jacket,” Aidan translated. “He would consider it an honour if the lady accepted his coat as recompense. He deeply regrets the misunderstanding. Unfortunately, he only speaks a dialect we call broad Scots, which can be a bit tough to understand.”
Bri was unimpressed, even when Dudley peeled off his grubby raincoat and offered it to her with outstretched arms.
“You should accept his gift, ma’am,” Aidan urged. “It is a genuine Mackintosh, very popular with shepherds in the Highlands. These coats are the best you’ll find in the United Kingdom—expensive, too.”
“Do you have a part-time job as an auctioneer, Mr. Murray? And stop calling me ma’am—I’m not a hundred years old,” Bri replied, keeping her eyes on Dudley.
Dudley in turn seemed to recognise that more effort on his part was needed. Amid the crowd’s hooting, he bent forward and, putting on an expression of deepest remorse, pointed to his behind.
“I don’t suppose I have to translate that,” said Aidan, trying to keep a straight face.
Dudley closed his eyes in resignation and awaited his spanking. New hoots all around.
“Tell Mr. Dudley that I accept his gift for my grandniece, who mistook our vacation in Scotland with one on the island of Ibiza,” Bri said solemnly. “She could use a proper raincoat.”
Blood rushed to my cheeks. After Aidan had translated Bri’s proclamation with obvious amusement, all eyes turned to me and my Border collie pullover.
“As to the additional offer”—Bri cast a critical glance at Dudley’s derrière—“I’ll make do with a glass of dark beer.”
“No, thanks, I’ll stick with water,” I said as Gavin offered me the whisky bottle. Sipping without much enthusiasm, I snuck a look at the table where the former adversaries were peacefully sitting together, toasting harmony and understanding among nations with their fourth pints.
There was no hope of leaving for the Highlands before the next morning. Bri had been sloshed since her third pint and was obviously unfit to drive. No more proof was needed than her much-too-loud laughter when Dudley tried to empty his glass in one gulp while holding his nose.
And Li? Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes glued on Monsieur Barneau’s lips. He was expounding wittily on Mary Stuart and encouraging his listeners to raise their glasses yet again to the only French Scottish queen.
I spun on my stool and met Aidan Murray’s eyes from the other end of the bar. Aidan signalled Gavin for another bottle of beer, then came and sat down next to me.
“Don’t begrudge your aunts their fun. You could use a little laughter yourself. Do wonders to relax you,” he said, pushing my mineral water away.
“Funny, you seemed the one in need of stress relief not so long ago,” I replied, and reached for my glass.
Gavin laughed.
“Lassie gives as good as she gets, pal.” He winked at me and stroked his beard. “This scumbag has waited far too long to meet a girl like you.”
“Seems to me someone is waiting for a lukewarm pint over there,” Aidan growled.
“I’m gone, ma love-birdies.”
I followed the bartender with my eyes. “Why did he call you a scumbag?”
“That’s the Scottish way of telling someone you like him,” Aidan answered. He clicked his bottle against the one he had ordered for me. “Slàinte mhath, Mrs. Stone—to your health.”
I stared at the label. “I don’t like beer.”
“I’ll order a glass of Chardonnay for you, then.”
“To be honest, I don’t drink.”
It was true. I disliked the taste of alcohol and hated feeling like my head was full of cotton balls—which inevitably happened after the second glass and invariably resulted in my losing control.
“Why are you like this?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I shot back.
“I thought you’d realised by now that you misjudged me. To my regret, even though it sounds kind of fun, I’m really not a womaniser, Josefine.”
“Well, you misjudged me, too.”
“That’s completely different.”
“Why?”
“I never pretended anything.” The smile had left his face. “You, on the other hand, are trying very hard to be someone you’re not.”
“Fascinating. What am I supposedly pretending to be?”
“Happy.” He shrugged. “As is expected from a soon-to-be-married woman.”
I laughe
d out loud, knowing I sounded somewhat shrill. “Aidan Murray, you’re an incredibly arrogant man.”
“I haven’t finished yet.” Aidan took a sip of beer and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “First of all, you’re a very attractive woman, but you’re not aware of your effect on men. This suggests that you either don’t like yourself or that the man in your life doesn’t tell you often enough how pretty you are. Second, you enjoy playing the successful, tough lawyer and probably do your best not to get emotionally involved with your clients. But your eyes tell me you’d prefer a job where you’re judged on more than money or power. And third, you march through life in a straight line, like a pony with blinders on. Not out of conviction, but because you’re afraid of the flowers on the side of the road.”
I was taken aback, and could only think of justifications or insults. Either would have validated Aidan’s assessment. So I just snorted, boiling inside.
“You asked and I answered.” Aidan’s smile was so utterly free of mockery or malice that my fury collapsed in on itself.
“Thanks for your assessment, Mr. Murray,” I replied as casually as the frog in my throat allowed. “But don’t give up your day job for psychology—because you’re wrong.” Totally wrong.
“I’d be glad for you if I was.” He sat silently for a moment and then waved Gavin over.
I stared at the beer bottle. Maybe I should take a sip. Maybe it would calm my nerves.
“I’ll settle up, Gavin. This lady’s drinks are on me, as is whatever the table over there ordered,” Aidan said with a wink. “Can’t have Mrs. Dudley reading him the riot act because he spent all the housekeeping money on booze, can we?”
“Sounds good, pal.” Gavin dried his humongous hands on his apron, grabbed one of the many notepads from a shelf, and removed a pencil nub from behind his ear. His hands, which would have been perfect for a biker, had difficulty controlling the tiny pencil.
“Will ya be paying your brother’s tab as well? Poor guy was really broke last time. He said you’d take care of it.”
Aidan jumped up and almost toppled the bottles. I grabbed them just in time.
“Ian was here? When?”
Gavin tried to decipher the handwritten tab.
“About two weeks ago. Had a lass with him, a pretty one.”
He grinned at me and I couldn’t help grinning back. Gavin was like a teddy bear who didn’t realise he looked like a grizzly.
“Always with a girl, isn’t he?” Aidan said. “Did he tell you where he’s going?”
“Here’s the total,” Gavin said, ignoring the question.
Aidan glanced over the long tab with a sigh and piled some bills on the counter, but kept his hand pressed tight on top of them. Propping my elbows on the table, I rested my chin in my hands and pretended to be absorbed by the beer bottle. I thought about the phone conversation I’d overheard. So Ian was Aidan’s brother. And if I understood correctly, Aidan was looking for him, which aroused a strange feeling in me—a closeness even. Was there something other than our mutual aversion we had in common?
“Gavin, I’ve got to find out where he is.” Aidan sounded insistent, almost desperate.
“So you can beat him up like last time?”
His face closing up, Aidan replied, “I had my reasons.”
Gavin crossed his arms again. “I’ll bet. And I’m sure they’re as convincing as Father McNeil’s Sunday sermon. But I like the lad and don’t want to be responsible if he can’t play his next gig because you accidentally broke his arm.”
“You got him a gig? Where?” Aidan raised two fingers, as if swearing an oath in court. “I won’t deck him, I swear. All I want is a talk.”
“Isn’t that funny? That’s just what you said the last time.”
“Please, Gavin. It’s . . . a family matter.”
“Why don’t you call him?”
“You seriously believe Ian can afford a mobile with the pittance he makes as a street musician?”
“How sad—especially when his brother’s such a big shot.”
“It was his choice, Gavin. C’mon now, stop wasting my time and tell me where the little Hendrix-wannabe is hiding.”
“You really have no idea at all how good the lad is.”
“Where, Gavin?”
“In Inverness.” Gavin was not happy. “My cousin added him to the line-up at her place, the Hootanelly, for next Saturday. He planned to show the Cairngorms to his girl on the way there. But you didn’t hear this from me—are we clear?”
“Clear as your shellfish chowder, pal.” Aidan removed his hand from the bills and the bartender snatched the money like a Rottweiler grabbing a sausage.
“Keep the change,” grumbled Aidan, earning him a glare from the grizzly.
“Sure will, Mr. Big Business.”
Aidan got up. He looked content and determined. “I never knew you had a cousin in Inverness. Always thought your family was only made up of three exes and a bunch of kids.”
“Get lost, Murray, before I remember that I don’t have to serve a snotty guy like you, no matter how much dough you have.”
Aidan cleared his throat and I looked up with pointed indifference.
“Mrs. Stone.” Aidan saluted. “A pleasure, as always. When you have a moment, think about what I said. Stop and open those pretty eyes. You’ll find some fantastic flowers waiting for you.”
“Well, you are the expert on picking flowers.” The sentence was out of my mouth before I had time to think, and I immediately regretted it. Never would I be so rash in court—it would weaken my position. Yet this man’s mere presence was enough to make me botch my closing argument.
Aidan accepted the zinger with a grin. He put on his leather jacket and stretched out his hand. It felt cool and dry.
“Two to one—you win, Mrs. Stone. See ya.”
Fortunately, he was gone so fast that I didn’t have a chance to say out loud, I hope not! However, I was suddenly quite sure that this wouldn’t be my last encounter with Aidan Murray.
I met Gavin’s glance and raised my bottle to him. I took a gulp and grimaced.
Flowers on the side of the road. What nonsense!
I had looked forward to having the king-size bed to myself again, even though the extra night at Eden Rock Lodge messed up my schedule. But instead of restorative sleep, my night was filled with strange dreams and endless waking periods during which I pleaded with the alarm clock to finally give me a reason to get up.
I was wide awake by four in the morning, staring at the ceiling. At five, I gave in, took my phone off Bri’s charger, and pushed the heavy velvet-upholstered chair to the window. Clutching the phone like a life raft, I watched daylight arrive.
In the online travel diary of a visitor to Scotland, there was one particular sentence in incredibly purple prose that I had quickly dismissed. But now, looking at the fog hanging over meadows from which trees seemed to claw at apricot-coloured clouds, it rushed back to me intact.
It is the light, this special, magical light somewhere between day and night that makes Scotland a place like no other in the world.
I am neither a nature lover nor prone to waxing poetic about spring mornings that resemble rainy November evenings. Yet there I sat, wrapped in a wool blanket, feeling that very same enchantment—as if I’d discovered a new planet. Better yet, it felt as if I’d travelled back in time, like the nurse in Aunt Li’s novel who fell in love with the red-haired chief of a Highlands clan.
I turned on my phone since—distant planet or not—I had been unreachable for two days. Adjusting my glasses, I gaped in amazement.
Twenty-one missed calls and nine text messages, all from Mama. I ignored the brief stab of pain at finding nothing from Justus. We seldom texted, and called only if we had to. Besides, he didn’t even know that I was in Scotland since he’d left his Blackberry at home when he set off for his macho retreat. I sighed and flipped through Mama’s messages.
Dear Josefine. I hope you arrived safely.
How’s the weather? Love and kisses. Mama
BTW I heard that Li and Bri coincidentally travelled to Scotland, too, and I gave them the address of your hotel. Love and kisses Mama
I hope Bri and Li found you. Love Mama
Are you all right, Josefine? This is Mama. Please call me back.
Josefine, this is your mother. If you don’t call immediately, I’m calling you.
Why is your phone turned off?
All right, so I probably should have asked you before giving them the address. But it really wasn’t my idea.
Stop it, Josefine. This isn’t funny anymore!
Fine. It was my idea for them to come. You should still call me.
That was my hypocritical mother for you! Claiming my aunts travelled to Scotland “coincidentally” when, in truth, she had set them on my trail. I briefly considered making her stew a little longer, even though I knew she’d meant well—and, as another coincidence, had actually ended up helping me.
Battery was dead, everything fine, all three alive, I typed.
I set the phone on the windowsill and touched the glass with my fingertips. There was a draft coming from somewhere and a layer of condensation had formed. I drew the outline of a small heart in it. The diffuse apricot light had turned to a deep lilac. A storm was approaching, driving grey, horse-like clouds before it.
I pulled in my knees and closed my eyes. I liked the image, even if it was only made of clouds.
7
“Rise and shine! Do you want to eat this horrible breakfast or should we hit the road?” Bri’s rasping voice called from outside my door.
I sat up with a start and put on my glasses. Ten o’clock. Ten o’clock?!
“I’ll meet you at the car,” I shouted, jumping out of the chair and throwing off the blanket. My cramping legs wobbled beneath me.
“All right, we’ll tell Trish to feed your porridge to the chickens. I think it was meant for them in the first place, the way it tasted.” Bri cackled as I headed for the bathroom.
Kissed by the Rain Page 8
