Well, that wasn’t going to happen.
She’d circled right back around to what her next step was going to be. She only knew what it wasn’t going to be.
She must have sighed, though she didn’t recall doing so. Graham apparently hadn’t been dozing after all. He reached over and took her hand, and tugged her gently closer, so her head angled toward his shoulder.
She shot him a glance, but he was still leaning back, eyes closed. She debated whether to take his lead, but who was she kidding? She gently leaned against him. He settled further into his seat, tugged her closer, and wove his hand through hers.
Maybe he’s asleep, she thought, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest below her chin. And maybe, it didn’t matter.
She settled herself, too, and figured they both deserved what little comfort they could get before stepping into the next part of their joint venture.
It didn’t take long for the steady cadence and rhythm of the moving train, the general peacefulness of the car they were in, and Graham’s sturdy warmth to lull her into a doze. Just as sleep was claiming her, she could have sworn she felt him press his cheek—or were those his lips?—to the top of her head, and murmur, “It’s all going to work out fine, Katherine Georgina. You just wait and see.”
“Katherine Elizabeth Georgina,” she murmured, making the correction automatically.
She felt him chuckle quietly, and knew then he’d never been asleep.
That made her smile. And sleep as soundly as she ever had.
Chapter 8
Graham hated to wake her, but they’d arrived in Oban and needed to hurry to catch the late ferry crossing to Castlebay. From there, service over to Kinloch was going to be tenuous, at best. Even in the fading light, the skies to the west didn’t look too promising.
It had been an exhausting two days, and this after a matching day-and-a-half getting to Annapolis in the first place. Between the toll of travel by several modes of transportation, and the added stress of the reason for the trip in the first place…compounded by the fact that he was no longer traveling alone, and everything that went with that new reality had been way more than he could ever have predicted…it was all finally catching up to him. He’d slept better than he’d expected to on the train, but it was a small drop compared to what he truly needed to clear his head and be at his best upon his return.
Once they’d booked ferry passage, he’d call Roan. He knew, from checking his phone that he had a backlog of voice mail, e-mail, text messages, and missed calls that likely meant a less-than-lovely reception when he finally checked in. He didn’t give a rat’s patootie, as Katie would say, how Roan or Shay were holding up, especially given that Roan had known what he was sending Graham into, without the least bit of forewarning. He could leave them to stew with little guilt on his end. But their arrival was close enough that he had to start laying the groundwork for Katie’s entree and subsequent stay.
He also needed to find out exactly what had gone on with Mr. Iain McAuley during his absence. Surely he couldn’t have made much progress in a few days time.
Graham looked down at the woman nestled against his chest, and rethought that last sentiment.
“Katie,” he said, keeping his tone quiet. “We’ve arrived. We’re in Oban. You need to wake up now.”
She moved a little, mumbled something under her breath…then snuggled in a little closer.
He smiled. It was strange to think he might actually miss waking up while she slept, sprawled all over him, making one of his arms numb from leaning on it for hours. Though, he had no one to blame but himself. He’d just…hell, he wasn’t sure why he’d pulled her close. But it was the last time, the last leg where they’d be seated together for a long stretch, and he’d just…
He’d just.
“Katie,” he said again, shifting a little as he gently pushed her up and off of his chest.
As soon as her cheek moved past his shoulder, she blinked her eyes open.
He smiled. “Hullo, sleepyhead. We’re in Oban.”
She frowned. “What?”
“Ferry. Time for the ferry.”
Her eyes opened wider. “We’re here?”
He nodded.
She rubbed her face and raked her hands through her hair, then scowled again. “Please tell me there will be some place for me to make myself look like something other than an escaped convict before we arrive in Kinloch.” She paused, then looked at him, quite seriously, and said, “Though, I suppose that’s an apt description.”
He’d noted she hadn’t spoken much about what she’d left behind. He knew she had no phone, but she hadn’t asked to use his. “Do you—is there anyone you think you should call? I have a phone.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m not…no.”
“Okay,” he said, simply. “If you should ever want to—”
“Is there a place I could buy one of those pay-as-you-go phones? Wait, what am I saying?” She ducked her chin and busied herself by straightening her top and smoothing out her pants.
He wasn’t sure why he did it, but he reached out and tipped her chin up, so she looked directly at him. “I’ll get you a phone. You can pay me back later. Or we’ll write it into the agreement if you want. I know this is hard for you, a lot of changes, but I won’t think less of you for asking for a little help until we get things settled.”
“It’s not your good graces I was worried about.”
“Whose then?”
She tapped her chest. “Mine.” She sighed and shifted back, away from his touch. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“On the contrary, I think I understand more than you realize.” He stretched and stood. “Whatever the case, just know the offer stands. Come on, we need to go book passage.”
She merely nodded, gathered herself, and followed him off the train without further comment.
They were both still travel weary. He knew that. The kind of tired sleeping while sitting up in a jostling mode of transportation didn’t fix.
It took a bit to gather her mountain of luggage and get it redirected toward the ferry. Most of the ferry passengers were crossing with their cars, so it took him and Katie a bit longer to get situated.
“I’m sorry.” She folded her arms and glared at her pile of matching Italian hand-stitched valises and trunks. “For the pain in the ass those have become.”
“Stop saying—”
“No, I won’t. Because I’m sorry. It’s a pain in my ass, too.”
He smiled at that. She was grumpy. And rumpled. And a little past the point of trying to hide it. He tried to put himself in her position, not only as a runaway bride, daughter, and corporate family pawn, but also as someone who was stepping way outside her comfort zone. It was a lot.
Besides, she made a cute grump.
Something he wisely kept to himself.
All that unruly hair, which had more curl to it than he’d realized, all done up under that veil as it had been, was clearly trying to revert to its natural state. And her face…it wasn’t the lean, aquiline look of a woman born of wealth. She had a rather button-like nose, a rounded chin with a bit of a dimple, fairly pronounced cheekbones, a cupid bow mouth, and the thickest lashes he’d ever seen on a natural blonde. All of that bounty provided the backdrop to the bluest eyes he’d been fortunate to look into. She appeared quite like a woodland sprite, as if one had come to life in the form of a mortal woman.
He heard her grumbling under her breath, and his hidden smile spread to a grin as he preceded her along the railing to the front of the boat, where they could watch the sunset as they made their way across the Sea of Hebrides.
So what if she was a grumpy sprite. The underlying pallor to her skin and the smudges beneath her eyes kept him from trying to cajole her out of it. She needed a bed, and some alone time away from the rest of the world.
“The ferry is so much bigger than I’d expected.”
“Aye,” he said. “Caledonian MacBrayne is the main ferry s
ervice used to cross over to Uists. Here, further north in Mallaig, and even farther, from Uig on Skye.”
“The Uists?”
“Part of the Outer Hebrides. Lewis and Harris is the northern most island.”
“Harris. As in Harris tweed?”
He nodded. “As in exactly that. It is all woven there.”
“On the island itself?”
He nodded. “By law, it must be woven by loom in the weaver’s own home.”
“Wow. That’s—I had no idea.”
He nodded again. “It used to be the wool was all sheared and spun on the island as well. They passed the Harris Tweed Act sometime back, which allows them to use wool from other places, but it must meet a strict set of standards. The resultant product is reviewed by inspectors from the Harris Tweed Authority—”
“Wait. They have tweed inspectors?”
He nodded, amused by her expression. “Aye. If it meets their strict standards, it receives the Orb Mark, which means it’s acceptable for use in making Harris Tweed products. It’s all highly regulated, but we take great pride in the result.”
“I can well imagine. That’s amazing, actually. That it still exists today, following the same standards, and hasn’t been mechanized by modern technology. It’s wonderful, really.”
He smiled. “Aye, it is that and more. I’m glad you think of it that way as well. It will help you better understand my tie to Kinloch, both ancestral and personal. Harris Tweed is quite similar to our own, albeit much smaller industry. We are not bound by such a strict set of laws, but we have our own strictures and guidelines. We’re likewise known for the quality control and the weaving itself, which is all done in similar fashion to the tweed—in the home of the weaver.”
“You make wool fabric on Kinloch, too?”
He shook his head. “Our industry is artisan basketry.”
“Artisan…baskets? Made out of wool?”
He laughed. “No, I’ve gotten ye all confused. Our baskets are made from linen, which originates with the flaxseed plant. After harvest, it’s spun, dyed, and waxed, then run onto spools in a heavy thread form.”
“You make baskets. From thread.”
He nodded. “They are works of art more than for functional use. We still control every aspect of the process, right on the island. I’ll be happy to show you, once we’re home.” In fact, he had every intention of showing her the foundation upon which he’d built his life. All his learning, all his energy and focus had revolved around maintaining and continuing the success of their heritage industry, to keep Kinloch thriving and to preserve what he saw as an important ancestral art.
“Oh, I want to see it. That sounds amazing.”
“I happen to think it is, but you’ll judge for yourself.”
She turned back to the rail as the engines of the ferry revved strongly to life, indicating they were about to debark port. “I had no idea. Baskets. From linen thread.” She looked up at him over her shoulder, where he’d moved in to stand closely behind her at the rail. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, it hadn’t come up as yet. I had every intention. It’s the reason I came to find ye.”
“The basket weaving?”
“It’s the foundation of the economy on our island. We’ve struggled. I’ve devoted my life’s work to finding ways to improve the consistency of the crop output and protect it from blight. My grandfather spent all his later years trying to get us back after a particularly harsh blight almost brought life on Kinloch to an end. I’m still helping us rebound, and trying to keep it from happening again, so we can confidently solidify our hold on the market. Using the modern technology we can employ, namely the Internet, we’re growing to a worldwide market.”
She shook her head, appearing a bit in disbelief. “It’s an incredible story, Graham.”
“I don’t know about that, but it is my story.”
The boat moved just then, and while he was prepared from past experience, she wasn’t. So when there was a tug and a jerk as the boat began its progress away from the slip dock, Katie was forced to grab the rail momentarily to steady herself.
Graham immediately took hold of her shoulders to assist her, but after she righted herself, he found himself reluctant to release her.
So…he didn’t.
And she didn’t move away.
He wondered what excuse he would find to touch her, hold her, when they weren’t at the mercy of unpredictable vehicle movement. He continued to brace her as they proceeded slowly across the harbor, toward the strait that ran between the mainland and the outer islands, which were becoming more visible in the distance.
He looked down at Katie as she watched the world unfold in front of her. His world. She was a stranger to him, and to the island way of life he held so dear. A way of life that she held in her slender hands. He watched as she looked back at the very picturesque Oban harbor town of Port Appin, with its rows of old stone homes and shops that lined the shore. They scattered up into the hills, the crest of which was topped by the coliseum-style remains of McCaig’s Folly.
“It’s truly beautiful here, Graham,” she said, with sincere awe in her voice.
Her comment spurred the pride of his homeland that always coursed through him, but, on that occasion, he felt it a bit more keenly. “It will be far more quaint when we ferry from Castlebay over to Kinloch. You’ll get your more traditional boat ride then.” He smiled. “You might wish you were back on the CalMac.”
“Possibly,” she said, but it was clear she was still distracted by the view. She turned her head the full range until she’d taken in the entire skyline. “It’s lovely. Absolutely breathtaking.”
He smiled, happy that she was taken with the view. He found it irresistible, but then he was somewhat biased. “Wait until ye see the outer islands, Barra, Vatersay, then Kinloch. I think you’ll see why I’m going to such lengths to preserve our way of life there.” At least he hoped so.
She turned just enough to look up at him. It moved her more deeply into the protective stance of his body, which stirred instantly and quite insistently to life. He shifted, just a bit, but kept his gaze on hers. And kept his lower body just out of accidental brushing range. More stimulation was unwise at the moment—especially seeing as he apparently had no consistent discipline whatsoever where she was concerned. At that very moment, he still had his hands on her, and she was allowing the contact to continue.
“I know I might not seem it,” she said, mercifully drawing thoughts away from the insistent state of his body. “But I am looking forward to seeing it. All of it. I know the circumstances of why I’m here are a bit daunting to me, and I’m guessing to you as well, so I’m sorry for being anxious about all that. But the rest, if it looks anything like this…” She let her words drift off as she once again took in the harbor view, and beyond to the islands in the west.
He leaned down so his head was more on par with hers, and reached past her shoulder to point. “Those are part of the Inner Hebrides. Mull and Lismore. Once we’re past that into the Sea of the Hebrides, you’ll get sight of Coll, and your first look at Barra, and when we’re a bit closer still, you’ll see Kinloch to the south and west.”
“I can see why this place calls to you,” she said quietly, as they continued slowly chugging their way up the channel between Mull and Lismore. “It’s different in so many ways from Annapolis, and yet when I come home from being out on the water, there is such a pull there for me.” She glanced up again. “So, I understand why there is one here, for you.”
She hadn’t even gotten to the outer islands, as yet, he thought. Castlebay was a comparatively large, thriving village. The journey beyond that point was going to be quite a bit more rustic compared to the view in front of her. Katie came from wealth and privilege. Though she seemed quite down to earth and pleased by the elemental aspects of what lay in front of her…he wasn’t quite sure that pleasure would remain once she realized there wasn’t a Mayfair hotel suite waiting for her a
t the end of their journey. Hell, there wasn’t even central heating.
“Perhaps we do share that in common,” he said, though privately he wondered if the similarity began and ended with their respective homes being waterfront bound.
“How does Port Appin here in Oban compare with Castlebay on Barra, or…what is the port town on Kinloch?
“Aiobhneas.” When her brow knitted, he clarified. “Gaelic. Roughly translated, it means joy.”
“It sounds beautiful when you say it. I wouldn’t even try,” she said, with a self-deprecating smile he found charming. It deepened the hint of a dimple in her chin.
“Do you speak the language fluently?” she asked.
He nodded. “It’s been an unfortunate victim of progress, and is dying on the mainland. Up in the western Highlands, and farther north, as well as out in the Hebrides, it’s still a strong part of our culture and in many cases, especially with our older clansmen and women, the predominant language spoken. On Kinloch, you’ll see, the road signs and local buildings, menus, and the like, will have either Gaelic only, or both Gaelic and English. Our local news and the paper are in Gaelic as well.”
Katie sighed, but she was still smiling. “Great, something else to worry about.”
“Dinnae worry,” he said, with a laugh, “they all speak English as well. Though, perhaps, a very heavily accented version to your ears. You’ll be able to make yourself understood.”
She smiled, then turned back to look at the view outward toward the sea, her body shifting ever so slightly closer to his. “So, compare Oban to Castlebay, and to…Port Joy,” she finished with a laugh.
He laughed with her. “’Tis a lovely ring to it. Oban is far bigger, with residents numbering in the thousands. Eight or more thousand, at least. Castlebay is the largest village on Barra, and the main port of call, but the island, along with its sister island, Vatarsay, totals little over a thousand people.”
Some Like It Scot Page 14
