Some Like It Scot

by Donna Kauffman

  She reached out to touch his arm again, to reassure him of her sincerity, and he stepped back without thought, instinctively protecting himself against a repeat of whatever the hell had happened on the docks. Her expression fell, and he saw the hurt flash in her eyes before he could think to adjust the knee-jerk action.

  “I’m the sorry one,” he said, his sigh one of self-directed disgust. “I am—I haven’t been right since the docks, but it’s no’ because of—” He broke off again. He wasn’t seriously considering telling her what had happened, was he?

  He lifted his gaze to her face then, and found himself instantly lost. Emotions he couldn’t completely understand, much less put a name to, swirled in an eddy of confusion inside him. There was pleasure. He felt the punch of it every time he looked at her. The strength was entirely disproportionate to time spent or knowledge gained of each other, as if she was someone he’d long felt affection toward. There was also a sense of unequivocal trust. As if he could tell her anything. As if he’d long made a practice of it. She felt like someone far more bonded to him than a sworn friend or ally. None of that made any sense. Yet every time he looked at her, those were the things he felt.

  “Graham—”

  “We need to talk, Katie,” he said, abruptly putting an end to his silly ruminations and irrational feelings. He didn’t need to tell her about the latest vision he’d had on the docks. That would forever stay with him—like a bad dream that forever haunts. “There are things we need to discuss. Now. Before morning.”

  “What—”

  They were interrupted by Mrs. Ardingall, who bustled in with a tray in her arms. “I’ll be happy to carry this up,” she said, seemingly unaware of the tension in the room.

  “No need,” Katie said, easily enough, and took the tray from her. “I can take care of it. We appreciate you going to all this trouble.”

  The woman beamed at the two of them. If she noticed the visible strain, she was professional enough not to let it show. “No trouble a’tall. If there’s anything I can do for the two of you, you’ve only to ring me. Good night.”

  They nodded, she nodded, and proving her innkeeper skills were long ingrained and second nature, she quietly left them.

  “This smells heavenly,” Katie said, all but groaning as she took a deep, appreciative sniff. “Maybe we should just eat, get a good night’s rest, and talk through things, what comes next, in the morning. I know we’ll both feel a lot more human—”

  “I’ve made some decisions. Concerning us. Concerning you.” He snagged the handle of the suitcase. “We’ll talk upstairs, while we eat.”

  Chapter 11

  Katie wanted to tell Graham he could take his Neanderthal routine and shove it where the sun didn’t shine. But given he was the one sponsoring both the bed she was about to sleep in, and the very delicious-smelling meal she was about to eat, she thought better of giving him a piece of her mind right then and there.

  But she made no promises for later.

  Their room was on the top floor and more long and narrow than the big, more spacious design of hotel rooms back home. Of course it was an inn, not a true hotel, and the narrow, row-house style building it was housed in was likely older than pretty much anything currently standing in the U.S. At that point in her two-day journey, she was thankful it had electricity and running water.

  Actually, truth be told, it was rather quaint and lovely, in a provincial sort of way. She was too hungry, though, to give it a thorough checking out. The small sandwich she’d eaten on the ferry had barely taken the edge off her hunger. She’d felt a bit pitchy with the roll of the boat and decided a big meal was probably not a good idea under those circumstances. She knew it was merely fatigue. McAuleys didn’t get seasick. Rather than fight it, she’d found a place near the front of the boat to sit and had ended up staying there the entire time. Thinking.

  She wished she’d come to more hard, fast conclusions about the sudden, complete turnaround her life had taken, but the sandwich hadn’t taken that big an edge off the fatigue and critical thinking had turned out to be beyond her. Thinking about Graham, however, was not a problem. She’d taken some time away from him to focus on her big-picture issues…so what had she done? Spent the whole time away from him, thinking about him.

  It had been odd. For a while she was so zoned in on him, the rest of the world simply fell away. She’d recalled those moments out of time with him, the ones that didn’t seem to jibe, with the man he was the rest of the time. Both sides of him equally intrigued her. She wished she could make more sense of it, of that…connection they seemed to share. One she couldn’t seem to shake, even when she finally had some time to herself. It was like she was fixated on the guy.

  At the moment, however, she was feeling more pissy than swoony, so she carefully fixated on her stew instead, and one of the quite yummy crusty rolls Mrs. Ardingall had served with it.

  “So,” he said, at length, after each of them had devoured half of what was on their plates and in their bowls. “First, let me say I’ve admired you since we first crossed paths.”

  Katie lowered her spoon as her stomach slowly began to knot. He sounded…ominous. “Thank you,” she said, not masking her sudden wariness.

  “I know we’ve both been reared in situations that require a lifelong allegiance to something that has been handed to us as a result of our birth, rather than having the opportunity to choose a path based on our own desires. I also know that mine is one I embrace, while I understand why yours is not. Given the lengths your family would go to, to put their needs over your happiness and general welfare, I believe you did the only thing you could have, by extricating yourself from that life, and the obligations that went with it.”

  Katie stopped pretending she could eat and put her spoon down altogether. “I’m glad you agree. As I am thankful you happened to come along when you did, and provided me with an escape route.”

  He stopped picking at his roll, and looked directly at her. “Had I no’, would you have still fled the chapel?”

  “I—” She broke off, and thought back to how she’d felt, why she’d left the church to storm about the prayer garden, as she tried to build a sturdy spine where only a limp noodle had been residing. Even with Graham there, making the offer he did, she’d still opted to go back inside the church with her limp noodle of a spine and marry Blaine anyway. She sighed. “I honestly don’t know. I know it was my intent to go through with it. It seemed like the easiest course of action for all concerned, and it was what Blaine wanted. I…” She trailed off, then lifted a shoulder as she picked up her own roll and began breaking off bits of the hard crust into what was left of her stew.

  The silence continued as he allowed her time to gather her thoughts. Finally, she looked up and met his gaze. “I’d like to think when it came time to actually pledge vows I knew I didn’t mean, not in the way they were intended to bond two people together, that I’d have balked. I’d like to think I’d finally found that strength inside myself. But I don’t know, Graham. I know with absolute certainty that that’s what I wanted to do. But that’s all I know.” She put the shredded roll down. “I don’t know how much there is to admire about that. Why do you bring it up?”

  He held her gaze, but it was a moment before he said, “Because that is the same courage and strength of spine I should have displayed, when my compatriots were pushing me to fulfill demands put in place over four centuries ago, pushing me to abandon my own beliefs. I knew that running off to another country to track down a woman I’d never met, in order to ask for her hand, was literally the most insane idea anyone had ever proposed to me. At any other time, I wouldnae have considered it for more than the length of time it had taken to spout it. I’d have had a good laugh, then gone back to figuring out how to achieve my goals my own way.

  “Yet, in that moment, with the entire island anticipating I’d ensure my continued reign as their leader by doing the right thing, which in their collective minds meant clinging to an
outdated and unneeded ancient stricture, followed by Iain’s sudden arrival and quite arrogant claim that he intended to best me by doing that very thing…suddenly that insane plan sounded like a lifeline. Even then, I didn’t want to grab it. I wanted to find a way to accomplish the same goals but in a way I thought better for everyone all around. But I was afraid I’d drown before being allowed the grace time to do so. So I grabbed the lifeline instead.”

  “What are you saying, Graham?”

  “I’m saying I should have stood my ground. I should have shown the exact leadership qualities that a good clan laird must have if he’s to guide and lead his clanspeople forward with any kind of true direction. I know the direction we should take. I know it. And—”

  “Marrying me isn’t it,” Katie said, wondering why she felt neither dread nor relief. In fact, she sat there feeling kind of numb.

  “No,” he said quietly, his expression bleak and apologetic. “No, ’tis no’.”

  “Graham—”

  He lifted a hand to stall her reply. “Allow me to say the rest. For a man charged with seeing to the well-being of an island full of people, I did you a grave disservice by not seeing to yours as well. I should have thought this through more clearly, but time was of the essence, so off I trotted, hoping, I suppose, to figure it out as I went. I assuaged my guilt in heading in a direction I didn’t feel one hundred percent certain about, by telling myself I’d propose it as a business arrangement, somehow thinking it would be okay if we both personally benefitted from the legal union. It would seem, on first view, that you’d be the last potential candidate for such an arrangement given the situation you were fleeing. Yet, by the very act of running off, you were immediately put in a position of needing my largesse to reestablish yourself. Miraculous, all around, that the stars would seem to line up to aid and abet something that couldn’t possibly be seen as right either here on earth or up in the heavens. Yet, here we both are, considering the insane as if it were actually an okay, forthright, even noble choice.”

  “What was it that changed your mind back to your original viewpoint?” Katie asked.

  His gaze shifted then, taking in each feature of her face, seeming to linger on her mouth, before drifting down over the rest of her. It was as if he was actually touching her, so electric and vibrant were the sensations that followed in the wake of his gaze.

  Not so numb any longer.

  He looked away, as if realizing belatedly what he was doing, but her body didn’t calm down as abruptly. How did he do that? How was it that just a look from the man could rile up her entire system? It wasn’t just the hormonal reaction of a woman looking at a hot guy who happened to be looking back with smoldering intent. Though that certainly was part of it. No, it was more of that connection she’d been thinking about earlier. It went further, and deeper…though she couldn’t begin to explain why, even to herself.

  Insanity apparently was not the exclusive mindset of the guy sitting across from her. The one who’d traipsed around the globe and back wearing full, formal kilt regalia.

  Graham looked away, just as her nipples tightened to painful buds, and inner thigh muscles quivered as a renewed ache bloomed between them. She took that moment to look down as well, and get herself under some kind of control. But her thoughts, if not her actual gaze, were sliding over to the part of their room where a large brass bed dominated the narrow space. And, as if she had some kind of supernatural powers—which didn’t seem as far-fetched in that moment as it should—she watched as Graham’s gaze slowly moved toward the bed as well, as if she’d willed his attention there.

  She tracked his gaze with hers, and the instant they both landed on the bed, she heard him swear.

  “Bloody hell, no’ again.”

  She swung her head back around to look at him, but though he was still staring at the bed, his expression told her his thoughts were obviously elsewhere. Somewhere far, far away, if the lost expression on his face was any indication. She’d seen that expression on him once before, she realized—when they’d been standing down by the slip dock.

  She’d been trying to get his attention after the quite charming old man who’d agreed to give them a lift into town waved them over to board his paneled truck. It had been interesting to see Graham cast in the role he was probably quite used to. It might have been harder to wrap her head around the deference that was paid to ancient titles like clan laird, if he hadn’t been wearing the kilt and full clan regalia at the time. Instead, in both stature and bearing, he’d appeared every bit the leader and chief who’d command exactly the kind of deference the older man had bestowed upon him.

  She’d been around Graham long enough to know that the bowing and scraping hadn’t sat well on him. He hadn’t wanted to insult the older man, who clearly enjoyed having the chance to be of service to someone he had such traditional respect for, so Graham had let the much smaller, older man scurry about, loading all of her endless pieces of stupid luggage into the back of his truck.

  When she’d tried to alert Graham a few minutes later to the fact that Barnaby—at least that’s what she thought he’d told her his name was, he was almost impossible to understand—was trying to get them on board, she’d seen the exact same lost-in-thought expression.

  “Graham?”

  He didn’t respond, didn’t look at her. Nor had he when she’d spoken to him at the dock. She’d assumed, so close to home, his thoughts had gone to what lay immediately ahead for them. It was right after that, after he’d snapped out of his reverie, that he’d turned grumpy and taciturn. A mood that had clung to him since then.

  “Graham?” she said again, with a bit more insistence.

  His gaze was locked on the bed, though she’d bet his thoughts were far, far away.

  She lifted a hand to touch him, to shake him from that odd stupor, only to curl her fingers inward and pull her hand back. She wasn’t sure why she was so certain that touching him would not be a good thing, but there had been a distinct chill that raced down her spine the instant her hand had come close to his arm. Yet it didn’t preclude, much less dampen the taut nipples and aching need.

  “Graham,” she said, again, louder and with a bit of panic thrown in for good measure. She wasn’t understanding any of it. She felt rational of thought and perfectly in control…yet there was a sense she was teetering on the edge of something else, something far bigger, far greater, and well beyond her control. “Graham!”

  It wasn’t unusual-odd any longer, it was scary-odd. Graham didn’t do so much as blink. It was as if he were in a trance. Panic overrode the warning chill and she took hold of his forearm. “Snap out of it,” she ordered, more from fear than from anger.

  The next thing she knew he’d yanked her up against his body and strode them both across the room, where he came quite close to tossing her on the bed—except, at the last second he held on and followed her down, the weight of him on top of her oppressive…but not at all unwelcome. In fact, where the ache had bloomed, the hot punch of lust was so swift and powerful it took her breath away.

  In her head, she was struggling and fighting against his sudden ardor, but in reality, she was clinging to his shoulders and holding on for dear life, as if more afraid of him leaving her, than…whatever the hell it was he thought he was going to do.

  “What are you about?” he ordered, trapping her face between his hands and staring wildly into her eyes.

  Was he awake? Was he still in that weird trance-like place? She couldn’t tell. The laserlike aim of his gaze—all molten lavender at the moment—was intent and quite focused on her.

  “I don’t know,” she said, breathlessly—only partly due to the weight of him bearing her deeply into the soft, down-filled duvet. She dug her fingers deeply into his densely muscled shoulders. “What do you want, Graham?”

  “Why are ye plaguing me? Haunting me? What’ve I done to call you forth? Leave me be, I’ve enough to worry about, dinnae ye ken?”

  “Plaguing you—what?” She
realized he was talking to her, imploring her, even angry with her…except she didn’t think it was her he was really communicating with.

  “I’m growing afraid of my own shadow,” he continued. “Afraid to breathe, afraid to reach out and touch, for fear you’ll drag me back to this place. Just tell me what you want of me so I can do it and be done with ye, done with—this!”

  “I-I don’t know,” she told him, shaken by his intensity. “Graham, it’s me. Katie. I—”

  “No, it’s no’ you. It’s…I dinnae know who or what you are. Ye’ve her look, her sound, but ye’re no’ my Katie.”

  My Katie? My Katie?

  “Graham, wake up!” she said, her thoughts as jumbled as her nerves…and her hormones. Having two hundred plus pounds of aggressive Scot on top of her was doing all kinds of things to her ability to breathe, and almost none of them had to do with his size. “You’re dreaming, or—or something. It’s okay, we’re in Castlebay, at the inn. You don’t have to worry. I understand about your need to do things your way. I’m not going to interfere, Graham.”

  He snorted at that. “Interfere? Ye’ve already done that. I want it to stop, I want—”

  She managed to free her hands from his shoulders, and placed them on his face gently, but firmly. “Graham, look at me. It’s me,” she implored. “It’s okay.”