Some Like It Scot

by Donna Kauffman

  Colm led the charge across the ramp to the dock. The rain had let up, but was still there in the form of a heavy mist hanging damply in the cool afternoon air. The sun was making an effort to break completely through, but was losing the battle more often than winning it. Graham motioned Katie on in front of him, then he brought up the rear. It was only when they stopped on the dock and unloaded, so they could go back for a second round, that Graham realized in all their breathless, hormonally charged chatter, they hadn’t actually decided on how they were going to approach things in the village.

  It was one thing to beg her to stay with him, which is exactly where he wanted her, and quite another to bring her to Kinloch, introduce her as a McAuley, then install her in his home while he went about trying to get them to agree to abolish the Marriage Pact law. It wasn’t the complication of doing that while having her under his roof giving him pause, but how such an arrangement might alter the perception his clanspeople would have of her—and not in a favorable way. He never wanted her to be anything less than well respected, well liked, and, hopefully, well loved. He didn’t want to sabotage the one chance she had there because he couldn’t keep his hands off her.

  So…did he explain as much and get her a room? Of course, she’d insist on paying for it. If circumstances were different, he wouldn’t mind her taking care of her own needs if that’s what she wanted to do. He had no idea how much money she’d gotten back for the aborted honeymoon. Given her stay was open-ended, he doubted it was enough to fund a room for any extended time, and leave much for essentials—food and the sort. All of which he’d be more than happy to help with, if she’d let him. But he wasn’t holding out much hope on that front.

  “Wait here with the bags,” he said. “I’ll go back with Colm and get the last of it.”

  “I can—”

  “I know you can,” he said, smiling, “but I’m willing. And they’re the biggest ones left.”

  “Okay,” she said with a smile. “If you insist.”

  “See?” he teased. “No’ so hard as all that.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him, making him chuckle. “Is there someone I can talk to about arranging transportation into town,” she asked, “or—”

  “Dinnae worry about it, there will be someone to help with that.”

  “Like Barnaby-type help?” she asked, sincerely curious about the older man’s willing, if embarrassing obeisance.

  He supposed it was a curious thing to her, the role he played there. He was long used to the respect accorded to the person in his position. Even though he’d never been completely comfortable with it, he’d learned to graciously accept what they considered gestures of respect. He realized in doing so, he was showing them respect in return, proving he could be trusted to take the role as seriously as they did.

  “It is a way of life here,” he told her, “that social structure, so it’s possible, yes. Does that bother you?” he asked, also sincere.

  She shook her head. “I think it’s rather sweet, especially as it seems sincere and not a false front put on because of social dictates. You have no idea how refreshing that is to me.”

  His smile flashed more broadly. “Good. Keep that in mind as we head into the village.”

  She laughed. “I’ll do my best.”

  He stepped closer, so he could speak and only be heard by her. “I was thinking that perhaps we should consider getting you a room in the village, at first. No’ because I dinnae want you with me, and no’ because of the abolishment proceedings. But so you can go about meeting everyone and—”

  “Make a good first impression before I start shacking up with their leader?” She laughed when his eyes widened. “You’re very cute when you’re embarrassed. But that is what you meant, right?”

  “Um, aye. I suppose. Though I might have worded it differently.”

  “You really are adorable when flustered. It makes you an easy target. I’m just saying.”

  He smiled, charmed by her despite the heat he could feel in his face. “I’ll consider myself forewarned then.”

  “So, do you have any recommendations on where I should stay?”

  “Well, lad, if ye dinnae have the answer to that one, perhaps I could be of greater service.”

  Graham hadn’t even seen him approach. “Roan,” he called out as his trusted friend came up the dock. He felt momentarily disconcerted, which was silly given that Roan was going to be one of the easiest hearts she’d have the opportunity to win.

  His friend gave him a hug and a back slap. “That was a fast turnaround, mate.” He turned to face Katie. “Miss Katie McAuley, I presume?” He nudged Graham in the side. “I must admit,” he said from the side of his mouth, “I didn’t think ye’d pull this off. Owe Shay money now, I do.” He stepped forward before Graham could respond, extending his hand as he did. “A great pleasure to meet you,” he said, his charm on full tilt. “Welcome to Kinloch.”

  Katie’s gaze darted from Roan, to Graham, and back to Roan as he stopped directly in front of her. She shook his hand. “Thank you. The pleasure is mine, I assure you. You’re a good friend of Graham’s, right?”

  Roan covered his heart. “He’s no’ been tellin’ tales, has he? I swear, I’m no’ half so bad as he’s made me out to be.”

  Katie smiled. “He’s said nothing of the sort.”

  Looking at Roan’s joyous expression told Graham his friend thought it was all tidily sewn up. He was going to have to arrange a private meeting and quickly.

  “Roan McAuley,” he introduced himself. “We’re distant relatives, in fact.”

  Her smile widened. “That’s wonderful.”

  Roan took her arm and turned her toward the road that led into the village, and beyond to Graham’s ancestral properties. “I’ve brought the lorry, so we can get ye out to Graham’s and settled,” he was saying as he simply left Graham behind, ostensibly to handle the luggage.

  Graham scowled. Roan was famous for managing to be elsewhere when the heavy lifting began, claiming he was best employed as the brains of any organized effort. He overheard what Roan was saying, and jumped forward to correct his mistaken assumption, only to hear Katie say, “Thank you for the assistance. It’s appreciated. I have a bit more luggage than you might imagine, so I hope there’s room.”

  Roan shot a look at Graham over his shoulder and winked broadly, then smiled back to Katie chattering away, as he escorted her toward the side of the road where he’d parked his lorry.

  Colm came up to stand beside Graham. “This is the rest of them.”

  Graham turned to find the lad had brought up the last two bags while he’d been watching Roan and Katie. “Good.” He pulled out a few pound notes and folded them into Colm’s hand. “I’d appreciate some help gettin’ Miss McAuley’s luggage out to Roan’s lorry.”

  Colm nodded, quite serious once again. He handed the money back to Graham. “No need to pay me,” he said, then looked past Graham to where Katie stood, laughing and talking with Roan as if they were old friends. “Will she be stayin’ on here?”

  Graham looked from Katie to Colm’s face, and sighed inwardly. Poor pup was already stricken with it. Graham would have been amused, if he wasn’t feeling much the same way. “Aye,” he said. “That she will.”

  Colm sighed. “She’s quite beautiful. Like a fairy and a goddess, all wrapped into one.”

  “How very…poetic of you,” Graham said, his lips quirking. The threat of the smile faded as he turned to look at Katie once again. Her hair looked gilded in the early afternoon sun, as it peeked out at last from behind the receding clouds. Her smile was bright, and he could see how brightly blue her eyes were, even from that distance. He felt a sharp tug in the vicinity of his heart. “And most accurate,” he added.

  Colm nodded, and both men sighed before turning to put their backs into hauling Katie’s luggage. One last time.

  Chapter 16

  The lorry ride was similar to the last one she’d taken with Barnaby. She was sque
ezed between two men, thigh to hip with Graham, who appeared a bit moody, just as before, and there was a charming man telling charming stories—although she could actually understand almost everything Roan was saying. The only difference was Roan McAuley was not a short, stout, balding leprechaun of a man, as Barnaby was. Quite the opposite.

  He was an inch or two shorter than Graham, so still topping six feet, but whereas Graham was a big, brawny guy, Roan was lanky and lean, with a whipcord look to him. His hair was dark, like Graham’s, but he had lively green eyes, a fast smile, and dimples to die for. He was quick to laugh, and quicker still to make her laugh. In fact, the only laughter not filling the crammed cab of his truck was Graham’s.

  She thought he’d be happy to be home, happy to be back in the embrace of friends and familiar faces. While he wasn’t scowling, or upset, he was letting his friend do all the talking.

  Roan had known who she was, and she remembered he was the one to track down her whereabouts, so that made sense. Still, it was odd to think they had blood relatives in common, however ancient the tie might be. As they were driving through the land of her ancestors, Roan kept up a running commentary, telling her everything she could ever want to know about the island, its stormy history, even the legend behind the Marriage Pact.

  She’d felt Graham tense beside her during that brief part of the conversation, but had already figured out it was not the time to tell Roan they weren’t going to honor the pact. In fact, Graham wanted to have the whole thing repealed. She’d leave that for Graham, as she’d assumed he’d want her to.

  They drove through the port village of, well, she was still calling it Port Joy. She hadn’t been able to clearly get it from hearing Roan say the name. The port village was the only one on the small island. From there, the island road wound through the short, narrow valley created by the twin peaks that rose from either end of the island. One was much taller and larger than the other, but the convenient arrangement of that topography led to growing the flax that was harvested, spun, and died into a thick, waxy thread and woven into the baskets the small island was becoming famous for. She hadn’t understood, beyond the unique thread used, what made their baskets so special. Listening to Roan describe their beauty in much greater detail, she found herself anxious to see some of the handiwork.

  “Ahead is Graham’s property. The low stone walls are an auld mark of the property lines, but essentially everything from the west end of the valley, over the mountain and out to the shore belongs to The MacLeod.”

  She took in the view. It was awesome in the purest sense of the word. She turned to Graham. “It’s beautiful, your home.”

  His attention had been fixed out the side window, and he nodded, said a quiet, “thank you,” but continued to keep his own counsel. She wondered if he was upset that she’d allowed Roan’s assumption that she was staying with Graham go unchallenged. Despite being touched by Graham’s gentlemanly sensibilities, the truth of the matter was, they were unattached adults and it was the twenty-first century.

  Roan didn’t seem remotely put out by the notion of them staying together and had, in fact, assumed it quite naturally and easily. It had seemed to her, rather than mount any kind of pretense they weren’t interested in each other personally—they’d been ever-so-successful with that so far—she’d grabbed the opportunity that had arisen.

  It was not the time to pursue whatever the reason was for his reticence. She turned back to Roan. “When the other clan has the chief in power, do they take this property?”

  He shook his head. “The McAuley has property that mirrors this, at the other end of the valley. It wraps around Ben Domchaidh, the smaller of the two peaks. MacLeod’s valley has the flax crops and supports the crofters, while The McAuley oversees the fishing boats and the village.”

  “Sounds like a fair split. How is it determined which clan laird is in power?”

  “It always passes down through family first, and only changes over when there is no direct heir.”

  “How long has it been since a McAuley laird was in power?”

  “Nigh on three quarters of a century. Before Graham’s great grandfather, ’twas a McAuley then.”

  “There’s no competitive thing going on between them?”

  “No, the Marriage Pact sees to that.”

  “Because whoever is in power is always married to someone from the other clan.”

  “Precisely.”

  Katie quickly changed the subject before Roan could push it in a more personal direction. “So, tell me, what is it that you do here? Graham said something about marketing. Is that for your basket industry?”

  “Aye. I see to the marketing of our baskets worldwide. We’ve grown leaps and bounds since the advent of the Internet. I do my best to get us into the various travel guides as well as the Scottish heritage shopping networks, which are legion. They are especially popular in your country, and north, in Canada. Because the marketing ties so closely with the tourism angle, I also oversee that element as well.”

  “In terms of promotion?”

  “In terms of all of it. I’ll help visitors book their stay, whatever excursions they might find of interest, as well as their extended travel plans in the rest of the U.K. if necessary.”

  “Does Kinloch do a heavy tourist trade?”

  “Fair, but it’s no’ the backbone of our economy. That would be the artisan baskets. Frankly, it’s the baskets that are the tourist lure. We’re a wee island without much more to offer, no’ in comparison to the chain as it extends north. So, the two are truly a joint venture.”

  Katie nodded, taking it all in. “Well, it’s a beautiful home you have here,” she said, meaning it sincerely. “All of Kinloch.” What she’d seen of the island was like a perfect little Highland paradise, with the mountains soaring left and right, but an island paradise, too, surrounded by the beautiful blue sea.

  “Thank you,” Roan said, clearly pleased with her assessment.

  Katie cast a quick glance at Graham, but he seemed quite absorbed by the view beyond his passenger window, which was field after field of the flax they grew to support their industry. His crops, she thought, realizing he was probably already fast back to work in his head. Not that she could blame him.

  No one had said a word about Iain. She wasn’t going to be the one to bring him up, but she was dying to know what his status was. Roan had been quite the gentleman concerning the reasons for her arrival on the island, too. She wasn’t about to bring that up, either.

  “Do you have a catalogue, or a website for the baskets? I’d love to see—” She broke off on a gasp as they came around a tight bend in the road, wrapping almost right up to the base of the mountain. A sudden push up into a higher plateau of the valley appeared, wedged narrow and tight between a gouge-like crease in the mountain. In the center sat an ancient stone castle, with fortress-like walls, cornered with tall, skinny turrets, flat along the boundary tops. The chimneys and peaks of the building—or buildings within the four walls—barely peeked over the tops. “Wow.”

  “That’s Flaithbheartach,” Roan announced, rather proudly and grandly, even for him. “Graham’s ancestral abode.”

  “I’m not even going to try and pronounce that,” she said on a laugh.

  “Gaelic, for lordly dominion. More or less.” Roan said it again, slowly sounding it out.

  “Fly-vyurk-tuck?”

  Roan chuckled. “You’ll have it in no time.”

  She smiled. “I’ll take your word on that.” She looked back to the castle. It was forbidding, to say the least. Certainly not a fairy castle or anything Disney would have dreamt up. It was a fortress, intended as a defense first, practical if not exactly a romantic vision. Positioned as it was, she could see how well and truly it would have accomplished that job. It might not have been the fancy, flag waving, multi-mullioned castle that dreams were made of, but there was something about the place, the valley, the fortress castle, all of it, that made something deep and powerful rumble
through her. “It’s stunning,” she said, feeling her heart rate kick up as they drew ever closer.

  “It’s crumbling.” Graham said the first words he’d uttered of his own volition since they’d climbed in the truck.

  “How old is it?” she asked him, not wanting him to retreat back to silence, now that he’d decided to join in. Though she’d thoroughly enjoyed Roan’s sunny, cruise director disposition, the viewpoint she truly wanted, was Graham’s. “Has it been in MacLeod possession continuously?”

  “For the past six and a quarter centuries, aye.”

  “I can’t wrap my head around that, not truly. My family is considered one of the oldest in Maryland, and we’re just in our third century as Americans, though we’ve only had the current family home and property since the turn of the last century. That is considered old—really old.” She laughed, then sighed again as she watched the castle come into clear view as they climbed up toward it. “More than twice the time of our entire history…and under the conditions of a much harsher time. I can’t even imagine.”

  “’Tis a compelling story,” Roan began, but Katie cut him off with a brief touch on his arm.

  She wanted to hear that story from Graham. It was his home, his history. Everything about it compelled her to share it with him. She didn’t question that certainty too much, not wanting to distract herself from what had thus far been a lovely final leg to her long journey.

  “Does the McAuley clan have something similar at the other end of the island?” she asked Roan, hoping he didn’t think her rude for interrupting.

  “No, this is the island stronghold. Both clans have used it as defense against outside aggression, but the direct line of ownership has always been MacLeod. We have what amounts to a rather extended manor home, with all sorts of wings and floors and such added and built onto it over the centuries. It doesn’t have the same battle history as Flaithbheartach and only the core part of the house is still the original structure. Fire, flood, and extreme weather has no’ been kind to the McAuley stronghold, but we’ve the abbey and the tower that falls under our purview to maintain. The tower dates back to the fifteenth century, same as this stronghold, but the abbey is even older, built in the twelfth century. It’s since been discovered that it was built on top of what was once a Pictish henge.”