Plaid Nights Anthology

by Torquere Press LLC

  “Yup.” He put a hand on my shoulder and we started back toward the rental car he’d insisted on. “Just so ye know, I paid off yer debt.”

  “What?”

  “I figured since we were here anyhow, I’d take care of it.”

  “Oh. Where did you get that much money?”

  “Didn’t use any money, promised him a clean slate.”

  I blinked and stopped walking. Marcas turned to look at me, eyebrows raised.

  “What?” he prodded.

  “You can’t do that! He’s a criminal.”

  “Aye, and so are ye.”

  I swallowed. “That’s not the point. He’s a very bad man.”

  A sly smile spread across his face. “I didna intend to let him go, Cary. I called in a favor while ye were sleeping on the train. Yer fella there is about to be arrested for smuggling, gun running and few other things. He’ll get a clean slate all right, once he’s done his time.”

  “His boys will still come after me for the debt,” I replied. “That doesn’t solve it at all.”

  “I’ll have ye know that when I promise to do something, I do it right. Yer debt willna be a problem anymore. Ye have my word.”

  “But you’re not going to give me details, are you?”

  He shook his head. “Best if ye don’t know it all.”

  “Fine. Let’s get to Glasgow before I decide to stop helping you.”

  “Oh? Ye think ye could do that?” He put his hand on my cheek and leaned over me. “I don’t think ye could.” He pressed his lips against mine, shifting his hand to the back of my head and holding me close. When he pulled away I had to hold my hands tight to my side so as not to make an idiot of myself reaching after him. “I didna have to help ye. Coulda got what I needed and then left ye. Coulda arrested ye. But no. I mean to see ye clear of yer debt and I know ye mean to see me clear as well. Eh?”

  I swallowed. “Aye. I do.”

  “Good.”

  I rubbed my hand through my hair. What the hell am I doing?

  ***

  So far I’d spent well over my allotted train time for the week. Hell, for the fucking year. All I really wanted to do when Marcas and I got off the train in Glasgow was shower and drink about a half a bottle of whisky. It was well after dark now too.

  “I’ve booked us a hotel,” Marcas said, glancing down at his phone.

  “What about dinner?” My stomach was growling.

  “We’ll stop someplace along the way,” he promised. “How about pizza?”

  “Pizza?” I raised my eyebrows. “I dunno.”

  “Pizza it is. Then hotel, and showers and sleep.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “I want alcohol. Lots of alcohol. So I suppose I don’t care precisely what I use as a sponge for my stomach.”

  “I don’t need ye plastered.”

  “You might not but I do.”

  He rolled his eyes. “The answer would be no, Cary.”

  “You can’t tell me what to do, shinach.”

  “Oh, so ye’ve no Gaelic but you swear in Welsh?” He gave me a look.

  “I grew up in Swansea, of course I can swear in Welsh. I can also order takeout—and drinks. Right this minute I need a bloody drink.”

  “Ye need a shower and some sleep.”

  I sighed heavily and slumped after him to the hotel, determined to raid the minibar. Mr. McLean could pay for it.

  ***

  “There’s only one bed in this room,” I complained, dropping my bag on the bed.

  “What, ye’ve a problem sharing now?”

  “I call the shower first.” I pulled clothes free of the overnight bag I’d packed at my place and headed for the bathroom, locking the door behind me.

  I heard Marcas muttering under his breath in more of his angry Scottish noise as I shut the door. I wasn’t sure what to do now. I turned on the shower and hopped inside. It was nice to get clean after all this train riding and skulking. Well, I skulked normally but it was different when I had a tagalong Scotsman.

  I never should’ve walked into that damn bar in Edinburgh. They’d had a good stock though and there’d been a handsome crowd of fellas. I’d walked up to the bar, ordered my drink, and then—then I saw him. The black-haired giant with long lashes and gorgeous sea-green eyes, his hand gingerly resting on a glass of Scotch. The deep V of his shirt showing off his collarbones and his knees bared by the fall of the dark gray kilt he wore. It was a garment of function over form with thick eyelets and heavy pleats, a pocket on the side for his wallet rather than a tradition sporran.

  He’d smelled like liquor and spice and leather—from the jacket slung over his stool and the heavy black boots on his feet. He looked a bit punk, a bit—bad. I couldn’t help myself.

  I’d hit on him and went back his place. We had glorious sex—and then I saw the book. I saw the book and I made a call. Arranged the flight and left him handcuffed to his bed the next morning. Now I was traveling all over the fucking United Kingdom with him and his—muscles. There was no reason not to continue to take advantage of that while we were together. I dried my hair, wrapped a towel around my waist and slunk out of the bathroom feeling—well, a bit naughty to be honest.

  “Hey sailor,” I purred. “If you won’t give me liquor, how about something else to keep me occupied?” I dropped the towel to hammer the point home.

  Marcas growled. “Ye are a braw little thing aren’t ye?” He stalked forward. “I can’t say I dinnae want ye.”

  “If you say but, I’m going to drink every bottle in that mini bar.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Well, if it keeps you from rampant alcoholism, who am I to refuse you?” He pulled me in for a kiss, dropped his hands to my hips and tugged me as close as he could. “God ye smell so good.”

  “So do you.” My lips felt hot, swollen as he continued his assault on them before shifting his grip to lift me up. I wrapped my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. He nibbled at the join between my neck and shoulder. I shuddered and moaned. “Damn it.”

  “Found a sweet spot have I?” I could hear the smile in his voice. He stepped backward, sitting down on the bed with a thud. His hands roamed, fingers running down my back, one hand gripping my ass. The feel of his clothes against my naked skin was driving me a bit wild, and from the bulge I felt straining his jeans, I wasn’t the only one feeling this.

  Hot, feather soft touches running down my back, my arms and legs.

  “God—please—take off your clothes. Please.”

  He pulled back, smiling. “Aw? Have ye been lonesome without me to hold?”

  “If I say yes, will you take off your shirt?” I tugged at the offending garment.

  “Ye do know that foreplay is highly underrated?” He shifted, pinning me onto my back against the bed, arms over my head fast enough to knock my breath out of me. I squirmed as his smile turned feral. “Hold on now,” he whispered, kissing me, taking my lower lip between his teeth and tugging. He left off my lips and resumed his attention to my neck with staggering enthusiasm.

  “Damn you,” I grunted.

  He bit my neck and shifted to take one of my nipples between those sharp white teeth. I hissed and he let go of my hands to take hold of my hips. I took that as an invitation, running my hands under his shirt, feeling the strong length of muscles beneath the skin, fingers catching on a change of texture—some sort of scar, long and thin, raised up over the rest of skin.

  I couldn’t reach buttons or zippers with him sucking on my nipples—he was big and my arms were too short.

  He leaned up, weight resting on his knees, straddling my waist. “All right then, I’ll take off my shirt.” He peeled the T-shirt off over his head in a smooth motion, muscles rippling. He had freckles all over him.

  I felt like a rabbit pinned by a fox. Shaking, frozen—except I wanted to be eaten.

  “Why don’t I take the edge off, mo balach ruadh?” He slid down, kissing the inside of my thighs and then biting. My hips jerked and he chuckled. Oh,
I liked that. His breath was hot as he inched closer and closer to my cock.

  Did I remember to pay my electric bill?

  Really Cary? That’s what your brain chooses to bring up right this minute?

  Good lord.

  At which point his warm soft lips kissed the head of my cock and I sort of stopped thinking altogether. Probably for the best. That didn’t stop my mouth though.

  “Oh, fuck. Fuck you, you damn shinach.”

  “Oh, I like it when ye swear.” I glanced down to see him smiling at me. “I do. I like the little spot just below yer ribs there that looks like a heart. I like the way you shiver when I bite on yer neck. Yer a tangle of nerves in ivory skin…and that fire on yer head matches the wee patch down here.” He licked. “I may’ve meant to just find the brooch at first but—ye set me on fire.”

  My breath shook through me like wind through trees. “You make me want to run as fast as I can—and stay put all at once.”

  “Honesty is becoming on you, my lad. I think ye’ve earned a reward.”

  Jesus, Mary and Joseph… if I survived this man I was going straight to hell.

  ***

  Our man in Glasgow wasn’t particularly hard to find. We just had to find the ugliest, cheapest bar in town and there he was, hunched over a pint. The old geezer looked about like you expected a grizzled shepherd to look. Natty hat perched on his bald head, heavy gray muttonchops and a horrifying mustache. His cardigan was patched and there was a knobby walking stick and even knobbier dog at his feet. I wasn’t sure what kind of dog it was, I doubt Munro knew either.

  “Mr. Munro,” Marcas said, sidling up to the man with a smile. “Ye bought a brooch from Jack Draper. Silver, thistles, yellow stone.”

  Munro opened his jaundiced eyes a bit wider and looked Marcas up and down. “Yer a big un’ ain’t ye?” He coughed and spit onto the floor. “Aye, I bought it. Jack needed cash and I thought it might be worth something more than he was askin’.” He looked past Marcas to me. “Yer backup is a bit scrawny, ain’t he?”

  “Who says he’s the backup?” Marcas narrowed his eyes. “Do ye have the brooch or naw?”

  “Aye, I have it.” He took a drink, drawing the proceedings out for his own amusement I was sure. “Why do ye want it?”

  “Family heirloom.”

  I rolled my eyes. That old geezer was going to try and take us for a ride, I could tell. I took the seat on the other side of Munro and leaned close to him. “Where is it then?” I asked.

  “Oh, a Welsh laddie. Ye must be with Draper then.”

  Avoidance. I bet he kept it in his apartment. Looked like the sort that didn’t trust banks. Probably had a lockbox under his bed.

  “Oh, you know, he sent me along to make sure the big fella got what he wanted.” I leaned close and clapped him on the back. “You know Jack gets tetchy, eh?” I slipped off the stool and walked away, keys in my pocket. I eyed the keys. Just a house key, no car key. He didn’t drive and we weren’t close to any public transportation. He probably lived over the bar. “Be nice to the big guy now. I’ll leave you two to talk.” I walked out of the bar and spotted the stairway to the second floor.

  I prayed Marcas would understand and snuck up the stairs. The key fit in the door properly. I slipped inside, glad the dog was downstairs, and took my shoes off before making my way through the tiny kitchen to the main space which seemed to be half living room and half bedroom.

  It was also a damn mess. Empty cartons and bottles everywhere. I might’ve had a cheap apartment, but at least it was clean.

  I checked the toilet tank first, came up with some cash. There was more cash in the freezer and stuffed in a Bible. A bit more even stuffed under the mattress with his nudie mags. Under the bed were two lock boxes. I cracked those, but no brooch. I considered where I would put something I thought might be valuable but wasn’t sure of.

  Right. Sock drawer.

  There it was, under a pile of unmatched argyle, winking and tarnished. I smiled and tucked it into my pants and got myself out of there.

  Back in the bar Marcas was still arguing with the old bastard. I coughed and Marcas turned, eyebrow quirked. “I spoke to Jack—he says he’ll send someone else up.”

  “Fine, then.” He looked at Munro. “I’ll be back, Mr. Munro.” He hurried over to me, grabbed my arm and marched me back to our car. “What did ye do?” he whispered.

  “I got it, don’t worry.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Ye stole it?”

  “Technically, yes.”

  He started muttering in Gaelic again. That couldn’t be a good sign.

  ***

  By the time we got to the train station, he’d calmed down some. I handed over the brooch. “You know, I still don’t see how this is so valuable.”

  “That stone there, it’s not citrine,” Marcas said, running a thumb over the silver. “It’s a yellow diamond.”

  I swallowed, hard. “That’s worth…good lord.”

  “Yer drooling.”

  I wiped my mouth. “It’s just—I could’ve—diamond.”

  “It’s cute when ye babble.” He kissed me. “Now, it’s going to be a few more days before they pick up Draper. It’d be best if ye come with me to the Gathering. Eh? Fresh air, games.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You want to take me along to meet your family?”

  He shrugged. “Yer much more entertaining. Besides, I ought to protect ye until Draper is done for.”

  I felt a twinge. Was it possible I wanted to go with him? “All right then.” Well, that was the decision made.

  His smile was so bright, like a little kid on Christmas morning. “Good.” He handed me my train ticket. “Let’s get going then.”

  Oh, I hope I don’t regret this.

  ***

  I found myself in the Scottish highlands, sleeping in a castle tower with Marcas on the other side of the bed. There was a bevy of activity, his family going to and fro, food cooking and pipes playing—children laughing. I woke up hazy and spied Marcas on the end of the bed, his back to me as he dressed.

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Just past nine.” He turned and smiled. “Breakfast was an hour ago, but I saved you some food.” He stood up.

  Which was about the same time as I realized that one of my longtime fantasies was going to be realized later on in the day, or possibly in the next ten minutes. The tall brawny man was dressed in traditional attire. A bright white shirt, the cuffs of the sleeves a bit ruffled over his wrists, a sharp black and white plaid kilt wrapped around his waist, a white leather sporran hung from his belt with black rabbit fur decorations. The plaid was slung over his shoulder and pinned with that damn brooch.

  He looked like he’d just stepped out of the past. I liked it even better than his Scottish punk look from our first encounter.

  “Tell me you’re wearing the appropriate undergarments,” I said, a bit breathless.

  A sly smile crept across his face. “Oh, aye.”

  “I think—that is to say—you look—”

  He crawled across the bed and kissed me, hands cupping my cheeks. “Thank ye.”

  “I like the brooch.”

  He smiled. “Well, it seemed appropriate.”

  “How’s that then?”

  “Well, ye know how I told ye I’d have to duel the head of the family?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well that wasn’t quite true. The brooch belongs to the head of the family, and that would be...”

  I blinked. “It’s you.”

  “That’d be true.” He leaned back. “I just—I didn’t want ye to think ye were giving me nothing for yer part in our bargain.”

  I flushed. “Well, it did seem fair unbalanced, a brooch for a life.”

  “That may be true, but I couldn’t leave ye in debt to that man.” He shook his head. “Wasnae right.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So then.” He licked his lips. “What do ye intend to do? Are ye going to run? Go ba
ck to Wales? Or—might ye like to stay?” He took my hand, his thumb running over the back of it in slow circles. “We could see if this thing between us is more or not. But I’d like to give it time.”

  “I’m a rabbit,” I said. “I always run from the fox. Except—I don’t want to run from you. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do next. My life…I’ve no friends. My family was small and it’s gone now.” I felt a lump in the back of my throat. “All I’ve ever known is stealing. My mum taught me to do it right. How not to get caught. To be smart but—I don’t have what you’d call a formal education. It’s all I’m good at.”

  “Ye can do whatever ye like, Cary. Yer smart, yer fast. And we dinnae have to figure it all out right this minute.” He kissed me again. “Right now, I just want some time with ye. Can ye give me that?”

  I looked him in the eye. “Aye, I can give you that.”

  “Good. Get dressed. Ye be a good boy all day and we’ll see if I can’t fulfill a few more fantasies of yours about men in kilts.”

  “How did—”

  He raised an eyebrow, “Because my darling boy, everyone has at least one fantasy about a man in a kilt and I don’t think we exhausted all yours the other night.”

  Well, I could hardly argue with that.

  ***

  I ate my breakfast and took a look around the room. My overnight bag was in the corner along with a department store bag with some new clothes. Jeans, a sweater, and a pack of T-shirts, it seemed. Now that Marcas was gone, his reassuring presence was gone too. Well, not reassuring per se—more like glue. He made me want to stay put.

  Except—I wasn’t sure it was even in me. I owed him for Draper, probably, but my feet were telling me it was time to go. Time to run. I always run. My mum spent my whole life teaching me to be a thief. It’s what her family did. I never had the ambition to be one of the greats, but at least I was smart enough and talented enough not to get caught doing what I did. If I ran now, Marcas could find me again.

  I found a pair of scissors in a dresser drawer and got myself dressed before clipping the tracking anklet off and slipping downstairs and out a back door. I avoided the festivities and got away toward the road. I didn’t know where I was going. I don’t think I was going anywhere, really. I was just running to see if he would follow me.