A Time & Place for Every Laird

by Angeline Fortin

  Grabbing Hugh’s arm, Claire pulled him to a halt before he could just saunter pass the hostess podium into the restaurant and take any table. “Wait.”

  “Why? Ye cannae expect me tae wait in queue.”

  “Sure I can. You just can’t walk right in there like you own the place.”

  Hugh raised a brow. “I can do anything I please.”

  “Really? Anything?” she scoffed. “You couldn’t just walk in there naked.”

  “I probably could, if only just the once,” he said with a straight face.

  Claire studied the harried hostess as she took the name of another among the waiting patrons. A half-hour wait, at least. Slanting a speculative look at Hugh, she said, “Care to prove it? Prove that you can do what you want? That you are the greatest flirt ever to come out of Scotland?”

  “A wager?”

  “Call it substantiation.”

  Hugh turned to the hostess thoughtfully but didn’t move.

  “Here, I’ll even get you started.” Approaching the hostess station, Claire cleared her throat. “We’d like a table please.”

  “How many?” she asked without looking up.

  “Two,” Claire answered as the girl dragged her finger down a list of names on the sheet in front of her before stopping at a blank space. “Name?”

  With a sweep of her arm, Claire invited Hugh to take over, whispering “Impress me” as he passed.

  With a grin, Hugh leaned against the podium and drawled in a seductively deep brogue, “I’m called Hugh Urquhart, lass. What is yer name?”

  The hostess’s head shot up so quickly that Claire was certain the girl would feel the strain of it later. She was a pretty, petite girl of about twenty, but in that moment she might have been a pre-teen with her favorite teen idol in her sights, and what happened next so astonished Claire that later she would be certain she had imagined it all. The beleaguered hostess straightened, a blush spreading across her pale cheeks as she stammered out, “I’m J-Jessica.”

  “Jessica, lass, might I beg ye for a table?”

  “Oh, sure,” she sighed and tore her eyes away to look at the list before looking up at him once again. “I just love your accent. Are you Scottish?”

  Hugh leaned in and smiled an amazing, roguish grin that Claire had never seen him display, and the hostess all but melted on the spot. “Aye, lass, I am. A verra hungry Scot aboot tae waste away tae skin and bone.”

  “Oh! We can’t have that, can we?” Jessica gushed with a flirtatious smile of her own.

  “God, no,” Claire drawled under her breath. “We can’t have that.”

  Hugh shot Claire a wicked glance and a wink before he turned back to the hostess with a flash of white teeth and a definite smolder in his eye. “Can ye secure us a table, lass? If it wouldnae be too much of a bother?”

  “Oh, no bother at all,” Jessica replied without hesitation as she shuffled out a pair of menus. “Will you follow me?”

  “Anywhere ye lead, lass,” Hugh said with a gallant sweep of his arm, indicating that the hostess should lead the way. She did. As she led them around the main floor and up the stairs, Jessica flirted with Hugh over her shoulder, asking questions that required answers, which Hugh gave in thick teasing tones, exaggerating his brogue.

  “I just love your accent,” the girl cooed again as they arrived at a prime table near the windows.

  Claire rolled her eyes. “Oh, brother.”

  “Will this do?” Jessica asked.

  “Verra nice. Thank ye, Jessica,” Hugh said, shifting to walk around the hostess just as the girl turned. The pair collided and Hugh reached out to steady her.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

  “Nae at all,” Hugh said smoothly. “Mea culpa.”

  Jessica giggled uncertainly and Claire translated drily. “That’s kind of like ‘my bad.’”

  “Oh!” the hostess said brightly, setting the menus on the table while Hugh held out Claire’s chair and moved around the table to the other side to sit. “Well, anyway, here’s your menus”—Claire was inwardly surprised that the girl remembered that there were two people present, since she’d hadn’t torn her gaze away from Hugh the entire time—“and Becky will be your server. She should be right with you.”

  “Yes, I’m sure she will,” Claire said under her breath once again, gaining another devilish grin from Hugh. A split second later, her eyes were rolling once again as Hugh took the girl’s hand and kissed it gallantly. “My thanks, Jessica, for yer kind assistance.”

  The hostess giggled with another blush. “Just let me know if I can get you anything else.”

  Claire could almost see the hostess’s knees wobble as she walked unsteadily away. “Well, you proved me wrong, didn’t you? You really can do whatever you like. And your powers of flirtation are truly unparalleled. Are you always such a charmer with the ladies?”

  The grin turned from roguish to amused, his eyes lighting with real humor. “It is a skill required at court, and if it gets me what I want, why shouldn’t I employ my many gifts where they benefit me the most?”

  “Those gifts being good looks and charm?”

  “’Tis my curse.”

  “My, you are cocky.”

  “But another burden tae bear.”

  Claire had to laugh out loud at that and rolled her eyes yet again as the waitress eagerly approached, bearing a wooden cutting board with a loaf of bread on it. “Hi, I’m Becky. I’ll be your server this afternoon. Can I get you something to drink?”

  The waitress was of similar age to the hostess, Jessica, and like her co-worker, directed all of this to Hugh with an alluring smile and even batting eyelashes. It was so incredibly amusing—and insulting to her gender—that Claire was tempted to wave a hand in front of the girl’s eyes to force her attention away.

  “I’ll have a pint of Sam’s,” Claire said loudly in an attempt to draw her attention. “And he’ll have the darkest, thickest, nastiest thing you have on tap. The liter.”

  “We have a Black Butte Porter,” the waitress suggested, eagerly. “Looks like mud.”

  “Perfect,” Claire said, expecting the waitress to wander off, but Becky lingered, gazing at Hugh with adoration. With a long-suffering sigh, Claire motioned for her to leave. “Incredible,” she said to Hugh as she buttered a piece of the bread. “I would bet that she’s back with those drinks in record time.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Hardly,” Claire denied quickly. “If your ‘many gifts’ benefit me as well, employ away.”

  Hugh drew in his breath to respond, but as Claire had predicted, Becky was back with the beers and a smile in a matter of moments. The flirting ensued, as the waitress bent farther over the table than was necessary to put Hugh’s huge mug of porter down in front of him. Naturally Huge flashed his dimples, spoke husky compliments, and generally made the girl feel as if she were the most amazing person on the face of the planet.

  It was a gift, Claire decided as she watched the show. She’d never seen anyone who could so easily make everyone like him as Hugh did. Well, the fairer sex, anyway … and men like his hairstylist. How would normal, heterosexual men respond to Hugh, she wondered? Would they be like some women who grew nasty in the company of women prettier than they were, or would they fall as quickly under his spell?

  No, they would love him, too, she decided. Hugh was a ladies’ man but he was also a man’s man. He’d probably never met a stranger in his life and was the epitome of jovial grace.

  Claire studied him as he spoke to the waitress. His big body lounged back in the wooden chair, his arm hooked over the back, drawing his sweater tight to show off his muscular physique and washboard abs. The blue knit brought his eyes out vividly, framed by his dark lashes. His dazzling smile flashed again as he ran a hand through his hair, and Claire thought Becky might pool right there at his feet.

  And she wasn’t the only one. Hugh simply being Hugh was like a magnet to the room at large. Most of the diners and staff were watc
hing him, either covertly or openly. Did it come naturally to him or was it ingrained as part of his ducal training? Could that kind of charisma be taught?

  If it could, Hugh had a great teacher, because he was fascinating.

  Even to her. How could she deny it when there was so very much to like about him that none of these people could see? What was it about her that drew him, she wondered?

  Becky paused to take a breath and Claire leapt at the opportunity to place their order, asking for “The Pacific Clambake” from the Seafeast menu. This item was ordered by the person, so Claire requested a bucket for three, then changed it to four, knowing Hugh’s appetite was often insatiable.

  Lifting her mug to her lips, Claire considered Hugh over the top as the waitress finally left them once more. Hugh drank as well, smacking his lips in appreciation as he downed half the liter in one swallow. “Fairly satisfying.”

  “High praise,” Claire said as they shared a grin. “Maybe you should forgo becoming a professional golfer and open a brewery in your new life.” She was biting her lip before the last word was complete, regretting the reference to that mysterious something that awaited him in the months and years to come. Claire could only imagine how the uncertainty of the unknown rubbed him raw and was sorry to have brought up the painful subject again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Ye needn’t watch yer tongue wi’ me, lass,” Hugh said softly, but there was a new, firm resolve in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. “’Tis nothing I hae nae already considered. I hae determined that I need tae accept my fate such as it is wi’out mourning for the past. For now, my goal is tae secure my freedom and yer safety. When those things are assured, I will consider how tae best pass the remainder of my years.”

  All of that without a trace of self-pity. Hugh could certainly teach Claire a thing or two about how to move forward from tragedy.

  Stretching across the table, she covered his hand with hers and gave it a squeeze. Hugh turned his over and clasped her hand in his, tracing his thumb over the back of her hand. “You are an amazing man, Hugh,” she said sincerely, but Hugh just shrugged off the compliment.

  “Nothing I hae done as yet would make my ancestors proud,” he said. “I intend tae remedy that. But until I do, I am going tae apply myself tae yer uncle’s library and try tae find out everything that has happened in the world between my time and yers.”

  “That could take awhile.”

  “Dinnae worry, lass,” he said with a wink. “I am equally resolved tae begin enjoying life here as well and I will certainly enjoy the chance to engage in an innocent flirtation wi’ ye.” His thumb slipped between her fingers and slid across the center of her palm. The calloused pad chafed lightly, leaving a tingling warmth trailing behind the caress, and Claire repressed a shiver, pulling her hand away.

  “I think your definition of ‘innocent’ and mine might be vastly different.”

  “Indeed? Innocent words can describe yer beauty. Like how I wonder if yer skin is as soft and silky as it looks and how I long tae touch ye, how I love tae see yer blush creeping up yer cheeks and I wonder at the thoughts that prompt yer pulse tae quiver just here.” As if having the full force of Hugh’s husky brogue turned on her hadn’t been enough, he traced a line down the side of her neck, sending that pulse skyrocketing and Claire’s head spinning. “Ahh, ’tis as soft as I imagined,” he whispered, his eyes dark with desire.

  Claire fell back in her chair and grasped the handle of her beer mug once more, eager to cool the fire that was building inside of her. “God, you’re good. I’d hate to see what you can do when you have a vested interest.”

  “Who says I dinnae?” Hugh asked, and Claire’s gaze clashed with his, wondering at his words and what she read in his eyes.

  It was the same look he had given her on the street. It wasn’t playful flirtation there but compelling seduction that enticed her to cast her caution and fears aside. Their attraction was a mutual one, she knew that, but she had thought it to be a casual one, at least from Hugh’s perspective. Just a this-leads-to-that sort of thing that he had downplayed as anything more powerful with his invitation for light flirtation. But unless she truly was verging on nunhood, that wasn’t simply wanton desire she saw in his eyes. It was hunger. The kind that demanded total, soul-baring surrender.

  It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time, and Claire was once again aboard her proverbial ship at sea, tossing and tipping. A part of her wanted to ride out the storm, while the other part demanded that she abandon ship immediately.

  An image flashed through her mind from an old movie she had seen once where the people aboard a ship lashed themselves to the masts during a storm to avoid being swept overboard, and Claire mentally did the same. In laying out the terms of their flirtation, she had committed to taking a leap into the unknown, not the leap overboard. She needed this challenge if for no other reason than to force a change in her life, and she was going to brave it even if she had to mentally tie herself down for it.

  Chapter 24

  Thankfully, their food arrived—again with unusual speed—to break the thoughtful mood, and Becky, accompanied by a pair of helpers—each one predictably female—set cutting boards and mallets in front of Claire and Hugh and arranged a plate of skewered salmon and halibut and another of little cups of melted butter and lemon slices at one end of the table before dumping out a large bowl of Dungeness crab, snow crab, clams, mussels, oysters, shrimp, Andouille sausage, corn on the cob, and red potatoes onto the thick white paper that served as their tablecloth. The bowl and a roll of paper towels found a home on the other end of the table.

  The delicious scent of the hot seafood filled the air, and, eyes closed, Claire leaned forward to sniff appreciatively. Her stomach grumbled in anticipation of the carnage that was about to take place. Fingers curling around the mallet, Claire opened her eyes to find Hugh staring at her, aghast.

  “What is this?”

  Claire frowned, looking to the food and back at Hugh. “Dinner.” She pointed with the mallet here and there, listing, “Clams, oysters, mussels …”

  “I know what they are,” he said with some exasperation. “But tae simply shovel it upon the table so! What are we … Do ye truly expect me tae use this?” He picked up the wooden mallet as if it were something foreign.

  “And these.” Claire lifted her hands, spreading them wide and wiggling her fingers. Hugh’s expression went from shocked to appalled, and Claire couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up and spilled over. “Oh, come on, Hugh! It’s fun! I wouldn’t think you would mind.”

  “Ye think yers is the only culture tae employ a fork?” he asked, eyeing the feast apprehensively. “It does smell most appetizing, though.”

  “It is,” Claire said, then smiled deviously. “Wait! We’re forgetting something.” Taking a small, plastic-wrapped package off the table, Claire rose and walked around behind Hugh. Within seconds, Hugh’s expression was beyond priceless as he stared up at her in horror.

  “I willnae!” Claire burst out laughing as Hugh tore the plastic bib she’d just tied around his neck off and crumbled it in his hand. “I am nae some wee bairn tae be needing such a thing!”

  Forcing her lungs to draw in air, Claire fought for breath as she continued to laugh. Eyes dancing, she opened her own bib and tied it on, smoothing the red and white printed plastic over her chest before picking up a snow crab leg and expertly cracking it on first one side and then the other. Pulling it apart, Claire popped the long piece of crabmeat into her mouth and smiled brightly. “You’ll ruin your sweater,” she warned when Hugh followed suit.

  “I might rather do so than look so foolish,” he said, taking up the skewered salmon and pulling a piece of fish off the wooden stick carefully before putting it in his mouth.

  Eyes still dancing merrily, Claire signaled to Becky, who was still lingering nearby, and the waitress approached instantly. “Becky, you forgot our forks. Could you bring us a couple?�
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  The waitress nodded and dashed off, and Hugh stared at Claire incredulously. “Ye knew there were tae be utensils?”

  “Of course, you silly thing,” she said cheerfully as she squeezed a few lemon wedges over the pile of food. “You can’t eat potatoes or get the clams out of their shells without a fork, you know.”

  Hugh scowled at Sorcha, whose attention was firmly focused on shelling the shrimp in her hands, an amused smile still playing at her lips. The angry expression was merely for show, and he suspected that Sorcha knew that. But he did so enjoy her propensity to tease and provoke.

  Unless she was provoking him in far more stimulating ways.

  “Another of those moments I spoke of?”

  Sorcha blinked blankly.

  “Retribution?”

  She grinned knowingly but offered a helpless shrug. “Maybe just a little. I can’t seem to help it. You just make it so easy.”

  Joining her in her laughter, Hugh applied himself to the feast before him. Though he truly had been shocked when the meal had been presented, Hugh had been more than pleased to exaggerate his outrage to entertain her and to encourage her playfulness.

  She was lovely when she smiled. Breathtaking when she laughed, her unusual amethyst eyes bright and shining with humor, a blush coloring her cheeks. Hugh felt the desire he had been fighting against stir once again. Her “innocent” flirtation might well be the end of him.

  Unaware of the thoughts in his mind, Sorcha continued on after Becky returned with the forks and they began working their way through the pile of food before them. Sorcha pushed all the sausage toward him but feasted heartily on the shellfish and vegetables. “Does this really bug you?” she asked, and then added for clarification, “Bother you? You’re not actually going to tell me that an eighteenth-century Scot has never eaten with his fingers before?”