Hot for the Scot

by Janice Maynard

  “I’m impressed.”

  “A man needs to know his own country. We’ve much that’s unique here. I like knowing what’s beneath my feet.”

  Chapter 28

  We were so near each other I could see the tiny nick on the underside of his chin where he had cut himself shaving. He had barely touched me today. Yet I felt as close to him as if we’d recently climbed out of bed. I was beginning to understand how his mind worked.

  “Is this a national park?” I asked.

  “No. Why?”

  “Do you think it would be okay for me to take one of the very small stones?”

  “Aye. Help yourself. We’ve plenty of rocks in the Highlands.”

  I found a chunk that was pink and gray and shaped a bit like a heart. “I like this.” It was exactly the kind of memento I wanted to put in the silver box from McKenzie.

  “If you can’t afford souvenirs, I’ll buy you some.”

  The laughter in his eyes made me smile. “I have money,” I said. “But this will always remind me of today.”

  I wasn’t trying to make a point. Or to suggest that I would be leaving sooner rather than later. But his face closed up, his expression inscrutable. “Take a dozen,” he muttered. “Help yourself.”

  “One will do.”

  I thought he was going to kiss me. We were sharing an intimate moment in one of the most beautiful locales I’d ever seen. But Angus stood abruptly with that effortless grace that was so much a part of him. “We’d best be going. There’s a lot to see.”

  For a man who had planned a romantic getaway, he had much to learn about women. His tour guide persona was flawless. But somewhere along the way, we’d left behind the lover I had come to know…the Highlander who wanted to share my bed tonight.

  Back in the car, I studied the map again. The place where we had stopped with the stone cairns wasn’t even a dot on the map. It had no name. Incredible that something so amazing seemed run-of-the-mill in a region like the Scottish Highlands.

  We had exited the main highway at Invermoriston to visit what I decided to refer to in my travel journal as the cairn forest. Now we looped south to rejoin the A82 at Invergarry. We continued our journey along the shores of Loch Lochy. Perhaps the original Scots had run out of names when they arrived at this spot, because the American equivalent was Lake Lakey.

  I wanted to point out my silly observation, but Angus seemed a million miles away. I left him to his own thoughts, my gaze trained on the passing countryside. Later today I would press him for some answers, but for now I was content to play tourist.

  In truth, he was doing me a great favor. I would never have managed the nerve to rent a car and drive on the left side of the road so far afield. With Angus at the wheel, I was able to relax and enjoy myself.

  At one of the next highway junctions, we turned due west.

  “Why this way?” I asked. I knew we were no longer headed toward Oban.

  Angus reached for his sunglasses on the visor. The sun had finally peeked out. “Two can’t-miss sights,” he said. “You’ll enjoy them both, I think.”

  After about twenty-five minutes we pulled into a small gravel lot adjacent to a handful of unremarkable buildings. Not far off, a circular stone tower stood tall against the blue sky. Angus and I walked side by side along a crowded path in the direction of Loch Shiel. Unlike the solitude we enjoyed on our first stop, this time we were surrounded by tourists.

  There appeared to be a visitor center, but with Angus along, I didn’t want to waste time there. “Tell me the significance of this place. Was it a battlefield?” Hailing from Georgia, I was familiar with the war memorials that were scattered across the South.

  As we made a circuit of the perimeter wall, Angus shook his head. “Not a battle. But the promise of one on the horizon. This Glenfinnan Monument was erected in 1815, seventy years after Bonnie Prince Charlie raised his standard here, and with a handful of men, officially rallied the clans to fight the armies of King George II.”

  “But he and the Jacobite cause were doomed.”

  “Aye. ’Twas only eight months later when some 1500 to 2000 clansmen were killed or wounded at Culloden.”

  I shielded my eyes with my hand and gazed up at the figure atop the monument. The unknown Highlander was a tribute to those who had died in a massacre that lasted less than an hour. Culloden was not all that far from here. I knew this history not from any college class, but from the Outlander books I had read and reread.

  I wondered if Willow had already visited the battlefield. She was the most likely of the three of us to see the place since it was close to Inverness. I shivered, despite the bright sunshine. My fictional Jamie Fraser had survived Culloden. But so many hadn’t. I could imagine the excitement and determination of the men who had gathered here.

  But nothing was more poignant than a lost cause. I wondered if my relationship with Angus was equally implausible.

  He put his arm around me, perhaps sensing my mood. “Let’s try something a bit more lighthearted now,” he said. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

  He had no way of knowing how real the stories of the clansmen were to me. First the Outlander books—and then the TV series—had introduced me to men and women who were proud of their Highland heritage and fiercely determined to preserve and protect it.

  Those characters were friends now, living in my imagination and in my heart. Standing here on ground that had known the press of Highlander feet so long ago gave me a sense that time was little more than a fragile veil between them and me.

  I took a deep breath. “I’ll follow you. Something lighthearted sounds wonderful.”

  We traipsed back across the road and along a stone driveway. I sensed we were on private property now. The fact that no one else had followed us made me glance around uneasily. Trees hid any sign of the busy area we left behind.

  Angus chuckled. “No worries, lass. As long as we’re polite and don’t steal any sheep, we’re welcome here.” We rounded a bend in the path and there before us was an enormous viaduct. He shot me a sideways glance. “Recognize this?”

  “Oh…” My mouth fell open. “Of course I do.” Me and anyone who had ever seen Harry Potter and his friends taking the train to Hogwarts. This was the famous elevated bridge from the movie. I grabbed my phone and began taking photographs.

  Angus insisted on posing me in several shots as well. Then he tugged at a strand of my hair. “Time to go,” he said. Behind the viaduct and all around us, green hills rose against the blue sky. Magic seemed not only possible but probable in such a setting.

  I looked up at Angus. “Thank you,” I said. “I would never have found this on my own.”

  “My pleasure, lass.” Finally, he kissed me. A real kiss. Not a peck on the nose or the cheek. No platonic gesture of affection. A deep, toe-curling, demanding kiss that made my knees go wobbly.

  My arms curled around his neck. Surely we could sneak behind some undergrowth and have a quickie in this peaceful pastoral setting. I was halfway there in my mind already when Angus released me. “No more dawdling,” he said sternly.

  I gaped at him. Two nights ago he had been determined to seduce me in my bedroom. Now, suddenly, he was the man with the iron will.

  I sulked for the next half hour. When Angus didn’t seem to notice, I gave up my pique in favor of the rest of the grand adventure.

  Glenfinnan had been a definite detour. We had to backtrack to the main highway. But I didn’t regret the lost time.

  Soon we were passing Fort William and enjoying stunning views of Ben Nevis, Scotland’s highest peak. The modern town looked nothing like the scenes from Outlander, but I shuddered anyway, remembering the wicked Captain Randall and his grim tenure at the garrison.

  After that, the remainder of our trip was mostly along the water, first Loch Linnhe and then various estuaries. The countryside had a definite nautical flavor now. Boats and bridges and water birds abounded.


  At last we crested a hill and looked down on the bay at Oban. The bustling holiday town was much smaller than Inverness but a popular tourist destination.

  “It’s beautiful,” I said, taking in the sights as we descended.

  “Oban is Gaelic for little bay.”

  This area was unlike anything I had yet seen in Scotland. Out toward the horizon, the Inner Hebrides provided a bulwark of protection for Oban’s harbor. The small islands, each with its own personality and points of interest, fascinated me. Even with an entire month in Scotland, though, I knew I would not have the chance to explore all of them.

  Since Angus and I were both hungry, we decided to have dinner before checking into our hotel. He chose the restaurant. It was a white building on the harbor-front. The sign said Ee-usk.

  “Don’t tell me,” I laughed. “More Gaelic? It probably means something like water sprite or land of a hundred islands.”

  Angus took my elbow, making my skin tingle where his fingers touched my arm. “Nothing so romantic,” he said. “Ee-usk is Gaelic for fish.”

  Despite the pedestrian name, the menu was fabulous. I was torn between ordering pan-seared scallops or sea bass. “You’ve been here before,” I said. “What do you recommend?”

  “Get them both, Hayley. You only live once.”

  Such a wicked extravagance…but I let myself be persuaded. The restaurant was noisy and crowded. It was a good kind of bustle; happy tourists and locals enjoying a night out with friends and family. I noticed a few people looking at us with interest, but if they recognized Angus, they didn’t disturb our meal.

  We had snagged a table by the huge windows. I entertained myself watching the boats go by and catching glimpses of the islands in the distance. They looked both mysterious and inviting.

  Today was the longest stretch of time Angus and I had spent together. With some men I might have worried about running out of conversational topics. But not with Angus. His travels had given him the confidence and experience to speak intelligently about any number of subjects.

  We covered religion, politics, and climate change before progressing to movies and books. He finished the last bite of his lobster and leaned back in his chair. “Well, I’m guessing your favorite book is Outlander since that tale compelled you and your friends to visit the Highlands.”

  I nodded. “Yes. I don’t suppose it would be as fascinating to you, though…since you live here.”

  “I don’t know about that. If there’s fightin’ and lovemakin’ I think I’d like it just fine.” He grinned at me, and just like that, the sexual chemistry that had simmered all day long roared into full flame.

  My throat went dry. Beneath the table my thighs clenched involuntarily. “And do you have a favorite book?” I asked, desperately drinking half a glass of water.

  He studied my flushed face. “What are you thinkin’ about, little Hayley? I’d give a lot to know.”

  His question was rhetorical, so I maintained my silence, hoping he would answer me. I had to wait. In fact, I had to drain my water entirely and ask for another before he finally relented.

  “Old Man and the Sea,” he said.

  It seemed an odd choice for a Scotsman. “Why that one?”

  He chuckled. “I wasn’t much of a student, as I think I’ve mentioned. Didn’t go to university. But some things from my village schooling stuck with me. One year I had to do a book report and I—”

  “Chose that one because it was the shortest,” I finished. “Oldest trick in the classroom.”

  “I forget occasionally that you’re a teacher,” he said. “I guess you know all the ploys naughty boys try.”

  Chapter 29

  He actually said that last bit with a perfectly straight face, but I choked on a bite of my dessert. Angus stood up and thumped me on the back.

  I waved him away. Having him lean over me like that was giving me ideas. “I’m fine,” I croaked.

  Angus returned to his seat, but he didn’t take his eyes off me.

  Finally, I was driven to speak. “What?” I asked grumpily. “Do I have lettuce in my teeth? Ketchup on my chin?”

  “You’re damned near perfect,” he replied calmly. “I keep looking for flaws, but as far as I can tell, a man would be crazy to let you go.”

  I’m no more or less credulous than the next woman. But when a gorgeous, sexy man makes a sweeping statement like that, it’s a little hard to process. “Um. Angus?”

  “Yes?” He traced patterns on the linen tablecloth with his butter knife, looking sideways at me with a searing gaze that told me exactly what he was thinking.

  “How many glasses of wine have you had?” We’d ordered two bottles, and I had barely made it through a glass and a half.

  “It’s no’ the alcohol talking, Hayley.” His gaze went from sexy to sober. “I’m still wondering if you’re some kind of fairy in human form. And when I fished you out of the loch, you laid a trap for me.”

  Now I frowned. “First I’m irresistible and now I’m an alien being holding you against your will? Which is it, Angus? And for the record, you needn’t worry about traps or spells or any other nonsense. I don’t want or need a man who has to be coerced into my bed and my life.”

  It was a good speech. Maybe even a great speech. I was righteously indignant.

  He shook his head, a wry smile tugging at something deep inside me. “Sometimes I think you don’t have a temper, lass. But you come by that gorgeous dark red hair honestly, don’t you?” He exhaled. “I was teasing, Hayley. The reason I’m with you is because I want to be. I’m a grown man. No one makes me do anything against my will.”

  “Even if I tie you up?”

  This time, he was the one who flushed. He lifted a hand for the check, and the waiter came running. “Everything okay, sir?”

  “Yes. But the lady and I have somewhere to be.” Angus handed over his credit card.

  “No problem,” the waiter said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I couldn’t sit across from Angus a second longer. I grabbed my purse and stood. “I have to visit the ladies’ room,” I said. “I’ll meet you out front.”

  By the time we reconnected at the door of the restaurant, I had managed to calm down. Angus, on the other hand, vibrated with tension. I suspected his mood was nothing more than sexual frustration.

  We walked back along the esplanade side by side. The water lapped at the base of the concrete. People, young and old, passed us by. The breeze was cool, the sunset dramatic. At one point, I took Angus’s hand, lacing my fingers with his. What was the point of a romantic getaway without all the trimmings?

  We had parked in front of our hotel before walking to dinner. Now, when we arrived back at our starting point, I paused, reluctant to cross the street. That narrow stretch of pavement was a serious boundary for me. Tonight would be more than a case of getting carried away in the heat of the moment. Walking into that hotel would be a conscious choice on my part.

  Of course, Europeans had a much different take on sexuality than their repressed Americans cousins. Even so, I could sense my Grandma Smith turning over in her grave at the thought of her precious granddaughter living in sin—even for a single weekend—with a dangerous foreigner.

  Angus, damn his hide, knew immediately that something was wrong. He leaned against the metal railing, unconcerned that his perch might collapse and dump him into the sea.

  He folded his arms across his chest. “It’s not too late, Hayley. If you’ve changed your mind, all you have to do is say no. You can have your own room and we’ll head back tomorrow.”

  I could tell he was absolutely serious, and I felt ashamed. I wasn’t afraid of him, I was afraid of my own emotions. “I need to clear up one thing,” I said, not really responding to his offer.

  “And that would be?” He was perfectly relaxed, his shoulders square, his hair tousled by the gentle breeze. His deep brown eyes seemed able to see through all my equivocations. />
  “I said I could fall in love with you. But I haven’t. I’m not. I didn’t mean anything by that. I was nervous and aroused and I—”

  He put a hand over my mouth, halting the flow of stuttering words. “Relax, lass. Everything is okay. I’m not in love either. But for the record, Hayley, I think I could fall in love with you, too.”

  Before I could do more than gasp, he pulled me into his arms and held me close, his chin resting on top of my head. We weren’t alone. In the fading light, dozens of people still wandered to and fro along the waterfront. But we stood in a small bubble of quiet. I could hear his heart beating. I could feel his steady breathing as it ruffled the strands of hair at my temple.

  “I think we should go inside,” I said. As soon as the words left my lips, I felt the urge to laugh hysterically. I had fulfilled my quest. I had found my Highlander. I just didn’t what to do with him.

  Angus held me for another minute, maybe two. Then he stepped back and sighed. “Whatever the lady wants.”

  Fortunately for me, Angus was a man of the world. He carried the luggage, dealt with our reservation at the front desk, and ushered me down a nearby hallway without fanfare. When he unlocked our door, I was pleasantly surprised.

  I had been warned before coming to Scotland not to expect the kind of hotel rooms I was accustomed to back home. Space was at a premium here, and most accommodations were small, if not cramped. But this room was lovely.

  The décor was understated and reflected an earlier era. Everything was scrupulously clean and comfortable. “This is nice,” I said.

  Angus set down our luggage and tossed the key on the dresser. He shook his head, his expression bemused. “Ye’ve got to relax, woman. Ye’re wound up tighter than an antique mantel clock.”

  “I am relaxed,” I lied.

  “Aye. About as relaxed as the Queen on state occasions.”

  I loosened my spine, sitting like a rag doll on the nearest bed. “I didn’t know it would be this hard.”