“Niver gae tae bed angry.”
Kristin smiled and nodded. She still didn’t have a clue, but Eileen’s accent was so interesting, it should be called a different language altogether. Kristin’s brain needed to slow down and back up just to catch what Eileen what saying.
“Oh, my gosh,” she finally realized. “‘Never go to bed angry.’ You think George Smith and I are together?”
“Aye, lass.”
At last she and Eileen understood one another. “No, you see, George Smith and I are not romantic partners. We’re just...work acquaintances who got caught in the rain with car trouble.”
“’Tis spring,” Eileen insisted. “Maybe a romance will blossom.”
“No.” Kristin emphatically shook her head. “It won’t. In fact, if you can make sure that our two rooms are as far apart as possible from one another, that would be best.”
“No, there’s just the one bed, lass.”
“One bed.” Kristin put down her bag of crisps. “Do you mean, as in one room?”
“Aye.” The landlady smiled and leaned in closer. “And I wouldn’t toss him from my bed, were I you. He is a handsome braw one, ken what I mean?” She winked.
Kristin’s mind was swimming; she didn’t understand the last bit of what Eileen had just said. “Ken what I mean?” she repeated helplessly. “What’s that...?”
“She’s saying, ‘Do you know what I mean?’” Malcolm said, walking up behind her.
Kristin jerked her head up. Great, he’d overheard them discussing her sleeping with him. She felt the blush creeping over her face.
Malcolm smirked at her, the maddening man. He passed her a bottle of water and half a sandwich from his plate, then leaned his backside against the counter, casually crossing his feet as if he enjoyed this conversation immensely. “Go on. Don’t stop your talk on my account.”
“George and I will not be sharing a bed tonight,” Kristin announced. “Is that understood by all?”
“Well, that’s me.” Eileen pushed herself up from the table and winked at them both.
“That means she’s finished and is leaving,” Malcolm explained to Kristin before she got a chance to ask.
“Oh,” Kristin said. “Good night, Eileen.”
“Good night, Kristy. Good night, George.” Eileen motioned to the sandwiches on Malcolm’s plate. “Put the wrappers in the bin when you are done.”
“Aye,” Malcolm agreed.
“And watch the wee beasties,” Eileen said.
“Right-o,” Malcolm said. “Er...don’t forget what we discussed earlier, Eileen.”
“Oh, aye, give me a wee bit.” Eileen waved her hand back at him and shuffled from the kitchen.
“What was all that about?” Kristin demanded to him.
“Nice lady.” Malcolm sat down at the table. “She said to give her a bit of time.” He nodded. “Yes, I think I smoothed everything over very well with her.”
“What exactly are wee beasties?”
He gave Kristin a “Don’t ask” look, then just shrugged. “Ants. Mites. A couple of silly little dogs. Could be anything. Could be nothing. Next time, I’ll get you a room in the Four Seasons.”
“Next time?”
“Oh, and thank you for using the George Smith name. I know it must burn a hole in you to have to say it aloud again.”
She sighed at him. “I’m fine, George.”
“Aye, that you are. You’re a princess among women.”
“Never mind your flattery, I meant what I said about the bed,” she insisted.
He gave her a smile. “I checked the satellite imagery software and the 3D maps on my smartphone. I found something very interesting. Did you know that no castles whatsoever are showing up on your x-marks-the-spot map?”
She saw what he was doing. “Then your technology is wrong,” she retorted. “Because Alistair found me a research book that clearly lists McGunnert Castle as located in the very village where I said it would be.”
“Maybe his book is wrong.”
“Maybe your smartphone is wrong.”
He raised a brow at her. The man was maddening. And sexy. But at least they weren’t raising their voices at each other anymore.
“Do you know what, George?” she said sweetly. “I think I’ve been understanding about you and your security name. Now, I think it’s your turn to be understanding of me—I don’t want my goals and my dreams stomped on anymore.” Her hand went up like a stop sign. “No more stomping on me. I won’t tolerate it. Do you get it?”
“Okay,” he said, quickly enough to make her suspicious. “I get it.”
She crossed her arms. “You do? Really?”
“Sure.” He gave her a charming, lopsided smile. “Believe it or not, you make sense to me, Kristy. Now I know why you were so happy to have the Burns Night celebration. You love Scotland. It’s obvious—it’s in your blood. And I also know why you—and not one of your managers—were alone in the factory on that Saturday to begin with.”
“And why is that?”
“Simple,” he said, his face the picture of innocence. “People take advantage of you, and you let them—or at least you used to. You don’t want that kind of life for yourself anymore. No more people telling you what to do, how you should live, what you should say or not say. I think you’ve had enough of your old life, and that’s one of the reasons why you’re here in Scotland, whether you realize it or not.”
It was all true. “Okay...” So he sort of understood her—she still wasn’t sharing a bed with him.
He pushed his cell phone across the table to her. “Go ahead and use my phone to call Arlene about your delay in getting back to Edinburgh. I don’t mind.”
She sat there, holding his phone while he gathered up the rubbish from their make-do meal and then dumped it all in the trash receptacle.
He glanced at her. “Is everything fine with you, lass?”
“I’m...trying to decide whether I’m being trampled or not.”
“Oh, Kristy.” He gave her a look. “You’ll know.”
She shivered. There was an undercurrent that was just...drawing her to him again. And making her very nervous at the same time.
His gaze met hers and held it. “Do you know what my next big job is, Kristy?” he said in a murmur.
“Why...don’t you tell me?”
He smiled slightly. “It’s getting you back to Edinburgh safely so we can have that meeting and evaluate our next steps together. And I do promise to accomplish it without trampling you. Is that an agreement, then?”
Her heart pounding, she nodded.
For a long moment, they just stood there, looking at one another, eye to eye.
At last she took a breath. “Thank you for letting me borrow your phone.”
“Aye.” His voice was still very low. Then he added, “Tell Arlene that George Smith says hello.”
He walked away and left her alone in the kitchen.
* * *
MALCOLM GAVE KRISTIN time to settle in and then headed up the stairs with a tray Eileen had given him, holding two tumblers each containing a finger of apricot-flavored brandy. An interesting choice, but he’d been grateful to Eileen for the hospitality.
He balanced the tray on one side and knocked on the door.
“I’m decent,” Kristin called from inside.
Too bad. He would rather enjoy seeing her indecent. But he turned the door handle, whistling, determined to stay on course. He’d said he would believe in her—a tall order, for someone naturally skeptical. Then, he’d promised not to “trample” her. Though frankly, he considered himself the one person who would never do anything of the sort.
Immediately, he noticed that the air in the room was damp and warm, and smelled like a pine and birc
h forest. Must be the potions she’d showered with. Nice.
Kristin gazed up at him from her position sitting up in the only bed, which took up most of the small room. Her hair was wet and combed back. Pillows were propped behind her against the headboard, and she was burrowed under the covers, with the sheets pulled up over her breasts. One of those research books Alistair had given her was open in her lap.
No, he wasn’t going to get sidetracked into a discussion about castles right now.
He placed the tray on the bedside table. What he really felt like doing was climbing into bed and burrowing under the sheets with her, but from the way she eyed him, the answer was a definite no. And her attire communicated the same message. She had on a flannel, long-sleeved, high-necked nightgown, like somebody’s granny might wear—not a hot young woman who rocked a short skirt and a tight sweater as she did.
He took the measure of the bed with one glance. Large and comfortable-looking, with plenty of room for both of them. But Kristin had established herself in the center, staking out her turf, and her turf appeared to include the entire property.
He sprawled on the lone, ancient chair in the room instead, and immediately sank low into the cushions. No possibility of getting a good night’s rest there.
She went back to her research book and ignored him. He untied his laces, dropped one wet shoe, which landed with a loud plunk, and then the other.
Slowly, she turned a page. “Did you ask Eileen for a blanket for yourself?”
“No, lassie, but ’tis good of you to worry about me.”
She smirked at him.
He took a taste from the snifter and immediately bared his teeth. Eileen’s homemade brandy was stronger than it smelled. A bit sweet, but not too much. “Would you like a wee dram?”
“No, Malcolm.” She said “no” like “nae” and turned another page. “There’s a couch in the sitting room that should accommodate your big, Highlander body pretty well. Do ye ken what I mean?” she said in her Scottish voice.
He “kenned” that she’d noticed his body. He smiled to himself. “For someone who is busting out and declaring her freedom, you’re playing it awfully safe tonight, love.”
She turned another page of her book. “Nothing is going to happen between us, Malcolm. Don’t even try.”
“You think I sleep with strange women I barely know? The nerve.” Little did she know, but he didn’t sleep with women he actually did know. He was a monk in service to his family. “Which brings me back to you. I thought you were the adventurous one, and I was the careful person. And yet, look how cautious you are tonight. Granny-neck gown and all.”
She crossed her arms. “It’s how I stay warm. Scotland is cold in spring. And Alistair hasn’t exactly turned up the heat very high, has he?”
Malcolm didn’t want to talk about Alistair. He wanted to talk about her. “I’ll bet your mother wears granny-necks.”
“She does.”
“Your sister-in-law. Your niece.”
Kristin pursed her lips. “Yup.” She smiled brightly at him. “Must be a Vermont thing.”
He leaned forward. “I don’t think so. I think it’s a Hart-family thing.”
“And your point is?”
“Did your grandmother wear granny-necks?”
Kristin frowned. “I don’t remember that. She died when I was small.”
“And yet, you’ve idolized her into a role model.”
Slowly, Kristin shut her book. “Okay, I don’t see what this—”
“Allow me.” He leaned forward, offering her a snifter one last time, but she declined. “Love, I’ve met your family. And if I may remind you, they thought I was just grand.”
“Easily fooled, I suppose,” she said breezily.
“You’re not like them. Your parents are safe and cautious. I would imagine that they never really encouraged you or your brothers to venture out into the world or go very far,” he said. “So there you all are, still living steps from the house you grew up in.”
“Malcolm—”
“That night, when I said to find your castle, I meant it figuratively. Not like this.” He laughed dryly. “Anybody could tell that you long for freedom, and yet, this is your first time away from home, isn’t it? You didn’t even own a passport.”
She gathered her wet hair in one hand, then let it go. “Actually, you’re wrong about that. I lived in New York City for a while.”
He blinked but did not let on that he was surprised. “And?”
“And, I got a better job at Aura.” She pursed her lips at him. “I liked Aura, very much.” She reached over to the bedside table on the other side, and unzippered a kit. Opened a pot of something-or-other, honey-scented, and rubbed it on her hands. “It made me feel healed, working there. The bees healed me.”
“Healed you from what?”
One shoulder lifted, then dropped. “I don’t know. Maybe it was hard being the only girl in the middle of all those boys growing up,” she said.
He laced his hands behind his head and leaned back, letting her continue.
“I like to have fun.” She rubbed that hand cream in vigorously. “I wasn’t always so serious in my life, you know.”
He thought of her dancing the Highland Fling with her niece. She’d seemed like a different person in that moment. “What happened to you?”
“Nothing happened, Malcolm. Just drop it.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Anyway, I’m not here so you can analyze me, or dig deeper into my psyche. I’m here in Scotland because your business put my company out of business. I’m here to save my factory and my town. My main purpose on this trip is to convince you of the legitimacy of my proposal—which we will discuss tomorrow. For tonight, though, you can walk away from me at any time. I’m not holding you here in this bedroom.”
“No,” he said quietly. “You are not.”
He leaned his head back again. They both knew he was lying. There was just something about her, something maddening to him.
She did hold him there, like a sun held a planet in its orbit.
She attracted him. She fascinated him. She infuriated him.
He couldn’t put his finger on it. She was a mixture of cautious and reckless, high and low, out-of-control and scared. But there was something he was missing, something vital about her that he didn’t understand.
And yet, she seemed to understand him very well. She may not like him much; she hadn’t liked his security name or his job requirements, that was for sure. But when she’d found out about the kidnapping she had looked at him with empathy, though she hadn’t asked a thing about it or even attempted to coo over him or “mother the hurt away.”
I’m sorry, she’d said, and she’d meant it. But that was all she’d said.
It was the perfect response, to his mind. Maybe he’d been looking for this response all his life.
And in that respect, she was perfect.
If he was honest with himself, a big reason he didn’t date his countrywomen in general was because everyone he’d met who was his age already knew about him—or at least thought they did. Once they heard his name, they all knew. Even the women in his office. Sometimes, he caught them gazing at him with sadness and sympathy, but it was a sympathy that wanted to question him, to hear the details that were never made public. To get an inside scoop and to elicit emotion from a man who did not give it.
Maybe there was a twisted power in that, in uncovering a man’s wounds and then being the only person allowed to peel that bandage on and off at will.
And it sickened him. Whenever he’d dropped the drape and allowed himself to be himself, he’d always seemed to attract that type of woman. Hovering, protective, solicitous.
Until Kristin. She’d had him from that moment at the car rental shop, when he’d blurted out the truth
and she’d reacted in exactly the way that he’d needed.
He wanted to keep her with him, in Scotland, at least for a while longer. Maybe that was selfish of him. Right now, she still seemed a bit stressed and out of sorts. She’d lost her job at Aura. She’d lost her way. She seemed to be looking for something to believe in, and so maybe that was why she’d latched on to this new scheme to save Aura. A scheme that was impossible, because it was a money-loser. It was also a scheme she did not need.
Kristin Hart was smart and important and kind. She was so much better than Aura Botanicals—that fading, hopeless factory—and the skeptical, rigid family who clung to her in the snowy, cold town whose industries had seen better days.
“Malcolm?”
He lifted his head. “Kristy?”
“You should go downstairs and find a blanket.”
“I know,” he said quietly.
He went downstairs and searched out Alistair. Their B&B host was watching a Formula One race on his television in the sitting room. Malcolm kicked back in a chair beside him.
“Is she from Florida?” Alistair asked.
“Kristin? No. Why do you ask?”
“Always wanted to visit Florida.”
Malcolm nodded. “Aye.” He turned his head. “Has she found anything regarding the castle?”
“No, but sometimes the ruins are only listed in the old maps.”
“Ruins?”
“Aye. We’ve thousands of ruins in the Highlands. Some not very old. The mountains reclaim them when they’re abandoned, you ken. All that’s left are the foundation stones.”
“Where can I find these old maps?”
Alistair pointed to the shelves.
“Have you shown her any yet?”
“She didn’t ask.”
Malcolm tried not to smile. “Do you have any Ordinance Maps?”
“Oh, aye.”
Malcolm retrieved what he needed. Then, ten minutes later, after a visit to Eileen and her electric clothes washer, he headed back to the suite wearing a borrowed bathrobe. This time, he just used his key and quietly opened the door.
The light was on, and Kristin was asleep. She’d blockaded herself with a row of pillows lined down the center of the bed like a wall, splitting the mattress in half as if they were an Amish couple.
The Sweetest Hours (Harlequin Superromance) Page 14
