“What day is your birthday?” he asked.
She smiled at him. “June eleventh.”
“I’m January twenty-fourth.”
She sat up straighter. “That was the day before Burns Night.”
“Aye.”
“So...you spent your birthday night in a hotel in Vermont?” she asked, curious again. “Did you even celebrate it?”
He laughed. “No. And that’s exactly what my sister said to me when she called me that morning in your factory to chide me about it.”
“Get out!” Kristin twisted in her seat and grinned at him. “That’s what the phone call I overheard was about?”
“Aye.” He nodded. “Being in Scotland, she was five hours ahead of us, and so waited to call, thinking she’d be teasing me about having a hangover. She clearly has the wrong idea about me, you see.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Why? Well, I don’t know. I haven’t seen her much lately. Most of my life, I haven’t lived in Scotland. I only moved back recently, and now I live in a flat in Edinburgh.”
She nodded, digesting it all. He was still working on the assumption that he could convince her to move here. But if he brought it up again too quickly and in the wrong way, he might push her further away. He didn’t want to do that. He liked that they were getting closer.
After a time, Kristin opened the book of Ordinance maps Malcolm had borrowed from Alistair, having promised the B&B owner upon pain of death that he would mail it back to him on Monday, when he returned to the office.
He let the silence sit. When they came to a petrol station at a roundabout, Malcolm pulled the car over and went inside, buying some chocolate bars and two water bottles for the rest of their journey. When he came outside again, Kristin was stretching her legs and twisting her lower back to and fro. He knew how she felt.
He handed her one of the waters and a chocolate bar.
She stared at it, biting her lip in wonder.
No, Kristy, he thought. I am not a man who forgets things, once learned.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “You’re a kind person at heart, Malcolm.”
No, he wasn’t. Depending upon the situation, he could be brutal.
But Kristin affected him. She made him relax his defenses and want to be kind to her.
“Are you feeling better now?” he asked.
“Yes.” When they were back in the car, buckled in, she turned to him. “You wanted me to be honest with you. Well, okay, here it is. I’m not...looking for a hookup.” She coughed, embarrassed. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about me. When I first heard you talking on the phone that day in my office at Aura—especially when I overheard your accent—a hookup with you was actually the first thing I thought of.”
Her cheeks turned pink, and she laughed self-consciously, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking away from him. “But...that’s really not my personality at heart. And I don’t think that’s yours, either,” she said hurriedly, daring to glance at him. “Besides, we have this...conflict between us regarding Born in Vermont, and I don’t want to fool myself into thinking that a hookup might be able to influence you into implementing my proposal, because that would cause all sorts of additional problems that would haunt me when I got home....”
She let her words trail away. Her hometown back in Vermont, the fate of the factory, was the big excuse she was leaning on, he saw that now.
But was that the whole story? There seemed to be something more he wasn’t seeing, and that she wasn’t showing him.
Playing ten questions with her, feeding her chocolate, hunting down her castle—none of those things were going to bring it out of her, whatever it was.
He reached over and adjusted the mirror. “For today, we’re a team. We’re castle-hunting. How about we leave it at that?”
“What’s in it for you?” she asked.
Time spent with her. Kristin was in it for him, and the promise of more in the future, if he didn’t screw it up. But he just smiled at her.
“Malcolm, today is also the day we talk about Born in Vermont. Ten o’clock. You know that.”
“Yes,” he said. “I promised I’d discuss it with you, and I will.”
* * *
THE DETAILED SCHEMATICS on the Ordinance map didn’t always translate into what they were seeing on the road ahead of them. And the internet directions made everything seem even more confused.
Malcolm scratched the back of his neck. Eileen had used some kind of itchy detergent on his collar—she’d shrunk the shirt, too. In frustration, he peeled the damn thing off, wadded it and tossed it into the backseat, so he was left wearing his white T-shirt. Kristin didn’t seem to notice.
“Go here,” she told him for the tenth time that morning, turning around and pointing to a fork in the road behind them.
He swore they’d circled the same two mile radius at least three times, from different directions. He felt tired and cross. “You’re not even looking at the map,” he protested. He pulled over and turned it in her lap so he could see what she meant.
“Listen to me, I’m serious,” she said, “my intuition is telling me that the ruins are that way.” She pointed again.
“We’ve been down that road before.”
“No, we haven’t.”
“Don’t you remember that cow?” he asked.
“We’ve seen dozen of cows, but not him,” she insisted. “He’s a new one. See the weird twist on his right horn?”
Malcolm couldn’t help it; he laughed.
“I am deathly serious,” she said, but she was giggling, too.
“All right, I’ll do what you say.” Always listen to the woman, that’s what Malcolm’s father would counsel.
“I’m telling you,” she repeated again. “I just have a feeling.”
“I know, I know. Look, I’m turning the wheel for you,” he grumbled.
A sheep farmer was headed toward them on the narrow single-car lane, and riding some kind of off-road vehicle that Malcolm doubted was properly licensed for the roadways. A sheepdog trotted along beside him.
Malcolm pulled over into a farmer’s driveway, rolled down his window and beckoned the farmer to them.
“Aye?” the farmer said.
“We’re looking for—”
The dog broke into a conniption fit of barking.
“Hold your wheesht!” the farmer said to the sheepdog.
Be silent, it meant. The dog quieted down.
“We’re looking for McGunnert Castle,” Malcolm continued, using his “Scottish voice.” “It may be a ruin, or even just a cellar.”
“Aye,” the farmer agreed in an equally heavy vernacular. “’Tis a small ruin.”
Malcolm’s heart sped up. “Is it nearby?”
“Of course it is,” Kristin piped in. She pointed past the back window. “It’s down that lane behind us, isn’t it, sir?”
“Aye, ’tis,” the farmer replied. “Another small way. Off to the right, in the trees. Where a grove of pine trees should not be.”
At least Kristin didn’t say, “I told you so.”
Malcolm executed a turn, then did as he was bade. He was through second-guessing.
“There it is!” Kristin shouted. “There! There!”
He drove the short distance, and over the rolling green hill was a stand of pine trees, and beneath that, a shadow....
He braked to a stop, and before he could ask Kristin to wait for him, she opened the door and jumped out, running—her gait easy, hair bouncing in the wind, elbows gracefully pumping. Over the boggy field and into the distance.
Malcolm watched for a moment, feeling the anticipation himself. Still, by habit, he gazed around them. Other than himself and Kristin, he didn’t see a soul.<
br />
He locked the vehicle and followed her across a green moor still damp and cool from a passing rain shower. His unfamiliar shoes sank into a few squishy spots. Overhead, a large raven cawed and called.
He passed into the stand of trees with wide-spreading branches and plenty of room to walk beneath and jogged to catch up to her.
“Malcolm, look!”
There were indeed ruins, and she stood atop a low wall, looking upward at a higher, broken wall. The section of wooded area had seemed to grow over the stacked stones, consuming them. True to what they’d been told earlier, the roof was missing from the structure.
“Do you see?” she said. “I was right, wasn’t I?”
“Aye.” He stood beside her. “But how do you know it’s yours?”
“Because it said McGunnert Castle right on the map.”
“True, and your grandmother was a McGunnert, but how do you know this was hers by right? Did she live here? Was this her village? Or did the letter-writer just pluck her name out of the U.S. phone directories, looking for a person to fool?”
“Here is the proof that she at least knew what this place was.” Kristin stepped onto a low wall and began to climb the crumbling stones higher. “There, in the upper right corner. Do you see?”
Malcolm squinted. And just as he squinted, a shaft of sunlight glowed down upon a square in the stone, illuminating an inlaid carving of a bee in flight.
“Compare that to my grandmother’s brooch.” She unpinned it from her shirt and jumped down to show him the likeness.
Their heads bowed together. Malcolm inspected the bit of carved gold. “It’s the same sketch of a bee.”
Kristin nodded, her face shining. “This small ruin isn’t the whole, fully functioning structure I was hoping for, but it’s a castle nonetheless, and to me, it’s beautiful. Even if somebody else owns it, which I’m sure is true, it doesn’t matter. In my heart, this was my Nanny’s, and now it’s mine. I’m the one who believed in it.”
Malcolm gazed up at the castle wall turret. An eerie feeling came over him, as if he was standing in a place almost...holy. Kristin was meant to be here, and he was meant to be here, too, in this spot, in this moment.
But moments were fleeting, and sadness passed over him. Unless he convinced her otherwise, Kristin would leave soon—gone from his life forever.
It’s not as though he could ever go back to Vermont with her. He was the man who’d destroyed her town’s livelihood. Kristin’s beloved bee potions.
But for the next few minutes at least, they were still together. He bent to the spongy, squishy earth, and pocketed a polished black stone, loosened from the castle wall at some point. Silly and sentimental of him, maybe, but he would keep it on his desk as a reminder.
No. Who was he kidding? He tossed the stone away. “What are you going to do now?” he asked her.
Kristin pulled a small digital camera from her back pocket and walked around the low structure, clicking photos of the ruins from several angles. He leaned against a boulder, watching her. Without warning, she turned and took a quick photo of him.
Nobody took pictures of him. He didn’t like it and normally didn’t let people do it. “What’s that for?” he asked.
“For me. Just me and nobody else.” Her cheeks were flushed.
Oh, Kristy. Malcolm couldn’t move.
“Will you...take a picture of me with my castle in the background?” she asked, her voice shaking.
Nodding, he accepted the camera from her and backed up.
Through the lens she was blinking at him, her hands clasped. He paused, holding the image in the viewfinder, memorizing it for himself. With the dew and light hitting the castle wall behind her, she looked beautiful.
A pain in his chest, he snapped the photo.
Her smile faded. “It’s sad, isn’t it? We had a good adventure together.”
“Yeah.” He couldn’t even pretend that he didn’t know what she meant. It seemed as if neither one of them wanted the moment to end.
He took out his own phone and snapped another photo of her. This was for himself. Lowering his head, he turned the camera off. A fat raindrop landed on the screen. Another one hit his head.
“I’ll get the umbrella,” he said, handing Kristin her camera. “Wait here, under the trees.”
By the time he got to the road, the rain was falling at a steady clip. The moor misted and fogged pretty quickly.
“I’m coming!” she called. “I don’t mind the rain!”
He looked back and saw her running toward him as fast as she could, laughing.
What was it about her? She always lightened his mood. The woman was just what he needed in his life.
Together they raced to the car. Inside, he opened the glove box and pulled out the minibottle of whisky he’d brought from the B&B. He unscrewed the top and held it to her.
“You first,” she said, smiling.
“To castles in Scotland.” He tipped the bottle to his mouth and took a taste. It burned a warm trail down his throat. Wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he passed it to her.
With her eyes on his, she accepted the bottle. She leaned her head on the headrest. “To castles in Scotland,” she whispered.
Her eyes never leaving his and, without wiping the bottle first, she put her mouth where his had just been and drank deeply.
He couldn’t stop watching her.
She took the bottle away, wiping her mouth. Her eyes were bright and shining. And her lips...
Her mouth parted, and her gaze lowered to his lips.
“Malcolm...” Her voice was low and husky and struck just the right chord in him.
He lowered his head to kiss her at the same time that she moved toward him.
She kissed him so sweetly.
* * *
HE TASTED OF the whisky. The stubble on his cheek from not shaving this morning brushed her cheek, but Kristin would have it no other way. If she’d learned anything from her experience castle-hunting with him, it was to trust herself and do things on her terms. Kissing him just...felt right.
She made a little noise in her throat and leaned back on the seat again, just gazing into his brilliant blue eyes and his handsome face. He leaned his head against the seat back, too, gazing at her and saying nothing.
Apparently she was starved from not being kissed by him, ever since he’d left Vermont. Until now, she hadn’t realized.
This time was different from Burns Night, though. This time she’d gone out on a limb with him, and he with her, just a little bit more. Baby steps, the way she needed it. Maybe the way they both needed it.
She tilted her head toward him for another kiss. “More...” she whispered to him. “Please. Just like the first time.”
He understood. He didn’t reach to touch her with his hands.
The warmth of his large body, close enough for her to be aware of his chest rising and falling, but not making contact with her—not at all—made her feel safe. He was sensual but controlled.
He kissed her again. Slowly, drinking her in. Both their heads leaning against the seat back, only their mouths touching.
The drum of the rain on the roof intensified her heartbeat. The scent of their wet, woolen clothes and the humidity in the air of their private hideaway increased her tenderness toward him.
The fact that Malcolm had stayed with her through all the highs and the lows of this crazy drive to find her castle just made her want him more.
She placed her palm flat on his chest, her fingertips brushing that sexy indent below his Adam’s apple and down over his hot skin, to the edge of his shirt. Breaking all her own rules...
His head dropped back. “I have an idea,” he said gruffly.
No. No ideas. “Kissing you just feels good,” she
said. “Can’t we keep it at that?”
CHAPTER TEN
OH, KRISTY. MALCOLM reached up and caressed the edge of her smooth cheek with the back of his knuckle.
“I’m just...not looking to be part of a relationship right now,” Kristin said, shivering involuntarily.
He stilled. Withdrew his hand from her. There was something there. He hadn’t imagined it.
“We still have to discuss Born in Vermont, Malcolm,” she said.
“I know. It’s just about ten o’clock.” And he’d promised to bring her back to Edinburgh, too. Somehow, though, his priorities had shifted. He wasn’t keen on letting her go just yet.
“Why don’t you take more time, another day or two here?” Maybe then he could figure her out more fully. “You’re in Scotland now. From the day I met you, you were in love with this place. You wanted me to talk to you like this.” He gave her his best brogue, really rolled those r’s. “To talk to you, love, in that Sean Connery voice.”
“I’ll make a recording and bring it home with me,” she said, laughing.
“Ah, but it’s not the same. Can a recording kiss you?”
“In my imagination, when I want it to. And when I don’t want it to, it won’t.”
So, that was her secret. “I thought you were adventurous,” he said.
She held up her camera. “I am. Look what I just did.”
“Yes, and did you know that there are real, fully functioning castles that you haven’t seen yet? And...have you seen a Scotsman dance the Highland Fling? Or been to a real Scottish pub and...eaten...haggis in Scotland? Plus, we have islands and firths and the Loch Ness monster....”
Now he was getting silly. “And golf and whisky tours and Burns readings.”
Stupid and hokey, but it was working. Her lips were parted, and the spark was in her eyes.
Kristin laughed and shook her head. “Why are you tempting me? Do you think that will make Born in Vermont go away?”
“No.” It was because when he kissed her, he wanted to keep going, to make love to her, even in this tiny, creaky, ridiculous little car. With the rain drumming on the roof and the smell of the wool from her damp shawl against his nose, the scent of that amazing shampoo she used in her hair.
The Sweetest Hours (Harlequin Superromance) Page 16
