by Sara Logan
"I don't know, Chris. It's possible that he's sorry and will want to make amends. Don't look so upset," he added, glancing at her tight face. "You can always say no."
"This is going to be a restful weekend, isn't it?" Christina murmured dryly, trying to relax and not let what Alex was saying worry her. "James usually stays at the Lodge, too. I hope you're wrong, though. James is very stubborn, and if he has decided he wants to make up with me, he is capable of making things very… difficult."
"He'll have to take no for an answer, stubborn or not."
She frowned and bit her lip thoughtfully. "I hope so."
"You don't sound too sure."
"James has no experience in taking no for an answer," Christina admitted.
"If he gets persistent, tell him there's someone else. That ought to discourage him," Alex suggested.
"Who? I can't tell him that; he'd know it wasn't true."
Alex thought about it. "He would think it a little unlikely, wouldn't he? It's been—what, three days? four?—since you broke it off? How long were you engaged?"
"A year," she said, trying not to think about how happy she had been this time last year. James had proposed and given her her ring at the same time, and she had been in a state of utter bliss during the whole weekend. Resolutely, she shook off her memories and continued her explanation. "We got engaged at the games last year. You see, James is from Charlotte and I've known him all my life. When I graduated from college and came into the firm, I saw a good bit of James at the office. We supply him with most of his British goods, you see, so he was in and out. I hadn't seen him except to wave to since high school, and we started dating, and at the games last year…" The memories overwhelmed her and she swallowed hard.
"… you became engaged. I see. So he knows all your friends and wouldn't be convinced that you've fallen for one of them in four days. Well, we could always pretend it's me!"
She stared at him in stunned surprise. "You? But…"
He smiled. "He doesn't know me, but he must know of my company. You've done business with us for years and he can't know that we met for the first time on Monday. I've been to North Carolina before, but not to Charlotte. We don't have to tell him that, though. You could pretend you've known me for years and saw me on my visits here. This time, however, you were free and we became interested in each other. How's he to disprove that?"
She could think of no way in which he could, and admitted it. "But I don't think it'll be necessary…"
"Perhaps not, but it might prevent any awkward scenes, Chris. If he thinks you really are over him and are interested in me, he'll probably leave us alone. Isn't it worth a try?"
"B-but…" she stammered, "why would you be willing to involve yourself in something like that? After all, we barely know each other…"
He didn't answer immediately. Finally, when she had opened her mouth to repeat her question, he said quietly, "Several reasons. It might allow us to attend the games and enjoy them without emotional scenes; it should make both James and the girl feel that you are not a threat of any kind to their relationship… you do realize that she might be jealous of you and create difficulties? Besides, it should be amusing. Yes, Chris, amusing! You can flirt with me all you like and know that you're perfectly safe in doing so. It's not that you're not an attractive woman," he added, to her sudden fury, "but I'm not at all interested in giving up my freedom for marriage. I would think, too, that it would soothe that pride of yours to make sure James sees you're not moping about and are, in fact, already involved with another man."
Her temper cooled somewhat as she considered that aspect. She had dreaded seeing James with Monica and knew perfectly well that they would both know it. Her position was awkward. If she moped around, James would be pleased; if she pretended not to care at all, he would assume that she was putting on an act. She was between the proverbial rock and the hard place. But if she arrived, oblivious to their presence, with a handsome, attentive escort…
"It begins to sound more attractive by the minute," Christina said, her lips curving in a smile.
"I'll have to keep busy thinking up other attractive ideas if they'll make you smile that way," he said, his eyes approving. "I hoped you would like this scheme. So, it's settled; we'll do it. It should keep your difficult James at bay and allow us to enjoy the weekend in peace. Is that Grandfather Mountain?" he asked, pointing ahead up the winding, rising road to a sturdy peak.
"No, you can't see Grandfather from here. See the mountain just ahead? The small white building nestled on the side? That's our lodge. We should be there in another half hour."
He dropped the subject of James and turned his attention to the rising mountains about them. The gently rounded hills had given way to the rougher mountains, whose sides were covered by a dense growth of trees and shrubs. A lump formed in his throat at the sight. "It looks so much like our Highlands."
"I'm sure that's why so many Scots settled in this part of the country. It looked like home to them."
"More trees, however," he told her. "In the British Isles there's such a scarcity of trees that you need a permit to cut one down, even if it's rotten. This is really lovely country. A perfect setting for the games. Tell me a little about them, Chris. I know they're held every year at Grandfather Mountain and they've grown considerably over the last few years, but not much else. Who started them?"
"They're held near the town of Linville, and a lady named Agnes MacRae Morton sponsors them. Her family, the MacRaes, were the founders of Linville and they're of Scottish descent. Mr. Donald MacDonald…"
"Any kin to James?" Alex asked quickly.
"Not that I know of—a clansman yes, but close kin, no. Anyway, he assisted her in developing the idea, and the first games were held in 1956. The response was immediate. For a while the gathering only lasted for one day; then it was expanded to two days, and now it's a whole weekend and then some."
"I wonder why they're so popular here," he said thoughtfully.
"I have my own ideas about that. There's a big interest right now in roots. I don't know… maybe it's our mobile society. We move far away from home and want something to take with us."
He smiled. "Scots have always been like that. You'll find them celebrating their Scottish heritage all over the world."
Chris nodded, her eyes on the road. "All the ethnic groups are experiencing an upsurge of interest in their origins. Genealogical fever has hit the country. There are now several dozen clan gatherings and Highland games held across the country, and a lot of people later get so interested in their family history that they take up genealogy and eventually go to Scotland to visit. Not everyone who will be at the games is Scottish, of course. They've gotten pretty popular and attract people from all over the country. Most of the larger clans are well represented, and the organizers usually manage to get one or two Scottish clan chiefs to attend. The duke of Argyll, chief of the Campbells, was here a couple of years ago, and so was the MacLennan chieftain. A lot of the events take place on Saturday, with the Tartan Ball on Saturday night and the continuing festivities on Sunday morning. I always enjoy it and know quite a lot of people who are regulars. Like me, they show up every year."
"You'll have to arrange one of your buying trips to Scotland some year so that you can be there for the games at Balmoral. You'd enjoy that, too." He paused to look out the window again. "I see that the higher up in the mountains we get, the more like Scotland the terrain becomes."
Christina glanced at her watch. "We'll be at the Lodge in another ten minutes or so. I love these mountains. This," she added, nodding at the beautifully maintained road, "is the Blue Ridge Parkway. It runs across the mountains from Virginia to Tennessee. The Blue Ridge Mountains are part of the Great Smoky Mountain Chain. Is this the first time you've been in the Smokies?"
He nodded. "I've been in the Adirondacks and the Rockies but never in the Great Smokies. They really are quite beautiful. Is anything scheduled for tonight? I should probably check in wi
th my cousin Rory some time today if there's time."
"Your cousin is going to be here?" asked Christina in surprise.
"Yes, he's the one who told me about the games. I wasn't sure when I talked to him whether I could make it or not."
"Oh. Do you know where he's staying?"
"I've got it written down. I can telephone him and tell him I made it, after all."
"Won't he want you to have dinner with him, Alex? Honestly, I don't mind."
"Rory will be fully occupied," Alex said darkly, and in such a manner that Christina hesitated to ask him to explain what he meant. After a moment he continued, "I can see Rory any time, and I'd much rather have a quiet dinner with a beautiful girl. Besides, if I know Rory, and I do, he'll arrive late, eat dinner in his room, and go directly to bed. Traveling doesn't agree with him. No, I'll see him tomorrow and that's soon enough. Is this the Lodge?" he asked, nodding at the tall half-timbered building that nestled in a rustic setting halfway up the mountainside just ahead.
"That's it. Sham alpine chalet," she admitted, smiling, "but very comfortable, and they have a good dining room."
As Christina maneuvered the car into the nearly full parking lot, Alex looked the Lodge over carefully. The rambling white building stood out boldly against the dark pine trees that covered the mountainside behind it. A broad sweep of gravel led up to the steps, and the rhododendron bushes formed a dark edging for the carefully raked gravel walk. The air had that fresh, pine-scented mountain tang that Alex was very familiar with, and he sighed in anticipation. This was one trip he might actually enjoy, after all.
After they had checked in, Christina said, "Let's meet in the lobby and go have a drink. In about an hour?"
Alex agreed and they parted at the door to Christina's room. Christina opened her suitcase and carefully put her tartan skirt and black vest on a hanger and then thought about what to wear. While she soaked in the huge tub, she remembered that Alex had suggested earlier that they take a walk around the grounds after dinner. With that in mind, she decided to put on the new blazer and skirt that she had bought the week before. They were an amber color and set off her rich blond hair to perfection. She thought she would be warm enough with the turtleneck silk blouse and the lined jacket.
Christina slipped into the suit, twisted her long hair up into a shining knot high on her crown, and secured it with the tortoiseshell comb that her grandfather had brought her from Spain one year. A light touch of lipstick and blusher and she felt ready to face anyone or anything—even James MacDonald.
Alex was waiting for her in the lobby, lean and beautifully turned out in a navy blazer and light gray pants. She relaxed a bit when she saw that there was no sign of James. She knew he was staying here; his name had been boldly written in the Lodge's register, two lines above her own. And Monica was with him, if the register was correct. Well, she was determined not to let the sight of James and Monica upset her. She would be seeing a lot of them over the next two days and she was going to carry it off with aplomb, she promised herself.
Alex slid a hand under her elbow, eyed the navy-blue canvas bag she carried, and said, "Ready? The bar's over there, I think."
Christina hesitated and then decided it was necessary to do some explaining before they got inside. "Alex, I'm not sure if you realize it, but this is a dry county. I mean," she said, trying not to giggle at the puzzled look on his face, "they don't sell mixed drinks."
She handed him the canvas bag and he looked inside it and then at her. "Scotch?" he asked.
Christina managed to keep a straight face at the comical look on his. "North Carolina," she began, "except in certain counties, only has brown bagging. You bring your own bottle, order a setup, and then mix your own drink." Then her self-control gave way and she laughed helplessly. "I know," she choked, "but we just got that mixed-drink law passed a few years ago. Before that, you couldn't buy a mixed drink anywhere in the state! It's a county-option thing now, and most of the mountain counties are dry. You can't even buy liquor here. Come on; I'll show you how it works."
In the Swiss-style bar, Christina ordered the setups. When the glasses, a bucket of ice, and two chilled bottles of soda water arrived, she helped him mix the drinks before sliding the bottle of Scotch back into the canvas bag.
. He grinned ruefully at her. "Well, at least you know what kind of Scotch you're getting in your drink," he murmured.
Christina agreed absently, but her gaze was on the flamboyant red-haired man she could just see through the crowd. James! He was coming into the bar, ushering Monica masterfully around the crowded tables, when Christina spotted him. She felt a red film drop in front of her eyes. His very presence infuriated her and brought back the dreadful scene in her grandfather's living room. She forced herself to remember her promises to herself; she would be composed and calm—she would not allow James to rattle or disturb her. With these thoughts in mind, she turned resolutely to Alex.
Just then, he spoke in a low voice. "I gather, Chris, that James MacDonald has just arrived?"
She nodded, wondering how he knew, and then schooled her face to erase any of the turbulent feelings she was experiencing as she realized that James had also spotted her and was steering Monica toward them.
"The big redhead with the brunette?" Alex asked.
Again she nodded. "They're coming this way. Oh, Alex! I hope they aren't planning on joining us."
"Relax," he ordered, just as James arrived at the table.
"Chrissy! I didn't realize you were already here!" James ignored the tall man rising to greet him and kept his frowning gaze on Chris.
"Alex," said Christina hastily, "this is James Mac-Donald. James, Alexander Stewart from Scotland. Monica, how are you?" Christina looked at Alex. "Monica Norland," she added, completing the introductions.
James shook hands indifferently with Alex and then pulled out the two vacant chairs and seated Monica without bothering to wait for an invitation.
"Alex owns A. L. Stewart, James." Christina said.
James glanced from Christina to Alex. "I see. Chrissy," he said, turning his back on Alex and Monica, "where is Anne? Wasn't she coming up with you?"
Christina briefly met Alex's intent gaze, took courage, and drew a deep breath. "That was the plan," she said, keeping her voice light, "but she had to go to New York on business."
James frowned. "Did you come alone?"
"Actually, no. Alex came with me."
There was a rather tense silence after that, which stretched uncomfortably. Monica looked startled, and James positively glowered at Christina. "I see," he said again, this time ominously.
Christina cleared her throat. "Alex is here on business and came to Charlotte to see us. I think he'll enjoy the games, don't you?"
James nodded curtly but he was still frowning. "Where are you staying, Mr. Stewart? I imagine that you had a lot of trouble finding a room?" It was obvious that James hoped that was the case and that the Scotsman would be forced to sleep in the car.
"Oh," Alex said, calmly, "no trouble at all. I'm using Anne Sinclair's reservation. Providential, wasn't it?" he asked smoothly. "I really came to Charlotte to see Chris—and her grandfather, of course. We're old friends," he added, "and I was delighted at the opportunity to come up here with her and, of course, see the games. I had heard of the Grandfather Mountain Games."
"So you're an old friend of Chris's?" James demanded, not really believing a word of it. "Chris has never mentioned you to me."
"Hasn't she? I've heard of you, naturally, but I suppose a girl wouldn't tell her fiancé—forgive me, ex-fiancé, isn't it?—everything. We've done business with the Lennoxes for years," he added, with a warm smile at Christina.
Amused and delighted by Alex's handling of James, Christina smiled back. She was very much aware of James's displeasure at finding her here with Alex. She was also aware of Alex's thorough enjoyment of the situation and Monica's cool, speculative gaze as she took in the little tableau. Monica, obviously, was imp
ressed with the attractive Scotsman.
"Now," Alex said, rising and picking up Christina's jacket, "I hope you'll excuse us. We were just going in to dinner." He held the jacket for her as she slipped into it and put his arm around her for a moment. "Nice to meet you, Miss Norland, Mr. MacDonald. I'm sure we'll see you tomorrow. All set, darling," he added, this last for Christina. And with that they were gone, leaving an astonished, outraged James sputtering at the table.
Chapter Four
Christina managed to subdue her giggles until they reached the lobby. "That was wonderful! Oh, Alex, did you see his face?" But her smile died away and she stopped gloating when she saw the expression on Alexander Stewart's face.
He shrugged, as if the subject of James MacDonald were of the utmost indifference to him. "So much for James," he growled. "I have a table reserved in the dining room and I will see to it that the waiter removes the other two chairs. I have no intention of having James glowering at me throughout our meal. That kind of senseless jealousy infuriates me!"
Because of Alex's remarks Christina's mood altered drastically. She wasn't sure what had happened. All the time they were with James and Monica, Alex had behaved exactly as they had planned, on cue, almost as if he were reading from a script. Now he was acting as though the entire episode were highly distasteful to him, as if he didn't want to play their little game anymore. Suddenly she had serious forebodings about the dinner, the evening, and the entire weekend. She took the chair he was holding for her and looked at him through her long lashes. The waiter, obedient to Alex's request, removed the other two chairs. Then, unable to restrain herself any longer, Christina asked, "What's the matter, Alex?"
"What do you mean?" he parried.
Christina attempted to hide her exasperation. She hated to be asked a question in answer to her own question. "Well, you look so grim. Is something wrong?"
He stared at her for a minute and then suddenly laughed, and she could almost feel the tension lifting. "Oh, I expect it's my dour Scots temperament, Chris. I'm sorry."
