Not Quite a Scot

by Janice Maynard

  Tom dragged me in his wake, making the crowd part from the sheer force of his determination. We must have looked like a tugboat pulling the Titanic. When we finally reached the bar, I was out of breath. Somehow, Tom finessed us to the front of the line.

  I glanced apologetically at the men and women behind us. They rolled their eyes, clearly used to Tom’s antics.

  “What’s your pleasure, Ms. Taylor?” Tom asked.

  “Call me McKenzie, please. A rum and Coke would be nice.”

  He shook his head. “That’s no good.” He turned to the bartender. “We’ll have two Glenfinnans. Neat.”

  The little twerp. His self-important assurance that he could override my choice was irritating. I swallowed my pique. I might as well get this over with. When we had our drinks, I allowed him to steer me once again, this time toward a corner of the room where the air was marginally cooler. Clearly, this entertainment space was not outfitted with air conditioning. Someone had started opening the large windows and letting in the late evening breeze. Even so, the press of bodies kept the temperature warm.

  “So are you a native of Skye, Tom?”

  “Born and raised here,” he said proudly. “My lineage goes all the way back to before Culloden and the uprising. We’re a mix of McDonalds and another clan that died out. I’ve had several papers published on the subject. I’m sure you would find them edifying. I’ll make you copies and bring them to you. Where did you say you were staying?”

  My spine tingled as my sleazeball-o-meter went off. “I didn’t say,” I muttered. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to find the ladies room.”

  I abandoned the miniature Scotsman so fast, he never knew what happened. Standing on my tiptoes, I was able to spot Finley, only because he was head and shoulders over most of the partygoers. The music had started in earnest. The dance floor was getting crowded.

  In a snit, I walked up to my American host and poked him in the chest with a finger. “You did that on purpose.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “You said you wanted to meet interesting natives.”

  “Not funny, Mr. Craig. Not at all.”

  Before I could finish my tirade, another of Finley’s friends stopped by, clearly angling for an introduction. This one was taller than me, but he was on the far end of the age range.

  Finley shook hands with the man. “McKenzie, meet Jordan Darvon. Jordan, this is McKenzie Taylor from the States.”

  Jordan pumped my hand. He had the grip of a dead codfish. And Finley, darn him, had already disappeared, leaving me to my fate.

  My new admirer gazed at me with soulful eyes. “I’m delighted to meet ye, young lady. My wife died of the cancer two years ago, and this is the first time I’ve been out to dance. I don’t suppose you’d like to take a turn on the floor? You remind me a little bit of her, though she was smaller and had blue eyes, not brown. How long do you think a man should be on his own before he thinks of marrying again?”

  I didn’t even try to interrupt the monologue. When I found Finley this time, I was going to kill him. So help me God.

  Jordan managed to talk nonstop about his dead wife for a solid half hour. I was a compassionate person. I even admired a man who still loved his wife so much. Still, listening to a stranger hit on me out of sheer loneliness was where I drew the line.

  At long last, I managed to extricate myself from the forlorn widower. Unfortunately, Finley had shown the good sense to hide where I couldn’t find him. I sat in a folding chair near the window and tapped my toe to the music. Most of the numbers were fast. I recognized the occasional upbeat American pop tune. For the most part, the band played traditional pieces. It wasn’t a bad way to spend an evening.

  I watched the crowd interact and had to smile. There seemed to be no age limit to “cutting a rug” at a ceilidh. I saw a couple who had to be in their eighties kicking up their heels in a dizzying reel. Then of course, there were all the adolescents mingling awkwardly and casting longing glances at the objects of their affections.

  It was fun. I might have had more fun were Hayley and Willow with me, but maybe not. We probably would have chosen to take a walk in the dark instead of inserting ourselves in something that was so uniquely local and authentic. As a group of three, we would definitely have felt like outsiders.

  Even if Finley was being a pain in the butt, I had to appreciate the fact that he had brought me here. As if my thoughts conjured him up, he appeared at my elbow. “I assumed you’d have a promise ring on your finger by now,” he smirked.

  “Has anyone ever told you you’re a sick and twisted man?”

  He kissed my cheek, catching me totally off guard. “All the time. Now will you dance with me, McKenzie Taylor? I’d like to take a turn around the room with the prettiest girl here.”

  His flattery was suspect. It made me smile. “I don’t know the dances,” I said.

  “All you have to do is follow me.”

  “You make it sound so simple.” I had my doubts. I’d been known to trip over my own two feet. Yoga classes notwithstanding, I was more stork than flamingo.

  “C’mon, lass. Live a little.”

  I had watched groups of couples doing fairly complicated formations on the floor. This next song, however, was more of a freestyle reel. Finley put one hand at my waist and linked the fingers of his other hand with mine.

  “I don’t know about this,” I muttered.

  “Whatever you do, don’t stop. ’Twould cause a terrible collision.”

  The band launched into the song, and we were off. The room spun past me as Finley and I whirled and dipped and moved across the floor. The song was a jig or a reel; I’m not sure I knew the difference. Either way, it was fast. At least a dozen other couples danced with us. I had eyes only for my partner. Flushed and dizzy, I tried to breathe…in between bouts of laughter.

  Finley was very popular. Even in the midst of the dance, men shouted out greetings to him. Women gave him the eye. I wondered how many of the local single females had tried to lasso the laconic American. His hand was warm at my waist. I could smell the pleasant tang of his aftershave.

  All too soon, it was over. “I loved it,” I said impulsively. “How could anyone dance like that and not say goodbye to all their worries?”

  Finley tucked a stray hair behind my ear. “Aye. It’s wild and sweet and good for the soul. It wasn’t really my thing when I first arrived from the States. As I made friends, they bludgeoned me into coming to the ceilidhs. Now, I rarely miss one. Besides, it’s intense aerobic training.”

  I didn’t care so much about the physical benefits. All I could think about was how much I had enjoyed being held in Finley’s arms. The last hour encompassed everything I hoped I would find in the Scottish Highlands. Tradition. Culture. Art and beauty.

  There was only one thing missing.

  A proper Scotsman to steal my heart.

  Chapter 14

  After our crazy dance, we hit the bar. Finley ordered a beer. I asked for water with lime. I was hot and thirsty, and alcohol would only make it worse. Beverages in hand, we made our way to one of the large windows overlooking the street and the harbor. The breeze was perfect—not hot and muggy, not chilly either.

  We stood in silence, content to watch the dancers and sip our drinks. I would give a lot to know what Finley was thinking. He was natural with me…comfortable, kind, and attentive. At times, I felt an almost tangible sexual pull between us. I knew how I reacted to Finley. Had I imagined his attraction to me?

  Troubled by my thoughts, I didn’t even notice when the third of Finley’s candidates joined us. Finley’s voice jerked me out of my reverie.

  “McKenzie, I’d like you to meet Allen Gordon.”

  I turned with a forced smile and felt the breath catch in my throat. The man was taller than Finley, six four at least. He was lean and muscular, and he was wearing an old, clearly well-worn kilt and a white shirt with billowy sleeves. Nine out of ten men in the room wo
uldn’t be able to pull off that style without seeming pretentious. Allen, on the other hand, looked as if he had stepped straight from a movie set…but in a good way.

  “Hello, Allen.” I stuck out my hand, shooting Finley an incredulous look. I thought Finley was interested in me. Why would he trot out this specimen of masculine perfection? Allen’s reddish-brown hair and brown eyes gave him a more than passing resemblance to my Outlander crush, Jamie.

  My new friend seemed oblivious to any undercurrents. “Finley told me about ye, lass, though he didn’t say how beautiful you are. Reminds me of a young Grace Kelly…am I right, Finley?”

  Finley nodded, his face curiously devoid of expression.

  Allen took my arm. “This one’s a slow, lovely dance. Will ye have me as your partner, Miss McKenzie?”

  “Of course.” I handed Finley my glass and allowed Allen to steer me out onto the dance floor. When he took both of my hands in his and smiled, I was disappointed. I didn’t feel a thing. How was that possible? The man was a gorgeous, redheaded hunk of Scottish beef. I should be dissolving in a puddle of drool about now.

  Because this particular reel was slow and lazy, I had no trouble following the various circuits and steps. Allen tossed compliments at me, applauded my dancing and squeezed both of my hands when we were done. “Ye’re a lovely wee lass,” he said as he escorted me back to where my date stood by the window. “This one’s a keeper, Finley. Ye’d better lock her away somewhere before word gets out. Wouldn’t want anyone poaching on your preserves.”

  The two men laughed. I wasn’t sure what was so funny. Was Allen making a veiled threat to pursue me? If so, I was flattered, but nothing beyond that. I was far more interested in Finley.

  When Allen made his goodbyes and walked away, I turned to Finley, tugged at his shoulder, and whispered in his ear. “No more. I can’t take it. I’m an introvert by nature. Did you know that? Please don’t force me to make nice with anymore of your friends.”

  Finley gazed across the crowded room, his expression pensive. “I thought that was the point of your trip. And of tonight, for that matter. Didn’t you come to Scotland to meet your own Jamie Fraser?”

  “I suppose.” Hayley and Willow and I had certainly discussed the idea ad nauseam.

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “I don’t know. I thought it would happen more organically. Not like a set-up. And besides, you deliberately picked men you knew I wouldn’t go for. The overbearing genealogist? The moping widower? Tell me the truth, Finley. You did it on purpose. To make a point.”

  He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “I fail to see how you could disapprove of Allen Gordon. I’ve seen photos of the actor who plays your Jamie Fraser fellow. Allen could be his brother.”

  He had me there. It was impossible to miss the resemblance. Allen was enough to make any woman’s pulse flutter. “I’ll admit I found him extremely attractive, but there was no spark,” I said. “So give up. Please.”

  Finley’s lips twitched, and his eyes danced. “Poor McKenzie. It wouldn’t have mattered if you had felt a spark.”

  I frowned. “Why not?”

  “Allen is gay.”

  My mouth gaped. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  I gave him the evil eye. “You are a dirty, rotten scoundrel, Finley Craig. Why would you go out of your way to introduce me to three Scotsmen who were all wrong for me?”

  I had my back to the wall. Literally. Finley stood with his back to the room, isolating me in the corner. He looked down at me with such intensity in his sapphire eyes that I actually felt faint. “Life isn’t a romance novel, McKenzie.” He growled the words between clenched teeth. “You’re an intelligent, adult woman. Someone needed to knock some sense into you before you get in over your head with a loser who has nothing more to offer than a birth certificate and a Scottish accent.”

  I couldn’t decide if I wanted to smack him or kiss him. His furious lecture was patronizing and insulting. The fact that it was flavored with a faint rolling of the Rs only made his righteous indignation more aggravating. The man might not be Scottish by birth, but he sure as heck had made himself at home.

  “My life, my romantic fantasy,” I snapped, trying not to notice the pulse at the base of his throat. His heart must be beating as fast as mine. “Tonight was an unnecessary charade. If you don’t want me to know your friends, I get it. Do me the favor of at least being honest.”

  He bent his head and whispered, his breath warm on my cheek. “Maybe I wanted to show solidarity with all those American men you’re dismissing so easily in favor of Scottish chaps.” Then he found my lips with his. “Or maybe,” he muttered, “maybe I wanted to keep you for myself.”

  As kisses went, this one was fairly chaste. After all, we were in the midst of a roomful of people. Finley’s lips were warm and firm on mine. Soon I was drunk with the sheer pleasure of kissing him back. He wasn’t touching me at all except for the joining of our lips. Still, I felt myself being seduced.

  In retrospect, I think I knew what this would be like from the first moment I saw him ride up on his fancy bike, all black leather and badass. Finley Craig was sexy man candy…impossible to resist.

  I was parched, gasping for air, burning up from the inside out. Despite our position, someone was watching, because I heard catcalls and teasing from Finley’s friends. Someone yelled, “Get a room.”

  I didn’t even know that saying translated across the pond.

  Pulling back, I broke the kiss and put a hand to my mouth. “It’s a little early in the relationship for those kinds of decisions, don’t you think?”

  He expression was disgruntled, all thwarted male. “For kissing?”

  “For keeping,” I said, referring to his earlier comment.

  “True. Lucky for me, you’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

  I suspected this was a line he used with many women. The man was gorgeous, single, and comfortably well off…or at least it seemed so. His clients probably paid well for Finley’s one-of-a-kind motorcycles.

  “We came here to dance,” I reminded him. “If you’re done, we should go. People are staring at us.”

  He shrugged. “Let them look. I’ve barely touched you all night, which should probably qualify me for sainthood. You are a stunningly beautiful woman, Duchess.”

  The nickname to which I was growing accustomed brought me back to his comment about women who were blond and loaded. Did I remind him of someone in his past? Was he living out a fantasy, using me as a stand-in for a relationship that had gone wrong?

  The thought left a bad taste in my mouth. The evening, which had bubbled with all the effervescence of fine champagne, went flat.

  “I could use a drink,” I said, moving past him to escape the bubble of intimacy.

  Finley held my arm. “What did I say? One minute you were leaning into me, and the next I’m getting an Arctic vibe.”

  I wouldn’t make a scene. I knew he would release me if I pressed the issue. The problem was I didn’t want him to let go. Not really. “I don’t think this is the time or place for fooling around. These people know you.”

  “So?”

  “So they’re probably thinking about every other woman you’ve brought to one of these ceilidhs.”

  Both of his eyebrows shot toward his hairline. A broad smile covered his face, and his eyes sparkled. “You’re jealous? I’ll take that as a good sign, my haughty little Duchess.”

  “I’m not jealous,” I said, my voice stiff. “You’ve lived here a decade. You’re several years older than me. I assume you’ve had other relationships.”

  “Is this where we exchange our sexual histories?” he asked wryly.

  I looked into his eyes, searching for the essence of the man. Was I being strung along by a pro? Or did the dark angel really have a thing for me?

  “Maybe we should,” I said. If we went back to his house right now, I was almost certain we were
going to end up in bed. While that thought made my stomach curl in a good way, I was not a naïve babe in the woods. There were things I wanted to know.

  As I retrieved my purse and wrap, Finley said goodbye to many of his friends. Clearly he was well liked. Just as clearly, he had been accepted into this small community as one of their own.

  We made our way down the narrow staircase and stepped out into the street.

  “It’s a beautiful night,” Finley said. “Are you up for a stroll?”

  “That would be nice.” We had walked down the big hill for the party. Going back up would be more challenging. I might as well postpone that for a few minutes. My panting and huffing was going to be embarrassing either way.

  We made our way over to the water’s edge and looked out at the wine-dark sea. “I like it here,” I said softly. “I can feel the presence of the past so clearly. Not in a creepy way. But as though I’m standing on one side of a veil and those other centuries are just beyond my fingertips.”

  “Forget photography,” Finley said. “You should be a poet.” He leaned his forearms on the railing, his profile painted by moonlight. He was a beautiful man. I sensed a darkness in him, and that darkness made me cautious.

  After a few moments, we found a wooden bench and sat down. Even though I hadn’t worn stilettos, my feet hurt from all the jigs and reels. I slipped off my flats and wiggled my toes.

  The night wrapped us in promise. I felt a flutter of anticipation in my chest. This trip wasn’t turning out as I had expected, but when was life ever predictable? I could enjoy Finley without getting my heart broken. I was a big girl.

  He tapped my knee. “Give me your feet,” he said. “I’ll rub them.”

  “I won’t turn down an offer like that. What do you get in exchange?”

  His quick grin was a flash of white in the gloom. “Answers. Tell me your life story, Duchess. Warts and all.”

  “Very well.” I paused, stifling a moan as his thumb dug into the arch of my foot. Damn, the man was good. I’d never had any kind of a foot fetish before today. Apparently, Finley was going to expand my horizons in more ways than one. “I’m an only child,” I said. “Willow and Hayley and I have that in common. We’re more like sisters than mere friends. I can’t imagine my life without them.”