The Blacksmith: A Highlander Romance (The Ghosts of Culloden Moor Book 38)

by L. L. Muir

  She considered her lap for a moment before looking him in the eye. “I would rather pay you and keep it professional if you don’t mind. You said you could show me the Scotland I’m missing, and that would be wonderful—if there is time. But the shoot needs to be a business transaction.”

  It was the silliest thing he’d ever heard. But he wouldn’t injure her feelings by voicing that opinion. There was something else underlying her words. They’d grown rather comfortable with each other, and she suddenly seemed to regret it. Unfortunately for her, he had no intention of letting her erect a wall between them now.

  If Soncerae had other plans for him, it was too late. He was invested in Jordan Lennox, photographer. She’d been a lion to chase him down, now a mouse when he was willing to donate his time and attention.

  “Why?”

  His simple question caught her off guard and she blinked half a dozen times. “Why?” She opened her hands as if she hoped the answer might fall into them. “Why do I want to keep it professional? Because… I’m a professional. I don’t mix business with pleasure.” She worried at her lip as if searching for a better explanation. He knew the second she landed on something. “I don’t take pictures of people with whom I have relationships.”

  He chuckled. “Ye mean to say that, if we were to become friends, ye couldnae take my picture?”

  Her head bobbed. “Yes. Exactly.”

  “Why?”

  She opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water, then braced her hands on the table as if to keep them from flapping about while she explained. “If I know someone well enough to…know what they’re thinking, what they’re feeling, it blinds me. I can’t see past it, to the composition.”

  “Explain this composition.”

  She looked pleadingly at the waiter, who had returned with her card, but the man was eager to move on to the next table and was unaware of her struggle. So she signed a wee paper, accepted another from him, and stuffed both paper and card into the pocket of her camera bag.

  “Composition is the placement of all the elements in the shot. Lighting, shadows, background, foreground. I need to be as detached from the subject as possible, or the subject is all I see.”

  “Detached.”

  “Professional.”

  He shrugged and got to his feet. “Then sadly, Miss Lennox, our involvement is at an end. I wish ye great success in any case, and hope that some of the pictures ye’ve already taken will be helpful.” He offered his hand, and when she took it, speechless, he pulled her out of her chair and pressed his warm lips firmly against her skin. “Farewell, lass,” he murmured as seductively as he could manage.

  “You… You don’t…” She shook her head and allowed her hand to drop. “Thank you anyway.”

  He remained where he was and stared, trying to see what she was so desperate to keep to herself. Eventually, she dropped her gaze to the floor and pulled her skirt against her bum as she sat once more.

  Pity. She will just have to get up again when she comes running after me.

  ~ ~ ~

  Jordan couldn’t believe the guy was walking away! She’d offered him good money for an hour-long photo shoot, or at least she thought she had. Over the years, she’d hired only a few models in the U.K., but she didn’t remember the rate being much different from fees in the States.

  His offer had boiled down to a good old-fashioned will work for food, but that made no sense at all. Why work for three meals when he could eat well for weeks with what she was willing to pay?

  The answer came like a smack in the face with a frying pan.

  Gah! He doesn’t need the money!

  The guy was probably rich as could be—some Scottish noble or something who didn’t have to do anything for a living. On the path, he’d said he had two free days. He probably had a couple of free lifetimes.

  He’d had photo-shoots before?

  Yeah, probably—to have his own portrait painted or something. So, posing for her would just be for fun—more enjoyable, he’d said. Made perfect sense.

  He was probably laughing at her now as he smiled and bowed his way out of the small building. He hadn’t even looked back to see if she’d changed her mind.

  “Go ahead,” she whispered. “Toddle off to your castle now and tease some more tourists.”

  She glanced around the dining area to see if some of the locals were used to this kind of thing, but all she caught was pity.

  There’s the idiot that let him get away…

  What if she was wrong? What if he wasn’t rich at all? Though she’d offered it as payment for posing at the tunnel, he’d allowed her to pay for dinner. And he’d been hungry enough to eat half of hers, too. Was he just pretending to enjoy the food, or had he really thought it was special?

  Jordan shook her head. A couple of kisses on the hand and she couldn’t tell up from down anymore. For all she knew, the guy had been hitting on her, and when it became clear she didn’t intend to get close to him, he’d cut bait.

  A picnic was more important than money?

  Of course, he’d been hitting on her. But still… He really was too perfect of a subject to let get away. She needed some great shots, and he could sell Scotland to anyone—the pot of gold at the end of every Scottish tourist’s dream.

  And all he wanted was three meals.

  He hadn’t suggested she sleep with him. She didn’t have to hold his hand. She didn’t have to get involved. She could keep him at arm’s length, stay professional—and feed him. That didn’t mean she had to let him into her head. She wouldn’t have to bare her soul or listen to him bare his.

  Jordan jumped to her feet. I can do this. I need to do this.

  But he was getting away again!

  She glanced around the table to make sure she had everything, then strapped her bag on her back as she headed for the door Kerry Mather had gone through.

  “There’s a clever lass,” someone called out. “You go get ‘im!”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The evening grew chill now that the sun had left the sky. The air had been sharp but tranquil while he’d strolled along with the lass. Now a westerly wind tried to push that lovely memory away.

  The bite of cold air against Kerry’s knees was invigorating and reminded him that he’d enjoyed no physical feel of the weather while roaming the moor, so he’d be grateful. But truly, if it got much colder, he’d consider unfastening his great kilt and wrapping it about himself.

  He began to doubt whether he’d made a poor wager in the chip shop. Without looking back, he had to rely on his hearing to tell if the lass was coming after him. But either she was a sly wee thing, or she was sticking to her ultimatum.

  Which made him wonder, again, why she would harbor such a policy. Why not take photographs of the people she loved? Empathy distracted the lass?

  More’s the pity if it’s true. He considered turning back and chasing after her, which would prove ironic, but the sound of hurried steps meant there was no need. The lass was coming after all. And just to prove himself a clever fellow, he held his palm out to the side, inviting her to take it.

  She slapped his hand away, and he laughed.

  “You were playing me, Mr. Mather.” Her tone was accusing, but she came to walk beside him in any case.

  “Like a well-tuned fiddle, Miss Lennox.” He glanced to the side long enough to wink at her, then turned toward the water and slowed his pace. “I thought ye might care to see our lovely bridge.” He gestured toward the rock expanse that crossed the South Esk river. “The first arch was built nigh two hundred years before the second, but ye wouldn’t know by looking, aye?”

  Jordan was paying no heed to the bridge. Her fists perched on her hips as they had earlier. The wee lass was about to make a stand again.

  “I’ve decided I’ll take your picture tomorrow.”

  “Have ye now?”

  “And I’ll meet your terms. Breakfast, lunch—”

  “A picnic.”

  She nod
ded. “A picnic for lunch, and dinner.”

  “And ye vow ye’ll become involved with me, then?”

  She recoiled and he snatched one of her hands before she could retreat too far.

  “I was funning with ye, lass. Just funning.”

  She wrinkled her nose and gave him what was no doubt her best attempt at an evil eye, but it had the opposite effect, for now he wanted to make her do it again.

  “Detached, I believe ye said.”

  “Yeah?”

  “All I ask is that ye dinna make it yer watch word for the day, aye? Such a lonely place it sounds—to be detached. And I’ve known it all too well.”

  She nodded, finally. “Is that why you walked away?”

  Suddenly uncomfortable with the morose tone, he smiled brightly. “Nonsense. I walked away so ye’d come after me again.”

  She used her shoulder to push him off balance, but it didn’t work. Then she started walking away.

  “Ye canna blame me, lass. I so enjoyed yer frown the first time.”

  She kept marching, he tried to catch up with her, but it was difficult what with how hard he was laughing.

  “Where do ye go, Jordan?”

  “I’m going to check out your bridge.”

  He composed himself and caught up.

  “What’s it called?”

  “The bridge? Brechin Bridge. Why do ye ask?”

  “Oh, I just thought all your bridges were supposed to have charming names.”

  “Like Brig o’ Doon?”

  “Yeah. Something like that.”

  He reached the bridge first and held out his arms as if to present it to her. “I fear those instructions never reached the townsfolk of Brechin. For behold, Brechin Bridge.”

  The woman moved to the side and set her bag on the stone wall. Then she climbed upon the ledge to sit beside her things and hung her legs over the water far below.

  Kerry found himself jealous of South Esk because it stole her attention from him. The childish emotion took him quite by surprise, but there was no use denying it.

  “Dinna fash, lass. I will think of something charming ye can name this beast.”

  She said nothing. Just kicked her heels and watched the river pass.

  “Let me see...” He brought a hand up to his chin, but she noticed nothing. He leaned across the ledge, inching into her vision. “Brig o’ Kerry?”

  His suggestion won him only a vague sigh.

  “Brig o’ Fish—sans Chips?” That won him an eyeroll. But what he truly wished to win was a kiss. “Brig o’...”

  “Brig o’ Cold Wind,” she said, and pulled her feet up, to climb down. “When did it get so cold?”

  “The warmth must have left ye after running after me, aye?” He grabbed one of her hands and held tight. “Ye’re naught but frozen bones, lass. We need a fire.”

  “I need to get back to my B&B.”

  “And where is that?”

  “Just off the city square and the statue.”

  “Plenty of walk to warm ye, then. Perhaps we can come back to the Brig o’ Photos on the morrow.”

  Finally, he won a laugh and a genuine smile from her. “Brig o’ Photos it is.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jordan refused to hold the Highlander’s hand as they headed up the rise toward the fish and chips place. She was grateful they stayed on the river side of the street because she could feel dozens of eyes on them as they passed. It would have been excruciating to actually see everyone watching them—or worse, hearing them cheer when they saw she’d caught the guy she’d gone running after.

  “Well done, you!”

  She didn’t look to see who had yelled, and she was relieved when Kerry didn’t look either. It was odd that a man who dressed and looked like that didn’t seem to realize that all eyes were on him, no matter where he went. And though she’d promised herself she wouldn’t be swapping heart to hearts with the guy, her curiosity needed a little bit of information or it would never settle down.

  “I have to ask. I don’t mean to pry, but...are you the lord of a castle or something?”

  He gave her a funny look. “Nay. Why would ye ask such a thing? Haven’t I said I am a blacksmith? Same as my father?”

  “Yes. I remember. I just... Look, I’m sorry to be so rude, but I can’t help wondering why you wouldn’t want the money. It makes me think you, you know, don’t need it.”

  He laughed. “Because I have so much of my own, ye mean?”

  “Exactly.”

  He was silent for a long time and Jordan was sure she’d crossed the line. If she didn’t keep her mouth shut, she was going to ruin it after all.

  “Look here,” he said. “Ye say ye dinna wish to be rude, ye dinna wish to become attached to me—though yer chances of failing are impressive—and ye dinna wish to get too personal. So, without getting personal, I will admit that I do not need the money, though I will need a meal or two in the coming days. And no, I do not have the wherewithal to procure anything more than what grows freely.”

  Jordan knew she was being rebuked, so she knew better than to comment. She could only wait until he was done.

  “Yer face is easily read, Miss Lennox. Ye’re as curious as a cat and ye want the details. But at the same time, ye wish to know nothing that might make ye…care for me. So I will tell ye something that will appease yer curiosity without telling ye much at all.”

  “Really?”

  “Auch, now. Watch yerself, Jordan Lennox. Ye’re too easily teased by half. Be patient for a moment, while I think.”

  It might have been on purpose, or it might have been a natural reflex when he grabbed her hand and wrapped it around his forearm, to take her through the tunnel. When they came out the other end, he removed her hand from his arm, then deposited it into his hand without even glancing at her. His brow was still furrowed, ostensibly, from thinking hard.

  And once again, she caved, letting him hold onto it as long as he wanted, just because his hand was warm and the circulation from their quick hike still hadn’t reached her cold fingers.

  The town square was only a couple of blocks away. Whatever he was cooking up under that angled bonnet, he had to start sharing or she’d have to wait until morning to hear about it.

  He would tell her something about him but nothing at all. Something but nothing? This was going to be interesting.

  “Um…”

  “Wheesht, lass.” He kept his eyes on the path. “Another minute or two, I beg ye.”

  “All right,” she said. “But it had better be good…”

  He wasn’t listening, but he did pay attention to their footing. He moved onto the grass to give her more room to walk around a broken slab of concrete. A few minutes later, he stopped and looked for cars before crossing the street, still holding her hand. At last, they stopped at the upper end of the square. The statue was barely visible at the bottom.

  Kerry glanced around. “Where to?”

  Jordan pointed to the road that ran down the upper side of an old church. Before she had the chance to speak, they were off again. She would have complained had he been dragging her along, but his large strides were careful and slow, keeping pace with her instead of setting it.

  They reached a small slope of grass with a path of round stepping stones leading to the side of an old house divided into four apartments. Her unit took up the back of the main floor.

  The guy finally released her hand when she started up the steps. He stopped on the last stone and put his hands behind his back. “Start ye a fire right away,” he said, nodding toward the door. “I willnae have ye dying on me when there are more than a hundred minutes ye owe me.”

  She shook her head and tried to look serious. “That’s charging interest on the interest, buddy.”

  “Fine. Ye owe me one hour, then. And no more interest until morning. Shall we meet in the square? Say, seven o’clock?”

  She grimaced. “My body’s still on Eastern Time. How about ten?”

  He no
dded. “I shall endeavor not to starve until ten.” His wink told her he wasn’t too worried, then he inclined his head, waved his fingers, and started back across the stepping stones.

  “Wait.” She really should have kept her mouth shut, but she couldn’t stand watching him walk away. Not when they still had things to talk about. It was dark, and they were strangers, and it was the stupidest thing she’d ever done, but she couldn’t resist. “I’ve been patient. You still need to tell me that something that won’t really be anything, remember?” She gestured toward the house. “Do you want to come inside?”

  He stood still and silent, biting his lower lip and teetering on a single stone while they frowned at each other in the dying light. It made her suspicious.

  “Where are you staying?”

  He gestured vaguely toward the road. “No’ far.”

  She would have bet money he was lying. “Where, exactly?”

  “Believe me, lass. There is shelter a plenty to be had in Brechin.”

  “So you have nowhere to stay.”

  “As I said, a surfeit of options. Worry not for me, Jordan. I will be in the park at ten o’clock.” He gestured toward the road again, asking permission to leave, but she didn’t give it.

  Obviously, my good judgement didn’t make the flight. “I have a kitchen. It will be easiest to feed you breakfast here.”

  He squared his shoulders and cocked his head. “A traditional Scottish breakfast?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ye’ll need beans.”

  “Got beans.”

  “Blood sausage?”

  “Ew. But yeah, it might be in there.”

  “Tomatoes? Mushrooms?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Eggs, toast.”

  “American coffee?”

  She gave him a narrow look. “For a traditional Scottish breakfast?”