Blame It on Scotland

by Patience Griffin

  “Excuse me?” She was a little out of breath.

  “What’s yere name?” He sounded abrupt, but he had no patience today.

  The question brought her to a halt a few feet away. Her eyebrows squeezed together in caution. “Ryn Breckenridge.”

  “Why are ye looking for Maggie?”

  Normally, he didn’t interrogate people. It was none of his damn business what others were up to. But in this instance, he wasn’t particularly feeling, or acting normal.

  “Like I said—Maggie’s my cousin. Actually, she’s my mother’s first cousin.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.” He could tell this lass was different from regular birds. Perhaps it was her wary stance, or the stubborn set of her jaw, or that she didn’t give two pence about his looks or charm. Not in the least. Tuck’s ego took a hit, because most women fell over themselves to get his attention.

  Ryn’s frown conveyed her frustration, so he wasn’t surprised when her tone matched her expression. “I have something for Maggie.”

  Aye. The bouncing tote. The lass held onto it for dear life. “What’s in the bag?”

  “It’s a quilt. I was sent here to bring it to Maggie.”

  There’s that name again. This Ryn brandished Maggie’s name as if she didn’t know she wielded a weapon. A dagger. And each time she uttered the-woman-who-must-not-be-named, it cut deep, carving chunks out of his well-being and patience. Did she do it deliberately?

  He towered over her. “Why didn’t ye just put the quilt in the post? It would’ve been cheaper. Less trouble.” The post would’ve saved him, too, from this moment. “Why did ye come all the way to Scotland?” And to the wrong town ta boot.

  As she shifted to the side, her focus changed to something beyond his shoulder, perhaps to a movie playing out in her head. She was quiet for so long, he wondered if she might have gone mute.

  “You wouldn’t understand,” she finally said quietly. A moment later, she faced him head-on and stared him square in the eyes, as if to say she wasn’t backing down or stepping away from her purpose. “I couldn’t trust the mail with the Goodbye quilt.”

  When she said goodbye, her voice hitched a little and her eyes changed to a dark faraway hue. The indignation of a minute ago transformed into pain, and hell, he didn’t like that he’d caused the mist to come into her eyes.

  A flashback hit him from nowhere, hard and fast. He was seventeen again—another time, another place…a different lass. He was studying for exams to enter college when Elspeth’s tears had him proposing, anything to fix what he’d done. Or what I thought I’d done.

  It’d been the worst time of his life. Until now. John. Maggie. The guilt.

  Tuck shook it off, not sure where that stray thought had come from. He hadn’t thought about Elspeth in years.

  But then a wave of relief hit him. Elspeth. That name was also the cook’s name at the wool mill’s café. Lara, the clerk, had introduced him. That’s what brought on this treacherous and terrible walk down memory lane.

  He fixated on the present and regarded Ryn, forcing himself to put her near-tears from his mind. It may be cruel, but for his own self-preservation, he chose to be a jack-ass and dig deeper. “What the hell’s a Goodbye quilt?” He didn’t like being an insensitive jerk, but it was his best defense against female waterworks.

  At that moment, a van pulled into the driveway leading to the wool mill. He recognized the vehicle—one of Gandiegow’s. The instant the driver came into view, Tuck’s blood ran cold. Maggie. He hadn’t seen her since Easter morn, nor heard her name since leaving Gandiegow. Until the American lass said it today.

  The van pulled in front of the third building—the Laird’s office—and stopped. Tuck had only been in Hugh’s office once, when he’d taken the job.

  Maggie slipped out of the van, not shutting the door right away. She leaned in and spoke with the others in the vehicle.

  “Who is that?” Ryn asked. “Is that Maggie?”

  “Aye.”

  Ryn smiled and took a step forward as if she was an arrow aimed at her target.

  Automatically, Tuck reached out to stop her, but thankfully paused before going through with it. “Stay,” he commanded instead. He shoved his hand in his pocket, knowing he’d crossed a line.

  The American lass thought so, too. With fire in her eyes, she glared at him. “I’m not a dog.”

  “What I mean is, now’s not the time.” He turned back to the van to watch.

  In the passenger seat, Rowena, Maggie’s sister, was speaking and gesturing animatedly. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, which made him wonder all the more why Maggie was here. Tuck should’ve taken that moment to escape, instead he stayed frozen to the spot and lost his chance. When Maggie turned around, he wasn’t prepared for her haggard expression. Fatigue and loss hung on her like widow’s garb.

  John’s not dead, Tuck reassured himself. Andrew would’ve contacted him if John had passed.

  Maggie’s eyes drifted in Tuck’s direction and like lightning, recognition hit. Her spine straightened and her haggardness turned to disgust. Aye, seeing him invigorated her, but not in a good way. She now looked ready for battle and on the verge of the mother of all tirades. And Tuck would’ve deserved it. Maggie had more to hold against him than John’s injury, or working John’s fishing boat without permission. Sinnie. Tuck had chatted up Maggie’s youngest sister, and Maggie had been very much against Tuck and his bad reputation taking Sinnie on a date. They’d had a dram at the pub together, that’s all, except a chaste kiss afterward. They hadn’t gone out again, but that didn’t stop everyone from assuming things had gone farther than they had.

  Maggie slammed her door and took a determined step toward Tuck. He braced himself. But through the van’s closed windows and doors, baby Irene saved him when she let go with a muffled cry. Maggie about-faced, gave a worried glance at the van, and then hurried into Hugh’s office.

  Tuck realized then, Maggie’s errand wasn’t to drop off something to Hugh and leave. She took nothing in with her!

  A minute later, she came out, looking headstrong. And the way she held herself, and the fact she kept her eyes straight ahead, let Tuck know he wasn’t worth her effort. She repositioned herself behind the wheel of the van.

  Hugh came out, too, with his phone to his ear. He motioned to Tuck. “Do you have a minute?”

  “Aye. Only just.” Tuck was watching the van.

  Hugh slipped his phone in his shirt pocket. “Come with me to Kilheath.”

  Kilheath Castle. Hugh and Sophie’s home.

  Already to his auto, Hugh raised his hand. “Are ye coming?”

  Tuck shoved both hands in his pockets now and stalked over to the Laird’s Smart Car, leaving the American lass to her own company. Cramming oneself into such a small vehicle wasn’t easy, but the Laird was determined to reduce his carbon footprint. According to Hugh, squeezing in like a sardine on the few days he drove to the mill was a small price to pay.

  Tuck folded himself into the passenger’s side, but unfortunately, glanced up at the wrong moment. He wished like hell he hadn’t caught the lost look on Ryn’s face as he shut his door.

  Hugh nodded toward the American lass as he started the car. “Tourist? Should I get someone to show her around?”

  Ryn was digging in her bag now, probably looking for her phone or something.

  “Not a tourist. She’s come to see Maggie, her cousin.” The cramped space and Tuck’s bad mood left little room or patience for discussing Maggie’s cousin. Especially since Maggie drove the vehicle only a few meters ahead.

  Hugh put on the brakes. “Go tell the lass to come with us.”

  Tuck cranked his head around as if Hugh had miraculously expanded the interior of the car. “Where do ye expect me to put her? On my lap?”

  Hugh grinned, but had the courtesy to keep whatever smart comment he’d thought of to himself. “After we get done, come back and deliver the lass to Maggie.”

 
Tuck didn’t want to, but he kept quiet, his mind racing. Why is Maggie here in Whussendale? He must’ve been pretty caught up in his thoughts, only just realizing the Laird was telling a story.

  Hugh gave him a quick glance before putting his eyes back on the road. “Are ye listening? It’s a capital idea. And Sophie is excited about the prospect. She’s been scheming ever since Deydie suggested it. I have my own ideas, too. We aren’t just going to focus on quilting. After we get one under our belts, we’ll expand the retreat to other crafts, too.”

  Not really interested, Tuck only nodded while keeping an eye on Maggie’s back wheels.

  They pulled up to Kilheath Castle’s front entrance as Sophie rushed through the massive mahogany double doors. Maggie disembarked, along with her seven year old son, Dand. Rowena stepped out and tried to grab the lad’s hand, but she missed, as he stomped off to the side of the road, kicking rocks here and there as he went.

  “Don’t go far,” Maggie called after him.

  Tuck felt sorry for the kid. With his da in the hospital, it’d probably been no picnic at home for him.

  Sinnie, the youngest sister, slipped out of the van, holding baby Irene who was bigger than a mite now, over a year old. The bairn was red-eyed and sniveling. When Irene saw Maggie, the babe reached out, whining until her mother took her.

  Tuck felt sorry for Maggie, too. She looked as if she had nothing left to give.

  Dand picked up a small branch and whacked it against the side of the Laird’s car.

  “Stop that,” Maggie scolded.

  Tuck examined the door, but there was no damage. The Laird hadn’t seen what had gone on as he was behind the van.

  Hands fisted around the branch and Dand as red-faced as Irene had been, the boy shook, his anger clear. His eyes welled, but his pride was working hard not to let him cry. “I don’t want to live here!” He dropped the stick and ran into the forest.

  Live here? Tuck had trouble drawing a breath. He’d been walloped with something bigger than Dand’s stick.

  Maggie sighed and turned to her sister. “Rowena, can you look after him?”

  “I’ll go.” Sinnie hurried after the boy.

  “Tuck?” Hugh held out a box from the back of the van. “We need to get these to the east wing.”

  Tuck was rooted to the spot. Maggie is moving here? Why?

  Sophie led Maggie, along with the baby, into the castle.

  Rowena headed toward the woods, too. She probably understood it would take both she and Sinnie to coax the headstrong Dand back to the castle.

  “Come,” Hugh said quietly. “If ye were listening earlier, ye’d not look so shocked. We’ll talk as we get these in the house.”

  Tuck didn’t have to ask any questions. Hugh waited until they were inside and upstairs alone in the master bedroom in the east wing.

  “Whussendale is closer to the hospital, which will make it easier on Maggie to see John,” Hugh began. “But it’s more than that. Deydie has been making plans with Sophie to have a quilt retreat here in Whussendale.”

  But Tuck didn’t see the connection between the retreat and Maggie moving to this village. “I don’t get it.”

  “Maggie will be the one in charge of our retreats,” Hugh said.

  No! Tuck wished he could shove the five ton anchor off his chest.

  Oh, hell. He grasped the big picture. Deydie had put this in play to make Maggie the breadwinner, and John certainly wouldn’t thank Tuck for it.

  Hugh went on. “Rowena and Sinnie are staying temporarily to help get the kids settled. We’re lining up babysitters as Maggie will be busy pulling the retreat together.”

  Tuck couldn’t stop thinking on how devastating this would be for John. A lost hand. A lost profession. God, it would surely feel as if his manhood had been cut off, too.

  Hugh pounded Tuck on the back. “Quit looking as if it’s the end of the world. It will all work out. Ye’ll see. Now, let’s get the rest of their things from the vehicle.”

  Three trips later, they had the Armstrongs’s possessions stowed in their rooms.

  Back outside, Tuck looked at his watch. “I better get to Gandiegow.”

  “Aye. But first—” Hugh nodded to something beyond Tuck’s shoulder “—ye better take the car and bring the lassie the rest of the way to Kilheath.”

  Tuck whipped around, and sure enough, at the bottom of the hill in the bend of the road, the American was clumsily wheeling her bag toward them.

  He didn’t want to help her. Not for any selfish reason either, but because he was feeling like Maggie. He’d reached his limit today of what he could handle, too.

  Obediently, Tuck took the keys from Hugh. “Her name is Ryn Breckenridge.”

  Hugh nodded. “Perhaps she’ll be a blessing for the Armstrongs.”

  Tuck believed she would be a nuisance, but kept his opinion to himself. He drove down the hill and pulled up beside the American. She was looking a little worn around the edges, and he regretted thinking ill of her.

  “Jet lag?” he asked, idling beside her.

  She swiped her red hair out of her face. “Yes. I’ve hit a brick wall.”

  “Get in. The Laird wants ye up at the castle.” Tuck put the car in park and hopped out. He reached for her tote, but she shied away.

  “I’ve got it,” she said.

  He took the sewing machine case and the roller bag, carrying them both to the boot of the car.

  “They’ll never fit,” she said.

  “I’ll make them.” Tuck wedged in her possessions, but had to leave the lid open.

  Ryn settled herself into the passenger seat with the tote on her lap. She cradled it to her chest as if protecting a precious child.

  “I’ve got to tell ye something before we get back up the hill.” It made no sense why Tuck felt obligated. Why did he, of all people, have to be the one to tell Ryn about John and the accident? “There’s something ye need to know.”

  She turned toward him, and without warning, it hit him again that Ryn Breckenridge seemed so familiar.

  Tuck faced forward, placing his hands on the wheel, but not putting the car in gear just yet. “It’s about Maggie.”

  “What about her?”

  Tuck glanced out the window, stalling.

  “Tell me,” Ryn said quietly. It sounded more like a soothing nudge.

  Tuck cleared his throat. “Her father died recently…and John, Maggie’s husband, had an…an accident the next day, on Good Friday.”

  “A car accident?”

  Tuck didn’t want to go into the details and he didn’t want to admit the part he’d played in John losing his arm. “No. John had a boating accident.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” Ryn asked.

  No! Tuck wanted to yell. John will never be the same again. “I don’t know.”

  Ryn looked ready to ask more.

  He put his hand up, inhaling deeply, but the breath he so desperately needed evaded him. “I’m just telling you this so you won’t bug Maggie.” It was clear Maggie couldn’t take on anything more.

  “Oh.” Ryn hugged the tote tighter.

  He put the car in gear.

  “Then why are you taking me to her?” Ryn asked in a small voice.

  “The Laird said to deliver ye to the castle, and we always do what the Laird says.”

  Ryn nodded and looked out the window. She said something to herself, or maybe it was to him. He wanted to ignore it, but his damned curiosity won out.

  “What did ye say?” Tuck glanced over at her.

  She turned her eyes on him, more pleading than inquiring. “Will you hang around until I know what I’m doing?”

  Then she did the damnedest thing—she bit her lip and waited.

  Her request made him uneasy. He wished she would quit looking at him that way. He glanced at his watch, remembering his out. And for the first time, Gandiegow didn’t feel like a prison sentence, but an escape.

  Besides, Ryn should know straight up that he wasn’t
the rescuing kind. He was no hero. No matter how the lass looked at him. He was the villain. Didn’t she know?

  “Och, lass, no, I can’t wait around with ye. I’m needed back in Gandiegow.”

  5

  Ryn stared out the window, her eyes burning. She should be used to abandonment by now. Her father. Her mother’s aloofness. And death leaving her without anyone. But why did this stranger, Tuck, affect her this way? She shouldn’t have asked for his help in the first place. She was definitely off kilter. But heck, she was after all, in a foreign country all by herself. No one to lean on. No one to confide in.

  The loch, gray with mist surrounding the edges, caught her attention. Or more accurately, the pristine white swan, gliding gracefully on the water, had her wondering: Is Mom here? Ryn knew she was being irrational, but since her mother had died, she’d seen swans over and over again.

  Mom loved swans. On the day of Mom’s passing, a trumpeter swan had been swimming on the pond outside of the hospital. The next day, Ryn had seen one flying overhead while leaving her mother’s condo. And everywhere, Ryn had seen swans plastered on billboards. It felt like a swan invasion. Each time, Ryn couldn’t shake the feeling that the swan was a sign, her mother letting her know she was right there with her.

  She turned to Tuck. “Has that swan always been here?”

  “Dunno know. I’ve never seen it here before today.”

  A moment later, the castle came into view, a three story, sprawling estate that could’ve been seen in any BBC production. Tuck looked determined to be rid of her and she wondered if he expected her to hop out while he drove by. When the car came to a complete stop in front of the castle and Tuck turned off the key, Ryn was surprised. And hopeful. Maybe he’d changed his mind and was going to hang around to help her adjust to the situation before he abandoned her.

  “I’ll walk you inside,” he said begrudgingly before getting out.

  “Thanks.” She slipped from the car with the tote in her arms.

  Tuck carried her luggage and sewing machine to the door, but then left them outside. “Stay here.” He went in, leaving her gawking after him.

  Was he warning the residents of Kilheath Castle that she was crashing the party?