Scot on the Run

by Janice Maynard

  It occurred to her that without Ian’s trip to Edinburgh, she might never have made time to see Glen Coe or Rannoch Moor or any of the other picturesque spots they passed along the way. Certainly the prospect of driving herself over these distances was daunting.

  At last, they entered the outskirts of the historic city of Edinburgh. She had read about it, studied about it, but she had never visited. Soon, she found herself incredulous that she hadn’t put this historic and beautiful metropolis on her to-do list.

  While Ian negotiated the traffic, Bella focused on the sights and sounds. It was clear from the outset that the city was anchored with several iconic landmarks. First and foremost was the massive Edinburgh Castle. Visible from virtually everywhere around town because of its location on the highest elevation, the castle was both impressive and daunting. It was easy to see why it had played such a pivotal role down through history.

  Ian pointed out a natural feature that also held sway over the city. Arthur’s Seat was a steep hilltop ringed in gorse and climbed by numerous tourists over the course of the weeks and months.

  Anticipation and excitement flooded Bella’s chest, momentarily obscuring her reservations about the trip. All she had to do for the next few days was to enjoy playing tourist and to stay out of Ian’s bed. How difficult could it be?

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ian couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent a more enjoyable or more frustrating day. Watching Bella “see” Scotland was a delight he hadn’t anticipated. Her enthusiasm knew no bounds. She must have taken a hundred photographs before they stopped for a picnic lunch at the side of a small, unremarkable loch. Even that was deemed spectacular.

  Still, underneath his enjoyment ran a deep vein of sexual frustration. His bubbly companion treated him like a favorite uncle. Nothing in her behavior suggested they had spent the previous night in his bed.

  Either she was a consummate actress, or the interlude had meant nothing to her. Both choices were problematic in their own way.

  He stewed about it as they drove, managing to keep his libido in check with the promise that surely he could eventually decipher the code…solve the problem. Puzzles of any kind were a welcome challenge to him. He loved utilizing his brain, shaking up the synapses and seeing if he could get extra neurons to fire.

  Bella Craig wasn’t a science experiment, but he was determined to dissect her cool responses this morning and get to the truth. Had she found him boring in bed? That would be a bitter pill to swallow.

  Was it better to know the truth? Or should he leave the whole thing alone and carpe diem with the best of them?

  The hotel he had chosen in Edinburgh was pricey, but known for its discretion. He’d seen no sign of photographers following him yet, but he doubted they had given up.

  The elegant building combined a historic façade and interesting architectural details with amenities and accommodations tailored for the modern guest. Paying for two rooms was not the problem. What he was worried about was whether or not he had a shot in hell at convincing Bella they deserved another chance.

  Everyone knew sex wasn’t always great for women the first time with a new partner. It was up to him to convince her that he almost always improved with practice.

  They checked in at the front desk and carried their bags up a narrow flight of stairs. The hotel did have an elevator, but it was old and finicky by the desk clerk’s admission, so they avoided it. Their two assigned rooms were side by side on the third floor with a great view of the city. Though the accommodations didn’t have a connecting door, Ian wasn’t worried. If all went well, Bella would be spending the night with him.

  She hesitated, her room key in hand. “What’s the schedule?” she asked. “Do I need to change clothes?”

  He grimaced. “I have to take care of getting a tux. But the good news is I made my appointment at a shop just off the Royal Mile. After I get fitted, we can play tourist as long as you want.”

  “The Royal Mile? I put that on my must-see list.”

  “I should think so. It’s one of the most historic roads in all of Europe. Goes from the palace of Holy rood all the way up to the castle. We probably won’t have time to tour the castle today, but there’s lots more to see.”

  Bella’s happy grin slugged him in the chest. “I’ll be ready in five. I can’t wait.”

  It was more like fifteen minutes than five before she joined him in the hallway, but he couldn’t fault the results. Her neat khaki skirt and teal top were just right for a stroll in the warm afternoon sunshine.

  “I called a cab,” he said. “Parking is hard to find where we’re headed.”

  In no time, the chatty driver deposited them at a narrow alley partway up the famous street in Old Town. Ian helped Bella out of the backseat, trying not to notice when her skirt rode upward, exposing a tantalizing length of thigh.

  He cleared his throat. “This way,” he said.

  Bella followed along beside him, craning her neck to see the tops of weathered stone buildings that had stood for centuries. “I feel like we stepped back in time,” she exclaimed.

  “’Tis one of my favorite places,” he said. “Well, at least when the tourists go home. It might be a wee bit crowded today.”

  “I’m a tourist.”

  The tart reminder made him grin. He tugged her hair. “Aye, lovely Bella. That you are.”

  “Where are we going?” she asked. The question was breathless. He slowed his pace when he realized that she was having trouble keeping up with his long stride.

  “To see a childhood friend of my grandfather. Mr. Duffy is an old-school tailor, one of the last in the city. He’s promised to fit me into a tux, God help him. His wife is also a seamstress. I thought she might be able to help you with a dress, if you like.”

  “Definitely. I wouldn’t begin to know what’s appropriate in this situation. I brought the only thing I have, but it’s too casual, I’m sure.”

  * * *

  Bella was totally out of her element and already regretting her pledge to accompany Ian to the ceremony at Holyrood. Back home in North Carolina, she found few opportunities to dress formally. Except for going to the theater or the opera with friends, she rarely put on a skirt. Even the little church she attended was extremely casual.

  Ian appeared confident about their destination, so she tagged along behind him as the narrow side street became more clogged with passersby. The breeze tousled his thick, sun-streaked hair. He was wearing what she had come to think of as his mad scientist wardrobe. Ancient khaki pants. A conservative white button-down shirt, and on top, a soft cotton pullover in sky blue.

  Despite the nondescript clothing, his classic good looks drew admiring glances from multiple women on the street. She was surprised he had decided to go out in public without some sort of disguise. Maybe he had given up on his attempt to run from the press. Oddly, now that he was making no effort to hide out, they hadn’t seen a single reporter all day.

  At last they paused before a wooden door flanked by a dusty six-paned window.

  “I think this is it,” Ian said. He opened the door and waited for her to precede him. The dimly-lit interior smelled of old books and ancient wood. Like the shops in Harry Potter’s Hogsmeade, this establishment was charmingly cluttered. Shelves reached to the ceiling, filled with bolts of cloth and an assortment of thread and buttons and other items.

  Bella loved it. While Ian greeted Mr. Duffy, and the two males chatted, she nosed around, wondering how long the proprietor had been in business. And what was this location before it became a tailor’s shop?

  Mrs. Duffy appeared through a curtained doorway at the back of the shop, crooking a bony finger at her spouse. “Quit bletherin’, old man. Bring the children to the back so we can get started.”

  Bella shot Ian an amused look and mouthed, “Children?”

  He shrugged, apparently resigned to his fate. She had yet to meet a man who enjoyed trying on clothes, much less being custom fitted.

/>   The Duffys were interesting folk, as Bella’s granny used to say. Both the tailor and his wife were petite and bent. Their age could land anywhere from eighty to a hundred, as far as she could tell. Mrs. Duffy wore a navy serge dress with sturdy lace-up brogans that supported her swollen ankles. Her husband was outfitted in heavy cotton britches and a forest green vest over a natural linen shirt. A tape measure dangled from his neck. The pockets of his vest were adorned with rows of straight pins waiting to be used.

  The Duffys’ accents were so heavy, Bella had to listen carefully to understand their words. The back room to which Bella and Ian had been escorted was larger than the front portion of the shop, though not by much. Large three-paned mirrors on either side of the space were one of the few semi-modern touches. Bella had seen something similar while wedding-gown shopping with a friend.

  The floor was covered in Oriental rugs that were so ancient and worn the patterns were no longer discernable. Old gaslight sconces on the walls had been converted to electricity. The bulbs flickered cheerfully. All in all, the warm, old-fashioned illumination was flattering and atmospheric.

  Mr. Duffy tapped Ian on the shoulder. “Take off your shirt, lad, and we’ll get started.”

  Though Bella wanted to linger and watch the show, Mrs. Duffy tugged her elbow and steered her to the far corner of the room. “Your young man’s in good hands,” she said. “Let’s see what we can do for you.”

  Though Bella did indeed need a dress, she was far more interested in what was happening with Ian. Thanks to the mirror, she was able to sneak peeks at him with no one the wiser. When he shed his sweater and pulled his shirt over his head without ceremony, she had to stifle a sigh of appreciation. Even at this distance, his torso was a thing of beauty.

  Broad shoulders narrowed to a trim waist. His rib cage rippled with sleek muscle. Though his clothing choices leaned toward the ill-fitting and worn, his naked body told a far different story. Unfortunately, Mr. Duffy didn’t ask his client for further disrobing. Instead, he went straight to work measuring and making notes.

  Mrs. Duffy snapped her fingers in front of Bella’s nose. “Quit moonin’ over the lad. He’s flesh and blood like the rest of ’em. He’ll break your heart if you let him. Show some backbone, young Bella. Back when I was a lass yer age, I was taught that my husband would tell me what to do. I didn’t think for myself. Things are different now.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Bella said meekly, standing completely still as the little woman did her work.

  “I suppose you think I’m an old biddy who should be mindin’ my own business.”

  “No,” Bella said carefully, lifting her arms and holding them out to the side as directed. “But he’s not my young man. We’re just friends.”

  The little seamstress made a sound in the back of her throat that could have meant anything. “I may be old, but I remember what it was like when me blood ran hot. It’s a fine time you’ll be havin’ with that strappin’ lad. E’en so, make sure ‘twill last before you go headfirst into the current. A broken spirit’s even worse than a bruised heart.”

  Bella’s cheeks felt fiery hot. A change in subject was in order. “What kind of dress did you have in mind for me?” she asked. The old woman, surprisingly nimble, knelt and measured the hem of Bella’s simple cotton skirt as a benchmark for her work.

  Mrs. Duffy lifted her head and grimaced. “Ye know, I’m sure, that this isn’t New York or Paris. Ye’ve only to see our lovely Princess Katherine on state occasions to know that a woman can be stylish without showing a lot of skin. If ye’ll trust me, I’ll have that lad over there panting at your feet.”

  “No panting,” Bella said firmly. “No feet. All I need is a modest dress to visit the palace. No one will notice me anyway. Ian is the one receiving the honor from the queen, not me.”

  “And the boy has asked you to go with him.”

  “Yes.” Suddenly the reality of the situation sank in. On Friday evening, Bella was going to visit a member of the royal family in the royal castle. Her stomach knotted. Bella was a bookworm… an introvert…a woman who preferred coffee and a good novel to a party where she had to wear high heels. Why had she ever said yes to Ian’s invitation?

  After that, there wasn’t much opportunity to talk. Mrs. Duffy measured everything there was to measure, though thankfully without Bella having to disrobe. When Bella glanced once in Ian’s direction, he looked hot and flustered and uncomfortable. Poor guy. This was not his thing at all.

  At last, the torture ended. Mr. Duffy nodded his satisfaction and beamed at his wife. “The two of them make a fine pair, don’t they?”

  Mrs. Duffy joined her husband, momentarily leaning her head against his shoulder in a gesture that tugged at Bella’s heart. “Aye, that they do.” She smiled at Bella. “Come back in the morning at eleven, my dear. We’ll be ready for your fitting. I think you’ll be pleased.”

  “Pleased, my ass,” Ian groused as they stepped outside into the sunshine. “I’d rather walk the plank on a pirate ship.” He stopped in the middle of the street and scraped his hands through his hair. “Are you sure I can’t beg off? They wouldn’t want me there if I’m contagious. I could tell them I have the flu…maybe even something worse.”

  Bella knew he wasn’t talking about the fitting. “It’s a huge honor, Ian. Think of it as a very impressive line on your resume.” She understood his misgivings. She really did. At the moment, however, it was her job to get the reluctant genius to the palace at the appointed time. “I’m hungry,” she said, trying to distract him. “Do you have any ideas for dinner?”

  “I’m not a child,” he said. “I have a superior IQ that is not prone to distraction. You can’t placate me that easily.”

  The slight smile tilting his lips told her he was kidding. “Fine,” she said, moving out of the throng of tourists and plopping down on a concrete bench in front of a secondhand bookstore. “Let me know when you’re finished pitching a hissy fit.”

  He joined her on the bench. “Hissy fit?”

  “What? Don’t they say that in Scottish?”

  “We speak the Queen’s English same as you,” he said wryly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear so casually it took her breath away. “But no, I haven’t heard that one, though I can guess from the context that you were impugning my manhood.”

  The brush of his fingers against her cheek shook her to the core. She was falling in love with him. The realization stunned her. Ian was a loner and very happy with his life, at least once this temporary unpleasantness over the magazine article faded. He didn’t show any indication of wanting a wife or kids or anything else so ordinary.

  She had told herself she could enjoy his company for what it was. Superficial. Enjoyable. Temporary. For a smart woman, she had been lamentably short-sighted. Simply because Ian was a bit clueless about some things, she had made the naïve assumption she could “manage” him… or at the very least, manage their relationship on her terms.

  When had she lost control of the situation?

  Ian cocked his head and smiled at her quizzically. “Cat got your tongue?”

  Apparently, the unwelcome bolt of clarity had shocked her into a long silence. “Um, no. I was thinking about what you said. We do speak the same language. But it sounds really different over here.”

  “Different bad or different good?”

  She punched his arm. “Don’t fish for compliments, Bachelor number two. You know how women react when you roll your Rs.”

  “I’ve never noticed,” he said soberly. His eyes danced with humor, so she didn’t put much stock in his pseudo humility.

  “Will you answer a question for me?” she said suddenly.

  He froze… like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car. “What kind of question?”

  “Oh, relax. I’m not going to ask you to have my babies.”

  “Very funny. Go ahead. I’m an open book.”

  “What happened to your mother?”

  Every bit of expression
fled his face instantly, leaving him stoic and visibly closed off to her prodding. “Why is that important?”

  “I don’t know. Most people talk about their parents. You mentioned your father, but never said much about your mother. I’m curious.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat.”

  “In any language,” she quipped. The fact that he actually chuckled loosened the knot in her stomach.

  “My mother left us,” he said. “When I was four. She said my father was too wrapped up in his work to pay any attention to her. She wanted to be with a man who put her first. Dad never even contested the divorce papers she filed. I think it crushed him.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Ian shrugged, his gaze trained on a young boy across the way playing a miniature set of bagpipes to entertain the crowd. “My father is a complicated man. I do believe he feels things deeply, but he’s not really able to express his emotions. I can’t imagine how he snagged my mother in the first place.”

  “If he looks like you, I can make an educated guess.”

  Ian turned so their knees touched. He took her face in his hands. “Why, Bella Craig. Was that a compliment? I’m speechless.”

  Without warning, he kissed her. In the middle of the Royal Mile. With tourists from around the world milling about. The sun was shining, music played in the distance. Ian’s lips were firm and warm and coaxing.

  It was like something out of a romantic comedy where the theme song plays and the audience knows everything is falling into place. Bella leaned closer, her hands on his shoulders, their breath mingling. His sweater beneath her fingertips was warm from the sun.

  She pulled away momentarily and rested her forehead against his collarbone, trying to catch her breath. “You know you’re a hunk,” she said. “Don’t try to be coy.”

  “I’m not a hunk. I’m a scientist. I’m pretty sure the two are mutually exclusive.”

  The deep timbre of his voice held something elusive. Reassurance perhaps? Did he know how she felt? That would be the ultimate humiliation. She could see the headlines now: Naïve American tourist left heartbroken and alone after Highland fling with Bachelor #2.