Scot of My Dreams

by Janice Maynard

  Here I was, decades later, wandering those same streets. Though Outlander was a fictional tale, the city of Inverness was very real. It had existed here in the Scottish Highlands for centuries. I was enchanted with its personality and charm.

  Only an average student in school, I was never particularly interested in history, especially not the background of a country other than my own. My world as a teenager had revolved around the usual topics. Boys. Makeup. Fashion.

  Now I literally walked in the steps of people who had lived and laughed and loved centuries ago, during a time when life was neither safe nor easy. I soaked up the sights and sounds along with Abby’s running commentary.

  “You’re a pro at this,” I said. “I’d never have learned so much on my own.”

  She beamed. “Well, ’tis my home, ye know.”

  We stopped for lunch at a charming pub. I ordered traditional fish and chips and was promptly won over by the crunchy outside and flaky filet inside. “We have pale imitations of this dish in the States,” I said, “but nothing so good.”

  Abby ordered a local ale. I stuck to Coca-Cola. My mother was a teetotaler. I had grown up avoiding alcohol, and mostly the habit stuck.

  After lunch we hit up two more must-sees, the Inverness Museum and St. Andrew’s Cathedral. At four o’clock, I had to give up. The indefatigable Abby was clearly stronger than she looked.

  “Enough,” I said. “Let’s go home, so I can collapse.”

  “Sure,” Abby said. Then she looked at me with entreaty. “Would you mind one more quick stop? You can stay in the car. I won’t be long.”

  “Of course I wouldn’t mind. Whatever you want.”

  We didn’t go far…only to a walled churchyard on the outskirts of town. Abby parked the car and stared out the windshield. I sensed she was trying to work up her courage.

  “Abby,” I said softly. “Is this where your husband is buried?”

  She nodded. I saw her chin wobble. “I haven’t visited in a very long time. But I need to tell him I’m okay.”

  “Do you want me there? Or would you rather be alone?”

  “Come,” she said. “Please.”

  The door in the high brick wall wasn’t locked. Inside the perimeter we found a neatly kept cemetery. The gravestones ran the gamut from large to small and everything in between. The dates, at least the ones I could read from a distance, went as far back as the 1400s.

  Abby didn’t wander. She made a beeline for a newer section in the far corner. I hung back, not wanting to intrude. As I watched, she leaned down and kissed the marble marker. Then she crouched and ran her fingers over the inscription, her lips moving as she whispered something to the man whose mortal remains were all she had left of him.

  She waved me over. “I’m fine,” she said, though I saw tear tracks on her face.

  “May I ask you something, Abby?”

  “Of course.”

  “If you lived your whole life here until you got married, I’m guessing you must have a wide circle of friends. Why bring me here today? I know the reasons I enjoy your company, but why am I the one getting credit for your improved outlook on life?”

  It was a blunt question and a personal one, but she answered readily enough.

  “My friends were amazing. I was the one who pulled away. I was such a wreck—you can’t even imagine. Every time I was with one of them, I felt raw. Like people were watching me constantly to see if I was going to crack.”

  “That must have been hard.”

  “It wasn’t a clean end,” she said, her eyes bleak. “I was so angry with him for going back to Afghanistan. He’d beaten the odds once and come home to me. Then he was gone again. After that, he was dead. Looking back, I think I clung to my anger, because without it, I would have been empty.”

  “People process grief differently. There’s no timetable.”

  “I know. And though you may not believe it, having you here has helped.”

  “I believe it, but I don’t understand it. We barely know each other.”

  “That’s the point,” she said, standing and wiping her hands on her jeans. “You didn’t know me back then. When you look at me, you’re seeing the woman I am now. I don’t have to feel self-conscious about what a pitiful mess I used to be. You’re not judging me. We’re friends without a past. This is easier.”

  I mulled over what she said. It made a weird sort of logic. “Maybe you’re not giving your friends enough credit. Maybe they’re waiting for a sign from you. If you’re prepared to move on, why don’t you tell them? Just like you’ve told me today?”

  “I’ll think about it,” she said. “But for now, I like things the way they are. My brother enjoys having you around, too. Surely you’ve noticed.”

  “He’s a very handsome man,” I said. “And a charming one. But I won’t be here very long. Besides, he’s indicated to me that he has other priorities than romance right now.”

  “All men put romance way down the list until Cupid whacks them on the head. Bryce needs to get a life.”

  We walked back to the car and headed for home. “Has he ever considered opening the castle to the public?” I asked.

  Abby laughed. “Now there’s a question.”

  “Did I say something funny?”

  “Bryce has been trying for years to persuade his uncle that the only way to keep the property and to preserve and protect it is to do what so many have done—offer tours.”

  “So your uncle has a share in the estate?”

  “Oh, no. My father signed it over to Bryce when he and Mom moved to Italy. But Bryce was brought up to respect his elders, and he can’t bring himself to do something that would hurt our uncle. I think Bryce is waiting until Horatio dies.”

  “But by then it might be too late.”

  “Exactly.

  Chapter 17

  My days fell into an easy pattern. Once the weather improved, Abby and I found plenty to keep us busy. The only contact I’d had with Hayley and McKenzie was a text from Hayley the night of the flooding telling us she was okay. I hoped they were having as much fun as I was.

  The only fly in the ointment was the continued distance between Bryce and me. I’d had two goals for this trip: to learn to relax and to indulge in a romance with a Scotsman.

  I felt good about my initial challenge. Some days I barely thought about my salon at all. Atlanta felt very far away. Bit by bit, I realized there were aspects of me that might bloom if I spent more time on my personal life.

  Though I had never thought of myself as any kind of scholar, I found moments to slip away to the castle’s sumptuous library, searching for books on Scottish history and customs. The old, leather-bound volumes had a smell that conjured up another century. Late in the evenings when everyone had retired for the night, I curled up in bed and read for an hour or more.

  My room was across the hall from Abigail’s. At the end of the long corridor was the master suite where Bryce slept. After Horatio’s near tragedy, Bryce had hired a trio of male nurses to watch over Horatio. Bryce had also moved his uncle downstairs to a suite of rooms with a connecting door for the live-in help.

  I hoped the new arrangement meant more peace of mind for Bryce. And selfishly, maybe a chance for him to spend some time with me.

  Abby and I made a date to watch Outlander together. I suspected she was humoring me, but I knew that as soon as she saw Jamie Fraser and Claire Randall on the TV, she’d be hooked.

  We popped some popcorn, changed into jammies, and made ourselves comfy in the sitting room that was part of Abby’s suite. I suppose in the old days it might have been where a nanny slept. At some point, it had been transformed into a modern den. The television and sound system were state of the art.

  Brodie curled up between us on the sofa. As the opening titles rolled, I played with his ears and tried to imagine the show from Abby’s point of view. She already knew how beautiful her homeland was. But even so, surely she would agree with me that the hero was everything I had p
romised.

  Even though Hayley and McKenzie and I had watched these episodes at least three times each, I found myself engrossed again, looking for details I might have missed earlier. I tried not to be smug when I saw that Abby was totally into the storyline.

  She barely noticed when Bryce knocked and opened the door. “Can we talk a moment?” he asked, looking at me.

  “Of course.” Bryce was the only man in the world for whom I would be willing to miss a bit of Jamie Fraser.

  In the drafty hallway, I was bashful. I hadn’t expected company. My tank top was thin, and I wasn’t wearing a bra. Even my pajama pants clung to my legs and bottom more than I would have liked.

  Bryce noticed, of course. In fact, he noticed and he noticed and he noticed. Until his cheeks turned red and his Adam’s apple moved when he swallowed. I suspected he reacted in another spot as well, but I was careful to keep my gaze trained on his face.

  “What’s up?” I asked casually, trying to sound like a platonic friend. Or a sister.

  Bryce rested his forearm on the wall, his expression hard to read in the dim light from the old-fashioned wall sconces. “You’ve worked a miracle with Abby.”

  I shook my head. “Not really. She was ready to move forward with her life. My being here is merely a novelty that gave her a reason to admit it. I like her, Bryce. She’s going to be fine. You don’t need to worry so much.”

  He stared at me without speaking. I knew my nipples had perked up. Maybe he would attribute that to the chill in the air. “I like having you in my castle,” he said gruffly.

  “And I like the fact that you have a castle. Works out well for both of us.”

  “How much of your vacation do we have left?”

  I shrugged, not wanting to think about it. “Not quite two weeks. It’s going by fast.”

  “Did I make a mistake, Willow?”

  “You’ll have to narrow that down for me.”

  I knew what he meant. And he knew that I knew. But I wasn’t going to make things too easy for him.

  His lips twitched. “About us being friends.”

  I lifted an eyebrow innocently. “You don’t want to be my friend?” My heart beat faster.

  Somehow, he backed me up against the wall, his hands braced on either side of my head. He’d had a shower recently, and he smelled amazing.

  His chest rose and fell. “I want to make love to you,” he said. The words were barely audible. “My life has been nothing but torture since the moment we met. I wake up hard, I go to bed hard. I haven’t slept worth a damn in days.”

  “Bryce! She’ll hear you.” I checked to make sure the door behind me was closed all the way. Hopefully, Abigail was still engrossed in the eighteenth century.

  He ignored my warning. “I told myself I imagined the spark between us. That I couldn’t possibly be so insanely crazy about a woman I just met.”

  “But?” I stared up into his eyes, losing myself in the blue that was as deep as the Scottish sky on a sunny day.

  He slid his thumb across my lower lip. “I give up,” he said. “I want whatever time we have left. Say aye, bonny lass. Tell me you feel it, too.”

  I nodded, the words stuck in my throat. Relief rolled through me in a wave that made me giddy. “Of course I do. But where I come from, a lady waits to be asked. And you were very clear about the friend thing.”

  He rubbed his jaw, his gaze wry. “You should have whacked me over the head. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been such an utter ass. I’ve wasted days when I could have had you in my bed.”

  “Lucky for us, it’s not too late.” I refused to think about how hard it would be to eventually leave him.

  Bryce kissed the side of my neck. “Tonight?” he whispered. He moved closer, pinning me to the wall, letting me feel his heavy erection.

  I’d lost the ability to speak. I nodded jerkily. Damn it. I knew that Abigail would want to watch more than one Outlander episode. This was the first time in recorded history a woman had ever wanted Jamie Fraser to take a hike. In favor of a flesh and blood laird.

  A faint noise from the sitting room yanked us back to reality. “I’m watching a show with your sister,” I said. “I don’t know when we’ll be done.”

  “It’s that Outlander thing, isn’t it?” He seemed more resigned than disapproving.

  I nodded. “She likes it.”

  “I don’t really care,” he muttered. “All I want to know is how soon you can ditch her.”

  “You’re the one who wanted us to be BFFs,” I pointed out.

  “And you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

  I grinned. “Maybe. A little. Your speech about ignoring our feelings was so stuffy and proper and pompous. You can’t blame me for wanting you to suffer, at least a little.”

  “I have,” he groaned. “More than you know. More than I should let you know. I swear I’ll make it up to you.” He kissed me long and hard, his lips warm and demanding. “Am I forgiven?”

  I was practically a pile of melted wax at his feet. “You’ve taken me in and fed me. I’m not likely to say no.”

  “I hurt your feelings that night. I saw it in your eyes. I’m sorry, Willow.”

  Bryce was a man’s man. Commanding. Mature. Capable. At his physical peak. Yet unlike so many macho men, he had the grace to admit when he was wrong.

  “You had your reasons,” I said. “From a strictly practical point of view, we probably shouldn’t do what we’re about to do.”

  “Maybe not,” he admitted. “But I don’t have it in me to walk away from you.”

  “I’m glad.” Even as I whispered the words, I questioned my own motives. It was one thing to entertain a fantasy…to dream about a gorgeous kilted hero who would sweep me off my feet. But what happened when the dream ended, and I found myself standing at a boarding gate at Heathrow? What then?

  I swallowed my misgivings. Fate had given me a second chance. Bryce was an extraordinary man. I’d be a fool to say no to this.

  His body gave off enough heat to warm me from head to toe. He glanced at his watch. “It’s late,” he said.

  “It’s nine thirty, Bryce. She’ll think something’s wrong if I go to bed now.”

  “One hour,” he said, all hot-eyed and sulky and testosterone-fueled impatience.

  I nodded, my throat tight. “Okay.”

  “Your room?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have plenty of condoms.”

  “Oh. Good.” Plenty? My knees went weak.

  Abby’s voice intruded, thankfully from the other side of the door. “What are you two doing out there?”

  “I’m coming,” I said.

  Bryce showed no signs of being willing to let me move. “I’ll enjoy that,” he said soberly, his eyelids at half-mast, and his jaw tight.

  “Enjoy what?”

  “Watching you come.”

  Oh, Lordy. I put a hand against his chest and gently pushed. “Enough,” I croaked. “Let me go. I’m supposed to be watching the show with her.”

  For several long seconds I wondered if we had passed the point of no return. Bryce was no longer the polished, highly educated laird. Tonight he was simply a man. A gorgeous, sexy, impossible-to-resist Scotsman. And he wanted me.

  At last, he grunted and backed away. “An hour,” he reminded me. “No more.”

  Chapter 18

  When I slipped back into the sitting room, Abby was thankfully oblivious. The onscreen action was at a critical point. Jamie was in the midst of a fight for his life. His grim expression made me shiver.

  Even as I watched, the images from 1743 faded away, and all I could see were Bryce MacBrae’s bold features. The straight nose. The high forehead. The fierce intelligence in his blue eyes.

  He spent a great deal of time outdoors. I had seen him chopping wood and riding a horse and lifting great sacks of feed. The estate was healthy and self-sustaining. I suspected it was unusual for the laird to take such a hands-on approach.

  Perhaps Bryce enjoy
ed the work. Or maybe he’d been forced to lay off employees in the face of rising taxes and expenses.

  The Outlander episode finally ended on a cliffhanger. I think Abby would have watched another, but I feigned fatigue. As I turned off the TV, she stood and stretched. “What did Bryce want?”

  Me. “Oh, nothing much. We were talking about when to go to Culloden.”

  “I think I’ll skip that if you don’t mind, Willow. It’s a sad place on the best of days, and I’d rather not put myself through that.”

  “I understand.” I didn’t tell her that Bryce and I actually wanted to go alone.

  By the time I made it back to my own room, forty-seven minutes had elapsed since Bryce’s ultimatum. I freshened up in the bathroom and ran my fingers through my hair. For once, I wished it were long enough to fan out dramatically across the pillow.

  Was I supposed to pose for him? Wait in the nude? Curl up in the lovely tufted armchair and read a book?

  I was nervous. Too nervous. Appearing gauche in the presence of a man who was so superbly confident would be embarrassing. I wanted this to go well.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I closed my eyes and imagined myself in the midst of the wedding night scene from Outlander. Having sex for the first time with someone you didn’t know all that well was bound to be a little awkward. What Bryce and I had going for us was sizzling, undeniable chemistry.

  Sexual compatibility eased all sorts of hurdles. Here I was, on the verge of an intimate relationship with a man whom I not only desired but admired. I knew Bryce—not completely, but well enough to feel perfectly safe with him.

  He appeared at my door five minutes ahead of his stated deadline. I barely heard the quiet knock. Opening the door only wide enough for him to slip inside, I muttered a greeting. “I hope your sister is asleep,” I whispered as I eased the door shut and locked it.

  Bryce looked me over from head to toe, though he’d seen me less than an hour before. “I’m going to have to buy Brodie a verra good treat.”