Best Laid Plaids (Kilty Pleasures)

by Ella Stainton

  Dead? “Then you’ve got someone in your house impersonating him.”

  Ainsley wrinkled his forehead even harder. “Sounds like you had too much to drink last night.”

  Hmm. Something pricked the back of Joachim’s still-hazy mind. He’d been lushed out of his skull, all right. An entire whiskey and a half and then gulped down that red wine. Perhaps he’d fabricated a mish-mash of Ainsley’s and Stuart’s features into what their father would have been like. Even seen a photograph in the collection on the bookcase? Surely that was it.

  Though that was unsettling, to be honest. The conversation had felt so real.

  Ainsley poured a second cup of coffee. “I’m hoping to get out of here in the next fifteen minutes—is that possible?”

  “Fifteen?” Joachim lifted his head and was greeted by the most intimate parts of Ainsley.

  Incorrigible. Though plucky, he’d give him that.

  Keeping his face from showing anything, Joachim nodded. “Fifteen minutes is fine.”

  He wasted another four of them calming his damned stand. He dressed and brushed his teeth and had two minutes to spare. Grinning to himself, he was unprepared for the dapper sight waiting by the door.

  Unlike the poetical tousled hair and kilt of the previous day, or the hedonistic show-off from breakfast, this iteration of Ainsley Graham wore form-fitting blue-and-brown tartan trousers flaring into cuffs over his brown-and-white wingtips. A blue waistcoat complemented the driving cap perched at a rakish angle. He held a matching suit jacket over his shoulder by one finger.

  The man looked as though he’d stepped from a fashion magazine. Not that Joachim subscribed to any, but he did flip through them at the barber’s. That’s what they were there for, for goodness’ sake.

  He’d give Stuart a piece of his mind for not warning him to at least get a new overcoat. He was a spat-out piece of licorice on the pavement next to a gilt-covered box of chocolates in the window of a candy shop, and felt every bit of it.

  Dr. Graham was much too tempting. Remember your mission, Cockburn. Data collection and the chance to spend more than an hour with a high-functioning—yet unabashed—nutter.

  Gracious. The two-seater Austin was painted cream and its long front carriage was polished to a glare. The soft roof wound down. Not a cloud dotted the blue expanse overhead. Ainsley tossed the luggage into the boot and gestured for Joachim to climb in. Joachim’s heart thudded at the idea that he was headed out to tool around the beautiful countryside in a luxury motorcar with the most glorious-looking man he’d ever seen.

  Whistling with two fingers in his mouth.

  Violet bounded toward them from under a rosebush and leapt onto Joachim’s lap, muddy paws and all. Her nails dug into his skin and he ate a mouthful of fur.

  “Hope you don’t mind. I never leave Violet behind,” said Ainsley as he twisted his neck and reversed at a higher speed than expected. And then shifted gears just as quick so both Joachim and Violet fell against him.

  “Did you take her along last night?” Joachim asked—a bit peevish, though not by design—plucking the last bits of dog hair from his tongue.

  Ainsley cut his eyes to Joachim, a sly smile on his delectable lips. “No. I wasn’t sure where I’d end up sleeping, did I?”

  Bloody Hugh.

  Joachim stared out the front window, over the head of the dog, who was much too large for his lap and refused to lie down, even when he stroked her back. Her tongue lolled out the side, and she and her master shared the same satisfied expression. It was uncanny, and made it difficult to continue to frown.

  Melting a bit from the sunshine and the promise of new life sprouting from each bud, Joachim continued to pet the dog. He whistled some tune he’d heard recently, his smile widening.

  “It’s very kind of you to agree to do this, Graham. I hope you know I’m appreciative?”

  Ainsley glanced over, his face suffused with a pleased glow that made Joachim ache deep in his bones. God, I wish I knew how to be that happy.

  “I didn’t realize how badly I needed an adventure until about five minutes ago, so I’ll take your thanks and raise them ten.” Ainsley winked, and by accident, his fingertips met Joachim’s through the glossy tangle of Violet’s back. For a half second, they curled into each other and squeezed.

  Chapter Six

  Ainsley

  “Have you ever been to Edinburgh, Cockburn?” Ainsley steered the Austin through the angled city streets toward the high reaches of Old Town.

  “I haven’t had the pleasure,” said Joachim, looking out the side window, still stroking Violet. And didn’t she enjoy it, the hussy? Tongue hanging out and panting. She’d be on her back if there’d been enough room. Good Lord, didn’t he understand completely?

  “How do you suppose they built that castle so high up?” Oop. There was an undeniable charm to Cockburn’s accent.

  “Hard labor and sweat, like anywhere else. There’s been a settlement here since the Iron Age, so someone has the secret of hefting massive rocks up the side of a mountain.”

  “And we’re going to traipse around on an old street buried under all that stone?” The Englishman shivered.

  “The close isn’t under the castle itself. It’s all those other buildings.”

  Joachim cut his eyes over to Ainsley as if to say Ah, right. Just those other fifty thousand tons of weight.

  “Think of it like this: it’s stood for hundreds of years overtop of those old roads and alleyways, I’m sure it will stand another few hours. Believe me, I’d never wear this suit if I thought I’d end up a pancake.”

  Appalling. He looked a picture in it.

  He pulled into a parking spot that could have been custom-made for his car. “Voilà. You’ll feel right at home.” He pointed to the name of the street with a decidedly prim set to his mouth. Cockburn. “I’ll remind you that we Scots do keep the lewdness at bay by not pronouncing the cock bit.” Which was a lie. All of Ainsley’s friends sounded it phonetically with adolescent chuckles.

  “Coe-burn? That’ll be the sixteenth-and seventeenth-century religious fanatics who made that distinction, I’d wager. They sucked the pleasure out of everything.” Cockburn snapped his mouth shut and threw him an apologetic look. “I do beg your pardon for slighting your countrymen.”

  “As much as I enjoy you begging, no offense taken. I assure you that I too can suck the pleasure out of anything with my hands tied behind my back,” Ainsley said archly. “Anyway, I’m not a fanatic about anything.” He waggled his brows. “Except sensualism.”

  Cockburn roared with laughter. “A devout sensualist? With your hands tied behind your back, even? You’re a man after my own heart, Dr. Graham.”

  Ainsley shifted the gears into park and slid from the leather seat, giving the handsome brute a meaningful look over the hood of the car. “It’s not your heart that’s captured my interest, Mr. Cockburn.”

  Violet stepped down from the automobile and sat patiently while Ainsley attached her lead. When he looked up, Joachim gave him one of those searching looks that sped up his pulse. Cockburn was coming around, which meant that sooner than later, that enormous fit man would get around to coming. Preferably in a bed wrapped around Ainsley.

  Cockburn waved his hand in front of Ainsley’s face. So close that the clean manly smell of him mingled in the early afternoon sunshine and enveloped him like an embrace. Cockburn’s beard was a luscious mix of glinting gold and honey. Framing that mouth that he most certainly needed to feel on his...well, everywhere, thank you very much.

  “You’re nothing like Stuart, are you?” Cockburn’s chest nearly touched Ainsley’s, as if they weren’t on the street in front of everyone. Not that anyone was out, and perhaps he could get away with a quick peck. Bloody hell, heat flamed across his body. Or at least the bits all the blood surged toward.

  His associate tilted
his face slightly, his body held tight in anticipation. Lips parted ever so slightly.

  He was as intrigued by Ainsley as everyone else, no matter how he denied it. Good. Let him suffer.

  At least until they had somewhere more private to indulge.

  And not down in a medieval labyrinth of narrow streets and passages shut off from humanity for three hundred years. He shuddered involuntarily. When had this been a good decision?

  Passion doused, he took a step back and pivoted on the leather heel of his Italian shoe. Opening the boot, Ainsley pulled out two heavy, tubular torches. He flicked them on to make sure they worked, and the cone of light was bright even in sunshine. The last thing he needed was for one of them to lose power deep underground. He pocketed a handful of batteries into his jacket pocket. “I’d kiss you for saying so if it wasn’t in bad taste. Come along.”

  Joachim matched his stride, his walking stick hitting the cobblestones with precision. Damn it. Ainsley didn’t need to make the man race because he needed some distance to recalibrate his breathing. He slowed a fraction, looking at some storefronts as an excuse.

  “Tell me about the close.” Joachim’s voice was strangled. Not from exertion. A man with so many muscles tapering down to such a tight little waist was definitely not going to be exhausted by a brisk walk of less than a block.

  The flare of lust had been snuffed for the moment. Was Joachim as nervous as him to visit the underground street? Because Ainsley’s reasons were wrapped in memories of Charlie that the Englishman couldn’t fathom.

  “Are you afraid of going down there?” asked Ainsley, a little belatedly perhaps, but not too late for Joachim to change his mind. Blast. He hadn’t given thought to claustrophobia. What sort of host was he?

  “Not afraid, but it’s not my first choice. Not after living for months in trenches.”

  Bugger. He really hadn’t given that any consideration. Christ on a stick—had Charlie thought about their ill-spent evening in the close when he was in the war? How could he not when that was the whole reason he signed up for the bloody army? God, one more thing to feel horrible about when losing Charlie ought to be more than enough for anyone.

  Ainsley stopped moving forward, ashamed. “We don’t have to do this.”

  They really didn’t. Now that he’d thought about Charlie and the last time he’d done this excursion, especially.

  “Now now, Dr. Graham. You mustn’t think I’m a coward.” Joachim’s chin lifted with determination in equal measure to the sinking in Ainsley’s belly.

  “Er, I promise not to.” He laughed weakly. “We could find something for lunch—”

  Joachim searched his face and left Ainsley feeling naked. And not in a good way.

  “Are you frightened of what we might encounter down there?”

  The memories had haunted him for so long, how could they still be so chilling? He forced his lips into a saucy grin. “Not in the slightest.”

  That’s why he wasn’t religious. Lightning bolts should have struck him down years ago.

  Without giving himself another second to reflect, he pushed open the heavy door to the close.

  “Do you know the story?” he asked Joachim, handing him one of the torches. The Englishman weighed the heft like an expert and pointed it into the dank blackness of the narrow street, buried under the modern one.

  “Story?” The door closed with an echoing thud that sent chills dancing up Ainsley’s spine.

  “Stay near.”

  Joachim did one better and slid his arm through Ainsley’s, warming his side. Violet trotted ahead, not seeming to need the ersatz light. From the distance, water dripped out a rhythm, though the walls of the old city street were dry as Ainsley ran his fingers along them to steady himself.

  “The plague struck Edinburgh with a vengeance in the mid-1600s, and it’s said that to combat the spread of it, this street was bricked up.”

  Joachim halted hard enough to pull Ainsley’s arm. “What about the inhabitants?”

  Shite, what on earth were they doing down here? This was a horrible place that had given him years of nightmares. Yet, their feet kept propelling them forward. Down the sloping cobbled road. The stone walls rose multiple stories around them, tight. Looking ahead, the close appeared to be too narrow to even make it through. Constricted like the bands squeezing Ainsley’s breath from his lungs.

  “They were said to have been left here to die.”

  Fuck. He needed to get out of here. Now.

  Joachim scanned the centuries-old walls with evident distaste. “And now they haunt the city?”

  Ghosts. Yes. That’s why they were there. Ainsley straightened his back and cleared his throat. “That’s the tale. Haven’t you read it in any of the penny-dreadfuls you’ve gotten your research from?”

  “There’s something...uncomfortable.” The brute’s muscles were hard. Strong enough to tackle anything with a body. Worthless against what chilled Ainsley’s heart, though.

  But the man of science was perturbed by something, which gave Ainsley some courage to believe he hadn’t imagined it all those years ago. “You feel something in the energy? Something not quite alive?”

  Shaking his arm free, Cockburn strode to the nearest window and peered in with his torchlight. The sudden dimness of the close made Ainsley turn in a circle, shining his own light around to catch his bearings. Violet barked and scratched, her toenails raking across ancient cement.

  Fucking hell.

  This was where he and Charlie had stopped before his elder brother had insisted on leaving. Even though it was Ainsley who was frightened out of his mind. But that was years ago. Today there was nothing to keep them from walking farther other than the lump of lead that had settled in the surviving Graham’s belly.

  Joachim swung the torch back to Ainsley. “Were there bones?”

  “B-b-b-bones?” Had there been? He couldn’t recall. Just that there’d been piles of debris that could have been archaic remnants of people. Or the detritus of their lives. Terrifying to a fifteen-year-old boy and his brother.

  The illumination from the flashlight under Joachim’s chin gave his face a disquieting glow. Ainsley’s heartbeat thrashed in his ears. The Englishman’s features morphed into something—someone—else and Ainsley’s legs turned to jelly a second before he slid to the floor.

  Chapter Seven

  Joachim

  “Do stop mucking about, Ainsley. I’ve seen grammar school theatrics more believable than that.” The scoff was a bit of bluster, really. Joachim had very nearly screamed like one of his teenaged nieces when he’d watched his companion slither into a heap.

  He expected those wide lips to twitch into a smile, but they didn’t. And it couldn’t be comfortable to lie at that twisted angle. Further, he might not know Ainsley Graham very well, but he hadn’t suspected the fop to disregard his flash clothes by falling onto the floor.

  Unless he’d truly fainted. Fucking hell.

  He dropped to his knees and put his fingers to the other man’s neck to find his pulse. It was there, though weak.

  “Graham, are you all right?”

  No sign of recognition, not even a tremble of Ainsley’s long eyelashes that wilted on clammy skin. With care, Joachim lifted one of the delicate lids with the side of his thumb. The ginger’s eyes fluttered back, replacing the whites with gray irises that held no hint of recognition.

  Heart in his throat, he felt for Ainsley’s pulse again, to prove to himself that the man hadn’t died.

  Violet bounded up and sniffed at Graham’s groin. She was a dear creature other than her propensity for that. Joachim pushed her away and she lay at her master’s side, a low whimper emanating from deep in her throat.

  “Ainsley, wake up.” Joachim snapped his fingers to no avail.

  He’s fainted. And ought to be left where he was. Nothing Joa
chim could do until the man came to. He pushed himself back to his feet and staggered to the wall to wait. Wished desperately that he had his weights here and could stretch his muscles nearly to the breaking point and slip out of his current state of mind.

  Why wasn’t he the sort of fellow to carry a flask in his pocket for emergencies? Or take up smoking? The sorts of things that would do in a pinch to steady his nerves.

  “Don’t lie there like a corpse, Dr. Graham, wake up.” There was a rising tension in Joachim’s voice. It was the situation, not the venue. Because as unpleasant as it was, there was nothing living down here but the two men and the dog.

  Nor did he get any premonition of the un-living. No such thing as ghosts. He was merely feeding off the other man’s histrionics. Exactly why he needed a broad range of “supernatural” experiences to prove that none of this was real.

  At least here, unlike the bunkers in Europe, he could stand at his full height. Plus, his feet were dry, a rarity during the war when he’d been in the damned soggy trenches. He’d encountered many men with that thousand-yard stare that Graham was exhibiting. Eyes open, but seeing nothing.

  Ainsley hadn’t been in combat. So, it couldn’t be shell shock.

  However, Joachim was a student of psychiatry. And he’d worked with scores of patients suffering from various levels of melancholy. Could he reconcile that with this charming man who by all appearances was a temperamental butterfly? Was his proclamation that he spoke to spirits a manifestation of deep depression? It made some sense, because Ainsley’s grasp of historical fact was remarkable, and Joachim had learned more on the drive from Rosethorne than he’d learned in years of school lectures.

  He knelt back down and ran through the things he knew about Ainsley. Violet garnered no response, and neither had clapping or snapping.

  Singing.

  What were the lyrics to that song the ginger played when he’d arrived at Rosethorne? Let’s Misbehave. He hummed the tune and did his best to remember a few of the words. His voice reverberated off the walls of the cramped old road as though he sang into a microphone like a music hall performer.