Best Laid Plaids (Kilty Pleasures)

by Ella Stainton

  Violet and Joachim took an extralong walk through the neighborhood green even though his leg was stiff, because Joachim might throttle Ainsley when he next saw him. Which could not be that night, for God’s sake. With his own mother in the house.

  Bollocks.

  But when he’d finally chilled, both his temper and his body, he and the dog went back up. Still, only the doors to Ainsley’s and Charlie’s rooms were shut. The rest of the rooms were open.

  And he had no idea which was to be his, and had no desire to shock a poor woman to death by climbing into a bed beside her. It was all a terrific nightmare. He’d be sleeping on the sofa at this rate.

  God, he really might choke Ainsley. He opened the door as quietly as possible for Maisie’s sake, and switched on the light, steam coming from his ears.

  Violet hopped onto Ainsley’s stomach and he curled up in sleepy surprise. “You’re back? Thanks for that. Come to bed.”

  Joachim’s hands fisted by his sides. His voice was low, but full of anger. “You told her to keep away from me, did you? I wouldn’t have done half the things I did to you had I known we weren’t alone in the bloody house.”

  Ainsley’s eyes narrowed. “Who do you mean? Is Trixie here?”

  “I don’t even know who Trixie is. But no—your mother.” He nearly spat on the last.

  A flicker of amusement lit up Graham’s face. “You spoke to my mother?”

  “The one you confined to the kitchen so we could fuck the evening away? Yes, I did.”

  The look on Ainsley’s face was appraising as he ran his eyes over Joachim. “Christ on a stick, Cockburn, you’re so much more psychic than I gave you credit for. How did she look?”

  Joachim’s ankle had enough, and he sat on the edge of the bed. “What do you mean? Other than much too young to have dealt with you for so many years?”

  “Was she wearing her pearls?” Ainsley was interested now, pushing back the covers and drawing his knees up.

  “That’s...” Joachim shook his head, at a loss for words momentarily. “That’s immaterial.”

  Ainsley frowned. “It’s not, really. The last thing she told me was that if she died, she’d wear all her jewelry at one time, merely to annoy my father if he was anywhere around. He always said she was déclassé.” He squeezed Joachim’s knee. “Take off your clothes and come sleep with me.”

  “But your mother.” How could he be so calm when Joachim was ready to explode?

  Pooh-poohing that with a wave of his hand, Ainsley winked. “She’d never come in here, I assure you. She’d be as mortified as I would, and then I’d never, ever speak to her again.”

  “Never see your own mother again for that?” Joachim dripped with disapproval. His parents died from influenza while he was at the front and he’d love the chance to see his mother again. And his father, too.

  But Ainsley sighed and pulled his lips to one side, thinking hard. “I’ve not seen her since...um...1918.”

  Gooseflesh pimpled Joachim’s skin. “What do you mean? She’s downstairs.” He might change his mind yet again over the strength of Graham’s sanity.

  His companion’s face was wreathed in smiles. Hooting as though he’d heard the world’s best joke, Ainsley fought to catch his breath. “Dear... Lord, didn’t Stuart tell you? How absurd.”

  A growl came out of Joachim deep down somewhere and Ainsley stopped laughing and gave Joachim a sultry look that he couldn’t possibly mean.

  “Tell me what?” Lord, he was sulky like a child. Joachim straightened his shoulders.

  “Anything about me besides I was a raving loony.”

  Joachim began to argue that Stuart hadn’t quite said that, but with a wink, Ainsley put his finger over Joachim’s lips and said, “My darling Cockburn—she died when I was barely seventeen. I told you I can hear ghosts, but you can actually see them.”

  Joachim did his best to scrape his jaw off the floor. “She’s...a ghost, too?”

  “She is. And that spares me trying to find another for you without heading back north to Perth. I wasn’t really in the mood. But come to bed, won’t you?” Ainsley wiggled his shoulders, obviously pleased as punch.

  “Come to bed?” He repeated the words.

  Good Lord. He’d come to Scotland to disprove the existence of ghosts and after less than a week, he was the one running into them around every corner. It was all he could do to keep from laughing at the previously unthinkable notion.

  Ainsley rose to his knees and unbuttoned his shirt for him. The man was downright purring. “Yes, come to bed. And wake me up tomorrow like you did this morning. I enjoyed that.”

  After switching off the light, Joachim slipped in beside Ainsley, the dog moving to accommodate his feet.

  “Only make sure I come, or I won’t forgive you.” Ainsley pressed his body tight to Joachim’s side. “And, Cockburn?”

  “Yes, Dr. Graham?” Joachim put his arm around the younger man and they molded their bodies together as if they’d shared a bed for years.

  Ainsley wasn’t mad.

  And he, himself, was for some reason or other psychic, too. How on earth would he cope with that?

  Fingers combed through Joachim’s chest hair. Fingers that weren’t his. He liked the way it tickled very much. Decided to put the worry away until he could manage it in the morning.

  Ainsley kissed the hollow of his throat. “Would you growl again tomorrow morning, like you just did?”

  “Like this?” Joachim did it once from deep in his throat and Ainsley pressed tighter and sucked on his earlobe.

  “Amazing. Yes, like that. You know, when you’re ordering me about like you do.”

  Like you do.

  Like they had a way between them that was settled but exciting and that they both knew which part to play.

  Like they did.

  And like that, Joachim realized he wouldn’t be able to end things Sunday morning. Not without a large dose of disappointment. Perhaps he could figure out how to draw out one more day.

  Because surely, that would be enough of this mercurial man with his fidgeting mind and a houseful of ghosts.

  Surely.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ainsley

  He’d waited in the kitchen wearing his Chinese silk robe for ages, anticipating Joachim’s return from wherever it was he’d slipped off to. His note said only, Be back soon, which said so little that he might as had not left anything at all. Besides, soon was over an hour ago. Ainsley glanced at the clock. It had to be at least an hour since he woke up.

  The second time.

  Ainsley shivered. Joachim was delectable with spend dripping from that beard, bless him.

  He was, far and away, the most entertaining man Ainsley had ever been in bed with. Or an alley, or a dining room under the table. Or that closet in St. Andrews.

  He took his plate to the parlor and put on a song to cheer him up. It was one Joachim had sung half of the verses to the day before, with a droll American accent that came and went when he hit a long vowel. Empty Bed Blues.

  It would be a shame when he left.

  There were few people he’d ever met who were utterly unperturbed by his quirks the way Cockburn was.

  And two of them were dead.

  Where was the sod? He’d walked somewhere, and might have gotten lost. Ainsley opened the drapes, but there was no one save for a woman wearing a hat in a hideous shade of orange.

  He let the curtain drop and his stomach growled. He still hadn’t eaten anything.

  Cockburn likely went out for warm food. Pastries. There was that lovely bakery three blocks up.

  Perhaps he’d bring him home a bun. Ainsley was reduced to two hard-cooked eggs since he’d told the staff no one needed to stop in until he was gone. Once, one of the maids came in early—believing she was displaying strong work e
thics, no doubt—and had jumped out of her skin when a not-quite-dressed man followed Ainsley out of the washroom.

  He’d convinced her it was one of the ghosts but paid her two months’ severance to keep her bloody mouth shut.

  Ever after, he made sure that there was no one who might intrude, aside from the dead-but-still-chattering who refused to leave. And at least they knew to keep out of his bedroom.

  He scowled at his breakfast. He detested the chalky feel of yolk in a boiled egg. He scooped it out with a spoon and used a napkin to clean off the rest. All in all, it was a thoroughly unsatisfying meal. Which was a shame because he enjoyed food much of the time. As long as different foods didn’t touch on the plate. Or taste bad.

  The next day was his dinner party—so they’d need to get back to make sure that went off without a hitch. He’d telephone Trixie and put her on the job. She liked being in charge.

  Lord—was this a weekend Freddy was home from school? He ought to have checked before agreeing because Freddy was monstrous enough to ruin anything. Though Ainsley hadn’t had any part of planning the party, had he? That was Barley needing to bring the mysterious Hugh by to see which way he liked his crumpets served.

  Hugh and the Gentleman Boarder. It sounded like a play. Ainsley enjoyed theater. If it was funny or had singing. In English. None of that dull-as-dirt modern stuff where everyone began miserable and then wallowed for a few hours and either shot themselves or someone else and then went on to have supper.

  Rubbish, that.

  And so often Scandinavian. Or Russian. Cold, gloomy places without any sunshine in the winter. He’d never, ever go there. Not after the plays he’d endured. Though Barley caravanned through Norway with his gran before the war and said he’d never seen such good-looking men in his life as he’d seen in Oslo, so perhaps he might go there someday.

  In the summer.

  Ainsley fed the chalky yolk bits to Violet off his palm and washed up when the front door opened.

  He would wait and not run into the hall like Violet did.

  Only, he didn’t: he drifted into the hallway without meaning to. He did not, however, lower himself to wag. “Did you bring buns?”

  Joachim appeared with a handful of shopping bags and...a haircut? “Was I to have brought back buns?” Boons. It was charming.

  Drawn to that beard, Ainsley stroked his palm down Joachim’s cheek. “Did you go to a barber?” There was a jagged edge to the hairs that must be from a trim. Lord, how would that feel on his thighs now? He trembled. And how red would his face be if they kissed like they had the night before?

  He was still raw when he’d shaved that morning.

  “I did.” Joachim’s ears went pink first, and his neck, and the two met somewhere over his cheekbones soon after. It was delightful each time. “I’ve realized I’m a bit shabby next to you. Vain, perhaps, but I bought a few things. Tidied myself up.”

  Ainsley’s mouth dried up like he’d sucked something that made your mouth dry up. “You look...” Handsome, magnificent, delicious. Christ on a stick, he was mooning like a boy with his first crush. “...nice.”

  He wore a dark red jumper sporting a wide collar and black leather-covered buttons with a pair of charcoal flannel trousers that emphasized both his wide shoulders and tight arse. Combined with the new hair...and hint of mentholated aftershave that would have smelled medicinal on anyone else... Ainsley would struggle to wait until dark to test out this new version of Cockburn.

  “You look nice.” Damn, he repeated himself like a ninny.

  Cockburn’s eyes crinkled up at the edges and he hooked his finger through the belt to Ainsley’s dressing gown. “You look nice, as well.”

  God almighty, Ainsley had had more erections in the past twenty-four hours than since he was twenty-six. No—he was still twenty-six. His birthday wasn’t until June.

  Joachim pulled him the last half foot between them by his sash and the beard scratched at his face sharper than before. How could he move to loosen it all the way without being obvious?

  “Ainsley, dear, aren’t you going back home?”

  He wasn’t the one to pull away with a gasp—it was Joachim, whose scarlet jumper was nothing compared with the scorch on his cheeks.

  “You know how restless I get in this place.”

  “Mama, please.” He glared around the few feet of room he believed her voice had come from.

  “Nice Mr. Cockburn looks so handsome, doesn’t he?”

  Joachim slouched onto the sofa and stared at his thumbs, twiddling like they powered a steamship.

  Ainsley rolled his eyes elaborately. “He can hear you, you know.”

  His mother lowered her voice to a whisper close to his ear. “He’s so smart with his new clothes, isn’t he? I’d say he did that to look nice for you.”

  Coughing to cover her voice, which wasn’t as quiet as perhaps she intended, Ainsley hurried from the room, praying she came along with him. “I’ll change and we can be off,” he said to both of them.

  “I’ll stay with your friend.” Her voice dropped again. “Charlie and I were chatting and we’re sure that he’s the—”

  In the past, Ainsley had mocked people who got panicky over small things, but his chest seized like he might be about to die. “If you dare mention anything about that, you know I’ll—”

  “Never talk to me again. I know, darling. You say it at least once a day. I’d have thought you’d outgrow it by now.”

  A noise half between a scream and a sob came from his throat as he hurried up the stairs and dressed as quickly as he could. It had never once crossed his mind that Joachim’s speaking to ghosts too could be so worrisome.

  Not to be outdone by his guest’s shiny new look, he rifled through his wardrobe and found some blue-and-black plus-fours in a subtle plaid and matched it with not only a blue-and-black Argyll vest, but matching knee socks.

  Even ripping his hair out—not that he actually would because his hair was one of his most fetching features according to everyone—he’d be as well-dressed as possible. And his wardrobe was both extensive and expensive, so the possibilities were limitless.

  Running down the steps, he nearly slid and fell on his arse.

  Joachim sat edged against the arm of the sofa, nodding to the side like a madman. She’d better have kept her mouth shut. Whatever she was going to say about Charlie...well, it wasn’t true. Not that he could even really remember what his brother had said on the night of his birthday. After he came back downstairs wan and terrified and said he’d seen a ghost. Had no wish to remember it.

  Not even now.

  God, had it been Joachim whom Charlie saw? How on earth could that work if Joachim wasn’t dead? So it couldn’t have been. But he glanced at Cockburn, whose face appeared to brim with affection for him, and for once, it didn’t make him want to run away.

  Ainsley blinked because there must be dog fur or sunshine or dust in his eyes. He’d remind Nelson to tell them to do a better job with the housekeeping. Take care of whatever it was that made his eyes water.

  He held out his arm for Cockburn, who half jumped from his seat.

  “Good-bye, Mama. We can chat later.” Much, much later, he added in his head, only for her.

  Dear Lord the man looked silly giving deference to some seat cushions, didn’t he? Silly and fuckable.

  “Where are we off to?” Joachim asked as Ainsley handed him the bags he’d brought down for him. It was the least he could do. His brute had been favoring that right foot too much after all the walking he must have done. Princes Street and back he guessed from the smart cut of his trousers.

  He slapped his leg once and Violet bounded toward him, tail swishing. She went straight for Joachim’s groin.

  A dog after his heart, wasn’t she?

  “I thought we’d get your last haunting out of the way, and then ha
ve a nice supper somewhere before heading back to Rosethorne.” Ainsley followed Joachim out. It was overcast with a blowy wind. The sort of day made for lounging in bed.

  Cockburn gasped like he’d been hit, but he regained his composure by fixing the part in his hair. That needed no fixing. “Ah yes. I can be off Sunday, then. Out of your way. Back home.”

  Bugger all. That was a bleak thought. Empty Bed Blues in truth. “Aren’t you spending a full week? I was sure Stuart said you’d be with me for seven days when he sent his telegram.”

  The Englishman lifted those massive shoulders that Ainsley’s thighs had been draped over a few hours before. He caught his breath reliving it for a moment.

  “I’m not sure there’s a reason for me to stay if I’ve seen so many ghosts, is there?” His dark golden eyebrows knit as he stared at the pavement. “For my dissertation.” A sour look crossed his face that would have made a less handsome man ugly. It merely made Joachim appear concerned. As well he ought to be, writing that the spirit world wasn’t a myth.

  A cold bucket of ice water wouldn’t have broken Ainsley into worse chills. But Joachim wasn’t a flibbertigibbet. He was steady and competent and his own colleagues would trust that he was telling the truth. Nothing like what had happened to Ainsley.

  He was sure of it. Er...at least mostly sure.

  Though once Joachim had his fifth ghost, he’d leave. Ainsley scratched his arms to keep from feeling as though he was being swallowed by a dense fog.

  Joachim gently pulled his hands down. “Are you all right?”

  Ghosts. That was what this was about. Not loneliness or that bitter ache of being rejected. Ainsley wouldn’t repudiate him the way Ross Campbell had done at Ainsley’s insistence that the spirits were real.

  But God, Joachim’s downcast face pricked his conscience. “And what will happen to you if you do back my assertions?”

  For once, instead of reddening, Joachim’s face took a ghastly pale cast. He cleared his throat. Did that thing where he chuckled but it wasn’t terribly believable. “Oy, don’t worry about me, Dr. Graham. I’ll figure it out.”