Best Laid Plaids (Kilty Pleasures)

by Ella Stainton

  Ainsley gulped. “Barley and Hugh made up?”

  Red-painted lips tightened. “Not yet, but they will. I’ll insist. We’ll all dance and drink champagne and everything will be fine.”

  “It won’t. I... I...” Ainsley squished his eyes shut. “I let Hugh and Manish know that Barley’s a cake-eater. They were appalled, bloody prigs. And Barley said he’ll never forgive me.”

  But when he opened his eyes, Trixie’s face held some sly amusement rather than disgust. “You’re a little fool, darling. Of course Barley will forgive you. He intended for you to find out about that silly Hugh Menzies, remember? I cornered him at that horrid dinner party. It’s better for Barley in the long run to have an answer, and if Hugh doesn’t turn tail and run at the sight of him, he’ll know. And if he does, then it’s best to get it over, isn’t it?”

  She strode to the bell-pull and yanked. “Now, you must eat and do something about that ridiculous overgrown hair before this evening. Once you’ve sorted things with Barley, who adores you as much as I do, even when you’re a bloody-minded arse, you’ll feel better.” She was authoritative enough that he believed her.

  An hour later, Ainsley wiped his mouth on his napkin and looked at his sister with resolve. “I wish to write another book,” he said, after finishing a large portion of shepherd’s pie. God, his brain worked again.

  “Gracious, I never thought I’d be so happy to hear that infernal clicking of your typewriter, but that’s a capital idea.” Her brow wrinkled in concern. “About ghosts?”

  Ainsley flushed and looked away. Caught his reflection in the mirror. No.

  “The historical origins of the water horse mythology, I think. I’ve decided to reestablish my career as a reputable academic.” He balled his fists, that intense anger burbling back up his spine. “Before fucking Cockburn drags my name through the mud.” He lifted his chin, nostrils flaring. “I’ve got to combat him or I’ll never have a chance to be taken seriously.”

  It was like a wound in his chest how much he wished to have his old life back. Before he’d set himself up for ridicule and shame.

  Trixie scowled. “What do you mean? Drag your name through the mud? He’d bloody well better not unless he wishes me to wring his beastly neck.”

  And the conversation in the wood at Fautinn was dredged back up. “That was why he came to Scotland, after all. But I’d assumed that once he saw the ghosts too, he’d give up the idea that they were delusions.”

  A small trail of eye paint trickled down one of his sister’s cheeks. “Oh God, A. Is that why you left him wandering around Scotland in the middle of the night? I can’t say I blame you now.”

  That was unfair. “I didn’t leave him anywhere. He left me.” Fuck. His skin itched too much not to scratch. But Trixie held his arms down.

  “Darling, he left you a note, didn’t he? Said he was off to find you in the woods, and then when he got back to where the car had been parked, you were gone. He called round the house and told me. Poppy said he’d slept on the floor at a pub.” She touched his cheek. “Not that I feel a wee bit sorry for him if he plans to hurt you.”

  No no no. Ainsley shook his head as hard as Violet after she’d swum in a lake. “He told me he was leaving. I’m not making that up.”

  Trixie looked unconvinced. “Well, that’s all a muddle, then. But who cares? I wish misery on the sod for daring to hurt you.”

  I’ve gone. And then some smeared words that Ainsley couldn’t read. Fuck. Had he gone to find Ainsley? Nausea rose in the back of his throat. It hadn’t made sense, but he’d been too furious to be sensible.

  Buggery fuck.

  “I thought he was in love you.”

  He’d never cope if Trixie was going to go all soft on him. “Well, he wasn’t.” Ainsley rose and squared his shoulders. “I’ll go for a haircut. I can play it off to Hugh and Manish that I’m a loony. I do that well, after all.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Joachim

  “Look at your smile, pet. I haven’t seen one of those since you came back from Scotland. Let’s have tea, and you tell me all about it.” Elin whisked the scarf off her dark blonde hair and dropped a kiss on Joachim’s cheek before bustling into the small, tidy kitchen.

  He followed her and put the water on the kettle, urging her to sit.

  “Make us some eggs and toast, love. The girls came by the shop and told me they’re off to the Palais to dance with their fellows, so it’s just us. I intend to have a long coze and you can finally tell me what happened to you up north.”

  Joachim cracked eggs into the coddlers and added tea leaves to the strainer. “Er, nothing happened to me in Scotland.”

  Aside from falling in love with a man who hates me.

  Elin snorted. “Joachim Cockburn, I mightn’t have gone past grammar school, but you can’t lie to my face and expect me to believe you.” She came behind him and put her arm around his waist, cheek to his shoulder. “Tell me about him.”

  He shivered like a ghost walked over his grave. “Him?”

  “The man who’s got you so twisted that we’ve all stayed clear of your path for the past month.”

  Blue-green eyes exactly like his own were too kind. Made his chest tight.

  “Our Margery said that Uncle Joachim is as unhappy as when he came back from the war, and it made it all come back to me. How you teared up when anyone mentioned the man who got caught in the barbed wire with you. George, was it?”

  Joachim’s voice held a warning. “Elin.”

  “Don’t Elin me. I’ve worried you’d never fall in love again, and you’ve got so much love to give, pet. So tell us about this man in Scotland who’s making you pine so grievously.”

  His resolve crumbled. “You...you knew? About me?”

  Her trill of laughter was unexpected. “A great handsome bloke like yourself never once taking a lass to the pictures or out for a meal? I’m no fool.” The kettle whistled, and Elin poured the boiling water over the strainer and got a bottle of milk from the icebox. She set the table quietly, as if giving her brother time to collect his thoughts.

  Gathering his courage, Joachim told her about Ainsley. God, none of the filthy bits—only the outline. They’d finished eating before he was through, and Elin’s expression didn’t falter once.

  “And now you’ve quarreled and both of you are too pigheaded to apologize?”

  He dragged his hands over his beard, up his cheeks, and through his hair. “I have to write my dissertation. I’ve worked too hard to throw it all away by admitting I saw spirits.”

  Elin’s lips settled into a grim line. “No, you’re correct, though admitting to a sighting doesn’t make you a lunatic. You swore that you played with some ghost child in the rectory when you were a bitty thing, can’t you remember? Dad tanned your hide and made you write only lunatics believe in ghosts a hundred times.”

  “Uh, no.” Did he? A shiver trailed up his spine. Dennis. God. But the boy in his Kate Greenaway old-fashioned clothing had been so real at the time. “Why didn’t you remind me of that when I came up with the idea for this paper?”

  His sister shrugged. “I didn’t want you to question your own sanity, love. You do it too often for comfort as it is.” She winked. “You’d have had to lock yourself away, and I couldn’t bear that, could I? But that does leave you in a pretty pickle.”

  They sighed in tandem and Joachim flashed a weary smile.

  “But you’re clever. You’ll sort it.”

  Impossible.

  He’d spent weeks trying to untangle the mess. Weeks not working on his paper, even though it was due in a month. Joachim held his head in his hands, despairing.

  “Chin up. Let’s have a sit in the garden and enjoy the evening.”

  Joachim grabbed the teapot with one hand and leaned on his stick with the other and followed her.

>   “I didn’t mean to put a damper on things. You were smiling when I came home. Tell me why.” Elin settled into her wrought iron chair and gestured for him to do the same.

  He had been smiling. A flicker of triumph blazed in his chest and he sipped his tea.

  “It was a boy at the asylum that I’ve been working with. We made a breakthrough.” Because of Ainsley and all his quirks. This lad’s parents were at their wits’ end, desperate for their son to focus. Joachim snapped. Hummed. Asked if they had a pet at home that he could rub.

  Turned out, all of them helped bring back the boy’s attention.

  His parents were thrilled enough to rave to the head doctor, who in turn told Joachim he ought to work with the patients who suffered from mind fidgets. See if his strategies helped other patients.

  Even teach at a medical college. “Newcastle is close enough, perhaps. If I had a motorcar.”

  “Will wonders never...a motorcar, Joachim?” Elin’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

  Nothing flash like the Austin, even if he could afford it. But something practical that would be his.

  “There’s a medical school in Edinburgh, you know?” Elin quirked an eyebrow meaningfully.

  He swallowed. “I couldn’t. I mean, what about you and the girls?” To say nothing of how he could ever apologize to Ainsley for even thinking about betraying him by writing that damned paper.

  Elin’s mouth dropped in outrage. “If you dare behave as though we can’t support ourselves without your help, I’ll box your ears.”

  “But...”

  “There are no buts. Apply to Edinburgh and get your head out of your arse.” Elin had never cursed in front of him in his life and he pinched himself to make sure he was awake. “And spend a few days figuring out how to grovel to that man. One of you needs to, and from the sound of it, I’d say you were the villain in this piece.”

  That may be, but she was supposed to be on his side. Joachim opened his mouth to disagree, but his sister was having none of it. She waggled a finger under his nose like she had when they were children, and she was taking him to task.

  “For three years you’ve whinged about the criteria—or lack thereof—to have someone shut away in that asylum. This bloke of yours trusted you, and you said you were going to write up a paper that attested to his lunacy.” Elin huffed and narrowed her eyes. “Hypocritical of you, don’t you think?”

  “Hypocritical?” How dare she?

  But her voice was kind. Elin took his hands in hers and squeezed. “Pet, think on it. You’ve been so melancholy since the war, but pretending that you’re not. It’s pained my heart to watch you struggle. You don’t need to be healed, Joachim. You’re not broken.” She pinched his cheek. “And neither is your Dr. Graham. But it’s like your ankle. It doesn’t make you broken, either. You only need a little help to walk the way you used to.”

  Joachim chewed on that, his mind spiraling into a thousand directions at once.

  His sister continued, “You’ll sort it. And besides, I always wanted to holiday in Scotland. Perhaps we can spend Christmas with your sweetheart and his family.”

  Blood rushed to his cheeks, his neck, the tips of his ears. Sweetheart. Ainsley Graham would die rather than be called something as treacly as that, even if he did forgive Joachim someday.

  He raised his tea in Elin’s direction. “They don’t celebrate Christmas in Scotland.”

  She gave him a grin and clinked her cup to his. “That Hogmanay, then. I’ll hold you to it, so you best work out how to tidy things up.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Ainsley

  Eleven-year-old Freddy stuck his tongue out at his uncle, and it took all of Ainsley’s resolve not to grab it and cut it off.

  “I still don’t understand why I’m stuck with the terror all evening while you get to go out with Poppy and actually enjoy yourself.”

  Trixie gave an exaggerated glare. “You’re a pest, Ainsley. Because it’s Poppy’s hen night.”

  “It’s Stuart’s stag. How can I enjoy it with him?” Ainsley thumbed toward the boy, who would rifle through the scattered pieces of research he’d worked so hard on for the past month.

  Blowing out a large cloud of smoke, Trixie rolled her eyes. “If you imagined that a stag party with Stuart and his chemistry professor friends was ever going to be an enjoyable evening, you’re as delusional as Cocky thought.”

  That dreadful nickname and the wretched man it belonged to made Ainsley wince.

  “I don’t even know why you’re making me go. I’d sooner stick a fork in my eye.”

  “Because the party is at your house and they are your guests. Stuart is your only brother and it means the world to him to have you there. Freddy, put down Ainsley’s papers or I’ll take a birch to you.”

  If only she’d done it years ago, Freddy might not be the little monster that he was today.

  “Oooh, it’s about you, Ainsley? Shall I read it out loud?” Freddy pinched his lips tight and spoke in a voice much like Ainsley’s least favorite teacher at school. “Ainsley Graham isn’t mad. I’d stake my reputation on it. Facts: I held a conversation with Charlie Graham. Not only was he solid in body, ascertained by shaking hands and exchanging a book—”

  “Give me that.” Ainsley ripped the paper from Freddy’s hands and skimmed. Christ. It was the one Cockburn had been tapping out on his typewriter the day of the deuced dinner party.

  Ainsley Graham isn’t mad. Joachim would risk his reputation.

  What would you have me do? I’ve done the research, I’ve gotten the paper outlined, and it’s what the doctoral committee expects of me... I’d be laughed out of academia.

  His brute’s face had been so unhappy when he’d confessed.

  Gosh. Joachim hadn’t wished to destroy Ainsley, had he? Just was trying to figure out how not to follow in his footsteps.

  A whimper escaped. “Fucking hell. He doesn’t have any choice but to write that damned paper. We saw what happened to me when I admitted there were spirits, and I’d already had an excellent character. Joachim’s just been a student. He can’t throw it all away over some numpty who already fucked away his position like I did.”

  “What, are you still rambling about Cocky? I still say I thought he was in love with you.”

  Unlikely, but it did make Ainsley’s throat clog.

  Freddy tugged on Trixie’s diamanté-encrusted evening gown. “I don’t wish to go, Mummy. Ainsley is mean and Uncle Stuart is a bore.”

  Trixie rubbed her knuckles a bit frantic. “Both of those things are true, Freddy, but you’ll either have to suck it up or stay home with Nelson and straighten your room. And tidy the water closets.”

  The lad seemed to consider which option was worse. “Can Ainsley stop and get me some sweets if I go?”

  All at once, Ainsley felt a rush of shame. And his pride hated being a worse choice than scrubbing toilets.

  “You can have an entire bag, Freddy, and I’ll even let you beat me at cards if you give me a quarter of an hour to dress in peace.”

  “I always beat you at cards because you can’t focus well enough to play.” Freddy had a perfect sneer for such a young man.

  Ainsley’s and Trixie’s eyes met over Freddy’s head and she blew him a kiss. “I owe you, darling.”

  “Glad you realize it.” Ainsley went to change before his black mood returned. Nothing mattered at the moment as long as he could spend a few minutes reading what Cockburn had said about him until he made some sense out of it all. Because even if Joachim had written that, it wasn’t what he’d said in the woods outside Fautinn, was it?

  A half hour later, he dropped Trixie off at Poppy’s and allowed Freddy to take her seat. Violet stretched out in the small jump seat with a contented sigh.

  He was lost in thought when Freddy startled him by singing Let’s Misbe
have.

  A lightning bolt of despair pierced his heart. He hadn’t listened to the bloody song since Cockburn left.

  “Do shut up, Freddy.”

  “Don’t you like it? Mummy said my uncle Charlie used to sing to you to calm you down. I was trying to help.” Freddy’s face was stricken. “I thought it was your favorite song.”

  Not any longer.

  But he sighed. “Fine.” Soon enough, he found himself singing along.

  What was Cockburn doing right at that moment? He ought to have finished his paper. Might even have been awarded his PhD.

  Dr. Cockburn.

  Come for me now, Dr. Graham.

  “Why do you look like that?” asked Freddy, turning his body to Ainsley in alarm.

  “What do I look like?”

  “As though you ate an entire cake by yourself and washed it down with a bottle of lemonade and now you’re going to be sick.”

  Bugger, that was exactly how he did feel. So why did he miss bloody Cockburn so much that it was as though he’d lost something? Well, nothing as vital as a limb, but as though he wore specs and had misplaced them. Like nothing was quite in focus, and never would be again.

  “Mummy said you’ve got a broken heart and I ought to behave nicer to you.”

  Ainsley growled. “To have a broken heart means that you were once in love, which I never have been.”

  “That’s good to know. Because you aren’t a ringing endorsement for falling in love if that’s why you’re much nastier than usual.” Freddy made his pronouncement and then picked the song back up before Ainsley could formulate a retort.

  Which was just as well since he was a liar.

  When they arrived at Queen Street, Ainsley found a pound note for Freddy and told him to run up to the shop and buy his sweets. He could buy half the store with that much money, and Freddy’s mouth practically watered. He and Violet disappeared around the corner before Ainsley could bring himself to go into Stuart’s party.