Kilty Pack One

by Amy Vansant

  Scooping all the tiny pieces into her palm, she closed her eyes and dumped them on her island counter like alphabet confetti. She opened her eyes only long enough to glimpse at the scattered paper tiles, and then jogged into the bedroom.

  Perched on her bed, she tried to picture the shower of paper squares. Some had landed face down, some face up. She closed her eyes and attempted to recall the visible letters.

  The T was up.

  She remembered that. The K and E were in the upper left of the pile, laying side by side. Those were the ones she remembered registering before she left.

  She closed her eyes tighter.

  There.

  She could picture the pattern laying on the counter. The T, K, E...

  The image in her mind became more clear.

  Q, O, G, B, M, Y, R... one scrawled so poorly it might be an L or an I. She concentrated for a few more moments and then returned to the kitchen to study the pile.

  They were there. All the letters she’d named were there, the others turned over so only the empty white backs remained visible. The pattern was how she’d remembered it.

  “Ohmygod,” she whispered to herself.

  She didn’t know how useful the trick could be, but it wasn’t not cool.

  She wanted to run and tell Kilty about it. Maybe see if he could do it—

  Outside her front door, she heard the elevator doors open. Padding to the door she peeked outside in time to watch Broch step into the elevator, his body warped into a curve by her fisheye peephole lens.

  The doors slid shut.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Stop ‘ere.”

  The car rolled to a halt and Broch stepped to the curb, a sense of accomplishment glowing like a fire in his chest.

  He’d summoned a car without anyone’s help.

  While he was clearly an exceptional student, he still had Catriona to thank for his education. After much begging, she’d agreed to give him his own phone and demonstrated how to place calls, write texts and summon cars.

  The twenty-first century wasn’t so hard. But it was astonishing.

  No longer did people need to keep and care for horses. Now they had horseless carriages propelling themselves across the terrain.

  That’s whit folk should call them, “horseless carriages.”

  He made a mental note to suggest that to whomever was in charge of such things. Catriona would know.

  People didn’t even have to drive their horseless carriages themselves. Press a button, and cars arrived with drivers already in them, waiting to escort people wherever they wanted to go.

  He shook his head, marveling. It was all very convenient.

  Don’t even git me started on the warm showers...

  He walked two blocks and stopped upon recognizing Owen Crane’s house. A low fence encircled the property, more decorative than useful. He hopped over the iron spikes, the jeans he’d worn for his evening mission tightening against his flesh. He preferred his kilt, but people stared less when he wore jeans and he didn’t want to be noticed.

  He tucked behind the large tree in Owen’s yard, cloaked in darkness. When no one came running into the yard, and he felt sure he’d entered the property unobserved, he peeked around the trunk.

  Lights glowed in Owen Crane’s living room. Inside, he spied Owen and his girlfriend, Fiona, sitting close on the sofa. He felt a twinge of jealousy.

  “Stop it,” he hissed at himself.

  A man whose serious expression identified him as an officer of some kind, sat in the corner of the living room looking bored. He had no interest in the couple sitting five feet away from his stiff-backed chair.

  They’re waiting fer the call.

  Catriona had explained to him that Owen and his wife would each be waiting for a phone call from the person who took their child. Such a call would be welcome, considering the alternative. He understood. Except for the use of the telephone, kidnapping was something that hadn’t changed since his day. The concept of people taken for ransom was as old as money itself.

  Broch’s gaze fell to the ground at his feet as a feeling of remorse washed over him.

  Catriona. He’d been rude to her. When she’d woken him from his dream he’d felt confused and helpless—two of his least favorite things to feel.

  The woman in his dream had been so real. Even now he could feel what it was like to be near her.

  Waking from that dream had felt like losing her.

  Who is she? Had he disappeared from their bed, whisked to California, leaving her to wonder what had happened to him? And what were the chances that he would soon meet a strangely familiar woman by the same name?

  As a rule he didn’t believe in coincidence. Of all the years he might have visited, what brought him to this place and time? Sean, his father, was waiting for him in this future when he arrived. Who was to say his love was not?

  The dream means something.

  That’s why he was hiding behind a tree, lurking like a bandit in Owen Crane’s front yard. He hoped seeing Fiona again would answer questions. So far, staring at the back of her head through Owen’s window, wasn’t offering much in the way of illumination.

  “Should I call the police?”

  Broch jumped at the sound of the voice and ducked behind the tree, his back pressed against the bark. He grimaced.

  Ye cannae hide now, eejit. Someone saw ye.

  Peering around the trunk, he found a brown-haired woman, petite and pretty, holding a book against her chest and peering back at him. Broch guessed she’d exited the house through the back door and traveled the side path to where she now stood, staring at him.

  She wasn’t striking in the exaggerated way he’d found many of the women in the Los Angeles area, but she had a pleasant countenance. Her expression was one of amusement, not anger. Rolling from behind the tree, he glanced at the living room window to find Fiona and Owen had disappeared. The officer remained slouched in his chair, his arms crossed against his chest, head down.

  Broch held out his hands, palms down in an attempt to demonstrate that he meant no harm. “Dinnae call the police.”

  “Why not?”

  He struggled to find an acceptable excuse as to why he was lurking around Owen’s front yard. Saying he’d come to stare at Fiona in order to divine if she was his long lost love would make him sound like a loon at best, a rogue at worst.

  “You were here with Sean and Cat today,” said the girl, blessedly filling the awkward silence.

  He nodded. “Aye.” That’s a reasonable excuse—ah’m working fer Sean.

  “Looking for evidence behind that tree?”

  Now that’s harder tae explain. Embarrassed, he felt his face flush and decided to be honest as possible. “No. Ah—it soonds strange, but ah had a dream.”

  She stepped forward and looked up at the second floor bedroom. Fiona now stood there in her bra, her body partially illuminated by dim light, her back to the window.

  Och na.

  The girl raised her eyebrows and looked at him. “A dream, huh? An X-rated dream?”

  “Whit?”

  “Your dream was about her? Fiona?”

  He sighed and nodded.

  The corner of the girl’s mouth hooked to the side as she shook her head. Without saying a word, Broch felt as if she had scolded him.

  “Ah’m not here tae hurt her.”

  “I would hope not.”

  “Ah mean, ah dinnae come tae keek at her.”

  The girl held up a hand. “I don’t even want to know what that means.”

  Broch remembered Catriona hadn’t known what keek meant either.

  “Tae look at her. Ah mean ah wasnae tryin’ tae catch her naked.”

  Something about his blunt confession made them both glance up at the window, just as Fiona turned toward them and unclasped her bra, dropping the garment to the ground.

  Broch looked away and shook his head in defeat.

  Why did she hae tae do that noo?

 
The girl chuckled. “Don’t worry about it. It happens a lot. She has that effect on men. ”

  “Does she?” he asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. She probably undressed in front of that window because she knew we were watching.”

  He grimaced. “She’s bonny, aye, but ah wasn’t after that. Ah think ah’ve met her afore.”

  She shrugged. “Deja vu? She’s been in town a long time. You probably saw her on television.”

  “Mibbie. Ah have been peepin’ a lot of that lately.”

  She tucked her notebook in one hand and thrust out the other. “My name’s Asher. Well, it’s Kelly, but my last name is Asher and that’s what everyone calls me. I’m Owen and Fiona’s assistant.”

  Broch shook. “Brochan.”

  She cocked her head, peering at his jeans. “Weren’t you in a kilt earlier?”

  “Aye.”

  “Why aren’t you now? I thought that was pretty cool.”

  “Ah dinnae want tae draw attention tae myself.”

  “But you did want attention earlier?”

  “Well, na, but—”

  “So you’re like, Scottish Scottish, huh?”

  He squinted, unsure what she meant by saying the word twice. The woman talked too fast and he couldn’t shake the feeling she was trying to trick him into admitting something incriminating.

  She continued. “You guys are going to be looking into the kidnapping?”

  “Aye. Ah believe sae.”

  She glanced back at the window and he followed her lead. Fiona had disappeared. His shoulders relaxed a notch. Asher and Fiona had him feeling like a scoundrel.

  Asher tapped his arm and began to walk. “We should talk. Come with me. Where’s your car?”

  He followed. “Ah called one. It left.”

  “You like pie?”

  “Pie?”

  “Not shepherd’s. You probably get enough of that in Scotland, huh? Ha. I meant, like, fruit and stuff. I know a 24-hour diner. Are you hungry?”

  “Ah—”

  “We’ll go in my car. Come on.”

  She continued down Owen’s path to the sidewalk and, at a loss for what else to do, he followed on her heels.

  She drove them to a yellow building with a green roof that resembled a quaint home. Inside, they sat on a cushioned bench in front of a window that made him feel as if he perched in a picture frame for all the world to see. The improbable event of Catriona walking by and seeing him made him uneasy. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, and yet everything felt improper.

  Ah feel lik’ a dog slipped aff his leash.

  Asher pushed her menu aside. “What kind of pie do you like? They have all kinds here, apple, blueberry, pecan, lemon meringue—”

  “Pecan?” The word struck him like a bolt of lightning. He rolled his tongue in his mouth, his taste buds tingling with the taste of what he knew to be pecans, but he couldn’t place the time he might have eaten one.

  Asher grinned. “Ooh, pecan. You’ve got a sweet tooth.” A server appeared and Asher handed her both menus. “He’ll have the pecan and I’ll take the lemon meringue.”

  Asher bent forward, nearly laying her head on the table to peer into Broch’s eyes as he hung his head in thought.

  “You okay?” she asked.

  “Aye. Sorry. Ah think ah’ve had pecans afore but ah cannae mind where. Catriona says ah have, uh, ambrosia.”

  “Ambrosia?”

  “Ah cannae mind things.”

  She laughed. “Amnesia. You’re funny. You remind me a little of Owen. He’s funny. I mean, usually. I don’t think he feels like being funny now, with his kid missing and all. Are you and Catriona a thing?”

  Broch tucked his chin and stared at Asher, marveling at how she shifted subjects without warning. “A thing?”

  “You know. Dating. Bumpin’ uglies. Sorry. That was crude. You know what I mean.”

  Broch shook his head. “No. Ah—Mibbie. Ah dinnae ken.”

  “Maybe? You’re not sure if you’re dating?” Asher laughed again, her startlingly white teeth flashing. “I love that accent of yours. Cat probably has a boyfriend though, right? She’s super pretty. First thing I thought when I saw her this morning was uh oh, Fiona’s going to hate her.”

  “How come would Fiona hate her?”

  Asher rolled her eyes. “Fiona likes to be the prettiest person in the room. Center of attention. You know—she’s an actress, after all.”

  “But she and Owen—”

  “He’s just a stepping stone. He’s too sweet for her. She’s going to break his heart. You’ll see. She’s getting older and she thought she needed something comfortable, like a trusty old shoe, but I can tell she’s already planning her next step.”

  Broch grunted. “Ye dinnae seem tae hae a very generous opinion of her.”

  Asher laughed. “No, I suppose I don’t. She hasn’t been my boss that long. I’m really Owen’s assistant, but she’s co-opted me.” She took a sip of water before continuing. “Look at me, spilling all this to you. I don’t even know you. But that’s why I brought you here, you know, to talk about Fiona.”

  “Aye?”

  Asher leaned toward him on her elbows, her voice dropping low. “She’s up to something.”

  “Whit dae ye mean?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it yet but the way she reacted to Owen’s son being taken—I dunno. It was like she knew already.”

  “Did she ken, uh, know already?”

  “I don’t know how she could have. Unless, of course, she had something to do with it.”

  “Ye think she took the laddie?”

  “Ha, laddie. That’s hilarious. You are so Scottish. No. I—” She tossed back her head and left it there as she sighed. Lowering her chin, she locked eyes with him. “I’m sorry. I must sound ridiculous. Forget I said anything.” She leaned forward again, her smile dropping beneath bedroom eyes. “Maybe I just wanted to ask you out for pie.”

  He froze, unsure of what to say, and she burst into laughter once more, throwing herself back against the seat so hard she bounced forward again before catching herself on the edge of the table.

  “JK. You are hot, though. But not my type. Too manly. I like artists. How’d you get that scar next to your eye?”

  He fingered the rugged tissue beside his left eye. Gaining that scar was the last memory he possessed of his previous life. He couldn’t tell Asher that a man on horseback had slaughtered his mothers and then attacked him...

  He shrugged. “A fight, ah think.”

  She nodded. “See? Too manly.”

  The waitress returned and placed a piece of pie in front of each of them. Asher grabbed her fork and scooped herself a mouthful before the waitress had a chance to leave. Broch lifted his fork and cut himself a chunk. The smell of it made him woozy.

  He took a bite, the sugary filling coating his mouth. “Tis sweet—”

  It wasn’t until he crunched on the first pecan that his memory exploded with images.

  A girl. Dark hair. Laughing. The white skin of her throat exposed—

  He placed his hands on his head.

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” asked Asher.

  Asher’s voice sounded miles away. He squinted, the lights suddenly blinding.

  “I have to go,” he said, standing, his legs feeling weak beneath him.

  “You don’t like the pie?” she asked.

  He grabbed the sticky treat from the plate with his hand. Half of it fell to the table as he held it aloft for her to see.

  She scowled. “What the—”

  Feeling ill, Broch forced a smile and ran from the restaurant.

  He walked several blocks to be sure Asher didn’t follow him, before collapsing against a building.

  His head swirled with colors. A man approached, walking fast, his head down, hands in his pockets.

  Broch grabbed his arm. “Where is this?” he asked.

  “Hey!” The man jerked away, the whites of
his eyes flashing.

  “Where is this?” Broch repeated. “I need to call a car here.”

  The man scowled. “Dude, the phone knows where you are.” He hurried away. Broch heard him spit some words he recognized as curses.

  He peered down at his phone.

  It kens where ah am?

  Broch pressed the car calling button. It did, indeed, seem to know where he was. Earlier, he’d thought it knew his location because he was at the studio. Somehow, it seemed to always knew where he was.

  He waited, breathing slow and deep to clear his mind. Several minutes later, a black sedan arrived.

  “Hey, how ya doin’?” asked the driver as Broch opened the door.

  Broch dismissed him with a wave. “Na blethering.”

  “What?”

  “Na talking.”

  “No talking. Okay, okay. I got it, buddy. I prefer that myself but they make us try and earn the damn stars.”

  His interaction with the driver took Broch’s mind off the nonsense in his brain for a moment. His nausea passed. For that he was grateful.

  Cradling the pecan pie in his hand, he closed his eyes and endeavored to block all sensory input for the remainder of the ride. When the driver turned on the radio Broch made a sharp barking noise and it went silent.

  Broch felt the car roll to a stop and opened his eyes to find he’d reached the studio. He jumped out and jogged to his apartment, glancing at Catriona’s door as he passed it. He didn’t stop.

  Safe at home, he yanked a plate from the kitchen cabinet and placed the chunk of pie on it. He washed the remaining sticky mess from his hands and carried the plate to his room.

  Without changing from his clothes, he stretched on the bed like a dead man arranged for a wake.

  Everything was quiet.

  Only the familiar hum of the studio’s security lights tickled his ears.

  Once his breathing had reached a steady pace, he reached with his left hand to pluck a single pecan from the pie.

  He placed the nut in his mouth and sucked the sugar from it. It settled between his molars and, with a deep, expectant breath, he crunched.

  Chapter Fifteen

  1833 – Edinburgh, Scotland

  Broch found his father’s sleeping area empty.

  The old blacksmith awoke earlier than the sun most days and often disappeared to enjoy a few hours fishing before spending a good part of the day in front of the fire, pounding steel.