14
Since the moment Marta had made Diana switch places with her, Diana had been a nervous wreck. Rory’s handholding stunt certainly hadn’t improved her composure. She was a hot mess. Literally--her face felt as if it’d been left too long on a panini press. She needed to fan herself or open a window. But since it was raining outside, the whole bus would crank their heads around to see who was letting in the cold, wet air. Then they’d see Rory, Diana’s discomposure, and know. Know everything!
Maybe if she sucked in a couple of breaths she could get herself under control. But Rory took that moment to start making torturous circles into her palm. Could a person die from a heat stroke in winter? Of course, she could pull her hand away, but she didn’t want to seem like a coward. He’d given her that challenging look—raised eyebrow and daring her with his eyes—and she wouldn’t back down from him. Instead, she closed her eyes and pretended he was a boring accountant or a greeter at Walmart so she could ignore the sensation. However, the maelstrom he was causing inside her made her want to squirm in her seat.
Diana opened her eyes and focused on the Dixon sisters instead. They were still arguing quietly, but Marta was apparently bringing an end to the quarrel. She pulled out her compact and adjusted her lipstick, effectively blowing Tilly off. As she shifted the compact, Marta suddenly stopped.
Oh, no!
Marta spun around and peered between the seats.
“Awfully cozy back there, are we?” She laughed like Maleficent, which made Tilly turn, too. It took a second for her to see what Marta had seen.
Diana tried to pull her hand away, but the good detective held on tight.
“Eyes to the front, ladies,” Rory said without a hint of embarrassment. Diana, though, wanted to crawl under the seat.
Tilly looked embarrassed enough for all of them and turned back around.
Marta nodded, giving Diana a congratulatory wink. “You’re doing better than I did in that seat.” She chuckled at her joke and then faced forward.
Rory leaned over and whispered in Diana’s ear. “Relax.”
Being able to relax was a distant memory, as his breath on her ear made her shiver.
“It’s not like we’re breaking the law,” he said.
That had her slipping her hand from his. True, they weren’t breaking any laws, but Diana was breaking her number one commandment: Thou shalt not fall for a cop. The words twisted around in her thoughts, almost laughing at her in a singsong fashion. Too late, sugar plum. You already fell for this one.
She kept her eyes on the scenery out the window, not letting herself glance over at Rory. She could feel the angry heat rolling off him at her rebuff. The man just didn’t understand. It wasn’t really a rebuff. Just self-preservation. For the rest of the trip, she and Rory sat in uncomfortable silence.
The landscape became thicker with trees and rolling hills, reminding Diana of the Midwest. Funny how things could be so similar to a place four-thousand miles away.
Not long afterward, they made a turn down a narrow road and stopped. Diana saw the sign for the wool mill and popped up. Without looking Rory in the eye, she squeezed past him by high-stepping over his knees. She rushed to the front of the bus to deliver instructions to the group. Never in her life had she been so grateful to be in charge.
“Pull your hoods up or put your rain caps on, while I head out to make sure Whussendale Woollens is ready for us.”
Diana caught sight of a woman in the doorway of a stone building, giving the bus a wave.
“Come on,” Deydie said. “Let’s stop her from coming out in the storm.”
Diana followed Bethia and Deydie from the bus.
Deydie hollered to the woman as soon as her feet hit the ground. “Stay there on the porch, Sophie. We’ll come to ye.”
In the pelting rain, the three of them ran to the awning in front of the building and the woman waiting there.
She stuck out her hand to Diana. “I’m Sophie McGillivray.” She was young, probably in her twenties, and beneath her oilskin duster she was wearing a tartan dress of red, green, and blue.
“The Laird’s wife,” Deydie interjected. “Laird Hugh McGillivray, that is.”
Ewan had mentioned his cousin Hugh.
Diana took Sophie’s hand and shook it. “Thank you for having our group and for being willing to change the date on such short notice.”
Sophie smiled. “Let’s get everyone off the bus and to the café. I’m sure the ladies will need a bathroom break and perhaps a cup of hot tea to warm themselves before we start our demonstration.”
“Not just the ladies,” Bethia interjected. “We have a man. DCI Crannach rode on the coach with us.” A little smile sat at the edge of her mouth as she glanced in Diana’s direction. Deydie’s pointed stare was more obvious.
Diana wanted to run back to the bus to hide her face, but he was on the bus. Just hearing Rory’s name made her breathing go a little shallow. She was a failure when it came to not thinking about him. But it was time to get back to business. “Which building is the wool mill?”
Sophie spread her arms wide. “All of them.”
The wool mill consisted of a slew of buildings, some stone, some clapboard. It was raining too hard to make a complete examination, but Diana did see a little arching bridge over a rushing stream.
“I’ll get the retreat-goers.” Diana braved the storm and ran back to the bus. When the driver opened the door, she hustled up the steps. “Everyone ready?”
The quilters stood and made their way to the front. Diana refused to glance back to see if Rory was watching her.
As the women, and one man, filed off, Diana stood at the side of the bus, taking the hand of those who needed help stepping down onto the pavement. When she saw Rory’s feet on the bus step, she looked down at her boots, pretending a stone was lodged in one of them. Rory walked right past her without saying a word. This was what she’d hoped for…and at the same time she was disappointed.
Sophie, Deydie, and Bethia led the way to a small green building with a café sign hanging above the door. Diana took up the caboose as the rest of the group piled inside, so many that Diana was worried the building couldn’t hold all of them. When the last person went in, she poked her head in and scanned the room. Every seat was filled, making it standing room only for the stragglers. Rory stood across the room with an advantageous view of the door and of Marta. Diana couldn’t help but see he had his eye on her as she squeezed in. She didn’t want to block the doorway, so she sidled over next to two large, good-looking men who had clearly been in the café before the bus arrived.
Gorgeous One and Gorgeous Two eyed her and smiled. The one on the right offered his hand, though the space was cramped.
“Tavon MacLeish,” he said, “and this is Declan Lyon. We work at the wool mill and will be helping out today.”
She shook his hand. “Diana McKellen.”
The two men looked at each other and grinned, but it was Declan who spoke. “American?”
“Yes,” she said.
“A pleasure to know ye,” Tavon replied.
They seemed like nice guys, but Diana felt the expression on Rory’s face before she even saw it. The Detective Chief Inspector glared as if the two friendly hunks were really a pair of ex-cons trying to chat her up before abducting her.
“Oi!” Deydie pounded on the counter to get everyone’s attention. “The restroom is through those doors. Mrs. McNabb has made tea and scones for each of ye. After ye have a few minutes to collect yereselves, we’ll split into two groups—one to start the demonstration right away, while the other will follow in about fifteen minutes.”
The sixty-ish woman standing next to Deydie, raised her hand. “Me name is Coira. I’ll be escorting the first lot of ye to where we shear the sheep. We’ll watch a film in the shearing shed, as there is no shearing in November, only tupping. Due to the rainy weather, I don’t expect ye’ll be seeing much of that going on out in the fields today either. Even if t
he randy rams were interested in the mating, I’m sure the ewes would have none of it.” She laughed good-naturedly. “The tups and ewes won’t be having their fun today.”
A few ayes went up around the room, as if these ladies knew their way around sheep.
“Here, lass.” Tavon passed Diana a mug of steaming tea. “Just the thing for a dreich day.”
Even from across the room, Diana thought she heard a growl from Rory as he moved closer to them. Surely, she must’ve imagined it. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. Immediately though, she felt ashamed; wanting Rory to be jealous was so shallow. She shook her head at the crazy, unrealistic fairytale playing out in her mind—Rory coming to defend her honor. Tavon and Declan had been gentlemen. Certainly, Rory could see that too.
Standing near the counter, Parker slipped off her coat and Diana caught her first glimpse of what she was wearing—Diana’s own purple zip dress. Diana didn’t care Parker had borrowed it; her sister had frequently raided her closet, and in college, she and her roommates had all shared clothes. It was just so out of character for Parker to wear anything other than blue jeans and her vast array of L.L. Bean activewear tops.
As if asking the question, Diana raised her eyebrows at Parker, and in reply, Parker shrugged apologetically.
Ten minutes later, Coira called for the first group and ushered them out. Marta was with them and Rory followed. Where Marta went, Diana and Parker went.
Parker grabbed her camera and put her coat back on while Diana caught up to her. Coira frowned at the two stragglers, but kept her thoughts to herself. Together, they ran across the compound to the shearing shed and stepped inside.
Parker pulled out her camera from under her raincoat’s protection and examined her equipment.
“That’s an awfully nice outfit you’re wearing under your coat,” Diana said. “I thought you liked to keep it casual, in case you have to climb on scaffolding to get a shot.” This was something Parker had told her on their last photo shoot together. “I think it’s the first time I’ve ever seen you in a dress.”
Parker blushed. “I hope you don’t mind. You had already gone to the bus when I decided to dress up a bit.” She seemed giddy and nervous, which Diana chalked up to being in the presence of her Scottish beau.
Diana nodded toward Ewan, who stood with a border collie and two sheep. “Big date?” she said.
There was no doubt that Parker had it bad for Ewan; the evidence lay in how she smiled when she waved to him. “Excuse me. I want to say hi before he gets started.”
Poor Ewan. His eyes nearly bugged out when he got a load of Parker in that dress.
Parker gave him a kiss on the cheek and then looked over at Diana as if to say, See, I can show some restraint. But she wasn’t fooling anyone.
Ewan had it bad for Parker, too, but he pulled it together for the crowd. “Welcome. I’m Laird Ewan McGillivray, owner of Here Again Farm and Estates.” He motioned to the animals next to him. “We—plus countless sheep and a large staff—provide the wool for Whussendale Woollens.
Parker ogled Ewan, making love to him with her eyes. He paused his spiel, as if he’d lost track of what he was about to say. Tavon and Declan cleared their throats until Ewan snapped out of it.
Ewan looked around the shed sheepishly before going on. “There are more sheep in Scotland than people. If this was June, you’d be seeing a live demonstration of the sheep shearing. But since it’s November, I have a wee film that starts out with us working the dogs in the field.” He reached down and patted the border collie at his side. “The next bit will show a demonstration of shearing, the first part of our sheep-to-shawl experience, or—” he gestured to his attire “—sheep-to-kilt, if ye like.” Using a remote, he hit the play button as the seventy-plus inch screen came to life. Diana thought the dogs were the stars of the film, but then the sheep shearers—both men and women—demonstrated how shearing was done in times past with scissors and how it was done now with electric clippers.
During the film, Ewan positioned himself next to Parker as she taped Marta watching the professional film of the sheep, farmhands, and the Laird of Here Again Farm and Estates.
When it was done, Ewan used the remote to click off the TV and then assumed his place at the front once again. “A point of interest, to add to the film…in recent years, there’s been a shortage of shearers. Financial incentives are being offered to go through the training, and as a result, fifty percent of shearers are now women.” There was a twinkle in his eye, and Diana caught a glimpse of what Parker saw in this interesting man. He held up a magazine with the title Graze on the front. “So if any of ye are interested, I can point ye in the right direction to get yere Blue Ribbon certification in Sheep Shearing.” He laughed. “It’s the best diet here in Scotland. Shearing can burn up to 5,000 calories a day!”
Though these women ranged from forty-five to eighty some oohed and ahhed at the prospect of switching careers for the weight-loss benefit alone.
Coira stepped forward with her phone in her hand. “Thank ye, Laird. We best move along. The next group is on its way.”
Diana pulled up her hood against the rain and moved toward the exit. But Parker waved at her to wait.
Blushing, Parker held out her camera to Diana. “Do you mind taking video at the next stop? I’d like to stay here with Ewan, if that’s okay. I’ll catch up with you later. Promise.”
Diana shook her head dramatically. “I can see my lectures have fallen on deaf ears. You’re completely smitten, aren’t you?”
“I am,” Parker admitted. “I’m totally in love.”
Diana couldn’t help but glance back at Rory, feeling grateful she wasn’t lovesick like her friend. Then why was she staring?
Disgusted with herself, she turned away. She had no willpower at all! She definitely should exchange the rose-colored glasses she was wearing for some reality ones. Falling for the Detective Chief Inspector would only cause heartache. There were other complications, too. Forget what her mother had gone through. Diana and Rory lived on two different continents!
She couldn’t help but look at him again.
“Well?” Parker still held out the camera.
“Sure.” Diana dragged her eyes away from Rory. “Stay. Have fun. I’ll see you in a bit.”
Parker hugged her really hard, which was uncharacteristic. But maybe what she was feeling for Ewan was overflowing onto others. “Thanks.”
Diana followed Coira, Marta, and the quilters out, and did her best not to turn around to make sure Rory was following them across the compound. But she did turn. And he was looking at her, too. The rain, thank goodness, had tapered to a drizzle and Diana could only hope her rapid heartbeat would slow down, too.
Tavon and Declan would be leading the next leg of the tour. Before going into the building, they distributed pairs of disposable earplugs. Moments later, Diana understood why. The machines clacked and clanked loudly as the wool was carded and spun.
“First, a bit of business,” Declan hollered above the noise. “All the machines in this building are very dangerous. We’re a Victorian wool mill and enjoy preserving the old ways.”
“Check the floor for the yellow lines, and don’t cross them. If ye keep yere distance from the equipment, everyone will be fine,” Tavon said.
With that they launched into an overview of the different machines in the building, Diana held up Parker’s camera and recorded Marta pointing to various pieces of equipment wearing suitable expressions of awe. She also took a few still photos to add to an online slideshow for the readers following Marta’s journey.
Diana thought about the video clip Nicola had sent her: Marta and the murders in Scotland had been the top story on the nightly news. Not the kind of press they needed.
Coira waved and shouted above the noise. “Let’s move along.”
Some people lagged behind to ask Tavon and Declan a few questions, but the majority of the group headed for the doorway.
Suddenly there wa
s a strangled scream. Diana pushed her way forward and saw Tilly bent sideways, half-lying on a machine. Her dull gray scarf was caught in the cogs and wheels, choking her. With each turn, the noose tightened.
Tavon and Declan arrived at nearly the same time, with Rory close behind them. But it was Declan who hit the red emergency stop button. Instantly, the machine went dead, as if it hadn’t been alive at all.
“What happened?” asked Rory, steadying Tilly. If she fell right now, her neck would probably break.
Still plastered against the machine, Tilly didn’t answer but sobbed inconsolably as Tavon grabbed shears from the rack and began cutting her loose. Marta, watching from a few feet away, seemed gobsmacked, unable to move.
Diana wrapped an arm around Tilly, steadying her from the other side. With the last snip of the wool, Tilly was free and fell into Diana’s arms.
Marta came alive then, stepping forward to take Tilly from Diana as the other quilters surrounded them, fussing over them both as if they were cherished members of their group.
Rory called for quiet. “Ms. Dixon, how did ye come to be caught in the carding machine?”
It was Deydie who spoke.
“It’s just like in book six, don’t ye see?” Deydie glanced around at them all. “Remember? The Buttermilk Guild had visited the wool mill and found the sheep farmer dead in the carding machine, wrapped in spun wool…suffocated. Of course, that devil got what he deserved. He’d doubled the price of wool to the Buttermilk Guild. But then all the lassies were suspects. Poor things.”
Aye, all the women agreed.
Rory frowned and asked once again for quiet. “Go on, Ms. Dixon. Tell us how this happened.”
Tilly shook her head. “I--I think someone pushed me. One moment, I was gazing at the wool being carded and then I was hit from behind.” She began to cry again.
Coira stepped forward and took Tilly’s arm. “Now, now. I’m sure it was only an accident. We should’ve divided ye into three groups instead of two. Too many of ye jostling towards the door.”
Kilt in Scotland Page 19
