by Kyra Whitton
He dropped his fork onto the plate with a clatter, his eyebrows meeting over his nose. He braced his elbows onto the table, folding his hands together as he frowned. “That is odd.”
“I thought so, too! She’s one of the most famous Jacobite women in history. I’ve read everything there is to read about her, and I’ve never come across anything to do with thistles or roses. Prince Charles’s father James had a claim to the English throne, sure, but she didn’t.”
“Aye,” he murmured absently, his gaze staring off into some unknown space in the scarred wood of the table.
She quirked an eyebrow at his use of such an antiquated term but was too excited about the little piece of the puzzle she may have unearthed from the depths of her own mind.
“What do you think it means?”
She leaned forward, a bubble of excitement curving her lips up into a grin. It was an excitement she felt with the first blooming of a new idea, a new hypothesis, when she was lost in research. A tiny fragment of a theory could blossom into something bigger. Something no one else knew.
He didn’t answer but relaxed against the back of his chair and fished his phone out of his pocket. His thumbs tapped rapidly over the screen.
After a moment, he flipped the device around to her. “I think that it means there is a woman by the name of Flora MacDonald who owns a shop called the ‘Thistle and Rose.’”
Her gaze jumped from the screen to his face. “Really? You searched it??”
He shrugged and pressed the screen off before laying it face down on the table. “Got the job done, didn’t it?”
“So… where is this shop?”
“Outside of Atlanta. Georgia.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know where Atlanta is. I went to college there, remember?”
“Know where it is, then? The shop, I mean.” He picked the phone back up, flicking the screen on and entering a pass code. He held the screen toward her so she could read the name of the town.
She leaned forward but shook her head. “I mean, I’ve heard of it, but I’ve never been there.”
“And Flora MacDonald?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure I would remember a woman who had the same name as, well… Flora MacDonald. I’m a Jacobite Rebellion scholar.”
Alec was silent for a moment, his stare unfocused, his finger idling tapping on the wood of the table. “What do you have in that purse of yours?” He nodded toward the slender leather strap of the pocket book draped across her middle.
She lifted an eyebrow. “My wallet, some hair ties, a few pain pills—”
“ID?”
“Yeah, I have them all with me.”
“All?”
“You know, military, driver’s license, student ID, passport—”
“You keep your passport in your purse?”
“Habit. From living overseas.”
“That’s odd.”
“I don’t think it is,” she said then bit off a piece of bacon.
“Right.” Abruptly, he stood, picked up his plate, and dumped it in the sink. Pulling open the blinds with one hand, he looked out into the dark. “I’ll be back in an hour. You should be safe here. Don’t let anyone in.”
All she could do was blink at him. “Wh-what?”
But he was already shoving keys into his pocket and pulling open the back door.
Evie sat there in stunned disbelief for a few minutes. “Well, that was weird.” She looked down at her plate of half-eaten food. She contemplated letting it go to waste, but instead picked up her fork and finished it off, a little sad when it was all gone.
With a sigh, she set to the task of cleaning up the dishes, finding soap resting next to the sink, a sponge propped up against it. She left everything drying in one side of the sink, and turned to scan the room. She felt awkward just waiting there, but she also felt like she was covered in a month’s worth of grime. Hoping he wouldn’t mind, she went poking through the house, looking for a fully-stocked bathroom. She found one tucked between a linen closet and the laundry room near the front of the house.
After turning the water all the way up to scalding, she dropped her summer clothes on the ground, and got to the pleasing task of ridding herself of Otherworld dirt and sweat. She came away smelling of Alec’s soap, spicy clove and citrus.
Evie was wrapping herself into an over-large towel she found under the vanity when a knock landed on the door.
“Evelyn?”
She tucked the towel around herself and stuck her head around the jamb.
“I brought you some clothes.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Should I even ask?”
“I’ll let you get dressed.”
She pulled the bag open and looked inside. A pair of jeans and a red sweater were carefully folded there, a little tissue-paper packet on top, and a pair of ballet flats nestled among them. She drew the tissue paper out first, finding a pair of ivory satin panties and matching bra. She sniffed in amusement that he had gotten her anything other than her preferred cotton but wasn’t sure how she felt that he managed to find her exact size in either.
Dressed, she met him back in the kitchen. “I could have gone with you to pick out the clothes.”
He was putting the dishes she had washed away in the cabinet. “I had to go get my car, too, only have one helmet. And it’s cold out,” he added as almost an aside.
“Your car?”
“Yeah, it was at the hospital.”
She stared at him in confusion.
“I’m on shift this evening. I drove the car in, but I’m going to need that if we’re going to Atlanta. I traded myself the bike.”
“Bike?” she echoed, but shook her head, not waiting for an answer. “We’re going to Atlanta? What? Now?”
“If you’re ready.”
She stood there in silence for a moment. There had to be a good reason why she couldn’t hop in his car and drive across the country. On the other hand, she had already broken all of the “Don’t go with strangers” rules, as it was, and what was her other option? Live on his couch until a better option materialized? “I… I guess…”
He turned off lights, and she followed him to the front of the house. He hefted his pack back over his shoulder and opened the door for her.
“Aren’t you going to be confused when you leave work and find your car gone?”
“No.” He pulled the door shut behind him and turned to lock it. “This isn’t a first.”
“Oh.”
“Besides, I remember coming out of work one night in December to find the bike in the spot I left the car. I cursed myself a few times, and then slept it off in the on-call room.”
Evie shivered and immediately understood why. “So, you do this often?” she asked.
His hand was at the small of her back, leading her off the front porch and to his car. He opened her door for her first, and then the back passenger door, slinging his pack onto the back seat.
“Frequently enough.” He shut that door, and quietly clicked hers shut, as well.
“For how long?”
He turned, meeting her gaze in the dark. “Honestly? I can’t even remember.”
Chapter Twelve
The car purred to life, but instead of immediately backing out, he pushed buttons on the navigation system. She wasn’t sure where the address would take them, only that it was close to the Rose and Thistle.
Alec did all thirteen hours of the drive to Atlanta. Evie half-protested once they made it through Kansas City, offering to take the wheel and let him rest, but he only gave her a withering look and possessively tightened his hand on the leather steering wheel.
She stifled a yawn, thankful he didn’t take her up on the offer, and leaned her head against the passenger side window. He closed the distance between them, wrapping her hand in his then pulling it toward him to rest their entwined fingers over the gear shift. The gentle hum of the engine vibrated up through it as he lightly ran his thumb over the soft side of her hand, and i
n moments, she was fast asleep.
Her nap was short-lived, lasting only until he stopped halfway through Missouri to fill up the gas tank. As the dark countryside sped by, she found herself having the conversations she would have had before sleeping with him. Conversations that take place in coffee shops and across a dinner table. Getting to know one another conversations they would have had sooner if her world wasn’t quite so inside out.
They arrived sometime around noon, and he steered them through the tree-lined streets dwarfed by turn-of-the-century mansions, the odd antebellum mixed in. Grand old ladies, they held court with their expansive porches, great gables, and manicured lawns. Many were done up in beautiful, artful Christmas lights, though one had a whole pack of blow-up snowmen and reindeer. She preferred it. The ridiculousness and child-like whimsy interspersed between classic holly and tasteful boughs of pine.
The main street took them right through the town square where the lamp posts were wrapped in garlands and sparkling white lights and an enormous tree shot up toward the sky next to a splashing fountain. The Thistle and Rose was huddled in the center of it all, tucked in between a bakery and a children’s boutique.
She pointed it out, but Alec kept going until they reached a sprawling hotel on the other side of town. It was long and white, Georgian in style with thick Grecian columns and a perfectly symmetrical facade. It, too, was festively draped in twinkling white lights and large evergreen boughs. Just inside the glass-fronted doors, an enormous Christmas tree draped in reds and golds stood in the main lobby.
He left her in the car and secured a room, coming back to pull around into a parking spot and escort her to a third-floor suite. Evie fell backwards onto the king-sized bed, sighing as her tired muscles stretched, and then turned to her side, propping her head on her elbow.
“What’s the plan?” she asked lazily.
Alec dropped the bag he’d carried up on the wing-backed chair in the corner before falling down beside her.
She bounced up a little as he hit the mattress, the delicate white fluff of the comforter lapping up at their sides.
“Sleep.”
Evie giggled and inched closer, nuzzling her head against his shoulder. “You’re not tired, are you?”
“Can’t even begin to describe it.” He curled his arm around until his hand was on her shoulder. He rubbed it, squeezing gently.
“You sure?” she asked mischievously. But she had no answer; his breathing already slipped into the heavy, even rhythm of sleep.
Despite her own dry, burning eyes, she twisted her head up to regard him. His auburn eyelashes lay fanned out across his cheeks, longer and fuller than was fair, and his features gained some innocence she never would have expected to see there. He appeared younger, the stress he carried with him melting away, and leaving behind a hint of youthfulness.
She shifted, rolling onto her side, her head still nestled on his shoulder, and reached up a hand, caressing his cheek with her fingertips. It was rough with stubble, and she dragged the pad of her thumb down over the cleft in his chin. How easy it was to become enchanted with him. To get lost in him. She dropped her hand to his chest and snuggled closer, breathing in his scent.
She hadn’t slept particularly well in the car, but her eyes still refused to close. Naps had never been a particular strength of hers, and mind racing, she counted the possibilities of what they might find at the shop. It was unlikely anything there would be of any consequence, and yet, a niggling remained in the back of her mind: Iain must have had good reason to keep that slip of paper in his pocket.
****
The ring arced before her on a delicate silver chain, swinging back and forth, back and forth. Winking in the dim, orange glow of the fire, the center stone was only a breath away from hitting the tip of her nose. It was so familiar. How did she know it? The memory played on the outskirts of her mind, just beyond reach. She almost grasped it when—
“Evelyn.”
Her eyes opened with a jerk.
Alec stood over her, his short hair wet. Face dewy and smooth, the stubble she admired before was completely gone. A white hotel towel rested low over his hips, and he was bare-chested, droplets still clinging to his chest hair. She blushed and quickly turned her gaze away to stare over his shoulder, hoping he didn’t catch her admiring him.
“Evelyn,” he repeated, a bit of amusement in his voice.
He canted his head to the side and when their gazes met, the heat of her cheeks was so severe, it seared.
“S-sorry,” she stuttered. “I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep. How long have you been awake?” She cleared her throat, refusing to look him in the eye, again.
“Not long. Hungry?”
She sat up and assessed. “Starving.”
He turned to his pack and rifled through it, pulling out some clothes. He dragged a plain white undershirt over his head. “There’s a restaurant downstairs if—”
She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe we can find something a little more casual? We could walk down to where all the shops and restaurants are? My roommate in college was from somewhere around here, I think, and she always talked about an Irish pub. I would die for a beer and some fish and chips right now.”
No sooner had the words left her mouth than her stomach grumbled. And though that same roommate had raved about a Cajun restaurant and a restaurant where rum punch was served in buckets, she craved the deep-fried seafood and potatoes. Nothing else was going to be an acceptable substitute.
“Well, I see no need for that. Fish and chips it is, then.” He buttoned his jeans over his hips, and then sank down beside her to pull socks over his feet.
She bounced off the bed, grabbed up her purse from the side table, and slipped the strap over her head. “Can we find an ATM, first? I need to get some cash.”
“No, I’ve got it covered. Besides, you can’t be making withdrawals in Georgia while you’re holed up in Kansas, remember?”
She pursed her lips and made a face. “I can’t let you do that.”
He pulled a gray shirt over his head. “And why not?”
“Well, because…. Because.” She stopped while she thought about it. “Because it makes me feel weird.”
He rolled his eyes and stuffed his wallet into his back pocket. “Well, stop.”
Outside, the air was crisp, and there was a bite to the wind. She slid her arm through his, curling her elbow around to tuck her fingers between his bicep and her chest. His warmth pressed into her side. Did they look like a real couple strolling down the street, arm-in-arm? It was a silly thought.
She tilted her head back and took in the set of his jaw, the curve of his lips, and the warmth inside her chased the cold away.
****
“What?” he asked, perplexed as she beamed up at him.
They waited for the walk signal to flash, and she tucked her bottom lip between her teeth, glancing up at him through the dark fringe of her lashes. She had never looked at him like that before. Sure, there had been some moments, like that first time they had met in the bookstore, when she saw him with fresh, curious eyes. Or when she was drunk on desire and a hair too much whisky. But never had she gazed up at him like he was the only other person in the world.
An ache formed in his chest, one he hadn’t felt in a very long time. He forced a smile of his own, and was saved by the walk signal flashing at them.
They crossed to one of the shop-lined sidewalks. The Thistle and Rose stood dark at their backs, and though Alec was curious about what link the location held to Iain and Mora, he could wait to find out until the next day. Something about it didn’t sit well with him, and he preferred to get lost in her than pulled toward whatever was inside Flora MacDonald’s shop.
She bumped into him as they strolled by a boutique, a magic shop, a little cafe, a dance studio, and a few antique stores, her head whipping around to take in the wares displayed in windows, her eyes sparkling and unburdened. All were closed but the dance studio, a light shining th
rough white plantation shutters, offering only a cursory view of dancing silhouettes, piano music muffled by the glass and glossy wood.
Across the next intersection rose the pub, housed inside an old firehouse, the front brick façade three stories tall. Customers spilled out onto the sidewalk, young, college-aged students intermingling with the middle-aged and retired, a rainbow of people and experiences.
He pressed Evie in ahead of him, keeping one hand on her waist as she wove through the crowd. A harried-looking waitress met them as they came around the corner into the bar. “There might be a table or two in the back,” she called over the dull roar of conversation and the tuning of instruments in the opposite corner.
Evie turned to beam up at him, and other than her angry rants, it might have been the most animated he had ever seen her. Her skin was flushed with pleasure, eyes bright.
“They have my favorite beer from Scotland!!” she called excitedly over her shoulder as they passed the chalkboard advertising the pub’s alcoholic offerings.
The back room, down a narrow hallway and to the left, was nearly empty. Two men stood near a rear entrance, lowball glasses filled with warm amber liquid in hand as they smoked thick cigars, but otherwise, Alec and Evie were alone.
Evie chose a small table standing on spindly legs against the long outer wall, plopping down in one of the mismatched chairs. A pool of light flickered across the center of the scarred wood, the flame atop a drooping candle dancing within its old, brown hurricane. Alec drew his gaze across the bookshelves lined with old, dusty tomes along the shorter back wall, board games shoved into the bottom cupboards, and a set of ragged bagpipes tacked to a post.
“I am so excited,” she stage-whispered as she tapped her fingers on the table. She hummed with energy, nearly vibrating in her seat as she swung her head from one side to the other, candlelight dancing in her eyes. “I haven’t had a real beer—a good beer—in ages. And it smells like a pub! Did you ever go to that one in Aggieville? Not the obnoxious shamrocky place, but the one across the street? It was close but didn’t smell right. And the beer selection was piss. What?” she asked when she noticed him smirking at her.
