Champagne and Lemon Drops: A Blueberry Springs Chick Lit Contemporary Romance (38 page)

Being late for her appointment with Callum
MacCraigh could ruin everything, and she was still hours away from
the highland town of Dunmuir. Everything hinged on getting access
to the MacCraigh estate and family records, and without the clan's
cooperation, she'd never find the jewels.

Having left at the crack of dawn, she'd
already been on the road most of the day, the drive from Cambridge
to the north of Scotland long enough for her butt to have gone numb
hours ago.

Muttering curses under her breath, she
pulled her hoodie up over her head and stepped out into the pouring
rain. Luckily she had a spare, even if she'd never had the occasion
to change one. Couldn't be that difficult to get the blasted thing
on.

She hauled the tiny spare out from the back
of her car, relieved to see that, at the very least, it was
inflated, and then grabbed the metal doohickey for undoing the
nuts. With the opening fitted over one of the bolts holding her
flat hostage, she grabbed the metal arm and yanked with all her
might. A muscle in her back twitched in protest as she strained in
effort, but to no avail. Was it rusted or had years of gunk and
grime cemented it in place?

"Righty-tighty, lefty- loosey."

She tried again, with a grunt of
frustration, water dripping off her nose with an evil tickle, as
the bolt finally gave way. Relieved, she loosened it and stuck it
in her pocket. One down, three to go. The next two came off with
relative ease, if she ignored the scraped knuckles and broken nail.
The last one, however, refused to budge.

Bent over and once more straining against
the iron, she didn't notice the car whizzing around the corner,
coming right at her, until it was nearly on top of her. She jumped
out of the way, landing in a puddle of mud as the silver Jag
screeched to a halt.

Cursing, she tried to slow her tripping
heart and pulled herself to her feet, wiping her face in a futile
attempt to rid herself of the nasty puddle water, even though she
did little more than smear the mud.

Now out of his car, the other driver was
stalking towards her. "Are ye hurt?"

She took a quick account of all her body
parts. "No, I'm fine, other than being covered in muck and
mud."

Any concern he'd shown blazed up in his
fury. "What the bloody hell were ye doing in the middle of the
road? Have ye lost yer mind, woman?"

"Me? Are you kidding? There
is
no
way this is
my fault, and I was
not
in the middle of the road." With her own temper
rearing up to match his, she barely took in the handsome face and
blue eyes. "You could have killed me, coming around the corner that
fast."

"And ye'd not have been in danger if ye'd
been sensible and parked farther down the road, rather than in the
blind spot by the wall."

Dark tousled hair. Touch of stubble on a
strong jaw. Tall. Well-muscled. Sexy. Why did he look vaguely
familiar?

"Well, I'll be sure to keep that in mind
when choosing when and where my car will next break down." She
squinted to keep a nasty drip from invading her eye. There surely
had to be sheep dung in that mud. She'd never get clean, and her
mind was already running down the dozens of bacteria and diseases
that would likely overwhelm her body's defenses.

As if suddenly remembering his manners, he
tilted his head towards her flat. "Ye need a hand then?"

Like she'd accept his help after he'd tried
to blame her for the entire incident. With arms crossed in front of
her chest and her head cocked to the side, she said, "I'll manage
just fine, thank you for asking. And do try to not kill anyone on
your way to wherever it is you're going."

"Hmph." Without another word, he stalked
back to his car and took off like the furies of hell were on his
tail, his tires spinning and spitting gravel onto the wet road.

By the time she got to Dunmuir and walked
into the inn, she was colder than a polar bear's butt after sitting
on a glacier, and filthier than a three year old making mud pies.
Nearly dying had left her more than a little on edge; however, all
that mattered was that she hadn't missed her appointment with
Callum MacCraigh. She even had enough time to get ready and collect
her thoughts.

"Here, sit by the fire and get yerself
warmed up." Mrs. Gordon, a motherly type in her sixties, tried to
steer her towards the chair, but Cat shook her head no.

"I'm filthy and don't want to get your sofa
dirty. I'll be fine once I get cleaned up." The thought of soaking
in a hot tub sent goose bumps crawling across her skin. She quickly
signed the papers that were put in front of her, not wanting to
delay that bath any more than she had to.

"Aye, of course. The room has an en suite,
but be sure to let me know if ye need anything else. If ye set
aside yer laundry, I'll be happy to have it done for you." She
handed Cat the key to her room. "It'll be the second floor on the
left. Follow it to the end."

"Thank you."

So far from any major city, the inn was
larger than she'd imagined, and had been recently renovated with a
modern feel that still gave a nod to its history and past. It was a
pretty seaside town that saw its share of tourists in the summer,
though most only came for daily excursions to see the standing
stones not far from town.

She let herself into the room, abandoned her
things by the bed, and headed straight for the bath. Her knees
practically went weak at the sight of the tub. It was deep and
jetted, and the water was plenty hot. Fighting with her wet clothes
as the tub filled, she finally managed to pry them off, leaving
them abandoned in a filthy heap on the tile floor. Not bothering to
grab a book, she slipped into the hot water, her skin burning from
the extremes in temperature, her body yet to thaw.

By the time she'd scrubbed herself clean and
let the heat of the water soak through to her bones, she felt like
herself again. Excitement bubbled within her, knowing she could
soon have access to records few had seen before. She just needed to
find more concrete information on where the jewels were hidden.
Tansy, her research assistant, would be beside herself if she
actually managed to find them. Cat knew better than to trust her
colleagues with such a find, but Tansy was the one exception.

With her makeup and hair done, Cat slipped
on her dark boot-legged jeans and cashmere sweater, the robin's egg
blue of her top playing against her dark mahogany locks. Casual,
but put together.

With the address plugged into the GPS in her
car, it wasn't long before she found herself at her destination and
pulling down a long gravel drive. The home could have graced any
postcard or travel brochure, quintessentially Scottish with its
stone walls and embattlements, harkening to a time long gone.

She climbed the granite steps of the manor
to its front door, letting the heavy knocker drop against the brass
plate. Her stomach fluttered with nerves as she waited, but it
didn't take long for someone to answer. An older gentleman stood
before her, his blue eyes keen and a giant scruffy dog at his
side.

"You must be Ms.—pardon me, Dr. Ross. Callum
MacCraigh, and this here is Duncan." He tilted his head towards the
grey beast. "Come in, come in."

"Thank you. And please, call me Catriona—or
Cat." She shook his hand with a smile, and followed behind him.

Excitement sparked as she took in the home,
her thoughts running amock as she imagined hidden clues and secret
treasures. Tapestries hung on the walls, as did paintings hundreds
of years old. The place felt grand and well-loved, no signs of
neglect despite the age.

"I can't thank you enough for agreeing to
speak with me."

"The pleasure's all mine, my dear. We seldom
get visitors, and certainly no one who'd be interested in hearing
any of the stories I have to tell." Callum shrugged, not looking
too worried that he didn't normally have an audience.

Callum led her into the great room, the
ceilings high and the wooden beams exposed to add a rustic charm.
However, her focus immediately went to the stone fireplace which
traveled the height of the entire wall, a roaring fire nestled
within. He showed her to a seat close enough to feel the heat of
the flames and ward off the damp.

"It gets cold this time of year, and it can
be hard to keep this big drafty place warm. I hope you won't get
chilled."

"This is perfect. Thank you." When the dog
nudged her leg, she gave his head a long scratch. The dog's ears
then perked up and he dashed across the room, taking the corner so
fast his legs skidded out from under him on the hardwood
floors.

"That'll be my son, Iain. I told him you
were coming, since he's studied our family's history and could be
of use to yer research. He's actually the one you should be talking
to and will be happy to help ye in any way he can." Callum got to
his feet. "Iain, come here, lad."

She stood and turned to face him, when her
smile faded and a furious heat rushed to her face. "You've got to
be kidding me."

He squinted as he took her in, and then let
out a scoff. "Ah! You clean up well, I'll give you that. Barely
recognized ye."

"Ye've met?" His father looked at the two of
them in question, confusion and humor lining his face.

"Aye, Da. But only for a moment and at the
time I didn't realize I had the pleasure of speaking to the
esteemed Dr. Ross." A smug smile tugged at his lips, his blue eyes
alight with amusement. He reached out and took her hand. "It's a
pleasure to put a name to the face, since we weren't properly
introduced earlier."

"The pleasure's mine." Cat tried to erase
the sarcasm from her voice, but wasn't sure she was entirely
successful. She couldn't risk jeopardizing everything over a stupid
incident.

And then it occurred to her
why the bastard looked vaguely familiar. She'd been looking at the
MacCraigh clan, but not once had she thought to associate them
with
the
Iain
MacCraigh—Scotland's most eligible bachelor, businessman and
playboy extraordinaire. That would teach her to ignore the
tabloids. Her mind never put the two together.

"I'll fetch us a cup of tea." Iain didn't
bother waiting for anyone's response, but spun around and headed
back out the way he came.

Callum sat back down, and she followed suit.
"He'd be my oldest. There's another son, Malcolm, but he lives in
Edinburgh. Comes to visit often enough. And then there's Moira.
She's away in Paris, though I keep hoping she'll someday return.
Can't really blame her. There's not much for the young folk around
here, and I'm sure if it weren't for me and this place, Iain
would've also left long ago."

"Is it just the two of you then?" She
suspected it might be the case. No one else had poked their head
in, and the house had a bit of an empty feel to it.

"Aye, it is. My wife passed a few years
back. It's an awfully big house for just the two of us, but I'm
hoping Iain will eventually settle down. It'd be nice to see new
life brought into this old place." He gave her a kind smile.
"Enough about me. You came here for a reason, and I doubt it was to
hear me rambling 'bout nothing at all. What is it I can help you
with?"

Cat couldn't tell him the real reason for
her research—not yet anyway—though she could skirt the truth.
Telling anyone of her plans now would only make it more difficult
to keep treasure hunters and other researchers at bay. It was a
lesson she'd learned the hard way, and was still furious that her
ex had taken all the credit for a past research project when she
had done most of the work. She wouldn't make the same mistake
twice, especially not with a find as important as the Highlander's
Hope.

"My research has led me to believe that your
clan may have played more of a role during the Jacobite uprising
than most know. I'd like to find definitive proof, but would need
access to your clan's documents and estate."

The old man's eye's brightened with
enthusiasm. "Now that's exciting news, lass. Whatever it is ye
need, ye can have full access to it. And like I said, Iain will be
happy to help ye any way he can."

Cat somehow doubted that.

As if the mere mention of his name was
enough to summon the devil, Iain walked in with a tray of tea and
set it down on the table between them, sitting by his father's side
with Duncan at their feet.

Callum turned to his son to give him the
good news. "Dr. Ross thinks she's found evidence of our clan
playing a more important role during Culloden than originally
believed."

He looked at her with no love or enthusiasm.
"Is that so?"

"It is." She tried not to be curt with him,
but the man seemed to bring out the worse in her. How they'd manage
to work together was beyond her. "I'm looking into the history of
the Jacobites and, in particular, how funding was raised amongst
the clans prior to the arrival of Prince Charles Edward
Stewart."

"I don't know why ye'd think our clan any
different to the others. The majority of the clans this far into
the highlands supported the uprising any way they could, despite
the little most had to live on." His eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"Given all yer fancy degrees, I'd think ye'd already know
that."

"Well, yes, my doctorate on Scottish history
did require me to actually learn a little about Scottish
history—but I assure you the circumstances are a little different
when it comes to your clan. I wouldn't be here otherwise." It was
impossible to keep the annoyance from her voice.

"Don't mind him, lass. He's always had a
sharp tongue in that head of his and not enough common sense or
manners." Callum gave his son a sideways glance that spoke
volumes.