Some Like It Scot (14 page)

“But?”

She sighed shortly. “I've been thinking about my arrival. I can't decide if it would be easier to steal in during the night and hide until morning, have a chance to regroup. You know, put my game face on, then meet…whoever it is I'll be meeting. But I'm assuming I'll be a curiosity on an island your size, given the stakes. Everyone will know, right?”

He nodded. “Aye. No' much of a way around that. But I've told you—”

“I know, Graham, and I'm not questioning you or your word. But you won't be able to control everything, and so, I'm just…trying to gird myself, I suppose. I'm not even sure how I feel about all this yet, so I won't know what to say to them.”

“Then tell them that. It's okay, Katie.” Taking her arm, he pulled her a step closer as the cab pulled away from the curb and another gentleman started loading her luggage on a trolley. “I don't want you to put on some kind of act. I just want you to be you. Doubts and all, that's fine. It's to be expected. They'll respect your honesty.”

She looked up at him. “I don't want to make things more difficult for you than they already are. And I don't want you to waste time with me if you think there is a sure thing out there you should be focusing your energies on.” Even as she said it, something heavy and hurtful tugged inside of her, at the thought of him pursuing anyone but her, which…made absolutely no sense whatsoever. She had nothing invested in him beyond a two-day acquaintance.

And a few shared, exceedingly hot visions
.

She studiously ignored that last thought.

He let out a short laugh. “I willnae be pursuing any other unwilling brides. It was quite out of character for me to come to you. I'm no' in the habit of begging for help, and certainly not traveling thousands of miles to do so. It was…an act of desperation. But if you find you canno' follow through, no one will blame you. Least of all me. I won't lie and say there won't be disappointment, but as a people, we've dealt with far greater disappointment than this. I have other ideas on how I will approach the issue, so while the two of us tying the knot would be the easier and swifter recourse, its no' the only one.”

“You mean getting the vote to rescind it. So why not pursue that?”

“Because it has even less a chance of succeeding. And, because frankly this solution will make everyone the happiest.”

“Except you,” she said, studying his expression.

“I'm fine,” he said.

She laughed. “Right. You mean that about as much as I do, all the times I've said it to you on this trip. Actually, I do mean it. I just wished I had stronger conviction in actually pulling it off.”

He smiled briefly. “Then we understand each other quite well.”

She smiled, too, though not with as much sincere warmth. She told herself it was silly to feel slighted that, to him, marrying her was a burden. Of course it was. She was a stranger. She knew the feeling came from having so recently abandoned her own wedding. When she married, she wanted it to be because her intended loved her more than air, as she would him.

A marriage to Graham was business, no different from marrying Blaine, she supposed. But at least no one was pretending otherwise. There would be no gown, no ceremony—She glanced up at Graham. “W-we wouldn't have to have a church ceremony, would we? If we…you know? That's not part of the law, right?”

“I honestly don't know. I'll have to ask Shay. But…I wouldn't think so. No.”

She noticed he was eyeing her again. “I'm asking so I know. Not because I—”

“Katie, shhh. You're worrying this far too much. You're worrying this more than I am, and it's my problem. No' yours. Please know that. What happens, happens. What we decide works, will be what we do.”

“I know, you said that, but…do you really believe the people on Kinloch won't pressure me? I mean, they want you to win, right?”

He visibly scowled at that. “Aye.”

“I know,” she said, putting her hand over the one he'd laid on her arm. “Everything about how this is playing out isn't what either one of us would want. Maybe both of us knowing that will make it easier to consider. I mean, it's not like one of us thinks this is anything other than what it is, right?”

He glanced down at her hand on his, then briefly at her face, then away, at the train station entry, though she doubted he was seeing much of it. “Aye. Come on, we've tickets to buy and a train to catch.”

She thought he'd bring up the subject again once they were situated on the train, but he didn't. He went in search of food, then came back and cajoled her into going with him to the service car where they could sit and eat a real meal. Her first in what felt like weeks. She was surprised to find she was ravenous. Maybe she'd finally relaxed enough to accept her journey as an adventure. Or maybe his reassurances that she'd be left alone to come to her own conclusions about his proposition had made her more comfortable with the whole thing. Whatever the case, she all but inhaled the Shepherd's pie and baked apple dessert.

Neither had done much talking, other then exclaiming on their hunger and commenting on the food. When they were done, Graham didn't linger, but put his napkin on the table and stood, gesturing her to proceed him from the car back to their seats. She found herself wishing she'd bought a magazine in the train station, then was reminded once again that she hadn't any funds. Though she knew without a doubt Graham would have taken care of any request she'd made, she was glad she hadn't asked him for anything else. Since their little chat curbside, in front of the station, things, while not exactly awkward, were no longer as easy or congenial as they'd been.

Nor were they laced with that heady physical chemistry she'd been feeling pretty much every second of her time spent near him—pretty much every second of the day since their meeting in the prayer garden.

She leaned back and closed her eyes, and thought over that moment. What he'd said, how solicitous he'd been, despite the tension and stress he had been under himself. It said a lot about his character, as had pretty much everything he'd done and said since then.

Except perhaps when he'd been lying half on top of her in the limo to the airport…and again in the cab leaving Glasgow. She wasn't sure what that said about either of them.

Maybe it was just as well their time completely alone with one another was coming to an end. She opened her eyes just enough to steal a sideways glance at him. His head was tipped back and his eyes were closed. She wondered how much rest he'd gotten since leaving Kinloch.

She also wondered if she could fake sleep and shift her head to his shoulder all innocent like and enjoy his heat, and sturdy stability one last time. She closed her eyes and talked herself out of it. Playtime was over, as was the post-apocalyptic wedding limbo. Showtime was but hours away. She was going to have to stop thinking about Graham and his amazing wonder-kilt, and start thinking about his offer and her future, both immediate and distant. Where would she go after Kinloch? Where did she want to go?

Most importantly, what in the hell did she want to do with herself once she got there?

She had quite an arsenal of corporate marketing and sales skills, albeit in her case geared toward the ship-building industry, but still, management skills, both in education and in actual practice, had to count for something. She'd been very good at her job. Her family would have accepted nothing less. She'd find…something.

She let out a long, soft breath. The very idea of going back to anything resembling her old job bored the ever-loving snot out of her.

But what the hell else was she to do?

Not for the first time did she wish she'd let herself dream, like Blaine had. Like Blaine always had. Since they'd been little kids, he'd always had the ability to create the most imaginative alternate universes for them to inhabit. Always about as far away from the reality of their uber-controlled lives as possible. As they'd grown older, they'd come to appreciate what they did have, and tried like hell—she did anyway—to not resent what they didn't. Like having normal parents who loved them for who they were, not what they could bring to the eventual corporate table. She knew she led an otherwise privileged life. No one ever felt sorry for the poor little rich girl. She'd focused on making the best of the good and tolerating the rest.

Blaine, on the other hand, had always dreamed of what could be, what might be, if he ever had the balls to do something about it. Katie couldn't handle letting herself dream the unattainable. It made focusing on the positive that much harder and seemed, all in all, a negative track.

Not Blaine. He'd dreamed, and he'd dreamed big. Huge. His plans had only grown more detailed the older he got. He'd taken double major classes in college. Using money he earned on his own that his parents would never know about, he took additional classes toward the engineering degree he so wanted. Of course they'd found out. And of course they'd put an end to it. But not before making Blaine feel like the most ungrateful child on the planet for doing so.

Katie thought it was then he'd finally resigned himself to his fate. She didn't recall much time, if any, spent on dreaming big after that. His only big dream left was finding someone whom he truly loved, and who loved him back, which he had, in Tag.

No one knew better than Blaine how to conduct a discreet life. Katie had no idea if his family knew, or suspected. On the one hand, she thought if they did, they'd have made a major production out of it. On the other hand, she couldn't honestly imagine they didn't. She'd often wondered if they were just practicing a don't-ask-don't-tell mantra because, in the end, Blaine was doing as they wanted him to do.

She wondered what was happening right then, back home. Where he was, whether Tag had stepped forward. If her parents were so furious at what she'd done that they'd forgotten to be worried that she'd, essentially, gone missing. She made a face. No, they wouldn't be worried about anything other than how the sham of a wedding was going to play out in the press. She imagined the past day-and-a-half had been spent mostly doing damage control and ordering others to track her down and bring her to hand.

Well, that wasn't going to happen.

She'd circled right back around to what her next step was going to be. She only knew what it wasn't going to be.

She must have sighed, though she didn't recall doing so. Graham apparently hadn't been dozing after all. He reached over and took her hand, and tugged her gently closer, so her head angled toward his shoulder.

She shot him a glance, but he was still leaning back, eyes closed. She debated whether to take his lead, but who was she kidding? She gently leaned against him. He settled further into his seat, tugged her closer, and wove his hand through hers.

Maybe he's asleep
, she thought, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest below her chin. And maybe, it didn't matter.

She settled herself, too, and figured they both deserved what little comfort they could get before stepping into the next part of their joint venture.

It didn't take long for the steady cadence and rhythm of the moving train, the general peacefulness of the car they were in, and Graham's sturdy warmth to lull her into a doze. Just as sleep was claiming her, she could have sworn she felt him press his cheek—or were those his lips?—to the top of her head, and murmur, “It's all going to work out fine, Katherine Georgina. You just wait and see.”

“Katherine Elizabeth Georgina,” she murmured, making the correction automatically.

She felt him chuckle quietly, and knew then he'd never been asleep.

That made her smile. And sleep as soundly as she ever had.

G
raham hated to wake her, but they'd arrived in Oban and needed to hurry to catch the late ferry crossing to Castlebay. From there, service over to Kinloch was going to be tenuous, at best. Even in the fading light, the skies to the west didn't look too promising.

It had been an exhausting two days, and this after a matching day-and-a-half getting to Annapolis in the first place. Between the toll of travel by several modes of transportation, and the added stress of the reason for the trip in the first place…compounded by the fact that he was no longer traveling alone, and everything that went with that new reality had been way more than he could ever have predicted…it was all finally catching up to him. He'd slept better than he'd expected to on the train, but it was a small drop compared to what he truly needed to clear his head and be at his best upon his return.

Once they'd booked ferry passage, he'd call Roan. He knew, from checking his phone that he had a backlog of voice mail, e-mail, text messages, and missed calls that likely meant a less-than-lovely reception when he finally checked in. He didn't give a rat's patootie, as Katie would say, how Roan or Shay were holding up, especially given that Roan had known what he was sending Graham into, without the least bit of forewarning. He could leave them to stew with little guilt on his end. But their arrival was close enough that he had to start laying the groundwork for Katie's entree and subsequent stay.

He also needed to find out exactly what had gone on with Mr. Iain McAuley during his absence. Surely he couldn't have made much progress in a few days time.

Graham looked down at the woman nestled against his chest, and rethought that last sentiment.

“Katie,” he said, keeping his tone quiet. “We've arrived. We're in Oban. You need to wake up now.”

She moved a little, mumbled something under her breath…then snuggled in a little closer.

He smiled. It was strange to think he might actually miss waking up while she slept, sprawled all over him, making one of his arms numb from leaning on it for hours. Though, he had no one to blame but himself. He'd just…hell, he wasn't sure why he'd pulled her close. But it was the last time, the last leg where they'd be seated together for a long stretch, and he'd just…

He'd just.

“Katie,” he said again, shifting a little as he gently pushed her up and off of his chest.

As soon as her cheek moved past his shoulder, she blinked her eyes open.

He smiled. “Hullo, sleepyhead. We're in Oban.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Ferry. Time for the ferry.”

Her eyes opened wider. “We're here?”

He nodded.

She rubbed her face and raked her hands through her hair, then scowled again. “Please tell me there will be some place for me to make myself look like something other than an escaped convict before we arrive in Kinloch.” She paused, then looked at him, quite seriously, and said, “Though, I suppose that's an apt description.”

He'd noted she hadn't spoken much about what she'd left behind. He knew she had no phone, but she hadn't asked to use his. “Do you—is there anyone you think you should call? I have a phone.”

She shook her head. “No. I'm not…no.”

“Okay,” he said, simply. “If you should ever want to—”

“Is there a place I could buy one of those pay-as-you-go phones? Wait, what am I saying?” She ducked her chin and busied herself by straightening her top and smoothing out her pants.

He wasn't sure why he did it, but he reached out and tipped her chin up, so she looked directly at him. “I'll get you a phone. You can pay me back later. Or we'll write it into the agreement if you want. I know this is hard for you, a lot of changes, but I won't think less of you for asking for a little help until we get things settled.”

“It's not your good graces I was worried about.”

“Whose then?”

She tapped her chest. “Mine.” She sighed and shifted back, away from his touch. “You wouldn't understand.”

“On the contrary, I think I understand more than you realize.” He stretched and stood. “Whatever the case, just know the offer stands. Come on, we need to go book passage.”

She merely nodded, gathered herself, and followed him off the train without further comment.

They were both still travel weary. He knew that. The kind of tired sleeping while sitting up in a jostling mode of transportation didn't fix.

It took a bit to gather her mountain of luggage and get it redirected toward the ferry. Most of the ferry passengers were crossing with their cars, so it took him and Katie a bit longer to get situated.

“I'm sorry.” She folded her arms and glared at her pile of matching Italian hand-stitched valises and trunks. “For the pain in the ass those have become.”

“Stop saying—”

“No, I won't. Because
I'm
sorry. It's a pain in my ass, too.”

He smiled at that. She was grumpy. And rumpled. And a little past the point of trying to hide it. He tried to put himself in her position, not only as a runaway bride, daughter, and corporate family pawn, but also as someone who was stepping way outside her comfort zone. It was a lot.

Besides, she made a cute grump.

Something he wisely kept to himself.

All that unruly hair, which had more curl to it than he'd realized, all done up under that veil as it had been, was clearly trying to revert to its natural state. And her face…it wasn't the lean, aquiline look of a woman born of wealth. She had a rather button-like nose, a rounded chin with a bit of a dimple, fairly pronounced cheekbones, a cupid bow mouth, and the thickest lashes he'd ever seen on a natural blonde. All of that bounty provided the backdrop to the bluest eyes he'd been fortunate to look into. She appeared quite like a woodland sprite, as if one had come to life in the form of a mortal woman.

He heard her grumbling under her breath, and his hidden smile spread to a grin as he preceded her along the railing to the front of the boat, where they could watch the sunset as they made their way across the Sea of Hebrides.

So what if she was a grumpy sprite. The underlying pallor to her skin and the smudges beneath her eyes kept him from trying to cajole her out of it. She needed a bed, and some alone time away from the rest of the world.

“The ferry is so much bigger than I'd expected.”

“Aye,” he said. “Caledonian MacBrayne is the main ferry service used to cross over to Uists. Here, further north in Mallaig, and even farther, from Uig on Skye.”

“The Uists?”

“Part of the Outer Hebrides. Lewis and Harris is the northern most island.”

“Harris. As in Harris tweed?”

He nodded. “As in exactly that. It is all woven there.”

“On the island itself?”

He nodded. “By law, it must be woven by loom in the weaver's own home.”

“Wow. That's—I had no idea.”

He nodded again. “It used to be the wool was all sheared and spun on the island as well. They passed the Harris Tweed Act sometime back, which allows them to use wool from other places, but it must meet a strict set of standards. The resultant product is reviewed by inspectors from the Harris Tweed Authority—”

“Wait. They have tweed inspectors?”

He nodded, amused by her expression. “Aye. If it meets their strict standards, it receives the Orb Mark, which means it's acceptable for use in making Harris Tweed products. It's all highly regulated, but we take great pride in the result.”

“I can well imagine. That's amazing, actually. That it still exists today, following the same standards, and hasn't been mechanized by modern technology. It's wonderful, really.”

He smiled. “Aye, it is that and more. I'm glad you think of it that way as well. It will help you better understand my tie to Kinloch, both ancestral and personal. Harris Tweed is quite similar to our own, albeit much smaller industry. We are not bound by such a strict set of laws, but we have our own strictures and guidelines. We're likewise known for the quality control and the weaving itself, which is all done in similar fashion to the tweed—in the home of the weaver.”

“You make wool fabric on Kinloch, too?”

He shook his head. “Our industry is artisan basketry.”

“Artisan…baskets? Made out of wool?”

He laughed. “No, I've gotten ye all confused. Our baskets are made from linen, which originates with the flaxseed plant. After harvest, it's spun, dyed, and waxed, then run onto spools in a heavy thread form.”

“You make baskets. From thread.”

He nodded. “They are works of art more than for functional use. We still control every aspect of the process, right on the island. I'll be happy to show you, once we're home.” In fact, he had every intention of showing her the foundation upon which he'd built his life. All his learning, all his energy and focus had revolved around maintaining and continuing the success of their heritage industry, to keep Kinloch thriving and to preserve what he saw as an important ancestral art.

“Oh, I want to see it. That sounds amazing.”

“I happen to think it is, but you'll judge for yourself.”

She turned back to the rail as the engines of the ferry revved strongly to life, indicating they were about to debark port. “I had no idea. Baskets. From linen thread.” She looked up at him over her shoulder, where he'd moved in to stand closely behind her at the rail. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Well, it hadn't come up as yet. I had every intention. It's the reason I came to find ye.”

“The basket weaving?”

“It's the foundation of the economy on our island. We've struggled. I've devoted my life's work to finding ways to improve the consistency of the crop output and protect it from blight. My grandfather spent all his later years trying to get us back after a particularly harsh blight almost brought life on Kinloch to an end. I'm still helping us rebound, and trying to keep it from happening again, so we can confidently solidify our hold on the market. Using the modern technology we can employ, namely the Internet, we're growing to a worldwide market.”

She shook her head, appearing a bit in disbelief. “It's an incredible story, Graham.”

“I don't know about that, but it is my story.”

The boat moved just then, and while he was prepared from past experience, she wasn't. So when there was a tug and a jerk as the boat began its progress away from the slip dock, Katie was forced to grab the rail momentarily to steady herself.

Graham immediately took hold of her shoulders to assist her, but after she righted herself, he found himself reluctant to release her.

So…he didn't.

And she didn't move away.

He wondered what excuse he would find to touch her, hold her, when they weren't at the mercy of unpredictable vehicle movement. He continued to brace her as they proceeded slowly across the harbor, toward the strait that ran between the mainland and the outer islands, which were becoming more visible in the distance.

He looked down at Katie as she watched the world unfold in front of her. His world. She was a stranger to him, and to the island way of life he held so dear. A way of life that she held in her slender hands. He watched as she looked back at the very picturesque Oban harbor town of Port Appin, with its rows of old stone homes and shops that lined the shore. They scattered up into the hills, the crest of which was topped by the coliseum-style remains of McCaig's Folly.

“It's truly beautiful here, Graham,” she said, with sincere awe in her voice.

Her comment spurred the pride of his homeland that always coursed through him, but, on that occasion, he felt it a bit more keenly. “It will be far more quaint when we ferry from Castlebay over to Kinloch. You'll get your more traditional boat ride then.” He smiled. “You might wish you were back on the CalMac.”

“Possibly,” she said, but it was clear she was still distracted by the view. She turned her head the full range until she'd taken in the entire skyline. “It's lovely. Absolutely breathtaking.”

He smiled, happy that she was taken with the view. He found it irresistible, but then he was somewhat biased. “Wait until ye see the outer islands, Barra, Vatersay, then Kinloch. I think you'll see why I'm going to such lengths to preserve our way of life there.” At least he hoped so.

She turned just enough to look up at him. It moved her more deeply into the protective stance of his body, which stirred instantly and quite insistently to life. He shifted, just a bit, but kept his gaze on hers. And kept his lower body just out of accidental brushing range. More stimulation was unwise at the moment—especially seeing as he apparently had no consistent discipline whatsoever where she was concerned. At that very moment, he still had his hands on her, and she was allowing the contact to continue.

“I know I might not seem it,” she said, mercifully drawing thoughts away from the insistent state of his body. “But I am looking forward to seeing it. All of it. I know the circumstances of why I'm here are a bit daunting to me, and I'm guessing to you as well, so I'm sorry for being anxious about all that. But the rest, if it looks anything like this…” She let her words drift off as she once again took in the harbor view, and beyond to the islands in the west.

He leaned down so his head was more on par with hers, and reached past her shoulder to point. “Those are part of the Inner Hebrides. Mull and Lismore. Once we're past that into the Sea of the Hebrides, you'll get sight of Coll, and your first look at Barra, and when we're a bit closer still, you'll see Kinloch to the south and west.”

“I can see why this place calls to you,” she said quietly, as they continued slowly chugging their way up the channel between Mull and Lismore. “It's different in so many ways from Annapolis, and yet when I come home from being out on the water, there is such a pull there for me.” She glanced up again. “So, I understand why there is one here, for you.”