Some Like It Scot (18 page)

G
raham orchestrated the removal of Katie's luggage from the ferry to the docks. If it wasn't for the fact that the pile of designer leather bags literally comprised everything she owned, he might have been a little more impatient with the process.

“If you'd like to go ahead to locate rooms, I can take care of this.”

“What?” Graham realized he'd been checking his watch. He let his hand drop to his side. “No, no, it's okay. We're almost set here.”

They stood off to one side as the bags went from the pier to the back of a lorry. Graham had tried to wave off any help and do it himself, but the lorry driver had recognized him as The MacLeod, due, Graham supposed, to the clan crest pinning his tartan in place, and had insisted on tackling the chore. Rather than make a scene, or inadvertently insult the man, Graham had stepped back with Katie, who hadn't said a word about what her opinion might be of the deferential treatment he was receiving.

She hadn't come back around to meet him until the ferry had begun docking. Other than a hello and asking about debarking arrangements for them, and for her luggage—which, to be fair, she was as annoyed with as he was—she hadn't said much. It made him wonder what she'd been thinking about for the past hour. He knew his thoughts had been far more on her than where they should have been—returning to the island and getting back to work. And continuing the ridiculous farce his trip had launched in the first place.

He was holding out hope that Roan or Shay had done as he'd asked before leaving, and continued to hunt for any loophole that would save him from having to actually wed Katie. Not that having her around was any kind of burden. He was quite thankful—perhaps too thankful—that she'd agree to stay. He couldn't kid himself any longer that his joy in the matter was based on her being the solution to his problem. If anything, that was the only part about her staying on that he truly hated.

The way they'd met had been anything but natural or normal, but what had happened since, as they'd grown to know each other—traveling day and night with someone can definitely expedite the learning curve—had all come along rather organically. They were one short hop away from home…and he didn't want her to be there for some contrived reason. He wanted her to be there because she chose to be there, because she wanted to be there.

Because she wanted more time with him, as he did with her.

For the first time in his life, he was actively engaged on every level with someone, and he wanted more. It was intriguing, enticing, and damn exciting. Of course he wanted more time with her.

The very last thing he needed was to screw it up by being forced to marry her.

He swore under his breath. The irony was more than maddening. It was sickening. It was all he'd thought about, during his time alone on the boat. No one should be forced to wed someone for what amounted to extortion. She'd just walked away from her entire family to avoid doing that very thing. That she was even considering his offer was mostly due to the fact that she was quite abruptly having to find a way to fend for herself. She'd been very direct about that fact. It was not what he wanted from her. He didn't want her as part of any bargain.

What did it say about him that he didn't have the kind of fortitude she did? Or the same kind of courage she had? The kind that sent her into the prayer garden, mad as hell, and ultimately out of her designated life.

That was the crux of it. Cast in that light, the burden weighing on him doubled in tonnage.

It was true there was more at stake than his own personal welfare and happiness. He doubted Katie had concerns that McAuley-Sheffield would fold without her on board. The same could not be said of Kinloch if he made a comparable departure from his obligations.

If he was willing to make the overall welfare and happiness of every one of his clanspeople his main priority and the focus of his life's work—happily so—was it asking too much of them to allow him to privately pursue his own happiness in return? He'd like to think it was the least they'd be willing to do, and happily so, as well.

How did he make them understand that was all he was asking for? All they had to do was rescind the bloody law, boot Iain and his infernal smugness off the island, and let their clan chief get back to work. Surely the pursuit of that goal was worthier than what he was about to propose to the near stranger standing beside him.

Then he could pursue her honestly, with no other agenda in play, and see where it led. Was that too much to ask? He was in the most perverse situation he could ever imagine.

He should have never bloody left.

He should have remained on Kinloch and fought for his vision of what the best future would be for both clans, and to hell with ancient clan law, and to hell with Iain McAuley. He'd panicked, it was as simple and as awful as that. He'd let Roan and Shay get inside his head, and Iain's Adonis-like perfection played right into his moment of weakness. So he'd panicked. And leapt at the chance to fix things by taking on the most ridiculous, foolhardy mission one could imagine.

He stood on the docks of Castlebay, a mere ferry ride from home…with the end result of that ridiculous, foolhardy mission standing beside him, watching as her entire worldly possessions were loaded into the back of a rented lorry. Possessions that were bound for Kinloch, along with their owner. Ironically he truly wanted that exact scenario to be playing out, but for the real reason a woman moved halfway around the world for a man.

Love. Not business.

So what in bloody hell was he doing?

He felt his heart thump a bit wildly, and sweat bead on his brow, and he worked to get himself under some semblance of control before Katie noticed he was not in his right mind. Because clearly, he
wasn't
in his right mind. How the whole world wasn't noticing that, he had no idea. After almost two full days spent avoiding communicating with Roan or anyone else back home, he wished quite fervently that he'd been able to talk with his good friend.

He realized the irony, given it was partly due to his good friend that Graham was in the current predicament he wanted his friend's help with. Of course, Roan wouldn't see it as a predicament that needed resolving, so much as a resounding cause for celebration. To that end, perhaps it was just as well Graham had neglected to turn off his mobile on the long train ride from Glasgow after the last time he'd checked his messages. The battery was dead.

His charger was with his other stuff in the rental back in Annapolis. He wasn't entirely sure how he was going to resolve the car issue, much less go about getting his stuff back. He had no acquaintances in the U.S., but that was the least of his concerns at the moment.

He planned on placing a call from the hotel once they had a bit of a warm meal and were settled into their rooms for the night, which gave him less than an hour or so to figure out exactly how he was going to broach the subject.

That subject being how to jointly explain to both his fellow clansmen, and to Katie, that he was not going to marry anyone he wasn't in love with.

He blew out a silent, if slightly shaky breath. There. He'd done it. He'd decided. And just like that, his pulse slowed, and a sense of calm came over him, along with profound relief. That alone told him, unequivocally, it was the right decision to make.

He also had to figure out how he was going to explain to everyone that, while he refused to marry according to some ancient tribal law, he had no intention of turning over Kinloch to anyone—much less someone without a single direct or personal tie to the place. If Roan and Shay truly were the bonded friends they'd always been, they'd turn their swift and ready attentions to helping him figure that out. If they bucked him again, as they had before, he'd point out he'd tried it their way. It was time to do things his way.

He glanced at Katie. The part about telling her of his decision would be exclusively on him. It was only fair. He was the one who'd asked—begged—her for help only she could give. And she'd agreed to come along, to consider it. He wondered how likely it was her reticence since returning from her stroll was an indication she'd been having similar regrets? It would certainly make their discussion go much more smoothly. Or would, perhaps, after a nice hot meal and a warm bed for the night.

In the same exact moment he'd thought the words “warm bed,” Katie turned and put her hand on his arm.

Just like that, the images he'd thought were banished for good came rushing back, with twice the force as before. It was as if her touch had transported him, both physically and mentally, to some other place. Some other time, as well, if the vision before him was anything to go by.

There was no bed, no vision of him rapturously entwined with her. He wasn't in some omniscient viewpoint, looking down on the action below. He was in a bower, standing in a lush green glade, filled to bursting. The assault on each of his senses was so vivid, with bright poppies and lush orchids.

Just beyond the edge of the bower, the bountiful flora and the tumbling, rock-strewn thatches of vivid green grass gave way to the
machair,
and a sandy, pebbled beach. Farther away was the stone structure of a round corner turret, possibly the only thing remaining of what had once been a great walled stronghold. Upon further inspection, as his viewpoint crystallized, he realized it was actually an abbey.

He wanted to move forward—was compelled to—and learn more about the structure, but someone was talking to him. A woman was calling his name, and he turned back to find it was someone much like Katie. Her hair was the same shot-with-sunshine blond, and fell in long, swirling curls that drifted far down her spine, clinging to her derriere. Her body, that derriere, was lush and enticing. She was dressed in period garb, somewhere around the turn of the sixteenth century, if the memory of his beloved history lessons were serving him properly. Equally distracting was the fact that her clothing was rather in a state of dishabille…and if the knowing smile curving those cupid-bow lips, and the twinkle in her luminescent blue eyes was any indication…he thought he'd had something to do with her disheveled and flushed state.

She called his name again, and he moved toward where she lay on a woven blanket spread out across the section of the glade that cushioned the border between the machair and the denser jumble of stones that rose behind him as a mountain. As he opened his mouth to ask her who she was, and why he was there, she called his name again. Except…it was her voice, but her lips weren't moving. He paused as she reached for him and he was about to sink down on the blanket beside her. Her smile slipped…and the next thing he knew, he was standing on the dock in Castlebay, with modern-day Katie tugging a bit more insistently on his arm.

“Graham, the driver's ready to go. Graham? Are you okay?”

He couldn't rightly say what he was in that moment, other than deeply confused. “Fine,” he said, rather a bit more tersely than intended. Given he'd just been shot back a few centuries for no apparent reason, dazzled by a mysterious beauty who could be Katie's sixteenth-century twin, then jerked back to the present, he could be forgiven if he appeared a bit out of sorts. “Ye dinnae have to look at me like I'm daft. I was just…lost in thought there for a moment.”

She studied him a minute longer, concern clear on her face, but mercifully she dropped her hand from his arm before he was forced to remove it for her. He wasn't sure which unnerved him more, that he feared her continued physical connection might possibly jerk him around the time continuum again…or that he was too much the coward to touch her hand himself to move it away, to find out.

Neither was a particularly reassuring revelation.

“We should go. It's late,” he said, motioning her to lead the way.

She gave him a brief, rather incredulous look, then shook it off and turned with a smile for the lorry driver.

As they crossed the lot, she said, “Were you able to talk to your friends on Kinloch? Is that's what gotten you so distracted? What did they say? Are things going okay? Is that other guy making any progress with his campaign?”

“I dinnae know,” he said, his gut tightening up a notch as he thought about Iain McAuley and was reminded of the big decision he'd made just before he'd temporarily lost what was left of his mind. “My mobile battery died, so I'll have to wait to place the call once we find lodging.” He'd never had reason to stay overnight in Castlebay, but he knew the village quite well, and had a place in mind.

The lorry driver waved them to the passenger side. “We're all set here, Mr. MacLeod.” He sent a particularly twinkly smile in the direction of Katie as he opened the passenger door with a flourish. “Lassies first.”

Katie shot a quick look at Graham, her smile a bit tentative. The accompanying eye roll, however, as she jerked her chin ever so discreetly in the direction of the old man, was purely the woman he'd come to know over the past two days.

At any other time that private gesture would have had him smiling quite naturally in return, but such a casual response was beyond him at the moment. He told himself it was because of the decision he'd made, and the talk he'd have to have with Katie at some point soon or first thing in the morning. It wasn't going to take place in earshot of the driver. He gestured her a bit impatiently, to follow the driver's lead. He got a raised eyebrow and a brief flash of annoyance for the effort, but he couldn't worry about that. He'd be lucky if it was the worst of what she offered him once he explained himself and his new course of action.

The lorry driver was short, stout, and balding, somewhere in his early seventies was Graham's guess. He still moved pretty swiftly though, as he scooted in to give Katie a boost up into the front seat. Graham happily deferred, just to avoid putting his hands anywhere near her for the time being. If that made him a coward, so be it.