Some Like It Scot (26 page)

“You've no idea,” Katie said, so quietly only Graham could hear.

Rather than chuckle, he merely pushed the door open and gestured for her to step inside. “Mind yer head, and the step down.”

It was damp and dark inside. So dark, in fact, she could see nothing beyond the several feet inside the door illuminated by the light outside. She felt him step in behind her.

“Should we be helping him? I hate that he has to—”

“He'll manage fine. He's due for some manly labor.”

Okay
, Katie thought.

She heard the scrape of something, then a moment later, a flame shot to life behind her, startling a little squeal from her as she spun around in time to see Graham lifting an old-fashioned oil lamp. A moment later, it was lit, followed by another one.

“Here,” he told her, “hold it by the centerpiece of the handle, and keep it out in front of you, as the metal framing will get hot.”

She took the square lamp, surprised by how heavy it was for a relatively small thing.

He left the door open behind him, ostensibly, so Roan could cart her bags in.

“Follow me,” he told her. Lifting his lamp, he stepped in front of her and headed down the dimly illuminated passageway.

She followed behind him, holding the lamp out to the side so as not to inadvertently bang it into Graham if he suddenly stopped or changed directions. She couldn't tell if it was an actual hallway, or more a true passageway to some other part of the building. It was soft under her feet, but hard at the same time, as if there were several layers of rug on the ancient stone floor she assumed was beneath.

“Why didn't you ever tell me?” she asked, as they continued onward, and eventually up a narrow set of stairs.

“Tell you what?”

At least he's talking now
, she thought, trying to keep an open mind about his less-than-delightful demeanor. “That you lived in an ancient castle.”

“Ye never asked.”

“Very funny.”

“We're at the top,” he told her, “so hold where you are for a moment.”

Her hand was on the side railing mounted to the stone wall to her right. She did as he said, then listened for a moment as there was some scraping, then a loud squeak. He was broad enough that she couldn't see around him, especially as he was two steps above her. Then a door swung open at the top.

“Oh,” she said, somewhat startled, not only by the sudden doorway appearing, but by the fact that there was light beyond it. The regular kind of lighting, at least as far as she could tell.

He extinguished his lamp and hung it on an iron hook set into the stone wall at the top of the stairs. Then he turned and reached for hers. Keeping one hand on the rail, she handed it up to him. He shut hers out and hung it on the hook on the opposite wall, on the other side of the doorway.

She thought she heard him sigh, then he climbed the remaining steps and entered the room, turning and extending a hand toward her.

She took the broad hand, which he closed instantly around hers. It was the first time, even after standing outside, that she'd felt truly welcomed by him.

He tugged her up the last step and through the doorway. “Be it ever so humble…”

She stepped in behind him and he moved so she could see the room beyond. “Oh…Graham. It's…magnificent.”

He barked a laugh, which echoed throughout the tall, cavernous chamber. “It's hardly that. In fact, you're looking at the only habitable part of the entire endeavor. When I said it was crumbling, I wasn't being modest.”

She turned slowly and took in the entire space. It was obvious they were in the center tower, which was far more massive in breadth on the inside than it had appeared from the outside. Graham's living space took up the entire open floorplan, though it had been divided into sections, largely by the furniture or things placed in each section. “It's sort of like a medieval one-room cabin.” She looked up toward the top of the tower, which soared openly to the peak, several stories above her head.

The tower was square, as was the living space. A quarter of it was filled with tables and an assortment of interesting-looking equipment, piles of books, charts, and an amazing array of photographs. Little bags containing sprouted seedlings were tacked up and down the far stone wall, with duct tape. To her right a smaller section held his bed, an oversized, high-backed leather chair mounded with cast-off clothing, mostly pants, T-shirts, and work shirts, all of them muddy. Boots of varying ages and types cluttered the floor. The bed itself was a massive thing, with heavy corner posts and an even heavier carved headboard. It looked like something Paul Bunyan would sleep in, but then, as she thought about it, she supposed that made it perfect for Graham.

Another section was crammed with bookshelves that extended up the wall so high the tops were lost in shadows. There was a rolling ladder, but it didn't reach that high. A wood-burning stove dominated another section, and just beyond was a narrow door, and the even narrower kitchen area. A small stove, fridge, sink, and cabinet counter made up the entire unit. All the appliances had seen better days. Centuries, perhaps. Given the clutter of dishes, apparently they were still functional. A heavy plank table sat in the center of the room, and it, too, was covered in maps, diagrams, papers, books, and more of the curious seedling baggies.

She finally got all the way back around to where Graham was standing, silently watching her. He hadn't tried to explain or introduce any part of the place to her, allowing her to take it all in on her own.

“I wasn't expectin' company when I left,” was all he said.

It struck her then, why he'd been so quiet in the car, and allowed Roan to do all the talking. Was it possible he was embarrassed to have her there? He'd invited her to stay with him, but perhaps he'd meant they'd stay in town, or—she wasn't entirely sure. Other than openly fidget and shift his weight on his feet, he couldn't be feeling any more obviously awkward.

“Graham, don't you dare apologize for this amazing place you have the privilege to call home.”

He looked at her like she'd sprouted a second head.

“I think it's unbelievable that any of this remains, habitable or not. I cannot imagine having this kind of responsibility handed down to me.” She turned around again. “You truly live here.”

“Aye, it's my family home.”

“No, I don't mean it like that. I mean it like”—she swept an arm in front of her—“you
live
here.”

He was obviously confused by her meaning. “Well, I've nowhere else to go, exactly.”

She shook her head. “In my world, I don't even get to pick out my own nightstand. I mean, I get consulted on possible color schemes, and surely, it's fine with me if they change everything, from carpet to wall hangings, every several years, because, ‘darling, you simply cannot have things grow stale or out of style,'” she said, in what she knew was a dead-on impersonation of her mother. “Only in my dorm did I get the chance to create anything close to this.”

“You mean clutter and controlled chaos?”

“I mean my own space. I only had the dorm—actually, it was a room in the sorority house—for one semester before Father insisted on installing me in an off-campus apartment. I haven't picked out so much as a toothbrush holder since.”

“If you'd wanted something different, why not simply demand it?” he asked. “Surely that wouldn't have been a threat to the family business, or family harmony. Unless, of course, your sense of taste and style is atrocious.”

It took her two full beats to realize he was joking. She smiled on a half laugh. “I've been wondering where you've been.”

“I've never left your side,” he said, sounding a tiny bit more like himself.

She closed the distance between them. “I'm flattered,” she said, “that you'd bring me here.”

“You've an odd sense then, of what it is to be honored.”

“Graham, I don't want this to be awkward. I'll stay in town. I know you won't understand, but I've never been more sincere…I like it here. It's warm, and human, and…lived in. Gloriously, imperfectly, socks-left-on-the-floor lived in.”

“I'm beginning to see why your mother wouldn't allow you to choose your room design scheme,” he said, but the twinkle was almost back.

She stepped closer still, until she had to arch her neck to look up into his face. He looked down into hers. “I've wanted you here, thought of you here, dreamt of you here. Possibly I was caught up inside some hormonal fog, because it wasn't until we were entering the valley from the village I realized you were actually going to step foot in here. The
actual
here, not my dream here, where we tumble into some lovely bed, with lovely linens, and heaps of pillows…and there's maid service.”

She laughed. “You're adorable, you know that.”

“I know I'm somewhat mortified that I'm a thirty-one-year-old man, living in a decaying castle like the last bachelor on some kind of horrible B movie set.”

She laughed. “There's no reason for it, you know.”

“I canno' believe you aren't cringing in horror.”

“I left because I wanted to live. And breathe. I can do that here.”

“No' too deeply. With the breathing, I mean. There's mold. Though I've created this washing solution that seems to have done the trick on the interior walls. I haven't had the time to develop it more as the crop studies take up most of my time, but—”

“Is that what all the bagged seedlings are for? Crop studies?”

He nodded. “Specimens. I'm trying to find a hybrid that will stay true to the ancestral integrity of the flax we've always grown, while making it genetically more impervious to blight and infestation.”

“And, are you finding success?”

He smiled then, and it was the first time she'd seen true pride show on his face since they'd been on the ferry to Barra and she'd swooned at the sight of his island home.

“Aye. 'Tis a time-consuming, arduously slow process, that's taken me years, but yes, we're seeing improvement with each and every growth cycle.”

“Will you show me?”

“You want to see seedling specimens?”

“I want to see everything you have going on.” She grinned up at him then, and he grew the tiniest bit flustered at her obvious admiration—which made him that much more adorable. “I guess I knew you were a scientist. Maybe it's the formal wear you've been sporting the entire time I've known you, but I haven't really pictured it. Until now.”

“You'll be happy to know I do have running water. A full shower and loo.” He motioned to the narrow door beside the kitchen. “It's beyond there. We had to bring the piping up for the kitchen—propane appliances—and keep everything clustered. It's no' much—”

“Electricity, too.”

“Aye, backed up by generator. Mostly so I don't lose any power with my seed incubators. Plus, with only the occasional turret hole for light, it does get a wee bit dark in here when the lights go off.”

She looked at him then and slowly smiled.

It took him a moment to get past his own personal disconcertment with everything that was happening, and on to understanding her full meaning. “Right,” he said, then again, with more feeling. “Right.”

“You're different here. In your own space.”

“If you mean bumbling, dotty-minded professor, you wouldn't be far from wrong.”

“Intensely-focused-to-the-exclusion-of-all-else professor maybe, but that wasn't my meaning. I can see you here, working, thinking.”

It was his turn to close the remaining bit of distance between them. He tipped up her chin, then let his hand drop. “You're not as I thought you'd be.”

“In what way?”

“I was worried the islanders wouldn't be open to you, to accepting you, because of your background, your wealth, no' being one of us. We're crofters and fishermen, weavers, and shopkeepers.”

“Surely you thought more highly of your own people than that.”

“I do. They are the best people you could ever hope to meet. I'm ashamed to say I feared you'd be judged and found wanting. Yet, the one who did the judging, was me.”

“You really thought I wouldn't understand you have a different lifestyle than me?”

“You might understand it, but that doesnae mean you wouldn't want to run screaming from it when faced with the idea of living it yourself.”

“You really do underestimate me, then,” she said, trying not to be hurt, because she understood the bias to be general more than personal. Still, it stung a little bit. “Have I come off as a person who sees things in terms of money and status?”

“No, no' at all, but—”

“Then you're right. Shame on you, Graham MacLeod.”

A flush crept up his neck, but he surprised her by smiling.

“What's funny about you being a jerk?” She said it mildly, but it didn't dampen his smile one whit.

“I like that you don't worry about what you say to me. I find I like being called to task. By you, anyway.”

“Others don't? Your friends?”

“Oh, they are fearless to the point of boorishness when it comes to calling me out. But I'm no' interested in taking them to bed, or inviting them to live under my roof.” He looked up. “Such as it is.”

“As you are in me, you mean.”

“Aye,” he said, his gaze warming as he looked back at her, his smile turning to one of wonder and honest affection that made her toes curl just a little. “As I am with you.”

“So, are ye sayin' I can stay here with ye, Graham MacLeod?”

“I'd be honored, if you think you could stomach it. I would even go so far as to promise to shovel out a layer or two, so you can find a surface to perch on. Now and again.”