Some Like it Scottish (13 page)

They said goodbye, and as they left, a new group of people walked in. Ramsay quietly groaned. She saw it was his brothers, though she hadn't been introduced. The two acknowledged her and Ramsay with a wink and a nod. They kept on, going directly to the back of the room to join Deydie and George. Kit recognized the three women who came in with them from her lynching right here in this very building. It was Maggie, with her sisters in tow.

They came directly to them. It might've been Kit's imagination, but Ramsay seemed to scoot closer to her instead of his sister-in-law.

Begrudgingly, he made the introductions. “Kit Woodhouse, this is Maggie, Rowena, and Sinnie.”

Despite cultural differences, some things were universal. The three Scottish women sized Kit up and Ramsay's relations-in-law weren't thrilled to make her acquaintance, either. She suspected the introduction had less to do with wanting to know her and more to do with wanting to keep their enemy close. A tactical move.

Rowena and Sinnie stood behind Maggie, making it clear who was the alpha female in the pack.

Ramsay hovered, jamming his hands in his pockets. He glanced around as if torn between staying and making a run for it.

Maggie held Kit's gaze. “Come to dinner tonight.” The statement wasn't even close to being a request.

Ramsay took a step back. “What?”

Maggie tilted her head toward Kit. “She heard me.”

“She's busy,” Ramsay said defiantly.

Kit looked up at him. “I am?”

He made a general wave to the room. “Ye said you have to prepare for the retreat.”

“She has to eat,” Maggie argued.

Before Ramsay could interject anything else on Kit's behalf, and because she was feeling ornery, she made a rash decision. “I'd be delighted to come to dinner.”

“Aw, hell,” Ramsay muttered. He gave her a hard glare that said she didn't know what she was in for. “Then don't set a place for me. I'll be out.”

Did he have a date? Or was he chicken?

Maggie narrowed her eyes at him. “Ye'll not pass up my shepherd's pie.”

His face showed the struggle between his brain and his stomach. “As I said, I've plans.”

Kit's insides dropped. But why should she feel downcast because he had a date? Or was it that she'd be alone with his less than friendly sister-in-law?

Maggie put her hands on her hips and barked at Ramsay. “But ye'll make sure to burn the trash before you leave. John also expects ye to help with the nets in the morn. So don't be out too late.”

His eyes turned heavenward. “Aye, I'll take care of the trash before I go. And I'll help with the damned nets in the morning.” He stalked away to the far side of the room.

Maggie hollered after him. “Ye'll need to bring the matchmaker to the house.”

“Nay,” he grumbled. “I'll send someone to pick her up and bring her to the cottage.”

Kit didn't know whether to be pissed to be seen as an inconvenience or to feel sorry for the guy. She couldn't blame him for being grumpy. He'd been publicly nagged and put in his place by his sister-in-law. Kit watched as he joined the two other men in the corner with some back pounding and posturing among the three.

“The Armstrong boys,” Maggie explained, nodding territorially. “The redhead there is my John. The other one is Ross, the middle brother.” She gave Kit a hard stare. “He's promised to Pippa.”

“Which one is Pippa?” Kit gave the room a cursory glance.

“Och, Pippa lives in Edinburgh. She's an engineer.”

“I see.” Kit wondered if she would be warned off all the men in the town. She changed the subject fast. “Ramsay said you have a son.”

Maggie's face softened, an expression Kit hadn't seen from her. “Aye, Dand. He's a handful.” By the way she cooed the word
handful
, she made it sound like the highest praise for a Scottish lad. “Ye'll meet him tonight.”

“I can't wait.” But Kit could. She had a lot of work to do between now and then. Plus it wouldn't be the most pleasant of evenings sitting across the table from one of her adversaries. Kit wished Ramsay would reconsider so she'd have at least one friendly face to look at.

It hit her how quickly she'd grown used to Ramsay. But maybe that's what happened when you were in a foreign country—you formed attachments quickly.

“If you'll excuse me,” Kit said to Maggie. “I really need to get to the restaurant and see what arrangements need to be made for the mixer.”

“Sure,” Maggie said. “Go on now.”

Deydie hollered to Kit before she could make her getaway. “Remember. This afternoon—the sew-in.”

*   *   *

For the rest of the day, she worked on preparing Gandiegow for her clients. She spoke with Claire and Dominic, the restaurant owners, about the menus for the mixer and the retreat, and the dietary restrictions of her clients. Then Cait Buchanan stopped by, and they discussed the supplies needed for the quilting workshops over a quick cup of tea at Pastas & Pastries.

Cait stood. “Let me give you a tour of the quilting dorms. You can set up yere U.S. clients in Thistle Glen Lodge and put the bachelors in Duncan's Den.” She showed Kit both cottages that had been converted into the retreats' lodgings with plenty of beds to go around.

It all looked great, and Cait was being as nice as could be, but Kit still had her reservations. How would her clients feel about attending a quilt retreat?
Forced into it really
. They were quiet, unassuming girls. Although they'd agreed to the quilting retreat over the phone, it might be a different story when Deydie was barking orders at them.

They said goodbye. On her way back to the pub, Kit quickly stopped in the General Store and bought a scented candle to give to Maggie as a hostess gift. She hurried as she didn't have much time to get ready for her dinner at the Armstrongs'. Once again she wished Ramsay would be there tonight, or at the least he'd be the one to take her to his house.

When she opened the door to the pub, it was like she'd conjured him. Ramsay sat at the bar, talking to a man on the other side.

When Ramsay saw her, he stood. “It's about time you got here. Maggie will have your hide and mine if we're late.” He motioned to the barkeep. “This is Coll. He does all the cooking for the pub.”

“And throws rowdy Scots out on their arses if they get out of control.” Coll gave Ramsay a pointed glance.

Ramsay laughed, but then turned his attention back to Kit. “Ready?”

She had about fifteen questions for him, but changing into something more appropriate for dinner was first and foremost. “I need a minute.”

“Women,” Ramsay complained. “Ye can't live with them—”

“Ye're not married. What do you know?” Coll laughed. “You won't know a thing until you are, and have wee bairns of your own. Stop yere bellyaching. Give the lass all the time she needs to get gussied up.”

“Get up those steps, sprite,” Ramsay urged. “The shepherd's pie is in the oven. And wear one of yere boy outfits.”

She smiled and ran up the stairs. First she tucked the scented candle in her purse along with a short note for Maggie. Then she quickly put on a skirt and blouse that hugged her. At the last second, she grabbed her sweater. Ramsay was right; it was rather nippy here in the Highlands in summer.

When she got downstairs, she caught the series of expressions that passed over her chauffeur's face—first surprise, which turned to smolder, then to a deliberate blank slate—before he donned his typical grin. “Ye're taking the blame if Maggie rails on me,” he said as he held open the door for her.

“Does that mean you're staying for dinner? Did she
make you? Or was it one of your brothers?” Kit asked, launching into the first of her numerous questions.

“I'm a free agent,” he said defiantly.

“Oh, really? How did the trash burning go?” she asked.

“Okay. It was actually the smell of the shepherd's pie that has me staying for dinner.”

“What about your date?” she inquired.

He grinned at her. “Rescheduled it. Besides, I couldn't wrangle anyone else to fetch ye to the house. Ye're not liked very well in these parts.” He put his hand on her back and hurried her along.

“Yes. Thanks. Just what I needed to hear before I face the firing squad.” She tried to ignore his touch. “So how do you get along with your brothers? Well?”

“Not at all,” Ramsay said. “We can't stand the sight of each other.”

“That's not what I saw at Quilting Central today.”

“An anomaly,” he quipped back.

“Yeah.” But she recognized their close family ties, boisterous as they were.

She thought about the apartment back home that she shared with her mother and two sisters. It was as quiet as a library. Harper was very studious, and Bridget spent a lot of time out with friends. Her mother was either working at the art gallery or volunteering at the museum. It was as if when her father had died, the joy in their household had been extinguished as well, drowned into silence. And in Alaska. Kit had lived a pretty quiet existence all on her own.

Maggie met them at the door with a basket of silverware, which she promptly shoved at Ramsay. “You're late. You and the matchmaker set the table.” She turned on her heel and marched away.

Kit sighed. The rocky start between them continued. She slipped the candle for Maggie on the end table with the small note of thanks that she'd written for her to find later.

The cottage opened up into a fairly large room as if it had been remodeled into an open concept; the living room, dining area, and kitchen were all together. The house was a hodgepodge of personal things scattered about—several quilts slung over the back of the couch, a child's drawing held on the refrigerator with a magnet, a couple of oars propped by the front door.
A home.

A real family lived here.

The apartment in the Bronx was clutter-free, sterile, as if her mother and sisters had to make up for the chaotic neighborhood they lived in—the chaotic life they'd been forced to inhabit.

“Aye, Swab, ye get right on to setting the table,” said the red-haired eldest brother. He stuck his hand out at Kit. “We didn't get a chance to meet earlier. John Armstrong.”

Kit could see why Maggie had fallen for him. He was all brawn and all charm. Then again, so was Ramsay.

The other brother elbowed John out of the way and grabbed Kit's hand. “I'm Ross. The good-looking one in the family.”

What a brood of gifted flirts.

Maggie cleared her throat in the kitchen. Kit would've sworn she heard the word
Pippa
amongst her throat clearing.

Kit took the silverware from Ramsay. “I'll take care of this.” The plates were stacked on the table, ready to be set, too.

Maggie glanced over at her but didn't comment.

A small boy came running into the room and threw himself into Ramsay's arms. “Uncle Swab!”

Ramsay tossed him in the air a couple of times and then planted him on the couch safely.

Two teenage boys rumbled into the room with heavy footsteps.

“Robert and Samuel. My cousins,” Maggie said begrudgingly, as if explaining anything to Kit was as bad as enduring a boil. “They're here for dinner.”

The noise really began then. The slightly taller cousin, who looked about fourteen, tackled the other, pinning him to the ground. Little Dand jumped on top.

The men, settled into the sofa and easy chair, laughed at the commotion.

Kit didn't see anything funny here. She finished placing the last fork and hurried into the kitchen as Dand hurtled himself again at the boys rolling around on the floor.

“Aren't you worried about them breaking things?” Kit said to Maggie, thinking of Dand's precious bones.

The men pushed the teenagers away from their feet, the open concept in full-on testosterone overload.

Maggie
tsk
ed, giving Kit a hard stare, as if Yankees didn't understand a whit about family life. “It's normal rambunctious behavior. They're burning off excess energy. It's best to stand back and let them finish.”

And pray no one gets maimed, Kit thought.

Playful rude comments from the men flew around the living room like the family flag in a strong wind.

Maggie brought Kit back to the work at hand by pushing a basket of fresh bread at her. “Put that on the table.”

“But what about Dand?” Kit inquired, not budging. “Aren't you worried he'll get hurt?”

Frowning, Maggie shoved a bowl at her, too. “He can handle himself.”

The boy was seven at best. Kit thought Maggie's view was pretty callous or maybe irresponsible.

Maggie shooed her to the table with the food, talking over the noise of the wrestling match. “The lads actually take it easier on each other with Dand in the room.”

“That's taking it easy?” The teenagers were grunting and tackling as Dand repeatedly threw himself into the mix.

“Aye,” Maggie said, giving her crew that soft grin again. “Boys and men are like dogs. They need to burn off their energy or they'll start chewing on the furniture. You should've seen Robert and Samuel when they were younger. Little savages.”

“No, thank you.” Kit could barely take her eyes off them now.

“The lot of them should be carted off to a zoo.” Maggie barked at them, “Boys, go wash up. And Ross, stand that lamp back up.”

It might have been a zoo, but Kit had to admit that the house had life in it, a loving, unruly energy within its walls.

“Come on, Swab.” John put his hand out and hauled Ramsay to his feet. “You, too, First Mate.” He pulled Ross up next. The men and the teenagers headed off down the hall with Dand clinging to Ramsay's leg. The love among the crew was evident.

Maggie passed a couple of trivets to Kit. “Put them on either end.”