A Good Scot is Hard to Find (Something About a Highlander Book 2)

by Angeline Fortin

On the other hand, if the answer were no, he could walk away unscathed without the burden of her broken heart to weigh on him.

  What a pessimist she was. Were the failures of her past relationships so traumatic that she couldn’t even contemplate a scenario where he returned her feelings? Guesses and assumptions aside, Aila needed to know how Finn felt about her. Everything hinged upon him.

  Gah, look at her! In a heartbeat, she’d done the one thing she’d sworn she would never do.

  She’d put every ounce of power into the hands of a man.

  “Finn…”

  “Wheesht,” he murmured against her lips.

  Resolve warred with desire. It would be so simple to set her worries aside and lose herself in him.

  For perhaps the last time.

  An ache of despair tightened her chest. It would be unbearable if these were indeed her final minutes with him. She’d regret not making the most of them. Last time she’d left without a proper farewell. Aila wasn’t going to miss that opportunity again.

  Finn jerked at the knot in his cravat, pulling away from her to unwind the long length.

  “So many layers,” she teased. “I can never figure out how ye can stand that thing.”

  Before she could blink, he threw it aside, shucked his jacket and waistcoat, and yanked his shirt over his head. His bare chest shone like bronze even in the meager sunlight streaming in the window. So much had been lost to the darkness. “Oh, my days, ye’re so beautiful.” Light played over his thickly muscled chest and created deep valleys of his rippled abs that made her mouth water. “Have I ever mentioned how much I would love to see ye in a kilt?”

  “Wearing of the tartan is outlawed.”

  “Too bad.” Her lips twitched. “No’ that it would stay on ye for long.”

  A wicked grin softened Finn’s chiseled features. “Isn’t it the point of a kilt that ye dinnae have to take it off?”

  Unable to help herself, Aila ran a hand over the bulging muscles of his chest, relished the tickle of the light smattering of hair against her palm. “The whole point? Really?”

  “Aye,” he whispered in a roguish brogue. “It would be if I ever get the chance to wear one again.”

  “Oh, ye will.” The teasing response was a cold splash of water to her growing desire.

  Squirming out of his arms, Aila climbed off the bed. She couldn’t give herself over to his persuasive kiss before the truth was out. That, too, would be unbearable.

  “Finn, we have to talk.”

  “After.”

  “First,” she insisted, dancing out of his reach. “I’m serious. Please.”

  With a groan, Finn turned to sit on the floor once more, his back resting against the side of the bed. “’Tis a far more pleasant thing to think about than any that occupy my mind.”

  His frown held no irritation, only anxiety. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d subconsciously initiated that kiss in hopes of delaying the remainder of their conversation. A way to give himself time to process the sparse information she’d already revealed with her body and story about Kyle. As if on some level, he knew how bad it would be.

  She was reluctant to prove him right. Pacing a circle around the room, she took a moment to absorb the elements of him. The shaving kit neatly laid out on the washstand next to the basin and pitcher. The pile of books on the floor next the chair near the fireplace. The buckled shoes in militant lines beneath the clothes neatly hung on hooks in the wardrobe. On a table near the window, plans for the castle were spread out. The corners kept from curling by paperweights in each corner. The one on top was a drawing of the exterior elevation. Though one not precisely the same as the castle in her time.

  “There should be another floor.”

  There really should. Finn offered a grunt in response.

  Off to the side, there was another set of sketches. “What are these?”

  “Drawings for my own home.”

  Unlike the gothic revival design of Argyll’s castle, Finn’s was more palatable to the eye. An elegant, wonderfully detailed manor of four stories with rows of windows to look out over a lovely fountain. “Beautiful. Where are ye going to build it?”

  “Northwest of Elgin. Near where my castle stands on the Firth of Moray.”

  “Gorgeous area,” she commented, shuffling to the next page that showed the rear of the manor with a tangle of gardens leading to the sea. The drawing was rendered with obvious love. “I’ve driven through there.”

  “Driven?” he repeated. “A carriage? I suppose I shouldnae be surprised.”

  With a sigh, Aila turned back to him. “There’s so much to tell ye.”

  “So ye’ve said.”

  She sat before him, close enough that her bare toes brushed the stiff leather of the tall boots he wore to the worksite. She stared at her reflection in them, wishing it might reveal an easier way. Secrets kept for the indeterminable number of years Boyce had kept the necklace hidden would have to wait. She needed to start with the basics. “The Dress Act of 1746 made the wearing of Highland dress illegal, including the kilt.”

  “Aye, I ken —”

  Aila held up a hand and continued. “The law will be repealed by Parliament in 1782.” Finn subdued his exclamation under her tight stare. “Before that happens, things are going to get far worse for Scotland. For many reasons, including the economic downturn following the battle of Culloden, agricultural landlords will be forced to turn to pastoral farms. Sheep, the nasty buggers. As a result, tenants who had farmed those lands for generations are going to be displaced.”

  “Displaced?”

  “Evicted. Hundreds of thousands of them. It’s called the Highland Clearances.”

  “Such a vision extends beyond reasonable deduction, lass. As ye’ve already said that ye’re nae clairvoyant, how can ye kent such a thing?”

  A logical question. And the one she’d come to answer. “I ken because where I come from it isnae only theory. It’s fact. History.”

  “Ye’re off yer head, lass.”

  “Nay, Finn. I’m from the future.” He might look at her as if she was deranged but it felt rather good to put it out there. No more secrets. Ever.

  Or for as long as she had before he kicked her to the curb and fled.

  Finn said nothing. Did nothing beyond watch her with an inscrutable look upon his face. Silence stretched until her nerves felt ready to snap. “I’ve learned the hard way that knowing what a person truly thinks is far more beneficial than assuming ye ken a person’s mind. Talk to me, please.”

  He shook his head. “I fear ye maun be suffering the same fever as the others, lass.”

  “I’m no’ ill, Finn. Or mad or havering nonsense. It is a simple truth. If ye care to take a little walk with me, I can provide proof to my claim.”

  Aye, she’d learned much about time travel from Brontë’s adventures and from her mistakes. There had also been something to be gained from her successes. Her friend had launched Tris into their time to show him the truth of which no words could convince a hardheaded man. The proof had been in the pudding, as they say.

  Hard to deny what was right in front of their faces.

  Aila meant to take the same approach.

  “Bollocks. If ye expect me to believe such nonsense, yer at it.”

  “I am no’ acting the idiot,” Aila insisted. She reached behind her for her discarded trousers and fished her time travel device out of the pocket. “I ken it seems impossible that such a wee object could hold such power. Nevertheless, it can transport people from one time to another. In this case, me and Rabbie from the twenty-first century to 1748. If ye’ll come with me, ye’ll see.”

  This version of show and tell gained her nothing more than transparent disbelief. Damn, she should have gone big as Brontë had. Shown him the future first and explained afterward. He didn’t believe her and why should he?

  “Och, I kent ye could weave a fantastic tale, lass. If ye’d wanted to keep my attention, ye shouldnae have spun such
outlandish fiction.” His frown deepened and he climbed to his feet. “What is all this? A ploy to divert me from my revenge?”

  “Finn, ye have to listen to me. Let me show ye.”

  * * *

  “Ye maun be right chuffed with yerself to distract me so.” Ignoring her outstretched hand, Finn yanked on his shirt. “There’s nae tale tall enough to prevent me from heaping justice upon Etteridge for the evil he’s done.”

  “It is nae tale.” Aila scrambled to her feet and pointed to the remnants of her disguise on the floor. “How do ye think I got that? That dinnae come from around here.”

  Given her foibles and enigmatic air, did she truly believe that he’d be taken in by such nonsense? Today of all days? Being played for a fool only roused his indignation. Ire that stirred the embers of the fury he’d set aside to hear her out. Anger feeding anger. Mixed together to boil within him once more.

  “Ye think I’m fool enough to believe ye?” He retrieved his coat and shrugged it on, not bothering with his waistcoat or cravat. “Aye, ye maun if ye believe I’m fool enough to cut a man down in broad daylight. I’ve had more than a year to consider my course. I’m clever enough that if I’m going to commit an act of due vengeance, nae one will ever ken it was me.”

  “Vengeance?” She caught his arm. “Call it what ye like, Finn. It’s murder plain and simple. How would Niall and Effie feel if they knew what ye’re planning? What will come of them when ye leave them orphaned because of this nonsense?”

  He shook her off and spun around to fix her with a hard look. “Ye leave my bairns out of this.”

  Snatching up his scabbard, he belted it around his waist and stabbed the sword into it as if it were Etteridge’s heart. With the hounds of hell at his heels, he stormed out of the room.

  “Finn, listen to me, please!”

  He’d hear no more from her. Long strides carried him down the hall, down the stairs while her voice rose to summon him back. She didn’t follow straightaway. A modicum of modesty would prevent her from chasing him without first making herself presentable. She would though, he was certain. The lass was like a dog with a bone when it pleased her. At the bottom of the staircase, he hesitated.

  “Finn, ye stubborn arse, stop!”

  Clearly, her modesty totaled a sum far less than a modicum if she were so close behind. Aila had been spending too much time with Ian if she would go to such lengths to sway him. He could heed her call, save her from the embarrassment of appearing in the hall as she was. He could cut to the right to the bailey to avoid her. If the main hall roused her trepidation, she’d never follow him down that tight, dark passage.

  Voices echoed through the one leading to the servants’ hall, Ian’s easily recognizable among them. Taking the route to the left, he ran away from Aila, away from Ian and toward the source of his troubles. He’d asked enough questions over the past year to know it was the duke’s habit to host his guests in the solar for drinks followed by a feast with more of the same. Bottles and kegs aplenty, if the gossip were correct.

  By the early hours of the morning, Etteridge would either pass out in the solar or flat on his face in his bedchamber. It would be nothing to slip into his chamber and slit his throat. The satisfaction wouldn’t be as keen. Finn wanted the earl to see his face. To have his sins exposed and know he would soon be bending a knee to Lucifer himself.

  Aye, he wanted the world to know the atrocities he’d committed, the life lost.

  “Finn, please dinnae do something ye’ll regret. Stop!”

  Finn hastened his step and adjusted his route to evade her. He knew where he was going. Aila would not. Once he confronted Etteridge, there would be no retreat. Nothing either of them could do to stop him, even if they joined forces. What a pair! Ian had much to say about Aila, encouraging him in her direction. For all Finn knew, Ian had brought her to Inveraray for this very purpose.

  To distract him and waylay his plans.

  The thought made his head spin. Was it possible? Fantasy? As fantastic as her claim that she came from a time far beyond his? Of all the gibberish she’d spouted, none was so bizarre. What angered him the most was that Aila must hold little respect for him and his intelligence to attempt to deceive him so. He’d thought she was coming to care for him, that her affection was real.

  Och, he didn’t have any idea what was real any longer.

  That wasn’t true. Finn knew he was a good father, even if he had been overly lax with his offspring of late. He loved and cared for them. He would give up his life to keep them safe. The path he’d chosen to walk was as much for them as it was for him.

  Who would provide them succor if he failed?

  If his honor cost him his life?

  Nearing the solar, he slowed. He’d admonished Aila for invoking his children in her argument. How was it that never once had he done so on his own? Abstractly, he’d considered his vengeance on their behalf. Retribution for the loss of their mother.

  Never had he considered the aftermath beyond his triumph. She was right. If his plans went awry, what would become of them?

  Finn stopped just outside the door with a partial view of the room beyond. As he suspected, the duke was within, along with almost a dozen more lords and several ladies as well. Etteridge stood by the fireplace. He was well into his cups already, if his overblown pomposity were any indication.

  “…not unlike our entrance into Glasgow, eh Argyll? He had the gall to touch the hem of my coat, as if a mere bishop were worthy of my favor!”

  Fingers itching, Finn stroked the hilt of his sword. The earl was such a…what was that term Aila had wielded so humorously? Twat waffle? Aye, it suited the ponce.

  “So I condescended to speak to the buffoon in his own language. Away ye and chew my banger, I said.”

  Etteridge deserved a dagger to the heart for mocking his own countrymen. Finn would be doing everyone in that room a favor if he went in there and accused the earl of his heinous crimes.

  Bugger it, Aila was right. In this, at least. He couldn’t simply walk in there, accuse Etteridge, and slide his sword into the bastard’s black heart without repercussions.

  Not that he intended to. He wasn’t such a fool, contrary to Aila’s opinion. When it came to the act itself, he was smart enough to do it covertly without leaving a clue behind for authorities to follow. No one would ever know it was him.

  The problem was that merely relieving the earl of his life would not fully satisfy Finn’s vengeance. Since the moment he’d discovered what had happened, the need to expose Etteridge’s perfidy in public had been as compelling, if not more, than the need to end the earl’s life. Finn’s dark fantasy was to assure the earl knew the humiliation of his peer’s censure and social ostracization before he exacted retribution for a crime which no court in the land would be willing to convict a peer of the realm.

  To do so now would automatically render Finn the primary suspect in the subsequent murder no matter how carefully planned. There was no way to assure he would come away unscathed.

  God, he hated it when logic overrode impulse. Finn supposed he would have to thank Aila for making him see reason. Effie and Niall’s welfare ranked far above his need for vengeance.

  And though he hadn’t dared to admit it before, so did Aila. He wanted her more than revenge.

  And he could have her. He could have it all. There was no way he could risk his children becoming orphans. They had suffered enough.

  It was Etteridge who should suffer.

  To ensure that alone even if it guaranteed nothing more, Finn would have to pick and choose. Either the public spectacle or the private skewering. There was no way to have both.

  “The man was a buffoon,” Etteridge jeered.

  Finn’s teeth grated. Then it came to him. Aye, there was a way for him to have both. He should have seen it before. Och, why would he have ever considered an honorable solution when it came to the earl? The ponce didn’t deserve such civility. However, if it allowed Finn to put a pretty, pro
per bow on the entire affair under the guise off a challen—

  “You are the only buffoon in this room, my dear.” The sweet female voice caught Finn off guard.

  A cold, numbing fist encased his heart. Inching forward, he expanded his view of the room, revealing the frosty blonde. Clad in complementary shades of blue to Etteridge’s, she perched daintily on a chair not far from the earl.

  Nay.

  Dulled by the haze of disbelief, he didn’t see the peripheral attack before it hit him. Aila slammed into his side, driving him away from the door. Staggering under her weight, Finn hit his head on the protruding elbow of a suit of armor and saw black.

  Nay, he saw white.

  Chapter 30

  Inveraray, Scotland

  Present Day

  “What the bloody hell?” Finn rolled onto his back uncertain whether he referred to the manner in which he’d been tackled to the ground or the sight of that woman next to the fireplace.

  “I’m sorry.” Aila lay on top of him for a moment before she slid to the side and sat next to him. “I dinnae want to do it this way.”

  His head was spinning, a vague sense of nausea clenched in his gut. Lifting his hand to his head, Finn thought he must have hit his head against that steel armor harder than he thought. “Do what? Why did ye run into me?”

  “I had to stop ye from killing that man.”

  Finn blinked open his eyes and stared at her. “I wisnae going to kill him.”

  “Ye were ready to pull yer sword.”

  “I was going to challenge Etteridge to a duel.” His eyes drifted away from her, against the glare of the sunshine that turned her coppery hair into a fiery halo.

  Sunshine?

  Aye, it beamed upon them from amid the arching branches of a tall, downy birch. One of many, along with wych elm, alder, and aspens. His body clenched in shock, fingers flexed and found a thick carpet of grass beneath him. The weather, cold and drizzling for most of the day, was mild and pleasant.

  “A duel?” she went on as if the warm breeze that lifted the hair at her temples didn’t faze her. “Ye said vengeance. Ye spoke of revenge.”