Lethal in a Kilt (Hot Scots Book 7)

by Anna Durand

  "Yeah, wicked awesome." I glanced at the cabers stacked on the other side of the green. The large cabers. Tree trunks, really. "Lachlan, are you sure it's safe for a child to compete? I've heard about how zealous you guys are when it comes to winning."

  "Donnae worry," Lachlan said. " We have wee cabers for the wee laddie."

  "Hey!" Chase said. "I'm not a baby. I'm fifteen."

  Rory chuckled. "You sound like Malina. She's always reminding everyone that she's not a baby, she's fourteen."

  "Yeah, I thought I was the only one who gets treated like a baby by my mom, but Malina has all these grown-ups who keep talking like she's a kid."

  I ruffled his hair. "Because you are kids."

  "Mom, stop that. You're soooo embarrassing."

  Chase trotted off to find Malina, whom he called "the only person around here who's not way old and totally weird." I was glad he'd made a friend, but I still had qualms about the caber tossing thing, even with "wee cabers."

  Logan and Alex ducked into the garden to don their kilts. When they returned, everyone stared at Alex and his pink, sparkly kilt. To his credit, he stood tall and proud, eying everyone like he was daring them to ridicule him.

  Was it strange that I felt proud of him?

  The MacTaggarts started the games with the hammer throw. I'd known this family was competitive, but I'd never witnessed their Highland games before. The Three Macs announced the combatants—yes, they actually used that word—would be split into pairs who would face off against each other. The winners of each round would be split into new pairs, and so on until only two remained. The ultimate champion would be determined in the final round.

  Rory and Lachlan argued over whose hammer traveled the farthest, demanding that Iain re-measure the distance three times. Their throws had come within a few inches of each other, but finally, Iain declared Rory the winner. Logan and Alex were paired in the first round. I had a feeling Logan held back, since he knew Alex had never done this before. Logan lost, and Alex advanced to the next round.

  When Logan came over to me, I asked him, "Did you let Alex win?"

  "That's an insulting question. A MacTaggart never throws a match."

  "I heard a rumor Rory threw a match to let Gavin win once upon a time."

  "That was never proved."

  By the time they got down to the final two, it was Rory against Alex. I couldn't decide whether every other MacTaggart had let Alex win, or if he had skills nobody realized until today. Either way, the final round pitted him against the toughest of the Three Macs, the man known as the Steely Solicitor.

  Rory grasped the four-foot-long wooden pole, which had a metal ball attached to the other end, and swung it around and around. When he released it, the hammer soared through the air. It whumped down a long ways from the starting line.

  Alex acted disinterested. What a load of bullshit. Inside, he must've wanted to win so badly he could taste it.

  The MacTaggarts cheered.

  Despite my love for the MacTaggarts, I found myself rooting for Alex.

  He spun around with the hammer's handle in his grip and sent it sailing. It whumped down a good three feet past where Rory's throw had landed.

  Silence descended. It was the kind that made you look to the sky to see if demons were about to touch down and start Armageddon.

  I clapped and cheered.

  Dozens of Scots stared at me, along with some Americans.

  Logan gave me an appreciative, if amused, look. Then he started clapping. "Good show, Alex!"

  One by one, so gradually it was like cold molasses dripping down a windowpane, the MacTaggarts began to clap. The American Wives Club cheered, led by Emery and her piercing whistle.

  Catriona moved to the front of the crowd, no more than a dozen feet from Alex.

  He went stone still, his gaze glued to her.

  She glanced at his pink kilt, her lips ticking up at the corners. "Congratulations, Alex. But don't expect the winning streak to continue."

  With that, she whirled around and disappeared into the crowd.

  The stone put began. Brawny, sweaty men heaved enormous rocks in a manner reminiscent of the shot put. Alex didn't make it to the final round this time, but Logan did. I clasped my hands under my chin, bouncing on my toes while I watched him face off with Iain. Logan's cousin was a good twenty years older, but he had the MacTaggart muscles and the MacTaggart virility. Not a wrinkle on his face. What was in the water here? I needed some of that.

  Iain went first, hurling his stone across the green.

  Logan stepped up to the mark and hefted his boulder, testing its weight. When he glanced at me, I gave him a thumbs-up signal. He smirked and flung the stone.

  The rock sailed through the air. Going, going, going. Down, down, down, and—whump. The stone struck at least five feet past Iain's throw.

  I jumped up and down and whooped. "Go, Logan!"

  Damn. I'd turned into one of the American Wives.

  What the hell. I adored Logan, and my man had just beaten the reigning champion of the stone put at the MacTaggart Highland games.

  Logan sauntered up to me, pulled me into his arms, and kissed me like a man who meant it. Really meant it. The American Wives Club cheered while their husbands made catcalls.

  The caber toss came next.

  I watched with my eyes half shut, my face scrunched up, while Chase tossed a caber with instruction from Lachlan. Visions of my son getting impaled by a caber tormented me, and even though I knew a tree trunk couldn't do that, I squeezed my eyes shut and prayed. Only when I heard the cheers and knew he'd thrown the caber without getting hurt did I start breathing again.

  "Relax," Logan said, his arm around me. "It's over. You can look."

  A breath rushed out of me as I opened my eyes. I spotted Chase, grinning and pumping his fists in the air, and I cheered. My kid had tossed a caber. It was oddly invigorating to see him participate in a manly sport with the manly MacTaggarts. Chase fit right in here.

  Maybe caber tossing wasn't such a dangerous sport after all.

  In the first adult match, Alex was paired with Rory.

  The Steely Solicitor tossed his caber first, and Iain measured the distance.

  "Sixteen point one meters!" he called out. "That's about fifty-three feet for you Americans."

  Alex, who had received tips and a lightning round of training from Logan, raised his caber by walking his hands up it until the thing stood tall in front of him. Keeping the caber upright, he walked his hands down the tree trunk until he could grasp its bottom. Then he hefted it up.

  His gaze darted to the crowd, where Catriona stood in front observing without expression.

  Alex looked away too late. His grip on the caber slipped, and the thing wobbled. He tried to firm up his hold on it, but its teetering put him off balance, sending him staggering sideways.

  Logan and Rory both ran toward him to help, but they didn't get there in time.

  He tripped and hit the ground on his back.

  The caber smacked down on his right shoulder. His face contorted with pain. A shout exploded out of him.

  A frigid chill ripped through me. What if he was crushed? How heavy was that caber?

  Catriona raced toward Alex. She got there before Rory and Logan and fell to her knees beside him. "Someone help! He's hurt!"

  Her panicked expression was unmistakable as she cradled his face in her hands.

  Rory and Logan carefully lifted the caber off Alex.

  He massaged his shoulder. "That bloody hurt."

  "Somebody call for an ambulance!" Cat shouted.

  "That's not necessary," Alex said, pushing up into a sitting position. His face contorted when he used his right arm, but the fact he could use it suggested he hadn't broken anything. He looked at Cat when he said, "I'm fine, don't worry. It is nice to see you don't want me dead after all."

  I hurried over to inspect his arm. "I used to be a nurse
, so I'm the only one here qualified to check you out."

  Alex nodded.

  "No bones were broken," I said after I'd examined him. "You didn't dislocate your shoulder either, but I'm sure you'll have some nasty bruises later. You were lucky."

  "I always am." He grabbed Catriona's hand, and in a voice rife with sarcasm, he asked, "Would you be my physical therapist?"

  She yanked her hand free. "You're still a bastard, and I still despise you."

  Cat jumped up and bolted for the garden door.

  The games went on after that, though Alex didn't compete anymore. He'd wanted to, the idiot, but nobody would let him. I threatened to have Logan hogtie him if he tried to get back out on the field. After the games, once everyone else had left and Jamie and Gavin had gone into the castle with Chase, Logan and I sat down on the concrete bench in the garden.

  He sandwiched my hand between both of his, the chill of my skin lessened by his warmth. "This was an unusual day."

  "No kidding."

  "Tonight, we'll be sleeping in a castle. I've never stayed at Dùndubhan before."

  His voice retreated into the background of my perception as he went on talking about the history of the castle. The day's events replayed in my mind, ending with Alex getting smacked down by a caber. If that caber had been a little bigger, if it had struck a little further to the left, he might've died. I didn't love Alex, but I'd grown fond of him. The thought of him dying stabbed a pain through my chest. But when I imagined anything like that happening to Logan...

  Cairo. The thug with a pipe. Logan. A gunshot.

  My chest constricted, like a giant boulder had settled onto it. I couldn't catch my breath, couldn't stop my mind from conjuring up a different scenario. I fired the gun too late. It missed the thug, and the pipe slammed into Logan's skull.

  Can't breathe, can't move, can't breathe.

  "What is it?" asked the Logan in the present, the one sitting beside me, alive and unharmed.

  His voice dragged me out of the memories. I gazed down at his hand wrapped around mine, his fingers threaded through mine, and that lump re-formed in my throat. Could I live with the constant fear that something might happen to him? It was too much. Too hard. Too...real.

  "I love you, Logan. But this isn't going to work."

  "What isn't going to work?"

  "Us. This relationship." I should've pulled my hand away from his, but I couldn't do it. Somewhere between whooping because he'd won the stone put and watching Alex almost get crushed by a caber, I'd realized something important. "I'm terrified you'll die, and I can't live like that, constantly worrying something will happen to you because you have a dangerous lifestyle."

  "How is sitting at a desk all day dangerous?"

  "That's not what you want to be doing." My hand had grown cold again, so cold that the chill seemed to seep into my blood. "You hate your job at Evanescent. The only reason you're staying with it is because of me. Being a spy is who you are. It's in your blood. Even Alex knows that. You come alive when you do that covert stuff, and I can't watch while you shrivel up inside from boredom and start to resent me for being the reason you're not doing what you were meant to do, what you want to do. That would almost be worse than if you died."

  "You have no idea what I want."

  "I'm holding you back from your true calling." My eyes burned, tears welling in them. I sniffled and wiped at my eyes, but I couldn't stem the flow. The tears rolled down my cheeks. "I won't sit by and wait to lose you, either because you get yourself killed or because of the resentment that will come. It has to. Better to end this now, before we hurt each other."

  "That's bollocks, Serena." He grasped my shoulders and forced me to turn toward him. "You aren't afraid of resentment. You're looking for a reason to walk away because you're afraid I'll go back to the SIS and die like your husband did, die in a faraway country and for reasons you can't understand. That's why you want to push me away. It has nothing to do with my job or my previous career."

  I leaped up and stumbled backward a step. "I'm scared shitless that something will happen to you, because you like dangerous situations. But you will come to hate me for holding you back from what you really want. It'll happen, I know it. That's why we can't be together."

  He sprang up off the bench, towering over me. "I want you. That's all. I want a life with the woman I love, and that's you. Donnae tell me what my true calling is, or what makes me feel alive. It's you, Serena, not dangerous situations. I come alive when I'm with you."

  Tears streamed down my cheeks, the salty tang of them leaching into my mouth. I wanted to throw myself into his arms and tell him to forget everything I'd said, but the frigid, gnawing fear wouldn't let me. "No, I'm sorry, no. I can't do this."

  He caught my face in his hands, stilling my movements. In the softest, gentlest voice, he said, "This has been a stressful day, and you're exhausted. Take the night to think it over. I'll stay at my parents' house. You stay here, and in the morning, we'll talk again."

  "There's nothing left to say. I'm sorry I led you on—"

  "You did no such thing." He kissed my forehead. "Take the night. Rest."

  He ran his thumb over my lips, smiled sadly, and left.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Logan

  Did I sleep that night? Of course not. I lay in the bed I'd slept in as a lad, in my parents' house, staring up at the ceiling where the moonlight spread across it. I should've been at Dùndubhan, making love to Serena in a medieval castle and begging her to marry me. Then she'd gone off her head and announced she was leaving me.

  Like hell she would.

  She couldn't honestly think I'd accept her excuses for breaking off our relationship. Everything that had happened lately, from realizing we didn't hate each other to going on an adventure to Cairo and the danger I'd brought into her life, it had been too much. She'd handled herself brilliantly that night, but once the adrenaline wore off, the reality of it all had sunk in. I should've realized, when she'd been afraid to watch Chase toss a caber, that she wasn't quite herself. Like a dolt, I'd ignored the signs.

  Until she threw me over.

  I must have fallen asleep eventually, because I woke to find three witches perched on my bed. My sisters had dressed already, in their typical Gothic fashion. Isla sat the closest to me, while Kirsty and Elspeth had settled onto the foot of the bed.

  "Wakey-wakey, Logie," Isla said. "It's time to go get your woman."

  Yawning, I levered myself up to sit with my back to the headboard. "What are you on about now, Isla?"

  "We know Serena broke up with you. There's no time to waste, so get out of bed and get dressed." She studied my open bag on the floor and the clothes lumped inside it. "Elspeth, pick out something nice for Logie and go iron it."

  Elspeth followed Isla's orders, grabbing clothes from my bag and hustling out of the room.

  "What is going on here?" I demanded. "How do you know Serena broke up with me?"

  I hadn't told anyone. Though I'd eaten dinner with my family, I hadn't spoken a word during the meal except to make the excuse that Serena wanted to spend more time with her son, alone. Isla had called me "Logie the Stone Man" and tried to wheedle me into telling her why I was "a wee bit more taciturn than usual." I'd scowled at her, and she had given me a tight-lipped but knowing smile.

  "Kirsty told us," Isla said. She leaned closer, adopting a serious but slightly sarcastic expression. "She has da-shealladh, ye know. The gift of second sight."

  "I know what the Gaelic word means, but it's nonsense."

  "Maybe it is, maybe it isn't." Isla tapped my forehead with one finger. "Donnae be such a grump. Your woman left you, but she hasn't left Dùndubhan yet. I talked to Jamie earlier. She says Serena is still in her room and wouldn't eat breakfast."

  She wouldn't eat? The daft woman. She'd starve because she was afraid to love me.

  "Away and boil your head," I told Isla, getting out of bed on th
e other side since she was in the way.

  Kirsty clucked her tongue. "So this is the rude, obnoxious Logie that Serena keeps mentioning. Away and boil your head? Is that the way to speak to your sisters?"

  "You lot are in my way. I need to get to Dùndubhan before she leaves."

  "Relax," Isla said. "We've taken care of that, with Jamie's help. The lock on the door to her room has gotten...slightly jammed. She won't get out of there until you rescue her."

  "What?" I stopped at the foot of the bed. "You locked her in her room? Aye, I'm sure that will put her in the right mood to change her mind about us."

  "Drastic times and all that." Isla rose and made a flourishing gesture with her hand. "It will all work out. Go and get her, Logan, or we might have to put a spell on both of you."

  I growled under my breath.

  Kirsty hopped off the bed and hurried over to whisper in my ear. "Remember, the answer will be yes."

  She and Isla left, giggling as they shut the door.

  Half an hour later, I was stomping down the hallway of the guest wing at Dùndubhan, wearing the clothes Elspeth had chosen for me. Chase had gone into the kitchen with Jamie and Gavin, where they all promised to stay until further notice. The kitchen was at the far end of the main hall, but I'd gone through the dining room door into the guest wing hallway, straight to Serena's room at the end.

  A key stuck out of the door's lock.

  I yanked the key out and knocked.

  "Who is it?" Serena called.

  "Me. Open the bloody door or I'll do it."

  "It's jammed. Can you call a locksmith? My phone won't work in here."

  "The castle ramparts block it. But the door isn't jammed anymore. You can open it and talk to me."

  Silence followed for several seconds. "No, Logan, go away. I said everything I have to say last night."

  "The conversation is not over."

  I twisted the knob and thrust the door inward. It bumped into the wall.