“Yes,” Ian confirmed. “I did my thesis on the sociological, economic, and political ramifications of the death of King David I after his twelfth century reign.”
“King David was a good mon, but I am partial te Robert II,” Isobeille replied, taking a sip of her wine. It was quite delicious, she thought, and liked how it warmed her up on the inside and slightly dulled the surprisingly sharp ache that seemed to have taken up residence near the base of her rib cage and made it difficult to breathe. “King David was a wee bit before my time, I am afraid.”
Ian’s eyes opened wide and Mrs. Anderson clapped her hands together. “I just knew you two would hit it off!”
“Beauty and brains,” Ian said with a smile. “I’m impressed. Please, Isobeille, tell me more.”
Isobeille smiled shyly and sipped her wine, but inside, her heart was breaking.
* * *
Nick fastened his cuff links and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like a man on his way to the gallows. Felt like one, too. Perhaps he was being overly dramatic. An evening of wining, dining, and dancing at a five-star hotel wasn’t quite the same, but at that moment, it was close enough.
What was Isobeille doing now, he wondered? Was she still making cookies? Or had she and Mrs. Anderson finished, and were simply relaxing and chatting and enjoying one another’s company?
What he wouldn’t give to be doing just that right now. He missed her. It seemed kind of silly, really. He had seen her only that morning. They had had breakfast together, and she had proudly handed him his lunch and kissed him on the cheek, wishing him a good and safe day.
The thought made him smile. He wondered if she had any idea how much better his days were recently, because of things like that.
There was a quick knock on his bedroom door. “Nick, come on. We’ve got to go,” Gloria said impatiently.
He exhaled heavily. Enough stalling. He could do this. Just a couple of hours. Then he could come back here and forget it ever happened. As he shut off the lights and picked up his wallet, the irony of the situation finally hit him. For months he had done everything right, had gone out of his way to treat Gloria like the special woman he’d thought she was, and Gloria hadn’t appreciated any of it. Now that he wasn’t returning her calls or welcoming her advances, she was interested.
All that time he’d been trying to figure out a way to win Gloria’s heart, and it turned out all he’d had to do was treat her like shit.
Well, hell.
* * *
“I’ve never been on a horse-drawn carriage ride before,” Ian admitted. “It’s something I’ve wanted to do each time I visit, but this is my first time.”
“’Tis lovely,” Isobeille agreed beside him. “Why did ye not do it before?”
“I never had anyone willing to go with me,” he said with a slightly crooked grin that was really quite charming. “Mother’s terrified of horses,” he confided with a wink. “Thank you, by the way, for indulging her suggestion that you join me. My mother is a lot of things, but no one has ever accused her of being subtle.”
Isobeille laughed softly. Yes, she had been aware of what Mrs. Anderson had been doing, but she didn’t mind. It was a nice diversion, and Ian was pleasant company. Isobeille was not quite ready to return to Nick’s apartment just yet. All had appeared to be quiet when they’d returned from dinner, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there, and Isobeille had no desire to walk in on anything. Overhearing just the little bit she had in the hallway had been more than enough; she did not think her heart would withstand actually seeing them together.
The carriage made its way around the outer edge of the park, where many of the trees were adorned with festive lights. A light snow had begun, creating prismatic halos around the streetlamps in the darkness. Isobeille tried to appreciate it; it was really a beautiful sight, making everything look clean and fresh and new, but it was hard to do so when it felt like there was a huge block of ice in her belly, painful and numbing at the same time.
“Are you warm enough?” Ian asked, tucking the small blanket around her legs.
“Oh, aye. Thank ye.”
“I had a wonderful evening,” Ian said. “You’re the first woman I have ever met capable of discussing my thesis with me. Most would have fallen asleep after I told them the title of it.”
Isobeille laughed softly, if a little sadly. “’Tis a topic near te my heart.”
“What region of Scotland did you say you were from?”
“Gwynnevael.”
Ian’s eyes widened slightly, but Isobeille was too busy watching the snowflakes to notice. “I’m not familiar with that one. Is that near Inverness? or Edinburgh?”
“’Tis a small village in the Highlands, not close te anything, really, but I suppose ‘tis nearer te Inverness. I remember visiting the loch there once; ‘twas not so far of a journey, a few days at most.” Her expression grew wistful. “Lots of rolling hills and craggy rocks. Forests I used te play in as a wee lass. More stars in the night sky than I could count in a hundred lifetimes.”
“It sounds beautiful. Do you miss it?”
“Sometimes,” she smiled sadly. “’Twas a far quieter life. Simpler. Here, there are so many people. So much noise and light and the smells, och! I find myself longing for the scent of pine and heather and cows. Sometimes I doona ken how ye can stand it, all this.”
Ian nodded thoughtfully. “I know exactly what you mean. That’s why I’ve got a little place up the coast. It’s not much really, but it’s remote, peaceful. It’s too far to commute to the University every day, but I try to get up there on the weekends at least. I love listening to the ocean, especially at night.”
“Ye paint quite a lovely picture. I have never seen the ocean.”
Ian wondered briefly how a woman could travel from Scotland to America via conventional means and not see the ocean, but thought it might be rude to ask. He was having such a nice time with Isobeille; he didn’t want to do anything to ruin it.
“Not to sound too forward or anything, but I’d be happy to take you there sometime. It’s rather cold this time of year, but at least you would get to see the ocean. If you’d like.”
“Aye,” Isobeille said in that gentle way of hers. “I think I would at that. Thank ye.”
“What about your friend?” Ian prodded. “Will he mind?”
Isobeille’s features softened for a moment, but she quickly veiled any expression that might have come after. “Nick? Nay, I doona think so. He has his own life, ye ken. He is too kind te say so, but sometimes I feel naught but a burden.”
Ian didn’t openly contradict her; after all, he knew next to nothing about his mother’s next door neighbor and even less about his relationship with Isobeille, but after spending just a few hours in her company, he couldn’t conceive of Isobeille being a burden to anyone. She was intelligent, kind, soft-spoken, and well-mannered. She had a quick wit and just a hint of subtle mischief about her that made her interesting and pleasant to be around.
Yet for all that, he sensed a terrible sadness in her, one that she went to great efforts to conceal. His mother had told him that she was all alone, that except for Nick and her, Isobeille knew no one. Ian understood that, being rather a solitary guy himself, but at least he had some friends and family he could turn to when he got to feeling a bit lonely.
“Do you still have family there? In Gwynnevael, I mean?”
Sorrow shadowed her delicate features once again. After six hundred years, it was unlikely that any of her bloodline remained. As far as she knew, she was all that remained of the McKenna clan. “When I left my home, my father was still alive,” she said carefully, “but he has since passed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Thank ye. We dinnae get on verra weel, but he was the only kinsmon I had.”
“I understand,” Ian said softly. “My mother is all I have left.”
Isobeille looked up then, right into his eyes. “Ye are a bonnie mon, and a successful one as weel,” she said
with all sincerity. “Surely ye will marry and have a family.”
Ian laughed. “Well, thank you, but I wasn’t kidding when I said you were the first woman able to sit through a full meal with me without looking catatonic by the end. I’m not very good company, I’m afraid.”
“Ye are fine company,” Isobeille said firmly, patting his hand reassuringly. “And quite charming, as weel. There are many a fine lass who would be tickled te be sharing this carriage with ye. If ye want to talk boring, ye should sit through three days of reckoning at Michaelmas.”
He laughed again. “Not all women are as easy to talk to as you are, Isobeille. You really are a rare delight.”
“I like the way ye speak my name,” she said quietly. “It reminds me of my home. Would ye mind saying it again?”
“Isobeille.”
“Thank ye for that.”
“My pleasure.”
Chapter 14
It was well after one a.m. when Gloria finally decided enough of the right people had left so that she could, too. She tracked Nick down, finding him at the bar on his cell phone. Again. Several times over the course of the evening, he’d retreated into an alcove and pulled out the small device.
“Who are you calling?” she asked point-blank.
Nick scowled and returned the phone to his pocket. “Just checking messages,” he said evasively. He’d called Mrs. Anderson’s to check on Isobeille shortly after they’d arrived at the party, leaving a message when no one answered. Then he’d called again later, and a coolly polite Mrs. Anderson told him not to worry, that Isobeille was just fine. When Nick asked to speak with her, his neighbor told him that she couldn’t come to the phone, but wouldn’t say why. Frustrated, he’d asked Mrs. Anderson to have Isobeille call him, but so far, she hadn’t. Now it was too late to call again, but he was sorely tempted.
If he could just talk to Isobeille, hear her voice and know that she was alright, he’d feel so much better. She was like a drug, he realized, and he’d missed his evening Isobeille-fix. He had been looking forward to spending a little bit of time with her before having to leave for this damn party, maybe sharing a quick supper, but Gloria had been lying in wait for him, shooting that plan all to hell.
And that was yet another reason why he was anxious to talk to Isobeille. What exactly had Gloria said to her? How had Isobeille reacted? Was she angry with him? Is that why she wasn’t returning his calls? And where the hell was she that she couldn’t talk to him earlier? Had Mrs. Anderson even given her the message or told her that he’d called?
“Nick? Did you hear me?” Nick glanced up to find Gloria beside him, looking annoyed.
“Sorry. What?”
Gloria rolled her eyes. “I’m ready to leave.”
“About time,” he mumbled. He’d had more than enough of this; all he wanted to do was go home and see Isobeille.
He walked toward the exit, Gloria trailing a step or two behind. A few weeks ago, Nick would have waited and walked to the door with Gloria at his side. Now Nick was too interested in getting the hell out of there to care.
Nick paused outside the doors and caught sight of a man about a block down, playing Carol of the Bells on a beat-up looking acoustic guitar. Pulling a twenty out of his pocket, Nick walked straight toward him and dropped it into the bucket he had sitting next to him.
“Bless you,” the man said with a nod.
“Come on, Nick,” Gloria said, pulling at his sleeve while shooting the musician a look of pure disdain. “It’s cold out here.”
“Yeah, it is. Imagine how he feels.” Thinking of the night he and Isobeille helped that man in the alley, Nick took off his scarf and gave it to the man as well.
Gloria sniffed. “His choice, not mine.”
Nick stiffened. “I don’t think he chose to get laid off, Gloria. And the only reason he chooses to be out here at one o’clock in the morning is probably so he can make a couple of bucks to feed his kids.”
“Yeah, right. Hit the bar, more like. God, Nick. When are you going to stop letting people walk all over you?”
An excellent question, that, Nick thought. He glanced over his shoulder at the guitar player, who was now looking at him with sympathy.
“Did that girl give you some bullshit sob story, too? Is that why you gave her a job? I hope you’ve got everything locked up when you go to work. She’s probably robbing you blind.”
Nick barked out a laugh. Isobeille, steal? The very idea was ludicrous. The woman was the most giving, caring soul he’d ever met.
“My place or yours?” Gloria asked, wrapping her hands around his neck as they waited for the doorman to call them a cab. As if she hadn’t just spent the last block reaming his ass for being a sucker.
“Neither,” said Nick, removing her hands. “I can’t.” He’d had more than he could take. All he wanted to do was go home, wash away the stench of Gloria’s cloying perfume, and spend the rest of the night trying to make it up to Isobeille. Guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders; he never should have agreed to this, commitment or not. He and Gloria, it just wasn’t working. It wasn’t right. Not like it was with Isobeille.
“Can’t or won’t?” Gloria snapped, then seemed to think better of it as a cab arrived and Nick held the door open for her. Once they were inside, her voice softened and she slid next to him on the seat.
“You’re not still mad, are you, Nicky? ‘Cause I can adjust your attitude...” To accentuate her point, she placed her hand on his inner thigh and slid it upwards to cup him. Gently, but firmly, he removed it.
“I’m not mad, Gloria. I’m just... done.”
“That’s okay. We don’t have to do anything more tonight.” She nipped at his ear and grinned wickedly. “If I remember correctly, you’re more of a morning person anyway.”
“No, Gloria.” Not again. Ever.
Gloria’s grin was instantly replaced with a scowl. She pulled back, but kept her hands possessively on his arm. “What’s with you, Nick? Last month you wanted to take me home to meet your mother. Now you don’t even want to spend the night. What gives?”
Nick exhaled heavily. He’d been asking himself the same question all day. He wished he had an answer that made sense, but the one explanation he kept coming back to scared the shit out of him. So he went with what he hoped sounded logical. “Look, Gloria. You made it very clear that you didn’t want to rush into anything. And you were right. Now I’m just asking for some of the same.”
Gloria narrowed her eyes. “This is about that little redhead I found in your kitchen today, isn’t it? She’s doing more than your cooking and cleaning, isn’t she? Are you sleeping with her, Nick?”
Nick’s features hardened. “No. And leave her out of it. She has nothing to do with this.”
It was a huge lie. Isobeille had everything to do with this. Because of Isobeille, he was finally seeing things clearly. Because of her, he finally knew what he wanted.
What was really important.
And it wasn’t Gloria, or getting into med school, or fancy parties with hors d’oevres and designer clothes. It was hot chocolate and taking long walks and caring enough for someone to put their needs and wants above your own.
“She’s the one from the video, isn’t she, Nick? The one you pushed out of the way of that bus! I knew that little bitch looked familiar! Jesus, Nick! What are you going to tell me next, that she’s living with you?”
Nick clenched his teeth together so tightly he was afraid a few molars might snap. “Shut up, Gloria. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“This is all about her, isn’t it?” she pressed.
“No, it isn’t. This is about you only having time for me when it’s convenient for you. This is about you getting everything you want without giving anything in return.”
“I don’t know how you can say that.”
“You don’t? Then let me enlighten you, because I’ve been giving this a lot of thought lately...”
* * *
Ian
remained quietly just inside the door while Isobeille gathered a few things. She’d had every intention of returning to Nick’s apartment, but changed her mind when she had seen the state of things: buttons all over the floor, flowers laying crushed and wilted among them; the lamp on the table just inside the door, knocked askew, a square condom packet in plain view next to it.
Mrs. Anderson, of course, was more than glad to have Isobeille spend the night, and Ian felt better about it, too.
“Ian?” Isobeille stopped him at the door before he left.
“Yes?”
“Thank ye.”
“For what?”
She gave him a sad smile. She knew that their after-dinner activities had had nothing whatsoever to do with Ian getting his first carriage ride and everything with providing a distraction, to keep her from thinking about Nick and what had transpired. “I want ye to have this. ‘Tis not much, I ken, but ‘tis all I have te give ye.”
“Isobeille, you don’t have to give me anything,” he protested, but he felt her press something cool and heavy into his hand. He opened his palm and looked at the coin, his eyes widening.
“Since ye are a professor and all, this might have some meaning for ye.”
It took a moment for Ian to find his voice. He knew what he held in his hand. “Isobeille, this is... priceless.”
Isobeille closed his fingers around it with her own. “I want ye to have it. Please.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Say ye will take me te see the ocean tomorrow, Ian.”
“It would be my great pleasure, Isobeille,” he said with a smile. Then he saw her safely into his mother’s apartment and wished her a good night.
* * *
By the time Nick got back to his place, he felt drained, but better. Lighter. He’d broken things off with Gloria; he hadn’t realized how much that had been weighing on him. It had been a hellish day, and he was more than ready for it to end. It was time to move on, and he was going to start with a hot shower and hopefully finish on the couch with Isobeille – assuming she wasn’t too angry with him, that was.
Maiden in Manhattan: A Time Travel Romance (A Timeless Love Book 1) Page 10