by L. L. Muir
“Too bad you’re not marrying Erica Winston.” Rick’s voice was unmistakable. “Did you see that her father is running for Congress?”
“Yeah. I saw that.” Austin’s voice had a wistful edge that she couldn’t miss—not there, alone, with no one to keep a straight face for.
“If I hadn’t been sick that night, when you went to the Celtic game without me, we’d be waiting for Erica right now.”
Austin laughed. “Can you imagine? Erica Winston settling for a small wedding in some dusty old chapel in Scotland?”
Rick laughed too, but Austin probably didn’t know a fraction of how pleased his friend was to be recording him at that moment. Waiting for Erica right now, he’d said. So the conversation had just taken place? Had they been standing in the chapel? It was their wedding day, and he was still thinking about Erica?
How long had Rick been recording her fiancé, hoping for just the right sound bite? She could only imagine how pleased he was with himself at the moment. In fact, he was probably standing outside her door waiting for her to fall to pieces.
If she was smart, she’d turn it off.
She reached for the recorder, but paused when Austin spoke again. “Marrying her would have cost me a whole lot more than moving the wedding party to Scotland.”
“Yeah,” Rick said, “but it would have been worth it.”
“You think?”
Well, that was hardly a quick denial. But she could only hear his voice, not see the expression on his face. He’d probably rolled his eyes when he said it. After all, he knew Rick well enough not to argue with him when he didn’t have to.
The devil chimed back in. “Only if you want to be a Congressman someday. Or better. Can’t do that if you marry a waitress with drug-addicted parents.”
“Well, too late now, isn’t it?”
“No, man. It’s not too late.”
The recording cut off.
Too late now, isn’t it? It wasn’t just the words, but the regret in his voice that stung.
Chelsea realized she’d been holding her breath and sucked air deep into her lungs. She only wished it didn’t hurt so bad to do it. Her chest seemed determined to empty itself of all oxygen, blood—even her heart. Her ribs felt like clamps squeezing everything together, waiting for something to pop.
Suddenly, having Austin with her didn’t seem like such a comforting thought after all. But she needed…something.
Knuckles rapped softly against the door. “Miss Chase? They’re ready for you.” The vicar’s wife. So, true to form, Rick must have taken his place again, smiling like there was nothing wrong. Would he be whispering in Austin’s ear while they waited? Trying to convince him he shouldn’t go through with the ceremony?
She was so mad at the weasel she wanted to scream, but she couldn’t, not without Austin coming to see what the matter was. Then all the ugly truth between her and Rick would have to come out. Only, Rick would have his own twisted version. Either way, the day would be ruined. No matter how blissful the rest of their wedding day might be, the memory would be half-covered in mud.
Unfortunately, those emotions bottled up inside her still demanded a release and escaped as a river of tears down her cheeks. It only made her madder.
Oh, Austin!
She did need him. But the secret he seemed to be keeping from her—that he regretted the loss of his ambitions—created a chasm she couldn’t see across. A chasm created by her enemy.
She took tissues and stomped close to the mirror to dab away the tears. They had burned a trail through her makeup, but brides cried all the time, right? She forced a smile to see if she could pull off the happy-tear look, but it was a stretch.
One deep breath later, and she was looking for her bouquet and headed out the door. Rick Burrell was not going to win today. And soon, she would start eliminating him from her and Austin’s lives altogether.
The vicar’s wife was gone. There was a tall, skinny young man standing at the doors to the chapel, but he was leaning in, watching something. No one was there to notice her. And since she had declined having Austin’s dad walk her down the aisle—in favor of walking alone—there was no one waiting for her. No one to signal the wedding march.
She stepped quietly to the door so she didn’t startle the young man, then peeked in to see what he was looking at. She kept her body back so no one noticed her.
Austin stood at the front, grinning and hugging a woman in white wearing a wide brimmed hat. Then he turned and introduced her to the vicar. Rick grinned too and glanced at the doorway. His eyes locked on Chelsea’s for only a fraction of a second. He winked, then looked back at the woman in white. And Chelsea realized, without seeing her face, it had to be Erica Winston.
Austin was standing at the altar next to the woman he really wished he was marrying.
It didn’t matter than it had all been set up by Rick. It didn’t matter if Austin was just being polite and greeting his former girlfriend while he waited for the wedding march to start. The chick was probably in on it too, planning just the right time to barge up to him and demand a hug.
If Chelsea had stuck her fingers in her ears and not listened to Rick, she would be waving for someone to start the music and gliding, happy and oblivious, down the aisle. She would have said her vows, held her breath only for a second or two when the clergyman asked if anyone objected, then accepted the ring. She would have been minutes away from kissing the groom and going on her merry way, relieved when she knew for sure that the devil would never be able to get between them again.
So what was stopping her? Why didn’t she do just that?
It would gall Rick to see her play the game and win. And the competitor in her wanted just that, to win. But she also loved Austin too much to make him unhappy. Too much to ruin his career, if he still wanted to change the world, like he had when they’d met. And if she loved him too much to give him up? Was that selfish? Or just Rick’s brainwashing kicking in?
Her next decision would determine everything. Did she hurt him now? Or later on, after the regrets surfaced? By then, it wouldn’t matter if he divorced her. His political future would be tainted. The Worm was at least right about that. But maybe he was wrong about Austin really caring about that future.
The woman in white stepped back a few feet and sat next to Austin’s parents like she was one of the family. Austin frowned and looked at his watch, but then leaned toward Rick who was whispering to him—a few choice tidbits, no doubt, about how convenient it was that Erica was wearing white. And since the bride was running late, he could fix his future if he just moved fast enough?
The young man finally took his attention off the diva in white, now that only her wide, obnoxious hat was all that was visible. He noticed Chelsea standing there, gasped, and started to raise a hand—probably to signal the organist.
Chelsea shook her head and he lowered his hand. “Could you do me a favor,” she said quietly. “Could you go tell the groom I’d like a word with him? Discreetly?”
“A word?” He rolled the r with his thick brogue. She thought he might sprain his tongue. “Aye, miss.”
He walked quickly but calmly to the front of the chapel and bent toward Austin. Rick leaned close to eavesdrop, then he laughed and clapped Austin on the shoulder. But it wasn’t Austin that headed back with the young man, it was Rick!
No! She should have just allowed the guy to start the music and gone to him herself. There would be no getting close to him now. Rick had peed a circle around him, staked his territory, and was going to defend it to the death.
He paused and bent down to speak to someone and Chelsea took one last look at Austin.
Look at me, baby. Just one look. That’s all I need.
But Austin’s attention was on his parents, or rather, on the woman sitting beside them. She waved a long, gloved hand and beckoned him closer. He never so much as glanced Chelsea’s way.
Rick stood and started walking again, hiding a pleased grin inside that pleasant s
mile.
Chelsea grabbed handfuls of her skirt, lifted it…and ran.
CHAPTER THREE
Alexander woke to the feel of someone licking his forehead. For a moment, he marveled at the sensation of being touched, but he quickly brought his arms up to defend himself from an overly friendly dog. The first, besides Dauphin, that had truly seen him in centuries. There had been plenty a creature that could sense the ghosts on Culloden Moor, but none that dared stray near them. It had been an additional pang of loneliness, in truth, to have the animals shy away. And Dauphin’s attention had been for Rabby only.
“Ye’ll have to forgive Wallace,” said an old man hiking up the gravel incline.
It was a road with a trail of grass down the center and soft loam to either side. And it was the loam where Alexander had apparently slept the night away. He jumped to his feet and brushed at the dirt that was no longer clinging to his plaid—after being ever-present for nearly three centuries. Also missing were his weapons.
Soni expected an heroic deed from him without a blade to hand? So be it.
“That dog will lick anyone with a little sweat on ‘im. Likes the salt, ye see?” The man leaned on a tall walking stick while he looked Alexander over. “Ye’ve arrived early, then. I was not to be here until eleven o’clock.”
He nodded to hide his confusion and looked about. A large cottage with a fine, smooth roof was tucked into the trees at the top of the rise. A small black car sat at the bottom of the hill where the man had come from.
The man squinted at his boots. “No car? Someone dropped ye?”
Dropped? Lifted and dropped by the witch, he supposed. So he nodded. “Aye.”
“Weel, it’s a good thing I’ve brought some things to stock the cold box. It was all part of the arrangement, of course. But at least ye willna have need to hike into town anytime soon.”
Alexander followed the man to the building, wary for whatever heroic opportunities might arise. But there was none to molest them but the dog, and he tried to smother them with affection was all.
“Now. I’ll unlock the door for ye, but ye’ll find another set of keys on the hook in case ye go somewhere and wish the lock up behind ye. When ye depart, in two days’ time, ye flip the locks and pull the doors closed, leaving those keys on the hook where ye found them, aye?”
Alexander shrugged. “Aye.”
The man unlocked the door as he spoke and pushed it open. “Would ye care to look about, see that everything is in order while I hike back to the car for the foodstuffs?”
“Food?”
The fellow frowned. “Aye. For the cold box.”
“Would ye like me to fetch it for ye?” Any good deed would surely work in his favor.
The old man rolled his eyes. “No. What I’d like is for ye to take a look about and see if ye need anything else from me before I go. There’s no telephone, and paltry service at best, aye? So ye canna ring me up to complain later. And I would like Mr. Muir to be pleased.”
“Mr. Muir arranged for me to stay here, did he?” A relation to Soni Muir, no doubt.
The poor man’s face fell. “Will it not suit ye? I can see if there is somewhere fancier for ye, but he specifically asked for this property, mind. But if ye dinna care to be out in the woods, cut off from—”
“The cottage is fine, sir. And glad I am for it. If Mr. Muir said I am to stay here, then here I shall stay.”
The disgruntled fellow sighed mightily, then nodded his head and started down the hill. As he picked his way, he poked at the air and mumbled something about actors not knowing their own minds. Alexander looked down at his clothes and realized that in the current day and age, even in Scotland his kilt would be considered a costume. But he didn’t care for the notion of being mistaken for an actor.
He remembered his immediate duty was to check inside the large cottage and see if there was aught more he should need, though he had no idea what his heroic deed would require, therefore he could not predict those needs. In any case, he stepped inside as he’d been encouraged to do.
It was a much larger building than he’d first suspected. A great deal of it must have been hidden behind the trees and shrubbery. The ceiling was foolishly high and empty of anything but rafters. In winter, there would never be enough wood to keep the place warm. It was a wonder any trees at all could be found nearby. But then he remembered that heat was acquired another way as well. And a quick look at the hearth suggested that fires indoors were few and far between. The grate appeared clean and fairly new, as did the stones along that wall. Nary a speck of dust could be seen.
Two long couches sat at right angles to each other and were covered in fine soft leather that lent its smell to the place. Above one wall was hung the preserved head of a red stag. On the opposite wall, the head of a smallish boar.
“Take a good look at the bedroom and water closet, now, while I put these things away.” The old man carried a large box into the next room after nodding toward a door beyond the stag’s wall.
Alexander was more interested in the kitchen, but the fastest way to be rid of the man was to do as he was told, so he walked to the door and pushed it open. And when he did so, his mortal ears heard the faint gasp of a woman. His gaze flew to the bed, but it was piled with so many furs and blankets there was no telling what truly lay beneath. But he was sure—
“The toilet’s through here, ye see.” The proprietor pushed past him in spite of his movement to block the man, but the fellow was in such a hurry he never glanced at the bed. “Bespoke linens, of course,” came his voice from the water closet. Then he poked his head out. “Shower. Large bathing tub. Plenty of towels unless you have some to-doin’ in the Jacuzzi.” He gave Alexander a glower that suggested he expected nefarious deeds to take place as soon as he drove away.
“I expect no one,” Alexander assured him, but the old man just grunted and strode out of the room, again, still not glancing at the bed.
“Ye’ve plenty of back-bacon, eggs, tomatoes and mushrooms. There is milk and some orange juice, of course. And two roast chickens, as was ordered. I left the bottle of wine on the counter so ye can do as ye please with it. But since yer not expecting guests…” He wagged his head back and forth, again, like he didn’t believe the claim.
“Thank ye, kindly.”
The man took one more look around. “Well, then, I’ll leave ye to yer solitude, shall I?”
Alexander escorted him to the door, shook his hand, then watched through the sheer cloth over the window until the man drove away. He smiled and hoped wherever Soni was, after her long night on the moor, that she knew he was pleased to have been given a place to stay, and apparently, food for his belly. At least he wouldn’t need to spend his first mortal evening hunting in unfamiliar woods.
The sound of the automobile was all but gone when he jumped back and hurried to the kitchen to find the food and wine. He tried to discover how to open the ice box, or refrigerator—he knew the name of it from the television he’d watched over the past few decades—but he suddenly remembered that he was not, in fact, alone.
Food. Wine. A private shelter. And a woman in his bed.
He pulled his fingers away from the ice box as if it had burned him, then he backed out of the kitchen while dividing his attention between the bottle of wine and the bedchamber door to his left. A few more steps and he’d be out the door. Then he would run.
For surely, Mr. Muir was the devil himself sent to steal his soul before he could fulfil his quest.
CHAPTER FOUR
Chelsea had no option but to huddle under the blankets and wait to be busted. Deep voices in the next room woke her when she hadn’t even realized she’d nodded off. The place had looked deserted enough, and she didn’t see any harm in seeking a little refuge while she figured out what she’d do next. After all, it wasn’t like she was going to rob the place, and she’d picked the lock without making a mess of the back door. No harm, no foul.
But then she’d decided to take off
the wedding dress and lie down for a little while. Two miles was only a warm-up for her usually, but she usually wasn’t running it in a wedding dress and fancy shoes.
The dress she draped over a large frumpy chair and crawled under the covers looking for comfort more than warmth. Then she’d forced herself to think of a blank white wall. White. White. Nothing…
When the voices worked their way into her dreamless sleep, she’d first thought they belonged to Austin and Rick. But one was too high. The other too deep. And then suddenly, the door opened and she froze.
The higher pitched voice sounded like an old man. She couldn’t understand him easily thanks to the blankets over her head combined with his thick accent. But the other voice gave her chills, like some sexy vampire purring over her shoulder from behind. It didn’t matter what he said. A word or two. That was all. But she was dying to get a look at him if only to put her imagination to rest.
I expect no one. Brief and cryptic. Thank ye, kindly.
Finally, the old man left, but then she was horrified how excited she was that Deep Throat was still there. It was stupid of her, really, when she should have been putting every ounce of energy into praying the guy would leave too so she could get dressed and get the heck out of Dodge.
The minutes ticked by with no sound in the house, only the start of an engine and that sound fading. Finally, a few distant footsteps, then…nothing.
Had the guy gone outside?
The reality of the situation shocked her into action. She was alone with a strange man, in a house she’d broken into, and she was lying in his bed in little more than a slip!
I don’t think so.
As quietly as she could, she slipped off the edge of the mattress, stepped over to the chair, and picked up the edge of her skirt. She started climbing up through the dress, intending to have it fall into place without the need for help. After all, she’d chosen that dress because of the long ribbons she could use to zip herself into it. She had no idea that Austin’s sister would finally be nice enough to offer a hand at the last minute. It was just too bad she hadn’t stayed with Chelsea until it was time to walk down the aisle. If she had, Rick wouldn’t have been able to ruin her day…and her life.