Ordeal by tea.
If only they had had Bridget around in the Dark Ages! I was willing to bet one tea with her and even the most hardened criminals would have sung like canaries. I know that by the end of that first tea at Iain’s house, I was ready to commit a little mayhem myself, and I had a pretty good idea of who would be my victim.
“What is it that brings you here, Bridget?” Iain asked as we sat down to tea.
“Darling!” She opened her eyes wide and gave him a smut-laden smile. “As if I need a reason to spend time with you.”
My jaw tightened at that horrible, perfect voice. Iain’s eyes met mine. We were all sitting around the table, enjoying the tea Joanna had prepared, or trying to enjoy it. It was a little difficult with Madame Tact insisting on being as obtrusive as possible.
Iain looked a little worried about Bridget, which didn’t make me feel any better. In fact, I was utterly miserable. What on earth was I doing there? It was obvious I should have inquired as to the status of his romantic life before I agreed to come home with him. It was equally obvious from the distress in Iain’s eyes that this was not just a case of Bridget trying to stake out a false claim. They had quite clearly known each other, and known each other very well.
Although each second I spent with Iain merged him deeper and deeper into my soul, I would be damned if I was going to be the third corner of a triangle.
If that was the case I’d just borrow the dustpan and gather up the fragments of my shattered heart and be on my way, thank you.
“As it is,” Bridget continued, arching her eyebrows, “I did want to remind you that you promised a decision on Kin Aird. Tannahill won’t wait forever for our offer, and you know we won’t find a better opportunity than this to turn a profit.”
Kin Aird? That was the delicious little piece of valley that Iain owned with a neighbor… Bridget? He owned a piece of land with Bridget? That explained some of her possessive manner, but not all.
Iain’s lips tightened imperceptibly. I wondered what it was she was trying to get him to agree to. Whatever it was, he didn’t seem any too keen on the idea.
Or maybe it was just Bridget. I know her presence brought a grimace to my lips.
“I haven’t forgotten,” he told her. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“Very well, but we won’t find a better chance than what Tannahill offers…”
“Later,” he growled, and shoved a plate of sandwiches at her. She smiled a catty little smile at me that made me wonder just what she was up to.
“Darling, I’m sure Kitten is much too uncomfortable being a stranger here to tell us about the conference, so you tell us instead.” I tipped the mug of instant coffee up to my mouth, but couldn’t get any fluid in because my teeth were too busy grinding away a few layers of enamel. Kitten , oh ha ha.
“Her name is Kathie, Bridget, and she’s quite capable of telling you anything you’d be wanting to know.” Iain frowned at her. “And I’ll thank you to stop acting like your knickers are on fire. You’re upsetting her.” Who, me? Upset? I looked up from the gloomy contemplation of the salmon sandwich before me and blinked at Iain while Joanna helpfully thumped her husband on his back. He had been taking a sip of tea when Iain spoke.
Bridget gave me a long look, then turned back to Iain with a purr. “But darling, I have no intention of upsetting your new lover. You of all people should know how much I value your... friendship.” I thought longingly of getting her in a soundproofed room with a rubber hose.
Just ten minutes, that’s all I asked for. I’d settle for five if I had to. Three would do in a pinch.
“Bridget,” Iain growled warningly.
Bridget pulled back and raised her hands in a gesture of defeat, then smiled a piranha smile at me. “I concede. He’s all yours, Kaye. I just hope you know what to do with him.”
Iain sighed noisily and rolled his eyes. Joanna giggled and continued to whump her husband on his back. David tried for a breath and ended up in another paroxysm of coughing.
“Could we possibly talk about something other than my physical relationship with Iain?” I asked in a strained voice.
Bridget looked interested. “Why? Are you embarrassed, dear? Are you ashamed of the fact that you and Iain are lovers?” She gasped a horrified little gasp. “Is it because you are… unfulfilled ?”
“Gark.” Now it was my turn to choke.
“Bridget, stop it. Now.” Iain’s frown was turning quite black.
She looked him over much as you would a bull you were putting to stud. “But darling, if you’re not doing it properly, if she hasn’t yet had an—”
“Bridget!” Iain roared, flicking a nervous glance at me. I couldn’t meet his eye.
I couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. I just sat there, in the house of a man I had known for six whole days, three intimately, and listened to his former lover discuss my sex life and what might possibly be lacking in it.
I have never in my life tried to faint, but I did so now. Frantically. Desperately.
Anything would be better than the hell I was in.
“Well, really! I don’t know what you’re all so upset about.” Bridget took a small sip of her tea and gazed around with her sultry gray eyes wide in disbelief.
“If what Karen says is true, there must be something wrong with her. I know Iain, darlings, and I can assure you all it would be physically impossible for him not to bring any woman to—”
“Will you bluidy stop?” Iain bellowed, his hair standing on end.
I tried again. I screwed up my eyes and held my breath and willed myself to faint. Or die. At that point, I didn’t care which. Either was a viable alternative to being at tea with Bridget.
Bridget looked at Iain with an innocent air. “But darling, if she can’t…” Her voice trailed off under the effect of his furious scowl. She gave a delicate little shrug. “Fine. We’ll let it go, then.”
Everyone heaved a not-so-secret sigh of relief. Iain watched me closely, muttering to himself under his breath.
I forced myself to unclench my fingers, then picked up my mug of undrinkably nasty coffee and drank it. I was a strong woman. I would survive this if it killed me. There wasn’t anything worse she could say to me than what she’d already said.
Bridget leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially down the length of the table, “If you need pointers on what drives him wild in bed, dear, do let me know. I’ll be happy to tell you about those things that make him roar like a lion.”
Chapter Five
“Eh… love, I’m sorry.”
How sweet. Iain, sensing I was one big ole bundle of nerves, was apologizing for Bridget’s horrible comments even though it really wasn’t his fault. He had, after all, done everything he could to shut Bridget up, finally being driven to hustling her out of the house by her untoward offer of advice on how to sexually satisfy him. He had even known how uncomfortable I was after that scene, and thanked David, kissed Joanna, and sent them on their way as well.
What a dear, sweet, thoughtful man. He understood how strange and alone and desperately homesick I felt, and he was doing his best to put me at ease. Now we would have that discussion in which all my fears and worries would come tumbling out and finally be set to rest. Now he would tell me exactly what he thought and felt about us. Now he would finally open up to me. Tears of gratitude pricked the corners of my eyes as I gazed at him. No wonder I loved him. He was nigh on perfect. My knight in shining plaid.
“I’ve got to leave you for a wee bit. Just a wee bit,” he held up his hands when I shot up off the couch. “I’ve got to see Mark about what’s been happening while I was gone, and tend to a few things in the barn.”
“Oh. Of course. You have chores to do. You are, after all, a sheep farmer. This is a sheep farm. These things come first. I know that.” I might have known it, but it didn’t make me feel any better. Of its own volition, my lower lip started to pout. I sucked it back in and gave him a watery smile.
�
��Not a problem. I’ll just sit here and…” I looked around the room. It had a couch, a horribly worn down old leather chair, an armchair that held a stack of books, a couple of wooden chairs, and two end tables loaded down with magazines and more books. The small octagon table next to a faded green-and-taupe couch held stacks of The Sheep Farmer and Farmer’s Weekly . In the bookcase on the near wall were books on animal husbandry and sheep reproduction. I reached out and plucked a book from the case.
“I’ll just sit here and read”—I looked at the title—“You and Your Ewe. Sounds fascinating. Been meaning to read this for ever so long. I heard it was on the New York Times extended list.”
Iain grinned and nodded over my head at something. “You might find that bookcase of more interest to you, love.” Then he pulled me to him and engaged in a few minutes of snogging before leaving.
Snogging, for those of you who aren’t hip to British lingo, is a delightful word that carries the distinction of being just as much fun to say as it is to do.
Snogging means kissing—while checking the other person’s teeth. When Iain pulled me to his broad and manly chest for a kiss, I knew it was going to be more than just a little peck on the cheek, I knew it was going to be a kiss that fair stole my wits away. When Iain kissed, his whole body kissed with him, everything from the seductive press of his thighs against mine, to a lovely grind against his hips and the two hands that had a tendency to roam. I didn’t complain, I just kissed him back, trying to emulate his actions but usually failing dismally because I couldn’t hold on to a thought for more than a second at a time.
“All right,” I said once I had pushed back on his chest and gasped for air. I retrieved my tongue and put it back in its accustomed holding area. “That kiss will buy you an hour, but I expect another if you’re gone longer than that.” The look he gave me made my uterus stutter. I watched him leave, then collapsed into a small dining room chair next to the big bookcase and fanned myself for a bit before looking over to see what the bookcase held. Floor to ceiling it was filled with books—mysteries, fiction, nonfiction, and biographies—a bibliophile’s delight.
I put down the sheep book I had absentmindedly been holding and perused the good bookcase, running my fingers over the titles of books I’d read, occasionally pulling down books by authors I hadn’t heard of. Up on the top shelf I noticed a familiar tide. I smiled.
“I haven’t seen this in years,” I muttered to myself as I pulled it down.
“Imagine that. Iain has a copy of The Joy of Sex . My, my, my.” I opened the book. Elegant handwriting in the front caught my eye.
To the best lover in all of Scotland. Not that you need this, but do let’s try page 57.
Love, Bridget.
Damn!
I tossed the book away from me like it was made of spiders, and poked around for another. Eventually I curled up with an old volume of G. K. Chesterton stories, over which I fell asleep. Iain woke me up two hours later when he came in, full of apologies for the time he had been out doing chores, which I accepted after he spent a good long time in front of the fire on a lovely soft wool blanket making up for his absence. His manner of apology—involving the application of bare flesh upon bare flesh—did much to relieve my worries regarding his present state of mind, but there were other concerns that had me troubled, concerns that I knew we’d have to face pretty darn soon.
That thought was first on my mind when I woke up the following morning.
Waking up in a new place is always momentarily confusing, but that morning I knew exactly where I was the instant my eyes opened. I lay still and listened to the heart beneath my ear beating strong and true. It was a reassuring sound, relaxing, and comforting. The sound of life, Iain’s life. The sound of his life whooshing through his veins, giving him warmth and strength and everything wonderful that made him Iain. I opened one eye. There was a light burning in the hall, spilling through the not-quite-closed door. Because of the dim light, I could make out the shapes of the furniture in Iain’s bedroom. A big, dark wardrobe, a heavy wooden chair, and behind me, beneath a window, I knew there was a small desk. A small, very sturdy desk. We had tested it earlier and it had proven to be quite an accommodating piece of furniture.
“Iain?”
His heart continued to beat steadily beneath me. I had to give Bridget credit, she was absolutely right. Iain’s bed was comfortable, but not nearly as comfortable as the man himself. I shifted a little, not wanting to get that whole skin-bonding thing started again. “Iain, I know you’re awake.” His breath ruffled my hair. I smiled, turned my head to the other side, and snaked my tongue out to where his nipple was hiding in a swirl of hair. His breath hissed above me.
“Iain, I know you’re awake because hands don’t do what yours are now doing when their owners are asleep.”
My personal mattress rumbled beneath me. Iain was chuckling. I let myself melt into a puddle against him.
“Iain, I know that you’re awake, and I know that you know what I want to talk to you about.”
Long, sensitive fingers began to stroke my back, making little circles around my shoulder blades, long sweeps down the curve of my spine, more little circles on my behind.
“I also know you don’t want to talk about it. But I need to, Iain.” My personal mattress heaved a deep sigh that parted my hair.
“All right then, love, we’ll talk about it.”
I squirmed. “Well, I’m not going to be able to if you’re going to do that !” His fingers paused for a minute while he considered, weighing the advantages and disadvantages of continuing. Then he sighed again and removed his fingers to a safe zone. I smiled into his chest. He was such a gentleman. He refused to take the easy way out even when it was handed to him on a silver platter.
Not that my way was easy, oh no! There I was lying on top of the man with whom I fully intended on spending the rest of my days, the sun not even streaking the sky on our first morning together in his home, and I was about to grill him about his relationship with the Tart of the Spey Valley.
“I have to ask, Iain, you understand that don’t you?” He ran a finger down my spine, feeling each vertebra before he answered. “I suppose I do, love. Bridget was at her worst last night. I could see you were a wee bit upset.”
A wee bit upset didn’t begin to describe the depth of my feelings, but I let it pass. “She made it quite clear you and she have been an item.” I waited for confirmation of this. I had no need to hear it, really, since Bridget had all but trotted out dates and times, but I wanted to make sure this was thoroughly hashed out between us. I couldn’t stay here with him unless I was easy in my mind about it.
Iain didn’t say anything, just sent his fingers down to count my ribs. I tipped my head back and bit him on the chin. His eyes opened, looked down at me for a minute, saw that I was not going to let it go, and closed again. He sighed.
For the third time.
“Aye, love, we were.”
“For a long time?”
“A bit. On and off.”
A bit. That could mean six months or it could mean ten years. I decided that particular piece of information wasn’t relevant to the situation, and moved on.
“And I take it the relationship is now over?”
My personal mattress stilled for a moment, and then heaved upward. I was sent sprawling, and suddenly found myself on my back with Iain looming overhead. An angry Iain looming overhead.
“Do you think I would be here with you now if it weren’t?” he demanded.
Oh dear, I had insulted him.
“Well, do you? Because if that’s what you think of me—” I put a hand on his cheek and interrupted him. “No, Iain, I don’t think that of you. I know you would never have a fling if you were committed to someone. I apologize.”
His frown deepened. “Is that what you’re thinking this is? A fling?” I looked up at him, speechless. We were smack dab at an issue that I knew needed to be discussed, but I wasn’t ready to be there yet. At le
ast, not until a few more questions were answered. But it seemed I didn’t have a choice.
“Is this just a fling to you, love?” He wasn’t asking, he was demanding.
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what he wanted me to say. If I said yes, it was just a fling, I’d be lying. I couldn’t lie to him, not to those lovely warm brown eyes with the little gold flecks. On the other hand, I couldn’t tell him no, that he was everything to me, that I’d be permanently shattered if we ever parted. I couldn’t put that sort of pressure on him, not yet. Not before we had time to explore just what it was between us. Not before we had time to understand the entity made up of Iain and Kathie.
“No,” I whispered, my eyes puddling up at the injustice of the world. Why did it always seem like things went wrong at the very worst moment? Why was life never the way it should be?
He stared at me, his gaze somber and hurt. He started to pull back.
“No!” I yelled, and clutching him, started to sob in earnest. It seems like I was forever weeping on the man. “No, Iain, oh, no.”
“No, what, love?” he whispered to the top of my head. “Are you saying you don’t want to be here with me?”
“No,” I answered, still sobbing, unable to explain but knowing I had to say something or I’d lose him. “No, it’s not just a fling to me. And oh, yes, I’d like us to have a chance. I want to be here. I want to stay with you. I don’t know what’s going to happen to us, where it’ll end, but I want to be with you, Iain.” He held me for a long time after that. He held me until I stopped sobbing. He held me until the sky started turning pink above the hilltops. He held me until I stopped being selfish and thinking only of myself, and started thinking about him. He held me until I started holding him in return.
It took a bit of time, but once I stopped thinking about myself, I realized how rude I had been, and apologized for my selfishness. “Iain, I’m terribly sorry for casting aspersions against your good character by insinuating that you would be playing slap and tickle with me while having a relationship with Bridget. I know you wouldn’t do that, and as for the other… well, fling isn’t exactly what I meant.”
Men in Kilts Page 7