It Happened in Scotland

by Patience Griffin

  Rachel leaned into Brodie, tormenting him further. Automatically, his arm rose to pull her in closer, but he stopped himself in time. He stared straight ahead, enduring the close contact as if she had a contagious ailment that he could catch.

  “On the count of three,” Harry said. The kid stretched the photo session out longer than necessary by snapping several pictures.

  When he went to give the cell phone back, Hannah insisted they do a selfie with the whole family, Harry included. It made Harry happy, but Brodie just wanted this picture perfect moment to be over.

  Afterward, the kid and Hannah cleaned up the wrapping paper from the floor. Rachel and Vivienne went off to the kitchen and Brodie had time to think about what to do about their Christmas guest.

  “Harry?” Abraham said. “Grab the checkerboard and set it up. I think ye and I should play a game since the wee lass is busy with her dolls.” Yes, dolls. Rachel had bought her one. Vivienne, too. Abraham must’ve commissioned Deydie to bring one from the General Store. Hannah’s dolls took up so much room on the couch that none of them had a place to sit.

  Harry got the checkerboard and Brodie slipped from the room to check if the other two needed help in the kitchen. But before he reached the doorway, he stopped as he heard his name.

  “Did you sleep with Brodie last night? I noticed he wasn’t here this morning.” Vivienne spoke with disapproval dripping from each word.

  “No,” Rachel said.

  Brodie nodded; Rachel spoke the truth. They hadn’t slept together.

  “Where did he sleep last night?”

  “On the couch at the quilting dorm,” Rachel answered. Honest once again. “He was worried about the person taking things around town. Mostly food. As it turns out, it was Harry.”

  “Oh.” Vivienne seemed to have run out of accusations. But Brodie was too generous with his conclusions. “I mean it, Rachel. You need someone more like you. Brodie is too rough around the edges.”

  “I know, Mom. I promise you, there’s nothing going on.” Rachel’s voice was sad.

  Nothing’s going on? Irrationally, he wanted to burst into the room and set her straight. They’d made love last night and, dammit, it had meant something. She’d said, Love me, Brodie. But apparently Rachel hadn’t meant it and what they’d shared really had been nothing.

  Immediately, he reined himself in, because he was losing his effing mind! He was the one who’d told her nothing had changed!

  Rachel came around the corner suddenly. He put his hand out to stop her from spilling the tray.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I was just coming in to get Abraham’s medicine.”

  “He’s already had it,” Rachel said. She was searching his face like she’d done a thousand times since arriving in Gandiegow.

  Brodie walked away before she found something that hadn’t been there before . . . like his renewing affection for her.

  “I’m going to check on the boat,” he said as he passed by the parlor. “I’ll be back before the meal.”

  Outside the wind had kicked up and with it a rush of sensibility hit him. He couldn’t go to the boat. He’d left a stranger—a thief, no less—at home with the people Brodie cared most about in the world. That realization was even more uncomfortable, because it wasn’t just Abraham he held in his heart.

  Ah, hell. Brodie turned around and opened the door, going back in. He’d give them all today. He would screw a smile on his face and be pleasant. He’d do it for his grandda’s sake and make this the best damn Christmas the old man ever had.

  But tomorrow, Brodie was stepping back into his real life, one where he remembered the past—Rachel’s betrayal—and remembered his place. According to Vivienne, he was a fisherman who wasn’t nearly good enough for her daughter.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Grace Armstrong loved spending time with her grandchildren, especially being here with them on Christmas morning. Dand was learning how to use his new fishing rod, and baby Irene was playing with a discarded box. Maggie, Grace’s daughter-in-law, was in the kitchen with John, her grown son, the two of them having a cuddle, sipping their tea, and watching their children. Grace should be content, but she felt restless.

  She went to her room, sat on the bed, and pulled her mobile from her purse. She hadn’t wanted a smart phone, thinking it was an extravagance. But her three sons had gone together and given her the phone on the last Mothering Sunday. She was grateful, especially now. She texted a note to Casper.

  Meet me at the car?

  Casper had brought his own vehicle to Gandiegow when he’d moved here, though he’d made it available to the whole village by adding it to the list of cars that could be checked out at the General Store. The car had been one of their secret meeting places. It was cold, but they’d found a way to warm it up without turning on the key.

  She sat looking at the blank screen, waiting. It was Christmas and Casper was with his son, Gabriel, and his family—Emma and little Angus.

  Her phone dinged back.

  15 minutes

  Giddy, she went to her top drawer and retrieved the small gift she’d wrapped for Casper in golden tissue paper. John and Maggie wouldn’t think anything of her going for a walk. Grace had taken a lot of them since coming to Gandiegow. Besides meeting with Casper, she understood that even though she was home in her cottage, it wasn’t really hers anymore. Maggie was the woman of the house now. She and John had built a life here just as Grace and Alistair had done when they were young.

  Guilt flooded her, making her drop the gift back into the drawer. She looked at the door and then at the room she’d once shared with her husband. Ross had made this room his own when she’d moved to Glasgow to care for her sister—a new wall color, a new bed, flea market fishing paintings, and an old dinghy that he’d converted into a bookcase. The shelves were empty as she hadn’t filled them yet. This wasn’t home to her anymore and she truly felt like a fish out of water . . . floundering between guilt and what lay ahead.

  She should break it off with Casper, but not today. Not Christmas. She picked up his gift again, ignoring the guilt, and grabbed her phone. She slipped his present into the pocket of her lined pants and walked into the living room.

  “Going for a walk, Mum?” John said as he lifted his mug to his mouth.

  “Aye. I shan’t be long.” Grace grabbed her coat, hoping the heat which flooded her cheeks wasn’t obvious. She was sneaking off as if she were once again the young woman who’d snuck from her parents’ home to be with her first love, Alistair.

  But it wasn’t Alistair she was going to meet. This would be her last rendezvous with Casper. She meant it this time.

  Outside, she hurried across the small expanse of the village to the parking lot on the far side of town, next to the pub. She could see Casper getting in his car and she walked faster, glancing around to see if anyone might be peering out of their windows.

  At the car, she got in quickly.

  “Hallo,” she said, feeling shy. He always made her feel this way. Excited, breathless, the anticipation making her heart pound.

  “Hallo, lass.” He leaned over and she leaned in automatically.

  Grace never felt old with Casper. At fifty-eight, she still felt the same as she did when she was eighteen. But she and Casper weren’t young kids. At their age, a hug or a kiss on the cheek should’ve been the norm, but it wasn’t. Their kisses had enough heat behind them to set Gandiegow on fire and make her insides flutter as if a flock of gulls had launched into the sky. She and Casper always kissed as if they were in the prime of their life.

  When they pulled away, she took the box from her pocket. “I brought you a gift.”

  “And I, as well.” He held out a small flat box, too. “You first.”

  “I’m surprised. I know yere views on Christmas.”

  “I wanted ye to have something special.” />
  She beamed at him as she took the lid off to reveal a three-cornered Celtic brooch with different colored agate stones in each tip and one in the center. “Oh, Casper, it’s lovely.” She’d never seen one like it before. She knew enough about Casper that he probably selected this one not only for its uniqueness, but because it symbolized something more . . . the Trinity. She gazed up at him and was washed with emotion. “Oh, Casper,” she said again.

  He kissed her fingertips. “I’m glad ye like it. I would rather have done it by the fire at either yere house or my son’s, not in a car, as if we’re ashamed to be together.”

  “But we’ve discussed this.” Her sons would never understand that she was seeing another man and with their father gone only four years.

  Casper took her hand. “I’m not one to hide. God sees me no matter where I am.” He paused as if he was letting that sink in for her. “If I am to be God’s vessel, I have to be transparent. I want to court ye openly and hide no more.”

  She looked down at his hand, holding hers, fighting how right he felt. She shook her head. “I can’t.” Her sons were everything to her. She dropped Casper’s hand. “I have yere present, too.” There was no excitement in her voice as she pulled out his gift. This was the end. She handed it to him.

  He took it, but he seemed sad and disappointed in her. He undid the tissue, revealing the bagpipe tie clip that she’d found for him in Glasgow and had waited months to give to him. Casper told her he’d played the pipes as a young man in the Royal Edinburgh Military Tattoo.

  He smiled sadly at the clasp. “Thank ye.”

  But she’d ruined Christmas and what they had between them.

  “Won’t you reconsider?” he asked, hopeful. “Can’t ye find a way to be at peace with us?”

  “Happy Christmas, Casper.” Grace slipped from the car, and with her head held high, she trudged home.

  * * *

  Rachel heard the front door slam and Brodie reappeared not long after announcing he was going to the boat. She continued talking with Harry, careful not to make the young man defensive. “But where is your mother now?”

  Harry looked down at his hands and was quiet for a long moment. “She died in hospital.”

  So this sweet teenage boy was without any family.

  Abraham glanced up as Brodie stood in the doorway. “The boat? Is she all right?”

  “Brodie! Brodie!” Hannah ran to him, flying into his arms.

  Her daughter hugged him as Brodie lifted her up, the movement as natural, fluid, and flawless as if they’d performed this dance a million times.

  Hannah thrust a paper swan in his face. “Look what Harry made me.”

  He examined the gift then turned his scrutiny on the boy. “How old are ye, Harry?”

  The kid looked up at him, surprised. “Um, eighteen.”

  Rachel was pretty sure he was younger, but it was hard to gauge what age exactly—seventeen, sixteen?

  “Where do ye hail from, Harry?” Brodie asked.

  Harry’s mouth formed a hard line and he glared at Brodie as if he’d rather walk on needles than be interrogated.

  “Harry’s from the city,” Hannah piped in, patting Brodie’s chest as if to calm him down. “Grandda wanted to know if the boat is all right.”

  Good ole Hannah. Her daughter liked Harry and had decided to protect him.

  Brodie seemed to force cheerfulness to his face. “The boat’s fine, Grandda.”

  Hannah bounced the swan on Brodie’s shoulder. “Do ye like it?”

  “Harry did a fine job on the swan,” Brodie agreed. He walked farther into the room and set Hannah down next to Abraham. “Is it time to roast some chestnuts?”

  Hannah jumped up. “Aye. Can I do it?”

  She’d asked Brodie, but Abraham answered. “Ye can, but Brodie’ll have to supervise.”

  Rachel heard the kitchen door open.

  “Food’s here,” came a male voice.

  “It’s Dominic,” Brodie said, heading out the door. “Chestnuts will have to wait until after our meal.”

  Rachel followed him into the kitchen and watched as a box of delicious-smelling food was being transferred from one man to the other.

  “I’ll get the turkey.” Dominic headed for the back door.

  “I really appreciate it,” Brodie said, acting as if Rachel wasn’t in the room. “Ye know Grandda and I could never have made such a meal.”

  “Cooking lessons.” Dominic handed him a pan which contained a foil-wrapped turkey. “I told ye, I could teach you.” He glanced up to see Rachel. “Ye agree, don’t you? Men need to know how to cook.”

  “Absolutely. Especially if the man is a confirmed bachelor.”

  Brodie made a low guttural noise—probably something Gaelic and not a word her daughter, the mimic, should repeat.

  Dominic laughed, smiling at both of them. “I better get home to the family. Gabe, Emma, and Casper are coming over for our Christmas feast. Happy Christmas to ye all.” He waved good-bye and left.

  Brodie guffawed and grumbled, “Happy Christmas, my arse.” He turned around and frowned in Rachel’s direction as if they’d never shared anything more intimate than planet Earth.

  She wanted to yell at him to wake up. To really look at her. For him to forgive her for the stupid things she’d done. But he’d never take a second chance on them. That ship had sailed and gotten lost at sea.

  She looked behind her to make sure they were alone. When she saw they were, she leaned toward him and hissed, “Why won’t you talk to me?” Those were brave words from a woman whose heart was breaking off, piece by piece. She already knew the answer. He didn’t love her and he probably had a clue how much she loved him. Unfortunately, love could be the most powerful repellent in the world.

  “Nothing is the matter,” he said, accentuating the word.

  She moved closer and touched his arm.

  He flinched, but she was determined.

  “Did I do something wrong?” Besides ask you for the impossible when we were in the throes of passion. “You were less testy earlier this morning.”

  His jaw clenched.

  “What happened that I don’t know about? You’re being a big Scrooge to me now.”

  Brodie lifted an eyebrow. “I promise . . . there’s nothing going on. I’m a bit rough around the edges today.”

  Realization dawned. “You overheard my conversation with my mother.”

  He turned away and began unloading the box.

  She laid a hand on his back. “What did you expect me to tell her?” Rachel leaned in and whispered, “That we had incredible sex last night?”

  His back stiffened as if his whole body was listening, and not just his ears. He grumbled something unintelligible.

  “What was that?” She rubbed his back, hoping to soothe his hurt pride.

  He turned around and faced her. “’Twas incredible.” He gazed into her eyes for a couple of seconds, as if he was searching them, but then he opened his mouth. “It—”

  She cut him off, sure he was going to ruin the admission. “Don’t say it. You’ve been clear. Incredible or not, last night doesn’t change a thing.” Another piece of her heart chipped away, leaving her feeling raw.

  As if he couldn’t stand to see her so, he spun back to the food box. “Aye. Doesna change a thing.” His voice was gruff, but determined.

  She longed to crawl into his arms, flatten herself against him, and wish him a proper Merry Christmas with a kiss. But she’d gotten what she longed for—to make love to Brodie. For six years, he’d haunted her dreams while she slept. Now that she knew firsthand what she’d been missing, he would haunt her waking hours, too.

  “I have a present for you,” she said to his back.

  When she spun around, Hannah was standing there, her eyes beaming. “What did ye get Br
odie? I want to see.”

  Brodie jerked around, too, and gawked at her daughter, but recovered quickly. “Lass, if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to put bells on yere shoelaces.”

  Hannah hopped up and down, smiling. “Really? I could be like the horses on Mommy’s Christmas movie.”

  Brodie looked at Rachel, clearly puzzled.

  “Holiday Inn,” she answered.

  “Where’s Brodie’s present?” Hannah asked.

  Rachel was backed into a corner. “It’s in my purse.”

  Brodie tensed, asking Rachel with his eyes if this was a good idea. The way he acted, did he think she was going to present him with a box of condoms?

  Rachel shook her head in reply.

  “Come on, Hannah,” she said. “I’ll let you give it to him.”

  Brodie followed them into the parlor.

  Rachel pulled the wrapped present from her purse and announced to the room, “I forgot I had this tucked away.”

  “It’s a present for Brodie.” Hannah’s squeal of excitement made it seem as if the gift were for herself and not her cousin.

  Rachel held out the package to her daughter. “Here.”

  Hannah grabbed it and raced for Brodie. “Can I open it for ye?”

  “No,” Rachel said before he could answer.

  All eyes were on Brodie as he took the gift. He looked torn as to whether he should open it or go stomping from the house.

  She needed to prepare him. “Remember the partridge you told me about?” she said nonchalantly.

  His head snapped up. “What?” He acted as if he might look down at his chest, but stopped midway and brought his head back up. “Aye. The partridge, by the ruins of Monadail Castle.”

  Now it was Rachel’s turn to be waylaid. How could he announce to the room the place where they’d shared their first kiss? She’d never told anyone about the ruins, not even her mother when Rachel had tried to call off the wedding. Monadail Castle was theirs. Hers and Brodie’s. The man didn’t play fair. Not fair at all. “Yes, that partridge.”

  He ripped open the package.

  She went on with her explanation. “I was so intrigued that I wanted to make you your own partridge. So you would have it for always.” That last bit was a little payback, but it was also the truth. Of course, that was before she’d known he’d had one inked on his chest for all time.