by Darci Balogh
He leaned in and spoke to her, his voice as low and cold as hers had been. "I'll not be saving you a third time, lassie." Then he turned, snatched his shirt from where it lay on the ground nearby, and stalked away.
Dinner that night was a gloomy affair.
To Tawnyetta's surprise, Michael showed up to dine with the guests. Dressed formally, he looked stiff in a crisp white shirt and suit coat as he sat at the head of the long table in Stag Hall, dark and glowering. Tension was thick, but Tawnyetta refused to give him the slightest smile or nicety. She didn't care if he was offended. His behavior earlier had been horrible–after the part when he saved her life.
"Another narrow escape from tragedy, Miss Campbell?" Mrs. Prescott arched her left eyebrow as she asked. Bridget had just filled her and everyone else at the table in on their harrowing near drowning.
Tawnyetta didn't want to talk about it. She offered Mrs. Prescott a thin smile as she lifted a glass of red wine. "Narrow, but an escape nonetheless," she answered. She took a deep sip, flicking a look at Michael who was watching her evenly. Tawnyetta looked away and swallowed hard, placing her glass back down on the table with great care.
"I say, you have a knack for getting into trouble, don't you?" Mr. Prescott said with a liquid chuckle. The other two Prescott men murmured in agreement.
Tawnyetta hated being the subject of the conversation, especially this conversation. Michael's eyes were burning into her and she was having a difficult time keeping her thoughts together.
"It wasn't anyone's fault," Sofia chimed in. "Tawnyetta jumped in to save Angie when she slipped. It was very brave."
"Well, I think we should plan to do something together tomorrow," Bea said. She had been stuck with her husband's family all day and was itching to spend time with the colorful Americans. "Something far from water and other dangers?" She smiled hopefully at Tawnyetta, who gave her a quick nod.
It would probably be best to steer clear of Michael. The blow up today was an indication that she had misunderstood his feelings for her, which made her question the feelings she'd thought she had for him. It was all a big mess. Maybe if they were part of a big group of people she could successfully avoid him.
"What do you say, Laird MacBrody?" Mrs. Prescott inquired.
Michael jerked a little at her question, surprised to be addressed. He cleared his throat. "Of course, what did you have in mind?" He turned his attention to Bea.
Thrilled to be taken seriously, Bea described what she had been thinking. A picnic in the hills. The same hills Tawnyetta and Michael had been stranded in.
"You can show us the bothy, too," Bea said excitedly to Tawnyetta.
It wasn't the best idea, but it was the only one on the table. She shrugged nonchalantly, as if what happened between her and Michael in that bothy meant nothing to her and she was happy to share the experience with everyone. She lifted her eyes to Michael and found him observing her reaction to the suggestion. Their eyes held for a moment, during which Tawnyetta attempted to convey a completely neutral attitude.
"That would be interesting. I'd love to see a real bothy," Bridget added her two cents.
Michael switched his attention from Tawnyetta to Bridget, then Bea, and smiled. He lifted his wine and announced, "A picnic it is."
Though she managed to keep a pleased expression for the rest of their dinner, Tawnyetta was determined not to enjoy one single moment of the next day.
Chapter Twenty-Four
For the third day in a row, a record since their arrival, the Highlands were sunny and bright. Still, Tawnyetta threw her favorite black knobby sweater on before leaving. She had learned a little something about the quick weather changes in the hills and she wanted to be prepared. A part of her wanted the picnic to be rained out. She secretly wished they would have two full days of grey clouds and drizzle to match her mood at the tail end of this Not a Honeymoon.
Falling for the gardener then finding out he was the Laird, then having him turn out not to be the person she thought he was, but in a completely different way, filled Tawnyetta with a sense of irony. She thought about it a lot as she climbed the hills behind the castle with the rest of the guests for the picnic. Lagging behind the others, she chose to keep to herself rather than get involved in any of the multiple conversations going on within the group.
Bridget had latched onto Michael from the moment he appeared, linking her arm in his and claiming him as her escort up the hill. Michael, Tawnyetta noticed, had not objected at all. They were joined by all of the Prescotts, of course, minus Bea. Bea had taken up the front with Sofia and the servants who were leading the way with supplies. Thomas walked with Angie and Luna, second to last in the group. Tawnyetta brought up the rear.
She was glad to be alone with her thoughts and was only intermittently annoyed by the sound of Bridget's laughter. There was no reason for her to be jealous of Michael's attentions toward Bridget. She had already decided that he wasn't her cup of tea, so to speak. What did she care if Bridget wanted to flirt mercilessly with him? It was none of her business.
"You all right?" Thomas had slowed his pace until she reached him so they could walk together.
Tawnyetta smiled at him and looked around at the glorious morning. "Yes, I'm fine."
Thomas cocked his head and gave her a knowing look. "That means you're not fine. I know that much about women."
This made her laugh. Thomas knew everything about all of them.
They walked together for a while in silence, enjoying the morning sun and the quiet camaraderie of old friends. Up ahead Michael said something that the Prescotts and Bridget found hilarious. Their laughter, the loudest of which was Bridget's, caught her and Thomas' attention. They both looked at the overly merry group then at each other.
"Could it really have been that funny?" Thomas asked her wryly.
Tawnyetta chuckled, then sighed. "Oh probably. We have to cut her some slack, she's had a rough few weeks."
Thomas nodded, though perhaps a little resentfully. It was a few moments before he, too, sighed and admitted, "I guess you're right." He nudged her arm so hard that she had to step sideways to keep her balance. "You're a good friend," he grinned.
She gave him a half-shrug, downplaying his comment. "I try," she grinned back at him.
His brow pinched together and he squinted at her in the bright sun. "You sure you're all right? You've been through some tough things in the past few days, too."
"I'm okay, really." Her eyes returned to the back of Michael's head.
Thomas followed them. It didn't take him long to connect the dots. "Oh, I see. You've got a thing for the Laird," he emphasized the word 'Laird' and nudged her again, more gently this time.
She shook her head 'no'. "It's not that at all," she lied. "It's the opposite, in fact. I'm not impressed with how he got mad yesterday. I think he has anger issues. Not my kind of guy." She pressed both of her palms forward as if stopping imaginary traffic.
He gave her a questioning look. "He wasn't mad."
Tawnyetta scoffed. "He wasn't? Did you see how he yelled at me? Treated us like we were children?"
"Well, yeah," Thomas nodded, though not like he agreed. "But he wasn't mad, Tawny."
"If he wasn't mad than what was all of the yelling about?"
"He was scared."
Tawnyetta stopped walking.
Thomas stopped too and looked at her earnestly. "Do you know how scary it was to hear all of the shouting and run to help? Then when we got there and they told us you and Angie were drowning?" He shook his head as if he'd like to remove the memory from his mind. "I was scared." He glanced up toward Michael. "I'm sure he was, too. Fear just comes out of guys as anger sometimes." He gave her his 'that's how it is' face.
"But you didn't get angry," she argued weakly.
"That's because I'm highly evolved." He puffed out his chest in jest, then let it fall. "And I've been hanging out with you girls forever."
Thomas' revelation stuck with her as they rea
ched their destination, a beautiful flat spot on the hill halfway between the bridge she'd been stuck under during the storm and the bothy. The fact that Michael may have been afraid for her safety, and for Angie's, and acted out in anger after the crisis was over was a plausible suggestion. Tawnyetta hated to admit it, but she may have misread the entire situation. Not that Michael's behavior was excusable, but perhaps it was understandable given the circumstances.
At the picnic site Tawnyetta shared a red and green picnic blanket with Luna. The sky was bright blue with puffy white clouds and the view of the castle was stunning from this vantage point. As they munched on crackers with cold cuts and sliced cheese, Tawnyetta thought back to the moment Michael had stooped down and picked her up to carry her out from under the bridge. How he'd gotten her a blanket, started a fire, and made tea to keep her warm. All the while remaining a gentleman, even though they were both practically naked.
Glancing at Michael, who was seated on his own blanket with Bridget at his side, Tawnyetta was ashamed at how quickly she had come to judge him. How she'd forgotten his bravery and kindness so easily. He had saved her on this very hill, and saved her again when she and Angie were on the verge of drowning. Her heart twisted in her chest as she watched him laugh at something Bea said to him.
As if sensing her thoughts, he looked in her direction. Tawnyetta sucked in her breath when his eyes caught hers and held them. Laughter still danced on his face and his smile softened when she didn't look away. She did her best to smile back, though she felt foolish. She could only manage a crooked schoolgirl smile before having to look down at the small paper plate in her lap.
"What's going on with you two?" Luna asked, observing Tawnyetta's sudden shyness.
"Who?" Tawnyetta feigned ignorance.
Luna rolled her eyes. "You and Laird Michael McDreamy over there. Do you think I'm blind?"
Tawnyetta swept her gaze back to Michael. Bridget had her hand on his bicep as they talked. She noted how happy Bridget looked next to him. Not a care in the world. "Nothing's going on," she lied.
Luna grunted and took a sip of her Irn Bru. They had all become rather obsessed with the bright orange soda since having it at the Games. She observed as Tawnyetta fidgeted on the blanket and tried with all her might not to let her eyes wander toward Michael again.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Tawnyetta," she blurted out in mild frustration. "You're gonna hurt yourself not looking at him."
Tawnyetta sank into her feelings. One moment she was delighted with Michael's occasional glances and smiles in her direction, the next she was full of dismay over her misunderstanding his feelings, then she swung erratically between being jealous over his attentions to Bridget and then ashamed for wishing to deny Bridget happiness. She didn't eat much. She didn't converse much. She drifted around the peripheral of the happy picnic group and thought about what she should do, coming to no real conclusion.
Flustered by her own inability to make a decision and act on it, not a predicament she was used to being in, Tawnyetta was true to the silent promise she'd made to herself at the previous night's dinner. She did not enjoy the picnic at all. And she especially did not enjoy the tour of the bothy.
The others were so taken with the story of her rescue they couldn't leave it alone. Bridget, Bea, and Mrs. Prescott hounded Michael to give them a tour. Every time they brought it up Tawnyetta's stomach clenched. She didn't want to share her experience with Michael in that place with anyone. It was their moment. It was probably the only moment they would ever share again. Showing the others felt like a violation.
Michael glanced at her a few times during the decision making process as if asking her permission. She looked away each time. Bringing everyone else into the bothy meant the intimacy between them would be laid bare. The fact that he was considering it was upsetting. The fact that she felt so strongly about it was overwhelming. Yet, she didn't know how to stop her feelings or stop the tour from happening.
"It's so tiny," Bridget said as she sashayed into the space and eyed its run down state.
"It's old," Sofia added.
"Dilapidated," Mrs. Prescott chimed in. Her voice sounded particularly nasal and haughty.
The small room with its fat belly wood stove and the crooked bench that they had shared was still charming to Tawnyetta. She felt a lump harden in her chest and move into her throat as she kept silent and listened to the criticism. Every comment pricked at her heart and made her more and more melancholy.
Michael stood stiffly in the corner where he'd found the hidden whiskey. He had remained quiet since they entered the bothy, keeping his head bowed as he stared at the floor. When he finally did look up and catch her eye, his expression was full of apology. She quickly averted her eyes. She didn't want to look at him. Not here.
Tawnyetta noticed the blankets they had worn were still where they'd thrown them on the wire bed frame while dressing to leave the other day. Instinctively she stepped to the cot and folded her blanket. Then she picked up Michael's. Shaking out the soft cloth and folding it end over end she remembered the way it had slipped off his shoulder when he was lost in conversation. The memory of how soft the blankets felt against her cold, naked skin filled her body with longing. She wanted to return to that day, to that experience.
As she smoothed the top of his folded blanket and placed it next to hers the lump in her throat grew hot and she felt tears pressing at the backs of her eyes. She blinked hard. How stupid. Why would she cry over this? She was being ridiculous.
A warm hand covered hers. She looked up into Michael's concerned face.
"No need to fuss over the blankets, lass," he said softly. When he saw that she was bordering on tears he searched her eyes and furrowed his brow. "Are you all right, Tawnyetta?"
She nodded quickly which forced a tear to drop from her eye and land on the blanket. She shook her head and pursed her lips together, determined to stop overreacting. Michael glanced uncomfortably at the others who were either still busy looking through the cupboards or had already left the cramped interior and were roaming about outside on the porch.
He cleared his throat, uncertain what ailed her. "Do you want to leave? Too many bad memories?"
She braved a look at him and saw the disappointment on his face at that idea. "No, it's not that," she managed. "I'm fine."
Not happy with her response, he watched her for a moment. Then he leaned in so his mouth almost brushed her cheek. When he spoke it was in a whisper.
"I'm sorry for the way I acted yesterday. I shouldn't have said what I said. I would save you again, lass, if saving is what you needed. I will always save you."
All the twisting and turning knots in her heart loosened at his words. Warmth and joy gushed through her as she beamed at him. Relieved at her response, Michael's own countenance relaxed and he leaned more casually against the frame of the cot, settling in for a conversation.
"Am I forgiven then?" His eyes sparkled with delight.
"Yes, you are forgiven," she answered. Her cheeks turned pink.
She loved how he looked at her, how his body seemed to surround her even though they weren't touching, how he made her feel like he was about to take her in his arms. Though he didn't.
"Are you ready?" Bridget interrupted from the doorway.
Tawnyetta jerked at the sound. She looked around the bothy. Everyone had left. She and Michael had been alone staring into each other's eyes for God knows how long. Her blush deepened and she took a step away from him, as if they'd been caught doing something indiscreet.
"Yes, absolutely," she answered. Though, truthfully, she would have rather stayed in this place with Michael forever.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Halfway down the hill Tawnyetta realized she had forgotten her sweater. Not wanting to bother anyone she decided to pop back up to the bothy to retrieve it. She was hanging back behind the others anyway. Nobody would notice.
When she stepped back inside the bothy she was overcome once again by it
s charm. She took a deep breath and went to the cot where her knobby black sweater lay next to the blankets she'd folded. Despite knowing that she was stuck smack dab in the 21st century, Tawnyetta let her mind wander to the history of this place. What was it like to live in a simple building in these beautiful, wild hills of Scotland many years ago? What would it feel like to hunt for your meat, grow your own food, and be married to a strong, stubborn Scottish Highlander? Her fingers traced the soft threads of the blankets and ran along the unpretentious iron frame of the cot's headboard. Sharing a bed in the Highlands with a man who looked and sounded like Michael would be an epic experience.
She laughed out loud at her train of thought. Then shook it out of her head. She would be flying home to Colorado in less than 48 hours. No time for wild love affairs even if one had ever been fated between her and Michael.
The rays of the early afternoon sun passed into the little room through two small, square windows. They filled the space with a warm glow while pixie dust danced in them. How was it possible that she'd spent more than a week in a luxurious castle, but something about this humble building warmed her heart so completely?
"Have you come back to do more chores?"
Tawnyetta whirled around at the question.
Michael stood in the doorway. One hand held the doorjamb above his head as he leaned into the room. Backlit from the sunshine outside, his white shirt became almost see through. The intensely masculine form of his wide shoulders and muscled chest was undeniable in this position. Tawnyetta's heartbeat quickened at the sight of him–at the look in his eyes.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"I could ask you the same thing," he grinned as he stepped inside and approached her.
"I came back for my sweater." Tawnyetta lifted the knobby black sweater off the cot as proof.