She patted his arm. “Suck it up. Yer not a wee laddie.”
They entered the library, a room lined with bookshelves and crammed with leather-bound classics. “You painted the shelves,” Elliott said.
“Evelyn insisted on painting them white.” Louise’s tone held self-doubt. “She has an eye for color, but I wasn’t sure I’d care for it.”
He noticed the placement of the speakers: center, right, and left. Each produced sharp, clear sounds. “Your installer has a good ear.” Elliott’s disappointment eased. At least he wouldn’t have to spend several hours installing the system, and if he were honest, he wouldn’t have placed the speakers in the same positions, which could have reduced the sound quality.
“Look.” She patted her hand against the tufted detail on the back of a brown bonded-leather chair. “I got it just for you.”
“Shite, Louise. Have you changed everything? You know I liked the old one.”
She shoved him into the chair. “Sit.”
The pitch of the chair put him in a comfortable position, and he sank into the supple, leather cushions. Louise helped arrange his injured leg on the matching ottoman. “Not bad,” he said. He closed his eyes and let his breath go in a long, heavy sigh. The music and memories of his da and Sean MacKlenna ensnared him.
In this room, he would always hear the echo of their voices rising to a clamor over the merits of beautiful horses and fast women—bloodlines and lovers. Although as volatile as the other two, Elliott rarely joined the ruffle. He much preferred to toss kindling onto their disagreements, which continued until they drained a bottle or two of whiskey and their cigars died in peace.
Louise gave him a drink along with a pointed look. “Don’t get maudlin on me.”
Elliott took the glass and stared at the golden-hued liquid, praying it would placate the pain. “Is this the Macallan?”
She slapped her hand against her chest, emitting a sharp gasp. “Ye’ told me that’s what ye’ wanted. Don’t ye’ trust me to give it to ye’?”
He covered the top of the glass with his hand and swirled the liquid. “With the changes you’ve made, I thought you might forget.” The swirling agitated the dark amber with a golden hue and released more of the honey and caramel scent. Slowly, he brought the crystal to his lips and kissed the whiskey. “Ah.” His tongue picked up the honey with a hint of peat taste, and he sighed again. “Slainte.”
The rocking chair creaked as Louise nestled into the seat and raised her glass. “Slainte.” She sipped her wine. “Speaking of health, what’d your doctor say about your surgery? Is this the last one?”
“Possibly,”
“If you’d listen to yer medical team and go to counseling, ye’ might heal this time.”
He pointed his glass at her. “Damn, Lou. Don’t start in on me.”
She narrowed her eyes and tapped her fingers against the crystal goblet. “It’s been five years since that bastard butchered your leg.”
“Stop.” He gulped his drink. After a moment, he said, “Tell me about Evelyn?”
Her eyes widened, and the same girlish smile he’d first noticed so many years earlier inched across her face. “We just celebrated twenty-five years together.”
He raised his glass. “Congratulations. And you thought it wouldn’t last.”
“I wish you’d find someone you could be happy with for longer than six weeks. Yer not a young man now.”
“That’s your second reference to my age, and I’ve only been here—” he glanced at the clock on the chimneypiece — “fifteen minutes.”
“I worry about ye’, especially now that the MacKlennas and your da are gone. I don’t want you growing old alone.”
Elliott sipped the whiskey. The liquid slid down his throat, warming him like a twill-weave plaid of fire. “I’ve got a hundred people on the farm. I’m never alone.”
“There’s a difference between being alone and lonely. And, at the end of the day, those people go back to their safe, wee houses—to their families.” She cocked her head and studied him with troubled eyes. “Who’s at MacKlenna Mansion waiting for ye’?”
He gave a tight shrug, or was it a flinch? “Tate and Tabor.”
She set her glass on the table, folded her arms across her chest, and settled them comfortably beneath her large breasts. “They’re wonderful pets. Very devoted. But I’m talking about a companion you can have a conversation with, not a golden retriever or a long-haired, tabby Maine Coon cat.”
Her concerned gaze spilled over him, and he glanced away.
“Sean married a lass who understood the farm and its demands. So can you.”
“He was a young lad when he met Mary,” Elliott said.
“You need to be open to love. I’m not sure you are. You’re too strong-willed and private. Ye’ rarely let anyone see yer sensitive side.”
“Shush.”
She pointed her finger at him. “You can shush yer mates, but don’t ye’ dare shush me.”
As if on cue, a log snapped in the fireplace. Louise irritated the hell out of him. She could be bitchy and possessive where his well-being was concerned, but he loved her as a sister and had for thirty years. She had stood by him when he’d screwed up with that married woman during college. So he tolerated her idiosyncrasies. Elliott had plenty of his own. Even Jesus would have a hard time loving him.
Louise cupped her cheek in her hand. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with ye’. I’m talking about love, not sex, and not one of yer Thursday or Saturday night dates either. Those women come with six-week expirations tattooed on their arses. You need a woman who’s a priority in yer life, not just an option.”
“You’re being a wee crabbit tonight. Go to bed.”
“The truth hurts, doesn’t it? Yer too self-oriented, but I love you in spite of it.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Elliott said. “Are you taking a psychology course now? Shite. Go back to astrology.”
The stereo remote sat on the table between them. He pushed the volume up arrow. The room filled with sounds of a string quartet playing a Haydn composition. He didn’t know which one and didn’t really care.
Louise turned the volume down and moved the remote out of his reach. “Turning the music up a bit, eh? Trying to tune me out?”
“Don’t know why I thought I’d find any peace here.”
She handed over the remote. “You can be such an arsehole. How does your staff tolerate yer moods? Oh, pish.” She held out her hand as if that would stop him from answering. “I’m the only beneficiary of yer black moods, aren’t I? You save up your shitey attitude just for me.”
She stepped over to the cupboard, poured another glass of wine, then busied herself at the bar. He rested his head against the cool leather and closed his eyes again.
“It’s going to be a quiet holiday. I have one guest staying through the Hogmanay—a woman from America.”
He chuckled at the non-sequitur. Louise had long ago perfected the conversational device to redirect uncomfortable discussions. “She must have family here.”
“The travel agent who booked the room said she was coming to do genealogy research.”
He opened his eyes to finish his drink, but instead frowned at the empty glass. “I bet she wears granny shoes, has gray helmet-hair, and a bit of wobbly skin below her chin.”
“Ye’re incorrigible. Please be civil to my guest?”
He had tolerated more than one noisy, obnoxious guest while visiting Louise. The way he felt right now, he’d be a jerk to the granny-shoe woman. “Thank God I’ll be gone by the time she gets here.”
Louise glanced at her watch as she headed back to her chair. “Not unless ye’re leaving within the hour.”
“C’est la vie.”
“You could go to the archives with her and solve that 18th century family mystery about the lad born on the wrong side of the sheets.”
“I always thought Grandda Fraser knew more than he let on when he told th
at story.”
Louise settled once again into the rocker. “Yer leaving tomorrow. You don’t have time to do research on this trip. Maybe when ye’ come back after the February sales.”
“The mystery’s likely buried so far under old dusty books it’ll never see the blinding light of a winter afternoon.” A sharp pain shot down his leg. He squirmed in discomfort. The whiskey wasn’t working for him tonight. He slipped his thumb and forefinger into his shirt pocket and snatched two pills he’d squirreled away, popping the painkillers into his mouth.
“I wonder why she’s traveling alone,” Louise said.
He chased the pills with a swig of whiskey. “Holidays are a time for family.”
Louise leaned forward, choking on her drink.
Elliott patted her back as she coughed. Then, he watched until the high color faded from her face. “You okay?”
“Did ye’ hear what you just said?”
The rhetorical question lingered in the air where it could stay for all he cared. He withdrew his hand from her back.
“That’s why yer going to Fraser House, so you can celebrate by yourself?” She puffed up, looking rather put out. “You’ll be wallowing in whiskey all alone in that ancestral castle of yers.”
“I wasn’t talking about me.”
“So what? Ye’ don’t deserve to be with people you love and who love you.”
“It’s too late for me. I’m an old—”
She slapped her hand over his mouth. “Stop talking about age.”
“Then get me another drink. I’ll need it—” Her hand muffled his voice. “—if I’m going to be nice to your granny-shoe-wearing guest.”
Chapter Five
Louise’s B&B, Edinburgh, Scotland – December 22
MEREDITH’S PLANE PREPARED to land at Edinburgh airport close to midnight. An easy smile came to her face when the wheels touched down. No matter what else was going on in her life, when she stepped onto Scottish soil, she experienced the same welcome home sensation. Scottish blood flowed in her veins and Scotland filled her heart.
Shortly before one o’clock, her driver pulled under the porte-cochere at Louise’s B&B on Great King Street in the city’s New Town section. She stifled a yawn as she crossed the cobbled drive, hoping for a well-kept establishment, a quick welcome, and the key to her room. That plan changed when she entered through the front door and draped her coat across the arm of a Chippendale claw-and-ball settee.
A crystal chandelier hung above a family crest medallion set in the middle of the marble floor. The fixture showered the room with golden light. Gorgeous. The restoration photographs she’d seen on the website hadn’t reflected the true elegance of the eighteenth-century Georgian home. Her discerning eye perused the oversized foyer’s woodwork, flocked wallpaper, and antique furniture that had convinced her to book the room. At least I’ll be comfortable while I pace and wait for the pathology report.
The chauffeur entered behind her. “I’ll leave your bags next to the lift, Ms. Montgomery.” On his way out, he handed her a business card. “If ye’ need a driver during yer stay, here’s my number.”
She examined the card before slipping it into her pocket.
Laughter spilled from a room at the end of a narrow hallway. She applied lip balm before crossing the threshold into a library painted a dark brick red. Dozens of votive candles made lonely pools of light in shadowed corners.
“Excuse me,” she said to a woman. “Are you Louise?”
A younger version of Golden Girl Betty White welcomed Meredith with endearing blue eyes and a dimpled smile. Her toes pointed inward when she walked, giving a bounce to each step. A multi-colored sweater hung loose across her shoulders. When she waved, inviting Meredith into the room, the empty sleeves danced like fluttering butterflies, and a half dozen rings in different colors and styles jingled on her fingers.
“Yes. And you must be Meredith Montgomery?”
The proprietress appeared too fun and flighty to live in a stately room where soft white woodwork splashed against deep, red walls lined with bookshelves filled with books by classic poets and Scottish artifacts.
In Meredith’s periphery, she saw a man dressed in a kilt and wearing a black walking boot push aside an ottoman and stand with the aid of crutches.
“I’m sorry to arrive so late. I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said.
“Not at all. Come in, dearie.” Louise’s lyrical brogue blended with the quartet playing on the audio system. “Would you like wine or tea?”
Meredith wasn’t in the mood for a cup of tea or the B&B’s house wine. She stepped to the hearth, to the brightly burning blaze, noticing three things. The man had the most pleasing fragrance, fresh, spicy, woody, and reminiscent of a hike through a Christmas tree farm. He held a crystal glass that contained neither wine nor tea. Also, a bottle of Macallan sat on the bar. She nodded in his direction. “I’ll have what he’s having.”
He smiled as if she’d picked the right door on Let’s Make a Deal. “I’ll be your barman, Lou.”
The man’s melodic and hypnotizing voice radiated sensuality and fluttered over her like a soft breeze of pure silk. Meredith inhaled with her eyes. The tall, dark haired Scotsman with a runner’s lean body had fine lines on his clean-shaven face. There was an irresistible and handsome quality about him. When he offered her a cut crystal glass, his fingertips brushed her palm.
“Louise forgot her manners,” he said. “I’m Elliott Fraser.” He tilted his head a bit and glanced at the side of her head. “You picked up a wee leaf.” He put his fingers in her hair and, after a couple of soft swipes, the strands released the dried leaf. The two brief touches seemed unintentional, but a whetting of interest shimmered in his rich-as-Belgian-chocolate eyes. She dropped her gaze, surprised that she’d lost her infamous ‘cold and hardy’ grapevine composure. As a result, she found herself staring at an enticing patch of dark brown chest hair in the triangle of his open-collared shirt instead of his eyes.
“Thank you,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as breathy to him as she did to herself.
“You’re welcome to join us,” Louise said. “Or maybe you’d rather take yer wee draft to yer room? Elliott arrived a bit ago. We’ve been having a good blether.”
A bit flustered, Meredith’s brain flipped through the memorized dog-eared pages of her childhood English-Scottish dictionary until she came to the definition of the word blether. “I don’t want to interrupt your chat,” she said.
“Yer a welcome distraction. I was starting to bore him,” Louise said, her eyes twinkling.
“Well, if you’re sure.” A few minutes earlier, Meredith had only wanted to find her bed, but the warm, cozy room wrapped her in a toasty blanket, and she didn’t want to leave.
“You should stay,” Elliott said. “It’s warmer here than in your guest room.”
Louise propped her hands on her hips. “Elliott Fraser.”
He sent an air kiss in her direction. “I’m teasing, hen.” He turned toward Meredith. “Since the renovations—”
She waved away his explanation. “I’ve been in my share of old houses with drafty rooms. That’s part of their charm.” She lowered herself to the overstuffed sofa, and after sipping her drink asked, “How far did you travel, Mr. Fraser?’
“I flew in from New York City.” He braced the crutches against the table, turned his back to the chair, and gripped the arms. His face neither tightened nor turned red as he held himself aloft and resettled his leg onto the ottoman. When he sat, the kilt fell neatly over his thighs.
“Those rolling R’s don’t sound like Manhattan,” she said, pulling her gaze from the long leg stretched across the stool.
“I was in New York for a few days. I’m originally from the Highlands. What about you? Have you spent much time here?”
She traced the deep etching of the monogram on the tumbler with her fingertips. “Annual trips since I was five, but I never picked up the accent.”
“You don�
�t sound like a New Yorker either,” he said.
“San Francisco,” she said.
He lifted his eyebrow in a curious arch, as if he were trying to grasp a memory hanging out of reach.
A text message beeped. Meredith reached for her phone but came up with a blank screen. Elliott unclipped his phone. “Pardon me. I need to answer this.”
Louise picked at the doily-covered chair arm. The fire crackled, and a log snapped as it gave way and turned to ash. Meredith sank into the deep cushions, curious about the man texting on his cell phone with ringless fingers. She turned up her glass and chugged her drink.
Elliott finished his message and reclipped his phone to the kilt’s waistband just as Louise nodded off, wine glass in hand. He snatched the glass. “Careful.”
Her eyes shot open, and she straightened. “What? Why’d ye’ take my drink?”
“You were going to spill it.”
“Oh.” She yawned her way to her feet. “It’s time to find my bed then. Come along, Meredith. I’ll show ye’ to yer room. Elliott, please bank the fire? I’ll blow out the candles.”
He stood, chuckling. “Good night, Lou.”
Although he reached for Meredith’s empty glass, she dodged him with an easy sidestep and set the crystal on the mantel. “Thank you for playing barman, Mr. Fraser.”
“Elliott,” he said, nodding for emphasis. “My pleasure.”
SEVERAL MINUTES LATER, Meredith closed the door to the Robertson Clan Room and glanced around the suite decorated in green and red clan colors. Nice. The rooms in the B&B were named after clans. Louise didn’t have a Montgomery suite so Meredith settled on Robertson for no particular reason other than she liked the colors in the picture on the website.
She leaned her shoulder against the door, thinking. For once, her thoughts didn’t zero in on her wine or the lump in her breast. The bull’s-eye was Elliott’s gaze—a slow once-over filled with male appreciation. Normally, she found that sort of male appreciation annoying, but she saw something behind his brown-eyed gaze that spoke of a kindred spirit. That, she couldn’t ignore.
The Last MacKlenna Page 3