The Last MacKlenna

by Katherine Lowry Logan

  “Did it?”

  “I couldn’t have made it through veterinary school without it.”

  “This way.” She led him through the Adam Dome Room to the Reid Room where the supervisor welcomed them. The man took Elliott’s identification card, gave him a password, and showed him to his assigned seat on the last of four rows. Elliott told the man that if a seat opened up next to Meredith on the front row, he’d prefer to move.

  Meredith came back to see him. “Here’s a notepad and pen. You might want to take notes.”

  He rolled the pen between his fingers, reading the Montgomery Winery imprint and putting the phone number and website to memory.

  The instruction sheet on the table offered easy-to-follow directions. His Grandda Fraser enjoyed this sort of thing but never mentioned researching at the Archives. Whatever the reason, Elliott sensed a stronger-than-usual connection with the passionate old Scot who died the year before Elliott emigrated.

  Step one, he entered his father’s name and birthday: Elliott Blane Fraser, born July 17, 1936. The first record he found listed his father’s date of death. He reviewed it then moved on to the record listing his father’s marriage to Aileen McGregor, born October 1, 1946. If he clicked on his mother’s name, the trail would lead to her date of death, two days after his tenth birthday.

  He didn’t want to read the entry, nor did he want to dwell on that long ago phone call from the hospital informing his father that his wife and Roger Graham had been killed in a car accident. Elliott had no memory of what drove his mother to leave home or of her funeral days later. His father never mentioned her or his good friend Roger again. Evelyn came to his mother’s funeral, and he went to her father’s, but even the two of them never discussed their parents or why they were together that fateful day.

  Elliott sucked back the deep pain growing in his chest and forced himself to continue.

  It didn’t take long to locate his grandfather, born in 1898. Then, he clicked the link to his great-grandfather, born in 1876. He followed the Fraser line, taking repeated detours to research a great-great aunt or uncle, a descendant whose name sounded familiar. Several times, he reached for his phone to call his father to ask a question about so-and-so. Twice he went to the men’s room and splashed water on his face. When he reached the mid-1700s, he found mention of the Session Records. The instruction sheet said those documents were available for viewing at the West Register House in Charlotte Square.

  He sat back in his chair and reviewed his notes and the family tree he’d drawn. There were a few missing branches that he’d have to fill in later, but he had a good start. He checked his watch, surprised to find three hours had passed. Meredith might be ready for lunch. Afterwards, he’d decide whether to search the records at the West Register House now or wait until after Christmas. He logged out of the computer system and collected his notes.

  A few people remained in the room. He stood behind Meredith’s chair and watched her finger track the words on the monitor.

  “Has anyone ever told you what a delicious scent you have? And it’s never the same,” Meredith said.

  He leaned over her shoulder. “Delicious? Guess that means I don’t smell like a horse.”

  She swiveled in her chair to face him. “I have an acute suite of senses. You left the room twice.”

  He straightened, surprised that she’d noticed. “You should have said something.”

  “I didn’t want to intrude. I know this can be a difficult process.” Her cheeks took on a pink, kissable hue. “You can escape my line of vision, but you can’t escape my nose.”

  “So what does your nose say about me?”

  She tucked her chin between her thumb and index finger, and stroked as she considered the question. “Outdoors. A pine forest. The sea. Christmas.”

  He stepped back and leaned on his crutches. Ah, ha. Another corner piece of the Meredith Montgomery puzzle. Not only was she obsessive compulsive, she was sensual. Now, he wished he’d worn a kilt instead of trousers. The kilt was more forgiving when blood rushed to his dick.

  “How about I take you and yer trained nose to lunch?” And we’ll explore your sensual side.

  She closed her iPad and gathered her notes. “I thought you’d never ask. Let’s get out of here. I’ve had enough for today.” She slipped on her coat. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

  “I traced the line back to 1760, but the information I need is at the West Register House. I’ll go there after Christmas.”

  “So you found surprises.”

  “No, but surprises exist.”

  She stuffed his notepad into her bag but slipped the pen into his shirt pocket. “Keep this. I have dozens.”

  Before they left the room, he received a text from David. “Good news,” Elliott said. “David parked in the disabled visitors’ lot at the side of the building. We can take the lift instead of the stairs.” Relief punctuated the announcement.

  “How’d he do that?” Meredith asked. “I thought you needed a permit.”

  “He’s a resourceful lad.” Now Elliott could focus on where to take her to lunch instead of how to navigate the stairs without falling on his ass. “Is there a place you want to eat?”

  “A sandwich or salad is fine. I don’t eat much for lunch if I’m having dinner out.”

  “I’ve got just the place. A classic bistro, busy and buzzy.”

  David pulled up as they exited the lift. “Take us to Fishers in Leith for lunch,” Elliott said. A short time later, they arrived at the restaurant set in a seventeenth century watchtower located in the heart of Leith, a short walk from the waterfront.

  “I haven’t been to this restaurant either,” Meredith said. “Dining with you is like winning a ticket to a culinary adventure tour.”

  “I’ve eaten in most of the restaurants in the city and have a handful of favorites. Fishers serves delicious fishcakes.”

  “Fish always tastes better when you eat it by the water.”

  “Then let’s go eat fish,” he said.

  The waiter seated them in a cozy corner and left a wine list on the table.

  “I bet,” Meredith said with eyes and lips dancing a flirtatious tango, “that I can find a wine you’ll like.”

  The mesmerizing dance held Elliott enthralled. “Impossible.”

  “Oh.” Her voice was now part of the sultry dance. “Are you up for a six-bottle challenge?”

  He leaned forward in his chair and placed his hand over hers. “Ah, hen, if we drink six bottles of wine, I’m not sure we’ll make it to dinner. In fact, I’m sure we won’t.”

  A blush crept up her neck. She glanced at the wine list again, clearing her throat. “We’ll drink parts of six bottles. After the trouble you’ve gone to, I wouldn’t dare miss dinner.” She tapped her finger against the plastic-covered list, still not looking up at him. “I’ll select six labels—”

  “And bet that I’ll like one of them?” he asked.

  “Yep,” she said.

  He leaned in closer, close enough to smell the shampoo she’d used that morning, clean as fresh Highland snow. “And if you don’t?”

  She cocked her head and gazed at him from hooded eyes. “I’ve never lost a six-bottle challenge.”

  His body responded to the finer nuances of sexual tension evident in her forward-leaning body language. He eased back into his seat, afraid of what he might do if he lingered so close. “I’ve interviewed a few apprentice jockeys with that attitude.”

  “Did you hire them?”

  “Nope. Too cocky for me.” He glanced at the wine list, wondering if the restaurant had a rare label he could appreciate. Doubt it. Since the odds were in his favor that he wouldn’t like any of the wines she selected, what did he want if he won the wager? Sex. And the best location for seduction? Fraser House. A visit to the castle guaranteed they’d end up in bed. “I’ll play. If I win, you have to accompany me on a Christmas Day trip to Fraser House.”

  “I suppose you do want
to see your family.”

  A chill went through him, cold and biting. “They’re all dead.” Then he thought of Galahad and the chill turned colder. “The house had water damage the other night, and I want to check on the repairs.”

  “But I’m going to win,” she said.

  “What’s your bet?”

  A soft smile spread across her face. “That you take me to Fraser House.”

  In his mind, he had her stripped naked. “Well, let’s drink some wine.”

  TWO HOURS LATER, Elliott and Meredith walked out of the restaurant and into the sunlight, laughing. “You made me drink six bottles of wine,” he said.

  Meredith wrapped a scarf around her neck for protection against the cold winds blowing across the harbor. “We didn’t drink six bottles. We drank from six bottles. Probably no more than two or three glasses total.”

  “You’ve opened my palate to a new adventure.”

  She twisted her finger in her ear. “Wait. Wait. Am I hearing right?”

  He chuckled, feeling the dizzying effects of painkillers mixed with a wee bit of alcohol. “You’ve done something no one else has ever been able to do, including na Faither.”

  “I know my wines.” Her face flushed a deep, rose color. Sexy as hell. “It was a safe bet that I could turn you on to a bold, striking one.”

  A bold, striking woman had turned him on already.

  “You really liked the French wine that had been interred in an old scotch barrel, didn’t you?”

  He reached for her hand and kissed her palm. “I like to see you smile. If enjoying a glass of wine will do that, then I’ll drink any wine you put in front of me.”

  She pulled gloves from her coat pocket and reclaimed her other hand. “Would David mind driving around the port for a little sightseeing?”

  “He’ll do whatever pleases m’lady.”

  They climbed into the limo, and David drove down Constitution Street past Leith Links. “The birthplace of golf, right? Do you play?” Meredith asked.

  “It comes with citizenship.”

  “I don’t see you wasting time hitting a little white ball into a cup.”

  “Didn’t we have a discussion about how I developed patience? Well, I can tell you it didn’t happen on the golf course.”

  David finished the tour of Leith and returned to the B&B. As the car pulled under the porte-cochere, Elliott asked, “Are you still going to the Highlands with me tomorrow?”

  “Of course.”

  David opened Elliott’s door, and he slid out first. “I’d like to leave by eight, if you can be ready.”

  Meredith followed. “I won’t run tomorrow, so I’ll be ready on time.”

  As they entered the B&B, Elliott said, “You haven’t checked messages for at least two hours. Did you give your staff time off?”

  “You haven’t checked yours either,” she replied, laughing.

  Guilt tugged at his conscience. While she’d gone to the restroom, he’d returned six emails. “So what do we do now? Dart off for a quickie?”

  Her eyes flashed with something unreadable. “I have to work. But I promise tonight, I’ll leave my phone in the room.”

  He replied with a simple eyebrow arch. If she intended to leave her phone, he’d have her full attention again. Could he do the same? No, not even for Meredith could he ignore the farm.

  He peeked into the front room and dining room as they made their way through the foyer toward the lift. Louise wasn’t there, probably at the market, which reminded him that he wanted to shop before dinner.

  The elevator opened as soon as he pushed the call button, but before the door closed behind them, Louise yelled, “Elliott, wait. Cameron called and changed our reservation to seven-thirty.”

  Elliott stuck his head out of the lift. “Why’d he call you?’

  Louise stood in the hallway with an armload of wrapped presents. “He didn’t have your mobile number.”

  “Okay. Meet in the library at seven o’clock.” He released the hold button, and the door closed.

  “I’ve heard it’s a very eclectic restaurant,” Meredith said.

  “You’ll enjoy it.” The lift stopped on their floor. Meredith stepped aside to give him room to exit first while she held the door. “Get that event menu sorted out. If it’s on your mind, you won’t be able to enjoy dinner.”

  She removed her hat and shook out her hair. “You’ve got me figured out.”

  Bloody crutches. In five years, they’d never hindered him, until now. He wanted her up against the wall, on the floor. It didn’t matter. “Not at all,” he managed to say. “Women are a mystery to me. A present to unwrap, slowly, without cutting the ribbon or ripping the paper.”

  What was it about her that intrigued him? Familiarity? He sensed he’d known her longer than forty-eight hours, yet he didn’t know her at all, not intimately. And for him, that was the only part that mattered.

  They reached her guest room door. “Thank you for lunch and for being a good sport.”

  “Aw shucks,” he mumbled, feigning embarrassment.

  She leaned against the door, moistened her lips with a flick of her tongue.

  He slid his thumb over the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw. Then he lowered his mouth, pausing for an instant to inhale the sweet yet erotic scents of her perfume and shampoo. Before his lips touched hers, he almost moaned, overcome by desire. The first contact—warm and compelling, innocent yet provocative—startled him. He drew away for a breath, and she gazed at him, vulnerability flashing in her eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have done that.” But I’m damn glad I did.

  “It just took me by surprise,” she said.

  “Then, let me surprise you a second time.” They had four hours before their reservation. If they weren’t interrupted by phone calls, she’d go to dinner wearing the look of a well-loved woman. He lowered his head to kiss her, but she opened her door and slipped out of his reach.

  “I’m going to work now.”

  “You sure you don’t want to relax a bit?” He looked past her toward the fireplace. “Maybe stretch out in front of the fire.”

  She gave him a sultry laugh. “I’m not sure we have the same definition for the word relax.”

  “Och! D’ye like mine to be the same as yers then?” he asked in his teasing brogue.

  Her eyes were laughing now. “You wouldn’t like mine.”

  “Ah, hen, don’t ever doubt a Scotsman.”

  She pressed her hands against his chest and kissed him. “As tempting as you are, I do have to work. I’ll see you at seven.” She closed the door, leaving him standing in the hallway.

  Bloody damn crutches.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Louise’s B&B – December 24

  MEREDITH PLOPPED IN a straight back chair next to an antique desk situated in front of a window that overlooked Great King Street. The sun appeared to be striking a pose between two dark clouds in the overcast sky. A simple ray of sunlight matched the warmth of Elliott’s breath lingering on her skin. She had just spent two hours drinking wine with a man who made her tingle with anticipation. Her eyes closed, and she allowed herself a moment to fall into a dream world where she was both young and healthy. Would he notice the fine scars from surgery and reconstruction? Would they turn him off?

  Why in the world was she wondering such a thing? He had only kissed her, for God’s sake. A kiss didn’t automatically lead to stripping off her clothes.

  Stop worrying and get to work. Whatever happens . . . happens.

  She turned on the laptop. The marketing slick she’d worked on that morning opened on the screen. It was time to focus on a narrow stream of thought that didn’t include Elliott Fraser.

  The rest of the afternoon slipped by, and before she knew it, the cocktail hour arrived. Unfortunately, the B&B didn’t have room service, and she couldn’t traipse into the library wearing pajamas. Either throw on some clothes or forget about a glass of wine until dinner.

  While c
onsidering what to do, someone knocked on the door. “Room service.”

  The voice of a roguish Scotsman made her smile. She rushed to open the door, feeling slightly lightheaded. The scent of holly and cedar wafted over her.

  “Would you like another glass of wine,” Elliott asked.

  Somehow, he had rolled a serving cart covered with a white lace tablecloth, a vase with a single red rose, a glass of wine, and a plate of brie and crackers to her door. A quick glance up and down the hallway didn’t reveal a co-conspirator, but she heard a door close on the other side of Elliott’s room. She stood on tiptoes and kissed his mouth—warm and soft and delicious. A flirtatious invitation.

  He licked his lips. “Cherry lip balm? Let’s do that again so I can have another taste?”

  She ran her tongue along the seam of her lips, tasting the flavor-scented balm. “Come in. I’ll share my loaves and fishes.” She rolled the cart into her room, gripping the handles with shaking hands. “I need to sit.” She fanned herself. “Head rush. I must have gotten up too fast.”

  He dragged a chair away from the table and pushed it directly in front of her. Then, he sat and took her pulse, pressing gentle fingers against her skin.

  “Are you really a doctor?”

  He raised his watch arm and checked the time, pointing a wait-just-a-moment finger at her. Finally, he released her wrist. “Yes, but my patients are of the four-legged variety and don’t make a habit of fainting.”

  “I didn’t faint.” She took a deep shaky breath and let it out in a whoosh. “I’m fine now.”

  He stroked the side of her face and stole a kiss. “You sure?”

  She nodded. Although fears and inhibitions tried to tug her away, she pressed into him and spread her hands on his shoulders. He threaded his fingers through her hair, cradling her head. His tongue held the taste of whiskey, his skin the woody oriental fragrance of aftershave. A different scent for him. The delightful combination tickled her senses and scared her, too.

  “We’ve moved from a drinking game to kissing. How’d that happen?” she asked, breathing unevenly.