by C. J. Bahr
The Scotsman continued to smile and slowly released her hand. “Again, the pleasure’s all mine. Welcome to Scotland. I understand this is your first trip?”
Laurel realized she was staring blindly at him and focused. “Yes, yes it is. I’ve always wanted to visit, but never could make the time.”
“Ah, yes, the Chicago Field Museum. It’s kept you busy I understand.”
“What else has Beth told you?”
He grinned. “That you’re a workaholic history detective, single from a freshly broken long-term relationship, you’re smart and have a great sense of humor. I was told to distract you and make you forget all your problems.”
“Oh, is that all,” she swallowed hard. Best friend or not, Beth’s day’s were numbered. “I guess she pretty much told you everything.”
“Not everything. She didn’t tell me, for instance, that you had the softest, shiniest hair,” he reached out and fingered a tendril before tucking it behind her ear. “Hair that changes colors by firelight. I bet candlelight would suit you as well.”
“Ah...really?” His sharp blue eyes held a mischievous twinkle as he stared into her eyes.
“And she didn’t tell me that you have the most intriguing eyes. What color are they? Green? Brown? Gold?”
Wow, did this work on the local girls? He was laying it on a bit thick. Was he teasing her? Laurel wondered and shook her head. “My brothers always said mud colored,” she took a step back, giving herself some distance. She wasn’t sure if she should feel flattered or creeped out. But she did know she tingled from his single-minded attention.
Alex chuckled. “I don’t think I’d use that adjective.”
She was spared from more uncomfortable banter by Grant’s entrance into the room.
“Dinner is ready.”
“Here,” Alex extended his arm beside her. “Let me show you the way.”
Laurel placed her hand on his arm and walked alongside as he escorted her from the room. He turned his head and smiled at her. “I don’t know about you, but I find myself verra hungry.”
Her stomach flipped as he deliberately broadened his accent. She had a feeling he wasn’t talking about food. The man certainly knew how to flirt. And damn it, it felt good to be the object of a handsome man’s attention, even if he was pouring it on a bit thick.
Laurel smiled back at him. A little highland fling indeed.
Chapter Eight
The dinner meeting came to a close as Beth rattled out the final touches. “So, as long as Liam stays out of the scotch,” she said which was greeted by a round of laughter at the table. “And, it doesn’t rain on the opening picnic, bad omen, we should be all set.” Nods and murmured agreements came from all sides of the table. “Oh, Jenny,” Beth looked down the table to a red-haired, middle-aged woman. “You’ve confirmed the orchestra for the ball, right?”
“Aye, got it this morning. I even heard them play. They’re fabulous.”
Laurel took in all the satisfied faces at the table. Dinner had been interesting with all the strategizing and bantering. The Primrose Festival, a local tradition in July, culminated with Highland Games consisting of tossing the caber, stone putting and hammer throws, along with competitive dancing, at the end of the month. It sounded like fun. And it all began with a brunch picnic followed by a costume ball that night. She sighed. The ball was a sore point. Alex had been at her all through dinner to make sure she would attend, but she had yet to agree. It just wasn’t her cup of tea. She didn’t dance, and lord knows how goofy she’d look in a period gown. She much preferred jeans. Being tall and gangly, gowns only accentuated her awkwardness.
“So, it’s settled, then,” Alex got her attention. “You’ll be my guest at the Festival’s opening ball,” he grinned at her from across the table.
“Wait a second, it certainly is not,” she shook her head. “First, it’s a costume ball, so where in the world would I find a dress in time? I don’t see how this would work.”
“Oh, you’re not missing the ball,” Beth chimed in at her side. “All we need is a road trip. I’ll drive you down to Inverness, I’ve errands to do there. I know the perfect shop, and you can sightsee, too. Maybe you’ll spot ol’ Nessie?”
“You’re both ganging up on me,” Laurel accused.
Grant laughed from the head of the table. “You might as well cut your losses.”
“Easy for you to say. I don’t dance.” She stared down at her plate and stabbed a lone piece of asparagus. “Don’t think for a moment I won’t get even.” She glared first at Beth then across the table at Alex, who tried hard not to laugh.
“Speaking of the Loch Ness monster—”
“Changing the topic won’t save you, MacKenzie,” she challenged. He grinned back at her.
“But all I wanted to know was if you’ve met the ghost yet?” He asked, now looking perfectly innocent.
“Oh, dear God, really? If that room is haunted, the ghost is extremely shy.”
“Well, from what I understand and correct me if I’m wrong,” Alex looked to Grant and Beth, “but this is prime haunting time. Apparently the Festival sets him off.”
“Him?”
“Simon MacKay.”
“You know who the ghost is?” Laurel shook her head. “Beth, you didn’t tell me that. How do you know it’s him? Who is he?” That was so cool if they knew who the ghost was. She wondered why Beth had held that tidbit to herself? She wondered what Simon MacKay’s story was.
“Now you’ve done it,” Beth replied. “You started this, Alex, so you get to tell the story.”
“My pleasure. There’s nothing better than a tale filled with intrigue, scorned love, treasure, and murder.” Alex pushed his empty plate away and picked up his wine glass. He swirled the red contents and leaned back in his chair. He met Laurel’s gaze from across the rim as he took a sip.
Laurel picked up her own glass and settled in for Simon’s saga. She wondered if Alex was a good storyteller. It didn’t really matter. Anything would sound great with a Scottish burr, and besides, she wasn’t bored with the view yet. A hush fell over the lingering guests as Alex took up his tale.
“It all goes back to the Jacobite gold.”
“Ha, doesn’t it always go back to Bonnie Prince Charlie?” an elderly man inserted.
“It does indeed, James,” Alex nodded in agreement. “Laurel, you know about the Jacobites?”
“Of course. They were the men and woman who favored Charles Stuart as the true King of Scotland and England over King George,” Laurel smiled, after all, history was her specialty.
“Excellent,” Alex replied. “Then I’ll just dive right in. Our story begins in 1746. A ship named, Hazard, was sailing to Inverness. It carried over £13,000 in gold coins sent by France to aid the bonnie Prince’s rebellion. They were spotted by the royal frigate, HMS Sheerness, and chased into the Kyle of Tongue. The Hazard’s crew escaped and took the gold ashore to carry it overland.” He paused and took another sip of wine.
“The MacKay’s gave chase and caught up with the rebels the very next morning at Lochan Haken. The Jacobites, realizing they were trapped, threw the gold into the Loch to keep it away from the royal English coffers.”
“Hang on, the MacKay’s are Highlanders. They weren’t Jacobites?” Laurel asked.
“Now, therein lies another tale, but suffice to say, the MacKay’s were Royalists, supporting King George.”
“Wow. I thought all Highlanders were with Prince Charles.”
“Some weren’t, and they all had their reasons, no matter how wrong they were. Many of them hedged their bets and figured out a way to fight on both sides. But we’re getting sidetracked. This is a ghost story, remember?” Alex teased.
“Oh yeah, excuse me for getting sucked into history. Oww!” Laurel glared at Beth and rubbed her arm from her friend’s slap. “So, how does gold sitting at the bottom of a lake make a ghost?”
“Of course the gold didn’t remain in the loch. Historical documents p
rove the government later recovered most of it. But that’s the key phrase, ‘most of it’.”
“Ah, here it comes, the balderdash of hidden treasure,” someone muttered from the far end of the long table.
Alex glanced down the table and shrugged, before fixing his attention back on her. “Rumor has it, the MacKay’s acquired some of the gold, and stashed it away, supposedly here in Cleitmuir. The gold was the family’s legacy handed down from father to son, but the inheritance was broken.
“Around the early 1800’s, the last Earl of Cleitmuir died under mysterious circumstances. It was said his only son, Simon, was responsible.”
“He couldna have,” a man rebutted. “He was in France fighting Napoleon.”
Alex smiled. “Or, he snuck back home, tired of war and the wee pay of a common solider and murdered the Earl,” he replied with a slight shrug to his shoulders, countering the grumbles from around the table. “It was said, Simon wanted the gold for himself. He was tired of the MacKay’s hoarding it and decided he wanted to live the life of the rich he’d witnessed on the Continent, regardless of the consequences to his family. But, here’s where the story gets interesting.”
Laurel took in the rapt faces of everyone at the table, some frowning, some smiling, but all hooked by Alex’s words. It was obvious they all knew where the story was headed, but like any good urban legend, they still wanted to hear it once more.
“Simon MacKay disappeared, without a word to anyone—not to his mother or sister or even to his betrothed.”
“So? He stole the gold and left. How does that make him the ghost?” Laurel asked.
“Because he never got the gold. It’s believed someone in the household found out Simon’s intent, had him killed, and then secreted the gold to a new location to protect the treasure. But something went wrong and the gold disappeared forever.”
“He’s trying to find the gold,” Laurel grinned. “Why does he only search during the festival time?”
“The Primrose Festival is old, dating back before Simon MacKay was even born. It’s run pretty much unbroken for hundreds of years except during the Clearances,” Grant replied. “As to why he haunts during festival time, it’s more like he makes the most impression during that time. He’s probably at it all year long.
“And...” Alex paused, letting the word hang into the expectant silence of the crowd. “The anniversary of young Simon’s disappearance which was the first day of the festival, is only a few days away.”
“Cool.” Laurel continued to grin. She loved nothing better than a good ghost story.
“And it’s a fitting end to the tale,” Grant replied. “The ghost of Simon MacKay is supposed to haunt the halls of Cleitmuir Manor until he finds the gold that was hidden away from him.” Her host stood up. “And on that note, enough with these silly old tales, why don’t we adjourn back to the sitting room for a wee dram or two.”
Laurel stood and placed her empty wine glass on the table. Her head swam a bit, and she was not at all surprised to find herself tipsy. All this drinking was going to kill her, or pickle and preserve her for the future like some poor creature stuck in formaldehyde. She caught up to Beth and walked with her. Alex and Grant were already leading the way to the front of the house.
“So, how does Alex know all about the gold?”
Beth gave her a quick glance. “He didn’t tell you what he does for a living?”
She felt a blush heat her cheeks. It hadn’t come up in their conversation while he had been outrageously flirting with her earlier. Laurel was torn between feeling flattered by his attention and leery of his handsome face. Reminders of Derek’s betrayal had crossed through her mind all evening, making her cautious of Alex. Burned once… But was she supposed to put her life on hold indefinitely, to suspect any attractive man’s attention?
“I’m going to punch that blond lummox!” Beth’s exclamation interrupted Laurel’s thoughts. “It was the one of the main reasons why I thought you two would hit it off,” Beth sighed. “He’s a professional treasure hunter.”
“You’re kidding?”
“No, not at all. He’s dived shipwrecks, crawled through tombs, and searched caves, all in the name of treasure. He hears of a tale or rumor, researches the myth behind the legend, and voilà, he’s a good deal richer. He’s a lot like you—well, except for the richer part.”
“Wow, I had no idea,” she stared, lost in thought at Alex.
Laurel dismissed Beth’s grin as she walked toward Alex, quite intrigued now. She stopped beside him and Grant.
“Laurel,” Grant greeted. “Would you like some scotch?”
“No, really,” she waved him off. “I don’t think I should drink anymore, my head’s already mushy. I need some fresh air.” She looked at Alex. “I’d love some company.”
He nodded and joined her as she walked to the front door.
“Have you seen the moors by moonlight?”
Laurel shook her head and laughed. “I guess I still won’t. It’s daylight outside.”
“Ah yes, the Highlands during summer. At least we won’t fall into a ditch.”
“There is that.”
Alex opened the front door, allowing her to exit first. She waited for him at the bottom of the steps as he closed the door and joined her. They strolled in companionable silence, gravel from the circular drive crunching beneath their feet. The sun rested low on the horizon, nearing the gloaming hour since it was close to midnight. Magic time.
“How have you enjoyed your first day in Scotland?”
“It’s been...spectacular. I saw a lot of the area today. I borrowed one of Beth’s horses.”
“You ride?”
She nodded as they drifted off the driveway and took a groomed path leading around the side of the house.
“You’ll have to come to Sinclair House. It’s not that far, an easy ride, and quite beautiful. I’m letting it for the duration.”
“That’s right, for the treasure hunt.”
“I see word has spread.” Amusement colored his reply.
“It’s fascinating. Right up my alley as a historical researcher, except for the whole physical retrieving thing. I like my nice safe desk, computer, and books. I’m surprised you didn’t mention it during dinner.”
He shrugged as they came to a path that took them further around back. At an intersection, Alex chose right, leading them toward the garden. “I try not to make a big deal about it. Besides, the locals believe it’s a bunch of nonsense, and it’s not like we’ve had a lot of time together to bring it up.”
He was right about that. They had barely met and yet, she felt a connection to him. It was amazing they shared an interest in history, but Derek had as well. Was her past repeating itself? She was over thinking things, and needed to stop comparing everyone to her ex-boyfriend. It was time to move on. She decided she wanted to know more about Alex. A small weight shifted off her shoulders with her decision. “Well, it would have been better time spent, conversationally speaking that is, than trying to convince me to go to a ball.”
“We’ll just have to disagree on that,” Alex replied as the corners of his mouth curled up.
“I’d love to look at your research, if you don’t mind of course. I might even be able to help.”
“That’s a generous offer, one I’ll probably take you up on. I must confess when Beth told me about you, it was one of the first things that crossed my mind. Here,” Alex gestured to the steps of a faded white gazebo. Hedge roses in full bloom scented the night air with a light delicate fragrance where they surrounded the structure. It created a nice illusion of privacy.
“You don’t need to apologize, I’d love to help.”
“Yes, but you’re on holiday. I didn’t want to impose.”
“It’s not—” Her foot caught the last step, and Laurel stumbled forward. Before she could fall flat on her face, strong arms wrapped around her waist, steadying her. Dear God, when had she become such a klutz? At least she hadn’t fallen
off a cliff this time. She must be drunker than she thought.
“Uh, thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
Laurel turned in his grip to face him. She was near his height, just a few inches shy. She realized he hadn’t let go of her. In fact, he took a step closer and smiled.
“If I wasn’t a gentleman,” his soft words raced through her, “I could take advantage of this situation.” He glanced down at her lips before trapping her gaze. “Alone, with a beautiful woman in my arms, who’s slightly tipsy.”
Was he really going to kiss her? She decided she liked the idea. “What would you do?” Her voice came out low and husky, surprising her.
“I might do this.” He leaned in, and Laurel closed her eyes.
The first brush of his lips was brief and almost questioning. When she didn’t pull away, his lips closed over hers placing soft kisses, caressing back and forth, tender and light. Her breath quickened, when he added just the teasing tip of his tongue to trace around and between her lips.
On a soft sigh, her lips parted. It was all the encouragement he needed. Alex deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth, stroking. She kissed him right back, tangling with his tongue. He tasted of zinfandel, scotch, and some exotic spice she couldn’t quite place. He tasted wonderful and foreign. She was warm all the way down to her toes and her mind whirled. She moved closer, pressing into his hard lean body. His hands shifted to her hips, tightening their grip and holding her to him, as she reached up to entwine her fingers into his thick soft hair.
Laurel felt his chuckle more than heard it. With one last swirl of his tongue, he broke the kiss. Her hands dropped to his shoulders, steadying herself. She was grateful he still held her close, because she actually felt weak in the knees. Derek certainly had never made her feel this way.
The soft touch under her chin, made her open her eyes. Alex smiled at her.