He was too late.
The ferry had debarked as he sprinted the final few meters until the dock came fully into view.
He stopped, bent at the waist, and drew in breath, along with the morning mist, as he watched the ferry chug out into the harbor. He straightened and scanned the rear of the boat, trying to see if she might be at the rail, and if so, would she see that he was there. That he’d run to catch her before she left him. For good.
A healthy dose of hurt mixed in with the anger. She hadn’t struck him as the sort to pull such a stunt. But then, given the rather unique complexity of their relationship thus far, perhaps she’d been the wise one to leave as she did. They’d been telling each other they’d keep it business from the moment they’d met, and neither one had been able to hold true to that for more than a five-second span, or so it seemed. Maybe she was the wise one, cutting her losses, before things got any further out of their control. Before they risked any further adventures into whatever that otherworld might still hold in store for them.
Yet…he remained annoyed. After all they’d been and done for each other in the intensely focused time they’d spent together, he wouldn’t have left her. Regardless of the risks involved. He simply wouldn’t have.
He turned then, and headed farther along the waterfront to the other slip. A much, much smaller affair, but then it only had to be functional for the much smaller ferry—compared to the CalMac anyway—that ran across the sound to Kinloch. He knew the schedule fluctuated with the tides and the weather, and that, in the more moderately temperate months, two runs a day was typically the maximum. In the harsher weather, the ferry could go as long as a week or more before making the trip across.
Kinloch wasn’t situated that far off, just to the west and south of the smaller Vatarsay, which was connected to Barra by a small causeway. Kinloch was just beyond the sound, but there was a wide enough swath of open sea between them that the least bit of hard weather, combined with the smaller ferry, could make the journey quite treacherous.
He’d long since gotten used to the capricious and unstable nature of their tenuous connection to Barra and the rest of the Outer Hebridean chain, along with the mainland beyond that. Barra did boast an airstrip, Traigh Mhor, which was actually a beach, but in times of emergency, they could make a water landing off Kinloch if someone needed immediate transport for something such as a medical issue. Otherwise, they were dependant on the ferry system not only to ship in any mainland supplies the islanders needed, but also to ship out their baskets.
At the moment, he was just hoping to get himself home.
It was quarter till twelve when he walked inside the small office perched to the side of the smaller slip dock to get his ticket, and also for a bit of respite from the steadily falling rain. He shook his arms and scraped his hair from his face, and offered the man behind the desk a brief smile. “Hullo, Malvy. I need to book passage home.”
“Short trip. How’d it go?” Malvy Fraser owned and operated the small, independent ferry that serviced Kinloch and a few of the smaller islands. Though he no longer piloted the boat, having a bad leg and a worse back due to a fishing boat accident a half dozen years back, he could always be found in the office or around the dock.
Malvy had been the one manning the desk when Graham had come through on his way to the U.S., switching ferries to Oban when Roan had been unsuccessful getting him a flight from Traigh Mhor to Glasgow. The flight would have saved him significant time, and allowed him the chance to check in to the small boardinghouse Shay had found in Annapolis, before heading to the chapel. Of course, given how things had all worked out, it was just as well it hadn’t happened that way. Although, playing that back through his mind made him realize he’d never called and canceled the room. Bollocks. He’d follow up on that when he dealt with the rental car.
“It went,” he told the older man. No one outside Roan and Shay had known about his reasons for leaving the island, though speculation was running hot and heavy by the time he’d boarded the ferry east. Graham had done nothing to thwart the speculation, mainly because, for the most part, they were on the right track. They could do the math in their heads. They knew there were no available McAuley women on the island that he could marry. That, and Iain showing up, had painted a pretty explicit picture. But that was all anyone knew.
Except Malvy. Possibly the only soul living anywhere in the entire Hebridean chain who didn’t gossip. Graham had often joked with him, back when Malvy had been the one guiding the ferry into port twice daily on Kinloch, that he’d missed his calling and should have been either a priest or a bartender. Malvy had just laughed and claimed he was a bit of both, and if Graham ever needed spiritual guidance, Malvy could soothe the savage soul…providing Graham was pouring the whisky, of course.
During the time Ualraig had been ill and the leadership responsibilities, along with the burden of their crop and economic issues, had increasingly fallen on Graham’s shoulders, Malvy had proven to be a good listener with a knack for sound advice. One that Graham had availed himself of on more than one occasion.
It was rare he had reason to leave Kinloch anymore, so he didn’t see Malvy often. In fact, when he’d come through on his way to Oban, more than a year had passed since Graham had laid eyes on the man. They’d spent a few minutes catching up, and he’d somehow found himself blurting out the entire preposterous plan. The older man had raised an eyebrow at the idea, but ended up shrugging and saying Graham’s own forefathers had certainly bound themselves together for far less. Any further discussion had been interrupted by other passengers coming in to purchase tickets or get Malvy’s thoughts on the weather, the fishing, or any number of other things the man seemed to have uncannily accurate knowledge of.
“So…ye traveling alone, are ye?” Malvy asked him, as he processed the ticket payment, then handed Graham the slip.
“It would appear so,” Graham said, knowing Malvy hadn’t meant it as anything other than a statement of fact. He was the most non-judgmental man Graham had ever met, which, combined with the rest of his talents, made him a decent and honorable man, in addition to being a trusted friend.
The older man merely nodded. “We’ll be leaving port at half past. Weather’s clearing to the west, so you’ll be in sunshine by the time ye land on yer own bonny shores.”
Graham nodded. “Good.” He pocketed the payment slip and ticket, but made no move to leave the small office. It was warm and dry, and though he could pre-board since the ferry was ready and waiting, he knew Malvy wouldn’t mind if he hung around until it was time to leave port.
Proving that, the old man lifted his cup. “Tea?” he asked. “Possibly a shot of something to make ye forget you’re wearing what smells like wet lamb.”
Graham immediately lifted his arm and sniffed, which sent Malvy into a gurgling fit of laughter.
“Get’s ’em every time,” he said, before covering his mouth as he coughed through the last laugh.
Graham shot him a quelling look. “Aye, well, I’m certain I’d do well for a shower at the moment. It’s first on my list when I arrive back, rest assured.” He hadn’t gotten one the night before, and that morning it hadn’t been the first thing on his mind. Chilled and damp from the rain as he was, it was just as well he hadn’t wasted the water. Though the soap and a razor wouldn’t have been looked at askance.
“Mind explainin’ the dress clothes? And wha’ happened to your duffel?” Malvy lifted his tea cup and motioned with it.
“I went to church,” Graham said simply. “The service demanded something more than work trews and a field shirt. My wardrobe in between the two is a bit wanting.”
“How many days ago was that?”
“Amusing,” Graham said. “I’m well aware of how I must look.”
“Ye’re not tellin’ me ye got all dressed up and went to church because ye did the deed and tied the knot while ye were there? Wouldn’t it need to happen here on Scottish soil? And where is the fair lass?”
“No, I didn’t get married.”
“More’s the pity. What I hear, Iain McAuley is quite the charmer.”
Graham’s gaze narrowed. “Since when did you join the gossip mill?”
Malvy’s smile spread to a grin, but there was a hard light in his eyes. “Since some young buck with more education than sense thinks he can just come along and tear asunder what good-hearted, loyal, hard-working lads like yourself have spent an entire lifetime building up.”
Graham’s expression smoothed, even as he felt the beginning of a headache thrum along his temples. And so it is about to start, he thought. Best he be prepared. “Tell me what ye know.”
“What I don’t know is what the little lamb thinks he wants with some godforsaken island out in the middle of the sea.”
Graham lifted an eyebrow at that description, but Malvy waved him off with a dismissive snort. “One man’s treasure island is another man’s sinking ship. I know the struggles you and your grandfather faced, and what you will continue to face in years to come. No’ much of an inheritance for some posh pup used to the finer things.”
“Agreed. So, why do you think he’s come? Have you heard anything?”
Malvy lifted a shoulder, took another sip of tea. “Nothing specific. Maybe he thinks he can parlay your basket-making industry to something more, or perhaps he thinks he can sell the whole thing off…or worse, back to its own people.”
Graham snorted. “He’s in for a hell of a disappointment then. We are finally turning the corner toward greater prosperity, but our coffers are filled with the hope of a better future. Not as much with actual money or collateral.”
“You and I know that—”
“If he’s an educated man, then so would he. It’s no’ hard to figure out. One walk about the place would show that we’re no’ exactly living like kings in our own castles. Most especially mine.”
Malvy lifted a shoulder again, and drained his teacup. “So you say, and I agree…but he’s come for something. I dinnae simply believe it’s the warm, welcoming arms of a bonny MacLeod lass. I’m certain he’s more than his fair share of warm and willing lasses back in Edinburgh.”
“To be certain. He’s come straight out with it, already, that he’s come to claim the island. Stated it baldly in the course of introducing himself. I’ve just no idea why. But it willnae matter. I plan to put this entire outdated charade to rest, once and for all.”
Malvy slid from his stool and limped his permanently hunched body over to the small hot plate where a brass teakettle rested. “So,” he said, “if ye’ve no bride trailing behind ye, then what do ye plan to do to thwart the snot nosed, entitled little arse?”
Graham smiled at Malvy’s increasingly annoyed comments regarding Iain. “I appreciate your loyalty,” he told the older man as he steeped more tea into his cup, added a bit of honey, and something else from a flask inside his jacket.
“Medicinal,” was all he said, when he caught Graham noticing the sly maneuver.
Graham merely shrugged, but said nothing specifically about it. The man wasn’t steering boats any longer. “I take it you met him, directly, then.” When Malvy nodded, he said, “So, are you basing your low opinion of the man strictly on his status as an interloper?” Graham asked, then held up a hand and smiled briefly. “Not that I’ve a problem with that.”
Malvy took a sip, then settled himself back on his stool. “He’s no’ one of us,” he told him, flatly. “Make no mistake of it, and warn your people. He never will be.”
Graham listened to Malvy, and he knew—hoped—that many of his people were forming similar opinions about the man, despite his abundant genetic gifts. Graham’s thoughts moved along that line of thought to Katie, and he found himself wondering what her reception would have been. She’d have been well liked, for herself, he thought. But as bride to The MacLeod, with some sway over their futures? He wasn’t so certain, listening to Malvy, how well she might have fared. She was also from the posh life. And she wasn’t even a Scot. Not Scot-born anyway.
The whole of the matter served to reinforce his idea that he had to get his people to see that not only was the Marriage Pact law antiquated and outdated, but it was actually harmful to their continued forward progress, future successes, and ongoing economic stability. Surely they wouldn’t put sentiment over security.
He nodded. “I appreciate the counsel.”
Malvy saluted him with his teacup. “Freely given, which is likely what it’s worth.”
Graham smiled. “It was good to see ye, Malvy.”
“The same,” he said, flipping open the island paper, the one entirely in Gaelic.
Graham turned and had his hand on the office door, then turned back. “If I had come back with an American McAuley bride on my arm, say one with a similar background as Iain’s, would your response have been the same as with him? About never being one of us?”
Malvy paused mid-sip, took a moment to ponder the question, then said, “Depends on the bride.”
“Would it? I mean, she wouldn’t have been one of us, no matter what she was made of or how well liked she may have been.”
“Aye, but she’d be on your arm, as your wife. If you trusted her, perhaps even loved her, it wouldn’t be the same at all. Iain McAuley is an interloper with no connection to Kinloch or anyone on it. She’d be on Kinloch as your wife.”
“And if McAuley marries someone from the island? Same thing?”
“Again, depends on the bride. But given your standing, the bride ye brought home to work at your side, one who would have your best interests and by extension, your people’s best interests at heart, would share the goodwill and good graces ye’ve earned from a lifetime spent dedicated to those same people. Iain would be husband to an islander, who, while perhaps well liked, or even beloved, wouldn’t—couldn’t—be of your stature when compared with the entire citizenry.”
Graham thought about that. “So, I’d have the edge, is what you’re saying. Even if she were an outsider.”
“Aye,” Malvy said, with a nod. “Even if.” Then he leveled an amused smile at Graham. “Is this outsider bride still a possibility?”
Graham shook his head, sorry as he was to dash the obvious pleasure the possibility would have given Malvy. What surprised him was how heavy the weight of disappointment was in his own hopes being dashed as well. But it was a decision already made. By him, initially. And acted upon, by the bride herself. He could only lay the blame with himself. “I think there are better solutions to the problem than marrying a stranger.”
“Hmm,” Malvy said, as he sipped his fresh cup of tea. “I suppose you’ll be having a chance to find that out for yourself.”
Graham frowned briefly. Malvy’s tone was…an amused one, which was a bit surprising, given his very real ire at the thought of Iain’s attempted insurgence. “I suppose I will,” Graham said, keeping his own tone neutral. He turned again, paused again, debated questioning Malvy on his curious reply, but the horn sounded.
“Safe crossing,” Malvy said, and saluted Graham again with his tea cup as Graham waved good-bye and let himself out of the office.
The rain was lighter, but still steady, so he jogged down to the loading ramp, hoping the passenger list was short and he’d have an empty seat inside the narrow, central interior. Although the chances of not knowing any of the passengers was highly improbable, he found himself hoping the only other people on board were tourists or fishermen. He wasn’t ready to talk to anyone, at least not until he spoke with Roan or Shay. He certainly didn’t want to answer any speculation about why he was dressed in the manner he was.
With thoughts of getting inside as quickly as possible and finding a far corner to hole up in for the duration of the ride, he put his head down and kept his movement swift and focused on achieving that goal. Not rude, exactly, but not inviting conversation.
It wasn’t until he’d managed to find such a corner, that he allowed himself a deep breath, then settled more fully into h
is seat, turning his head enough to keep his gaze focused outward, toward the rail and beyond, to the horizon. And home.
After a few full minutes had elapsed, a vague image tickled his brain enough for him to pause in his thoughts of planning what to say to Roan and Shay first, then to the rest of the islanders. Slowly he lowered his gaze and scanned the floor to his left.
How could he have missed that…that dreaded pile of stitched leather? He’d carried each and every one of those damn things all the way from Annapolis to Castlebay.
He lifted his gaze, even as a rocket punch of adrenaline shot straight to his heart…and looked straight into the bright, blue eyes of Katie McAuley.
“Hello, Graham. I saved you a seat.”
Chapter 14
Katie had been so worried about what he’d say when he saw her on the ferry, she hadn’t taken into consideration how she was going to feel upon seeing him. The morning after. The morning after the intensely primal, thoroughly unforgettable, life-altering sex they didn’t really have. A hard knock of lust and…something…thumped her the instant she laid eyes on him. The lust she was gaining a handle on, at least in terms of expecting it.
But that other part, the something part…was a mix of affection and longing, desire and need, all of which had absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with wanting to strip that plaid right off him and climb on his lap right there on the damn ferry. It was that something part that was really scaring the bejesus out of her. The truth of it was, Graham MacLeod mattered to her. That man, that giant, scowling man mattered.
“I thought we’d agreed,” he finally said, his expression flattening out until she couldn’t get a read on him at all.
Other than that she didn’t think he was exactly thrilled to see her. “No,” she said, “you decided.”
“And what part of that was confusing to ye?”
Some Like It Scot Page 22