The Trouble with Scotland

by Patience Griffin

  “We’re fine.” Her smile dissipated. “But I feel bad. The whole point was to find you someone new. A woman to get Gandiegow off your back. We’ll just have to try harder tomorrow night. Okay?”

  But Sadie was a nice lass. And the thought of taking her back to the pub and having the likes of Ellar and Beefy pawing her made Ross’s blood turn to fire.

  No, he would return her to Gandiegow; at least he could trust the men there.

  But can I? He thought about everyone he knew. No one seemed right for Sadie. The right man had to be like her: true, genuine. And the thought of her going back to the States and dating there didn’t seem right either.

  He came to a decision. He would talk to Sadie about joining a nunnery. She’d like it there . . . plenty of time to read.

  Ross opened the door and they stepped inside.

  Mum emerged from the parlor. “Ye’re back early.”

  He watched as his puffy eye registered with his mother. He put his hand up. “Mum—”

  But one measly hand wouldn’t stop her. Neither would a fleet of battleships. “Ross Alistair Armstrong, ye’ve been fighting.”

  He was a man. He was a Scot. At one time she’d understood that boys fought, but now without Da, she seemed to have forgotten that basic fact.

  His mum looked outraged, ready for a fight herself. “Did ye take Sadie to the dirty pub? Ye should’ve taken her someplace nice. And to fight . . . Ross, what were ye thinking?”

  Sadie slipped in front of him, touching his mother’s arm lightly. “No, Grace. It’s all my fault.”

  He laid a hand on Sadie’s shoulder. “It’s okay, lass.”

  She ignored him, keeping her attention on his mother. “It’s not what you think. It was me. An accident. I—I elbowed your son in the face.”

  His mum was no dummy. She looked from the height of Sadie’s elbow up to his eye. “Were ye hanging from a ladder when ye did it?”

  Sadie laughed nervously, glancing up at Ross.

  How is the lass going to get out of this one? Anxious to see, he stood by silently, waiting.

  His mother pinned her with a stare. He’d seen this look before when he’d tried to dig himself out of a hole.

  Sadie clutched her hands in front of her. “It’s like this. Um, I dropped my purse. I didn’t even know that I’d dropped it.” She nodded her head as if she liked the story that she was spinning. “Ross was a gentleman and bent over to get it. I wasn’t watching what I was doing and whacked him in the face when he came up.”

  Mum returned her attention to him with her lie-detector eyes.

  Gawd. He’d have to back up the lass. He hid his swollen knuckles behind his back. “Aye. That’s exactly how it happened.” As long as Mum didn’t see his bruised abdomen, he and Sadie might be in the clear.

  But his mother surprised him. A flash of understanding registered across her face, and something puckish played in her eyes.

  She wasn’t buying one bit of their story, but she wasn’t calling them on it either. Why?

  Mum pointed to the stairs. “Well, Sadie, since ye injured him, ye’ll have to tend to the cut above his eye. The first aid kit is in the linen closet.”

  Ross spun her in the direction of the steps, wanting to get away from his mother’s all-knowing gaze. But he made it only a few feet before his mum spoke one last time.

  “Sadie, run in the kitchen first, luv. Ross’ll need a bag of peas from the freezer for his sore knuckles.”

  He paused, but then leaned down and spoke to Sadie. “Do as Mum says. I’ll retrieve the first aid kit and meet ye upstairs.” He turned back to his mother. “’Night.”

  “Night, Rossy,” his mother said. And that was exactly what he felt like, a mischievous lad.

  He went upstairs to the loo, found the first aid kit, and took it back to his room. He could take care of this himself.

  A second later, there was a knock at the door. He answered it. Sadie stood there with the bag of peas. “Thanks.” He took it from her and started to shut the door.

  She blocked it, stepped in, and closed the door behind her. “Put the peas on your hand, while I work on your face.”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Your mother said I needed to tend to you. I don’t think it would be wise to get on the wrong side of her. Do you?”

  He agreed. But also, Sadie seemed so determined, he felt as if he really didn’t have a choice.

  He glanced around, but already knew the only place to sit in the small room was the bed.

  As he sat on the comforter, his thoughts drifted toward what beds could be used for, and how good it had felt to have Sadie crushed up against him. But this Nurse Nightingale had only one thing on her mind: seeing to his wounds.

  She edged up to him and brushed his hair back from his forehead. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and pull her in close. Maybe nuzzle her perky little breasts through her green dress. They weren’t much, but they were perfect on her . . . and enough for him. She leaned closer to get a better look at the cut, and he felt himself overheat.

  He told his brain to switch subjects. “Ye didn’t have to cover for me with my mum.”

  “I know.” Sadie grabbed an alcohol pad and ripped it open.

  “Why did ye do it?”

  She wiped at his wound and he winced.

  “Sorry. I have to clean the area. Who knows the last time Ellar washed his hands?”

  Ross winced again, thinking about Ellar and his dangling bits. He snatched up the first aid kit. “If there’s a bottle of alcohol in here, I want ye to pour it in the cut for a good long minute.”

  She laughed and the sound reminded him of chimes rustling in the wind. She opened another alcohol pad, ran her hand through his hair again, and then scrubbed the cut harder. “To answer your question: I helped you with your mother because you helped me with the twins. We’re even.”

  “I didn’t know we were keeping score.”

  She was leaning over him and he couldn’t help himself. He looked down her dress, confirming what he suspected. No bra, only perfect little breasts. He cleared his throat, stared at the chest of drawers across the room, glad the first aid kit was in his lap.

  She put her other hand on his shoulder—to either balance herself or to drive him wild—not having a clue what thoughts were rolling and tumbling through his mind. How easy it would be to pull her new dress over her head. He could gaze at her bare body for a couple of hours. And perhaps kiss her perfect breasts for a couple more.

  He put his hands on her waist, intent on pushing her away, but suddenly he was in a tug-of-war with himself. Push her away or crush her to me.

  “Out,” he growled, his saner side winning. He shoved her gently, putting breathing space between them.

  Standing a foot away, she looked hurt, her eyes asking why.

  He didn’t know.

  Why did she have this effect on him? Why had she come to Scotland? Why did he have a damned whisky at the pub? The alcohol had to be the reason for what he was feeling.

  “Go! Go read. Go to bed.” He didn’t care what she did as long as she was gone from him. “I’ll see you in the morn.”

  She looked really upset now, more hurt than if he’d poured alcohol into one of her open wounds. She spun around and stumbled from the room.

  “Aw, hell,” he said to his aunt Glynnis’s wallpaper. Sadie didn’t deserve to be treated like that. She was his friend.

  He sat there for a long moment as the idea that had been spinning around in his head from nearly the first made him reach for his phone. He needed to do something to make up for his bad behavior . . . because apparently Sadie was keeping score.

  Ross called Doc MacGregor.

  To find out what he would need to do.

  And tomorrow, when they arrived back in Gandiegow, Ross was going to hop aboard t
he family fishing boat, and stay out to sea until either the lass was headed back to America, or until he was needed further.

  Doc picked up on the first ring, gave him the information, and promised to set it up. Afterward, Ross was left alone with his thoughts. Sadie’s hurt expression gnawed at him.

  “Dammit.” He couldn’t let her think it was something she did. Well, it had been something she did. Standing close to him. Looking at him as if he was the admiral of the fleet, making him hard when he shouldn’t be.

  He needed to clear things up with her—even if he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. He certainly couldn’t tell her the truth. He left his room and lightly tapped on her door. “Sadie, lass? Are ye decent?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly on the other side.

  “May I enter?”

  “That depends.”

  He ran a hand through his hair and leaned closer to the closed door. “I’ve come to apologize.”

  “Then come on in.”

  He did and stopped short. She was adorable, stretched out on the bed wearing purple plaid pajamas, holding a book in her lap. “What are ye doing?”

  “Reading.”

  He cleared his throat, trying not to laugh. “Really?”

  “Yes, really. What’s so funny?”

  “I dunno,” he deadpanned. “Maybe because ye’re reading yere book upside down.”

  Chapter Nine

  Sadie flipped her book right side up, making sure to act as if she always read upside down. Besides, what did he expect? She hadn’t been able to concentrate since he’d jumped down her throat. She’d barely gotten her book open before he’d walked in. She’d wanted to read, but then she’d lain there thinking about why he was angry. She’d tried to be gentle, but he’d told her to clean his wound well.

  She gazed up at him. He was so lovely to look upon, just like Captain Wentworth, the seafaring man in her book. But Ross was real. She had to admit that she’d liked running her fingers through his hair. She should feel bad for taking advantage of him, because she’d run her hand through his hair a second time, because really, when would she ever get a chance like that again? She’d gotten to kiss him repeatedly . . . three times total! But who was counting?

  This was no time to bask in the revelations of his kiss, though she’d known by looking at him, Ross would be amazing at it. She should just be grateful for all the glorious blessings she’d had today, instead of pondering Ross’s sudden mood change.

  She pulled the covers up and gazed into his eyes. He was just standing there. Why wasn’t he getting on with it? “You wanted to apologize?” she reminded him.

  “Aye.” He didn’t seem to know where to start.

  She helped him out. “You growled at me. Remember?” Suddenly it occurred to her that at the time, he really seemed angrier with himself than with her.

  He cleared his throat, acting uncomfortable. “Oh, aye, the growling. It’s to be expected.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I have a condition.” His contrite manner faded away as his eyes filled with merriment.

  She’d play along. “What kind of condition?”

  “Can’t say it aloud. But I’ll give ye a hint. It’s going to be a full moon in a bit. I couldn’t help myself.”

  “I thought the moon had to be out for that particular condition to take hold?”

  He shifted. “Not when ye have it extra bad like me.” His confession seemed real. He wasn’t playing anymore.

  “Oh?”

  “I’m sorry, lass.” His brogue was thick with emotion.

  Unfortunately, her crush on the Highlander grew a bit stronger, and her denial of it weaker.

  “Will ye forgive me?”

  She looked away, speaking to the quilt that lay over the rocking chair. “Sure. You did it well.”

  “The apology?” He moved closer.

  She cranked her head back to watch him as he came near. “Yes, the apology.”

  “Scoot over.”

  He didn’t wait for her to move, instead insinuated himself on top of the quilt beside her. “I need to rest for a moment. All this talking has worn me out.”

  She scooted, but only an inch or two.

  Staring straight ahead, he nudged her shoulder as if they were a couple of pals. “I really wasn’t angry with ye.”

  “I know.”

  He jerked toward her abruptly, staring at her, seeming a little panicked and worried. “How did ye know?”

  “Easy,” she said. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” At least she hoped she hadn’t. “I just figured it was some leftover testosterone from the fight at the pub. You didn’t know what to do with it, so you slung it at me.”

  He nodded. “Aye. Right. Testosterone.” He leaned his shoulder against hers and left it there. “And ye didn’t deserve for me to bark at you.”

  “Growl,” she corrected.

  “Growl.” He rested his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

  For a long moment they were wrapped up in their own silence. She was so comfortable with this man. She could soak him up like warm sunshine or wrap him around her like a quilt. Either way, she wanted him near.

  I’d like to kiss him again, the unrealistic part of her whispered. This time she wanted to do it for no other reason than because it felt so good to have his lips on hers.

  But he had something else on his mind. “Read to me, lass.”

  She looked down at the novel in her hands, Persuasion. “I’m sure you won’t like it.”

  “It’ll be grand. Start right where ye left off.” He paused for a second and chuckled, his eyes still shut. “Now that yere book is right side up.”

  Her cheeks burned, but he couldn’t see them. She opened her book and found the place . . . where Captain Wentworth was ready to confess his love for Anne Elliot in a letter. For a moment, Sadie started to go to a different spot in the novel, but it wouldn’t hurt Ross Armstrong to hear how it was supposed to be done. She had a feeling he knew perfectly well how to woo a woman, but he probably had no idea how to seal the deal. And this was something that a devoted Highlander like him would have to learn. After all, the two of them would be heading out again tomorrow night, hopefully to a different pub, so they could find him a woman. His shoulder was warm against hers, but she felt sad. And Sadie was certain that one day soon, Ross Armstrong would make someone a happy lass indeed. Not her, of course.

  The thought unsettled her.

  “Go on,” he rumbled.

  Maybe she shouldn’t educate him on how to do it right. “How about I find a nice fishing magazine to read to you?”

  She started to rise, but he stilled her with his hand.

  Sadie sighed, maybe a little too dramatically. “It’s the climax of the book. We should start at the beginning.”

  “Nay. Read to me where ye’re at.”

  She looked down at the page, but knew the passage by heart. “This is a letter written by Captain Wentworth. He’s ignored, or tried to ignore his ex-fiancée for most of the book.”

  “All right.”

  She cleared her throat and started. “I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach.” She stopped reading. “I love the old way of speaking. Don’t you think it sounds rich?”

  Ross chuckled. “I think ye’re hedging.”

  She glanced at the page again. Well, he asked for it. She got on with it, the words that burned through her, that gave her a longing that would never be satisfied. “You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me that I’m not too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever. I offer myself to you—”

  Ross put his hand over the book, halting the words.

  She looked up at him. He seemed to be working hard not to have a repeat of his werewolf moment from earlier.


  “Enough,” he said calmly. He scooted from the bed.

  She wanted to follow him. But she pinned him with accusation instead. “You were the one who wanted me to read.”

  “Aye. But ye need yere rest.” He looked at her with kind eyes, but she could see the fire behind them. Or more likely, she was imagining fire and passion. Jane Austen had a way of evoking wishful thinking . . . and poor eyesight.

  She chewed her lip, wanting more from him. But he’d already given her more than a plain girl like her should ever expect.

  He walked to her door.

  “Good night, Ross.” She was shocked by how husky her voice sounded.

  “Good night, Sadie.” He pulled the door open, but stopped and spun on her. “Tomorrow, when we’re at the bookstore . . . we should do some shopping for you. Ye need new books.”

  “I have plenty. And my e-reader is full.”

  He pointed to the book on the bed. “Ye need something besides that.” He acted as though Persuasion should be banned.

  “What kind of books do you suggest?”

  He scratched his head in a show of thinking hard. “How about a murder mystery? Or science fiction? Or a book on how to hang curtain rods?”

  “Romance not your thing?” she said boldly.

  “Aye,” he admitted, “for a single man like myself. I’m not interested in happily ever after.” He didn’t let her say more. He walked out and shut the door behind him as if he meant it.

  Well, that was perfectly clear. And Sadie better get her head out of the clouds. Wishing for things that could never be was crazy thinking. She was a practical girl. Except when it came to the books that carried her away.

  And maybe when she looked into Ross’s blue eyes.

  She picked up the novel, but couldn’t stomach any more of Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth’s happy resolution. Perhaps it was time to give up on Jane Austen altogether and move on to more realistic books. Jane Austen made the real world unbearable, because who truly found their Mr. Darcy, Colonel Brandon, or Edmund in the end?

  She laid Persuasion on the nightstand, turned out the light, and sank under the quilt. But when she closed her eyes, she could feel Ross pushed up against her in the alleyway. She could feel his lips on her. And as if she was writing her own fairy tale, she gave way to her fantasy of what it would be like to be Ross’s woman. To make love to him. She knew it would be wonderful. And she envied the woman he would find at the pub tomorrow night. She envied his future wife, too. And though she had squelched these feelings in childhood, she looked up at heaven.