The Trouble with Scotland

by Patience Griffin

  She smiled at him. “Yes. I believe I am.”

  This is good. This is verra good.

  He stood, rounded the couch, waiting as she walked toward him. He felt a little choked up at how much she affected him, and was so glad that he was here.

  Feeling confident, he reached out to Sadie, anxious to have her lips on his. “If ye’re off to bed, then I hope ye don’t mind if I join ye.” He couldn’t wait to worship every inch of her, from her perfect breasts to that place behind her ear that he was sure would drive her wild.

  She smiled at him sweetly and patted his chest. “Ross, you forget that I’m only your friend.” Then her eyes met his. Her gaze now held steel and determination. “Do I look like I’ve had a lobotomy?” She patted once more, then walked past him, down the hall, slamming her bedroom door behind her.

  * * *

  Grace arrived late that night; the friend who would be caring for Glynnis while Grace was gone had been delayed. But in the end, she left her sister in good hands, the two friends excited for time together to catch up.

  There were advantages to coming into town this late. Grace could take it all in and get some of her feelings under control as she headed to the cottage. The cottage she’d entered as a young bride and raised her three boys in. The cottage where she’d dressed in black and then bade farewell to the love of her life. She missed Alistair terribly, every day. Glynnis needing her, moving to Glasgow, had saved Grace. Taking care of her sister gave her life meaning and purpose. But sometimes it was lonely, too.

  As the cottage came into view, she felt unsettled. She hadn’t lived here in two years and she’d accepted that Maggie was the woman of the house, while she was just visiting. But that was the thing—she was just visiting everywhere, with no real home of her own anymore.

  She let herself into the cottage and went to Ross’s room, the bedroom closest to the front door. Maggie had told her that Ross would either take the couch or use a bedroll in the nursery. He was a good lad.

  She stowed her things and went to the kitchen to get a drink of water. She was quiet so as not to wake Ross if he was on the couch. She peeked into the living area, but he wasn’t there. After turning on the light over the stove, she walked to what was once Ramsay’s room, but was now the nursery, and didn’t find Ross or her granddaughter either. She wasn’t worried about Irene—John had complained that the babe was still in their room. For a moment, she wondered where Ross was.

  She smiled as a thought hit her—the lad must be out with Sadie.

  * * *

  Sadie needed to go back to yoga. Ross had ruined her buzz. She shouldn’t have slammed the door, but it had felt good, and it nicely conveyed what she thought of his proposition.

  She could share the same address with him and not succumb to his charms. She could sleep alone in this room. She could do this. She was strong. Strong enough to withstand a diagnosis that would’ve brought most people to a screeching halt. Strong enough to withstand her grandmother’s death. Strong enough not to get her heart more broken than she already had.

  She yanked open the dresser drawer and pulled out her nightgown, remembering how he’d slipped it from her shoulders. She ached to go find him and tell him that she didn’t mean it; she’d take him no matter the circumstances. But after Scotland was over, she’d have to live with herself. There was a line, and she had to remember to keep it firmly fixed in her mind. It had been one thing to willingly offer herself up to him as his rebound fling. It was quite another for him to bury himself deep inside of her out of pity.

  There was a slight rapping at the door. “Lass?”

  She ignored him.

  He tapped again. “Sadie? Let me in. Let me talk to ye.”

  She wiped away the few stupid tears that had leaked out. “Go away.” Her voice broke a little, but she was certain he hadn’t heard.

  “Sadie, lass, I need for ye to forgive me.”

  For a good friend, he didn’t listen very well.

  She didn’t say anything back. She wanted to yell at him that pitying her wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted what he couldn’t give. She wanted . . . she wanted . . .

  “I’m right here, if ye change yere mind. I’m not going anywhere. I can’t until you accept my apology.” His voice reverberated through the door, as if he was sitting on the floor with his back against the wood. “I tried to apologize last night. And I’m sorry if ye took offense at me wanting to go to bed with ye again.”

  Enough was enough. She yanked open the door and he fell backward, but caught himself before his head hit the floor.

  “You’re apologizing for the wrong thing!” she growled, surprising herself further by standing up to him.

  He rose from the floor. “Then tell me what I did. I can be pretty thickheaded when I’ve got other things”—he gave her the once over—“on my mind.”

  “You had sex with me because you felt sorry for me!” Sadie blurted.

  “What?” He looked as though he didn’t understand plain English.

  “Pity, Ross! I hate to be pitied.” She wiped away another tear, not caused by sadness, but by anger. “I was fine with being your rebound fling.” That wasn’t completely true. “But I never wanted you to go to bed with me because you pitied me . . .” She faltered. Thoughts bounced around in her head, but she couldn’t voice them out loud.

  Ross had the audacity to break into a grin. Then he chuckled. “Oh, gawd, lass”—he burst into full-out laughter—“ye’ve got it all wrong. Weren’t ye listening last night?” He collapsed on the bed, shaking his head, laughing even harder.

  “Stop it. It’s not funny.” She may even have stomped her foot.

  Like lightning, he grabbed her arm and pulled her down beside him. Her backside hit the bed and made him bounce a little. He held her there, trying to get control of himself.

  “Ye’re so far off, that when ye hear the truth of it, ye’re going to laugh, too.” He shook his head some more.

  She wished he would just get to the point. With his hand wrapped around her arm, her stomach was warm, and her anger melted. She needed to stay mad at him. It was the only way to keep her heart from falling in love.

  Finally, he turned to her. “Ye’re a goofy lass if ye think that I took you to bed because I pitied ye. The truth is, Sadie, I took ye to bed because I had no choice in the matter. I can’t resist ye, woman.” As he said the words, all mirth slipped away, replaced by seriousness.

  “Oh.” She stared at the armoire, thinking she’d rather have him laughing at her because it was easier to handle.

  He brushed his index finger under her chin so she’d turn back to him. “I’m sorry that I rushed it. That I made it more about me than you.”

  She had no rebuttal to that.

  He tipped her chin up and planted the sweetest kiss in the history of kisses on her lips. Warm, soft, gentle. She wanted to weep for the tenderness his kiss conveyed.

  He ended the kiss and gazed into her eyes. “Do ye believe me? Will ye forgive me, lass?”

  She nodded, not breaking eye contact with him. It occurred to her that they’d gotten this kiss backward. Weren’t they supposed to maintain eye contact before the kiss and not afterward?

  “Good.” He hooked her hair behind her ear. “Now, if there’s one of us that has to be pitied, it’s me. I’ve figured out my perfect punishment for treating ye poorly.”

  “You have?” she whispered. She’d liked how they’d made love. She’d liked it very much.

  “Aye. Ye’re going to make me sit and listen while ye read”—he grimaced—“one of yere romance novels. Apparently, I need to learn how to properly woo a woman.” He patted her knee. “Read more Jane Austen. That would serve me right. And maybe, just maybe, ye’ll make a gentleman out of me yet.”

  But Ross was the gentlest man that she knew. Gentle with his words. Gentle with his feelings. Gentle wi
th his touch.

  “All right then.”

  He stood and pulled her to her feet. “But we’re not going to do it in here.”

  She glanced up at him. “Why not?”

  He raised an eyebrow as if she should know the answer, but then he told her. “Too much temptation. I’ll go start the teakettle while ye get settled on the sofa.”

  After about fifteen minutes of reading Sense and Sensibility, Sadie started to yawn.

  “Off to bed with ye.” He took her hand and pulled her from the sofa. “We have a full day tomorrow and ye don’t want circles under yere eyes. It’s going to be grand having so many folks in town for the wedding.”

  “Like who?”

  “Like my cousin Sophie, and her new husband, Hugh. She moved away, but of course she wouldn’t want to miss Moira’s wedding. Oh, and lots of friends who live in other villages around here.”

  “Is the church big enough to hold everyone?”

  “We’ll squeeze in.” As if demonstrating, his hand engulfed her arm and he squeezed gently.

  That little contact jolted her hormones—and the rest of her—awake. She wanted him to squeeze a few other places on her body. She liked being with him. He was great company. But she yawned again.

  He kissed her on the cheek, and as if she needed guidance, he turned her toward the hallway and patted her on the bottom to get her walking.

  “I’m going,” she complained. It wasn’t much of a good night. She wanted more. “Aren’t you going to bed?”

  “I’m going to stay up a while longer and read more about that hottie Elinor Dashwood.”

  She laughed. “Elinor is the opposite of hot.”

  “Maybe to you. But to me . . .” He whistled and then smiled. His gaze turned caring. “Ye rest now.”

  “Okay.” She did as he said, but as she got into bed, she wondered at the game she was in: plain-as-walnuts Sadie playing house with the gorgeous Scot. She had to muster up some serious willpower not to return to the living room, just to be near him longer. She yawned again and her eyes watered. He was right—she needed her rest.

  She fell asleep instantly, and was so tired that it barely registered when he quietly pulled the other twin bed next to hers and climbed in. He wrapped her in his arms and kissed her head. She was so relaxed and so warmed by his presence that she went right back to sleep and slept more soundly than before.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The first thing Sadie did when she woke up was to realize that she was alone. Ross was gone. She figured as much . . . fishermen. Today was the big day—the wedding—but that wasn’t going to stop the fishermen of Gandiegow from doing what they had to do.

  She took a long shower, then wrapped herself in her robe, and went to her bedroom, closing the door. As she was pulling on her underwear, she heard the front door open and footsteps approach down the hall.

  “Sadie, I’m home,” Ross said through the door. “Are ye all done in the bathroom?”

  “I just finished.”

  “I’m going to shower. I hope ye left me plenty of hot water,” he added.

  Oops. He’d find out soon enough.

  She went to the closet and peered at the dresses she’d bought with Ross. If Deydie hadn’t warned her against it, Sadie would’ve chosen the green dress to wear to the wedding. But she didn’t want to get in trouble with the superstitious woman for welcoming the fairies to Moira and Andrew’s big day. She pulled the flowing purple dress from its hook and put it on.

  From the bathroom across the hall came the outraged, “What? No! Sadie! How long did ye run the water?”

  She smiled and ignored him. A little cold water would perhaps be good for the hot Scot.

  Sadie pulled out her cosmetics case and peered inside, thinking it was bare enough to belong to the Amish. But she did have the basics—mascara, blush, eye shadow, and lip gloss. And because the occasion was a wedding, Sadie primped longer than usual—blow-dried her hair, used the curling iron, and applied makeup to her plain face. In the end, she wasn’t unhappy with the results.

  She left the bedroom in search of breakfast, but found more than she bargained for. When she reached the kitchen, her need for oxygen outweighed her need for food. She stopped and stared at the man before her.

  Ross’s cold shower hadn’t taken away one drop of his hotness. In fact, he looked twice as handsome in a navy plaid kilt, thick knee-high socks, boots that laced at his shins, a dress shirt, tie, and jacket.

  “Wow,” she whispered.

  He turned and smiled. Then he took her in. “Ye look lovely, lass.”

  “Not as lovely as you do!” she exclaimed.

  He shook his head. “Sit down and I’ll dish ye up some porridge. We’ll want to be ready when the wedding party starts the wedding walk.”

  “What’s that?”

  He smiled. “Ye’ll see.”

  They had their tea and oatmeal in companionable silence. Afterward, they left their dishes to soak and argued over who would brush their teeth first. In the end, they shared the bathroom and brushed them together. It wasn’t weird at all, except how comfortable she felt with him.

  As he helped her into her light sweater, she stopped suddenly. “Wait a minute. You can’t go to the wedding. What about the measles? What about being contagious?”

  “Oh. Aye.” He seemed to be working this one out. “Didn’t I tell ye? I received a text this morning from Rabbie, my bunkmate on the Betsy Lane. False alarm. It wasn’t measles after all.”

  “No?”

  “Aye. Only prickly heat.”

  “So you’re in the clear?”

  “Well . . . aye.” He didn’t look happy about it. Was that because he had no excuse to stay here with her anymore? No, her eyes and her imagination must be muddling her good sense yet again.

  With great formality, he offered her his arm. “Are ye ready to see a real Scottish wedding?”

  She latched on to him, promising herself to let go the moment she saw anyone around. She didn’t want to start any more rumors than were already bobbing around the village.

  As they made their way along the path from the bluffs, Ross explained, “We have to go down to the boardwalk to see the wedding party, but most of the townspeople only have to wait at their doors for them to pass.”

  On the wind, a bagpipe skirl rang out and rose above the village.

  “It’s starting.” He picked up his step, hurrying her along. When they arrived at the edge of the walkway, Ross pointed. “There they are.”

  Sadie unlatched herself from him and gazed at the far end of town. A bagpiper was leading the way, a small entourage following.

  “Who is that playing the bagpipes?” she asked.

  “Graham. Graham Buchanan.” Ross grinned down at her. “He loves doing stuff like this.”

  The group came nearer and Sadie could see it really was the famous movie star.

  He was dressed like Ross, but in a kilt that was yellow, red, and green, and he wore a hat on his head. Behind him was Andrew decked out in his kilt, a green-and-black plaid with a small stripe of purple in it, a black full-cut Argyll jacket with high-buttoned waistcoat, and his clerical collar. He looked handsome and proud as he walked beside Amy MacTavish in her midlength red plaid dress.

  Behind them walked the best man, Max McKinley, in his kilt and suit jacket, and at the end came Moira holding Glenna’s hand. Across her wedding dress, from right shoulder to left hip, she wore a sash of vibrant green and blue; Glenna’s dress was made of the same tartan. Moira wasn’t looking down at her feet today. She had her eye on the prize near the head of the pack—her man, Andrew. Every few steps, she would turn to Glenna and smile, as if this walk was but the first steps to the wonderful life that they had ahead.

  As the wedding party walked past each house, the residents left their doorways and fell in behind the
group. The music, the spectacle, the ocean as their backdrop—it was pure magic to Sadie.

  “Oh, Ross, isn’t it wonderful?”

  He beamed down at her as if her excitement was contagious. “Back there, behind Ailsa and Aileen, is my cousin Sophie and her husband, Hugh.” He sent up a wave to her.

  The bagpipes became louder as the group got closer. When it was their turn, they joined in at the back.

  But as the couple neared the church, a lone kilted figure stepped out between the houses, leading a gray horse by the reins. Sadie saw Moira’s look of happy surprise, and was as overwhelmed by Andrew’s thoughtfulness as the bride was. The horse’s owner circled the path in front of them, as if displaying the horse, and then led the horse back between the houses so the wedding march could continue on to the church.

  Graham stood beside the door and played on as everyone processed into the building except Moira and Glenna. As Sadie took her seat next to Ross, she thought the wedding couldn’t get any lovelier, but then the service started.

  The robed pastor, Andrew, Amy, and Max took their places at the altar, and Graham and his bagpipe led Glenna and finally Moira down the aisle. As his bride made her way to him, Andrew’s face held such love that Sadie’s eyes filled with tears.

  Ross dug in his coat pocket and handed her a handkerchief. He leaned over and spoke quietly. “I’ve another one, if ye need it.”

  Sadie took the square from him and dabbed under her eyes. “Is that Doc’s father?” The pastor looked so like Gabriel that if he were twenty years younger she wouldn’t have been able to tell them apart.

  “Aye. Casper MacGregor.”

  The ceremony included readings, like any other service, and Andrew and Moira exchanged rings and said their vows, but then there was something she’d never seen at a wedding. The couple knelt and the minister used one end of his stole to wrap Andrew and Moira’s hands together.

  In a deep, clear voice, Reverend MacGregor said, “We have witnessed the promises of Andrew and Moira. Together we now handsel them.”