Must Love Kilts

by Angela Quarles

  “She says she’ll give us what we require if she can have yer ring.”

  Traci’s heart lurched, and she instinctively raised her hand and hid the ruby ring with her other hand.

  All the old feelings burbled up. The ones she’d long ago buried the night her first serious boyfriend had revealed he only saw her as a Friend With Benefits. God, she’d been such a stupid sap about him, imagining they were embarking on their lifelong love story. College had been such an awakening for her, but like all awakenings, a part of it was painful.

  She’d finally come into her own, away from her family. And she’d found a solid core of friends who shared similar views. One of those friends had been Brad, a pre-law student destined to work at his father’s prestigious law firm back in Boston. She’d opened up for the first time in her life to someone. It had been freeing and scary and magical.

  They’d soon become an item. But when she discovered he was taking his fellow pre-law student to an important schmooze event instead of her, the scales had come off. She’d been so shocked, she’d confronted him about it.

  And what hurt the most? He was genuinely baffled. Had no clue she’d seen their fooling around as anything more than what it was. He’d given off the distinct vibe that to be seen with her at that event would have embarrassed him.

  She’d been so disillusioned—with herself and with men—she’d rebounded by hooking up with her gaming friend Johnny the flirt. Then read more into that! And eventually lost him as a friend.

  No. The ring was her cautionary tale.

  “Don’t worry.” Iain’s gentle voice brought her out of her memories. “I told her ye wouldna part with it.”

  “But what else can we do?”

  “We can cross the ford and hunt in a nearby forest.”

  “How long will that take?”

  He sighed and looked to the side. “It depends on our luck, but it can eat up our day, especially to dress our kill and cook it.”

  Traci glanced at her hand, the redness of the ruby deeper in the murky light of the barn. Could she part with it? Seeing it on her right middle finger helped ground her. Reminded her that men were not worth the trouble.

  The three of them now stared at her, Caitrina in anticipation, and Duncan and Iain with unreadable expressions, while the squirt-squirt-squirt of the lone milkmaid’s efforts filled the silence. Traci swallowed and gripped the ring.

  Hell. It was just a stupid bauble. She was stronger now, right? And if it got them to Fiona quicker… She tugged it off without sparing it a glance and handed it over to Caitrina with a curt nod.

  The sun was directly overhead when Iain reined in his mount at the fast-flowing River Moriston. As he had figured, they were delayed at Caitrina’s for part of the morning. But they’d made good time since, though they’d crossed into Grant territory a while back. Somehow with this adventure, he needed to see them safely through Grant’s lands, find Fiona, and keep Duncan in the chieftain’s good graces.

  He turned his pony westward, seeking the ford crossing. ’Twas risky, taking this one, but to cross at the safer ford would delay their journey. Iain crossed first, and Duncan took up the rear. His pony had just navigated onto the rocky bank when a whinny and a panicked shout pierced the chilly air.

  He whipped around. Their sole pack pony had lost his footing and was being carried swiftly downstream. Iain dug his heels into the flanks of his own mount and galloped down the bank.

  When he passed the floundering pony, he reined in his own and leaped from his back into the swift stream. He nearly gasped under water at the cold shock to his body. When he breached the surface, the pack pony swooshed by, struggling to stay upright. He had to act quickly, for they’d soon be flushed into the larger waters of Loch Ness. He swam hard across the current. The water chilled his limbs, making his muscles heavy, and he pulled a portion of river water into his lungs. He coughed and turned on his back, using his remaining energy to cross the river.

  A few feet ahead, the pony’s lead bobbed and thrashed in the current, but Iain didn’t dare grab it for fear of harming the pony. Limbs straining, he put on another burst of energy and reached the beast’s side. He grabbed the bridle and, arm around his neck, helped lead the panting animal across to the northern shore.

  When the pack pony’s hooves hit the bank, Iain let go and allowed the pony to pull himself wearily to shore. Iain grabbed a rock and used the torque to swing his body onto the embankment, where he elbowed onto firmer ground and fell onto his back, his chest heaving.

  Footsteps pounded up the bank, and Traci’s face loomed overhead. Her braid tumbled forward and bumped his chin. “Are you okay?” Her lovely eyes were wide with panic.

  “Aye, just a—” He coughed. “Just a wee bit bruised. Thought I’d make sure the sky was still up where it should be, that’s all.” He took an embarrassingly long gasp for air. “No cause for alarm, I assure you.”

  She rolled her eyes and put an arm behind his shoulders, leveraging him into a sitting position.

  He winced, holding his side. “I guess the sky can wait then. Let me see to the pony.”

  She puffed near his ear. “Don’t act so tough. Rest a moment, and get your breath. Duncan is seeing to it.”

  It was his responsibility. He rose onto shaky legs and straightened to his full height, though he really wanted to rest his hands on his knees. For just another moment.

  Indeed, Duncan had the pack pony secured, and it was soon plain to see that it was uninjured, but the supplies it carried were missing.

  “Our food is gone,” Duncan said, walking toward him, his voice grim.

  “Mo Chreach.” He scraped a hand through his hair and tugged. “All right. We’re stopping here then, and we’ll take turns hunting to restock.”

  Traci stretched out her legs, massaging her thighs and calf muscles through her skirts. The bottom hems were wet from the river crossing, so she toed off her shoes, arranged them near the fire, and spread her skirts as much as possible.

  Contemplating Iain’s back, she shivered. But not from cold. She depended on him, and Duncan, for her life and health. His struggle to rescue that pony had driven it home. He’d been so decisive and masterful, it took her breath away.

  But her heart had also been frantically pounding the whole time. What if something happened to him in that water? Nothing had happened, but the possibility still hung heavy, like an oppressive weight on her shoulders weighing her down and making her heart beat a bit too fast, her skin go a bit too clammy.

  Her only ally could be swept away by a twist of fate.

  She was essentially alone in this vast, wild land. What the hell was she doing? All of it was her fault. But she’d make it right. She leaned forward and massaged a lower calf, and her gaze snagged on the light band around her finger where her ring had been. Traded for food that was long gone. But oddly, she felt nothing. Kinda hard to get worked up about a stupid talisman when Iain could have died.

  Her head jerked up at raised voices—Iain and Duncan exchanging heated words. She scrambled to a stand and marched over. “What’s going on?” She couldn’t understand a word, since they were speaking in Gaelic.

  Iain turned to her and said in English, “Duncan believes we should head back to Dungarbh and reorganize.”

  A panic fluttered in her chest. “No way.”

  Duncan crossed his arms and faced her. “Lassie, you dinnae understand. We are deep into Grant lands, and we are not very friendly with that clan. What food and supplies we had just traipsed down the River Moriston and became a wee snack for old Nessie. If we leave now, we can be back on our own lands before sundown.”

  Iain stepped forward. “And I made a promise to this lassie, who is my wife by the by.”

  “You can still keep that promise. But we need supplies. If we go back, we can augment our party with more warriors.”

  A worried frown crossed Iain’s face, and he glanced away.

  She took a moment to compose herself. Perhaps even channel
her friend Katy, who always kept a cool head. Yeah, now was not the time to pop off on a couple Highland warriors. Especially ones as big and muscular as these.

  She suppressed an inappropriate giggle because, with the exception of Iain and Duncan, the whole lot of warriors she’d met so far would have won her bet with her sister if she were here. Large and impressive they were, but hot? No.

  She shook her head. Okay. Apparently she was not capable of channeling her friend Katy during a serious moment.

  Focus.

  Duncan continued, “I believe Fiona’s innocent too, but we can’t find her without supplies.”

  Still Iain said nothing, and all of her pent up frustration bubbled up. She raised her chin. “Damn it. If one of you will give me directions to this castle, I’ll go there myself.”

  Katy, I tried to be calm, cool, and collected. I really did.

  But a frantic energy had been building inside her and screamed to escape—increasing as time wore on and she couldn’t do anything. Made her jumpy. Made her not be able to think. Made her want to ride, hell-bent for leather, through this rocky, raw land and get her damn sister. Gah!

  She shook her hands at her sides to release some energy while she waited for a response. They just gawked at her as if she’d sprouted a second head.

  She pursed her lips together and glared.

  “Now don’t be hasty, love.” Iain grabbed her arms.

  She yanked her arms from his grip. “I’m not your love. Don’t patronize me. You know what’s at stake for me.”

  He lowered his voice so only she could hear. “This isn’t an easy decision. More is at stake than just you and your sister.”

  “That’s fine. Go on. Do your thing. But the only thing that matters to me, the only thing that is at stake for me, is Fiona. And I’m not abandoning her here.”

  He regarded Duncan, his mouth set in a hard line, and returned his blue gaze to her.

  She huffed out a breath. “Oh, grow a pair and make a decision, will you?”

  “Grow a pair?” he asked slowly. “I don’t take your meaning.”

  She gestured in his southerly direction. “Balls?”

  Duncan snickered, and her face flushed. Iain’s eyes grew steely. But it was erased in an instant, and he tipped his head back and laughed.

  “Aye, you’re a wonder, my wife.” He tucked his thumbs behind his sporran and rocked his hips forward. “You’re well aware, ye are, that I have a fine pair. I don’t know what you’re going on about.” He winked.

  Duncan laughed, and she shook her head ruefully, a smile reluctantly tugging at her lips. He was all back into his normal jocular, flirty self, except something made her look closer.

  His eyes were smiling, as was his face. His body was relaxed. But. A tiny sliver of doubt and vulnerability lurked in his gaze. She normally would have missed it, but something made her assess him more closely. And…perhaps…she recognized herself in his stance.

  She hid behind quips and flirty behavior. It was easier to keep a distance, keep from getting hurt.

  “Yes, I am. But I think…” She stroked her finger down his arm. “I need a refresher? Give us a moment, Duncan, will you?”

  “That’s all he needs is a moment.”

  “You’re confusing me with yourself, old man,” Iain yelled back over his shoulder.

  They walked in silence through the rocky glen until they reached an overlarge boulder. She scooted behind it and started to sit, when he swung her about until she was pressed between the boulder and his hard body.

  “So,” he said, his eyes roaming down her body and back up in a slow perusal, which carried a shocking amount of heat, dammit. “Finally admitting you can no longer resist? I knew you’d come around.”

  She swatted him on the arm. “Be serious, Iain.”

  “I am being serious. In this, I’m always serious.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  He smiled. “You’re right. I’m not.”

  Again, a slight shadow crossed his face.

  He leaned down, his eyes locked on her lips, and she shoved him back. Not enough to actually budge the built-like-a-castle Highlander, but enough to get her point across. Besides, he was sopping wet.

  “Stop it, Iain.”

  He raised his hands, palms facing her. “I’m stopping. If you’re going to be a stubborn lass, there’s naught I can do about it, that’s for certain.”

  “No. I mean, stop with the act. We’re alone. No need to keep up this pretense.”

  Now he cocked his head and frowned. “ ’Tis no pretense, lass. I find you attractive. Very attractive. And I know you feel the same about me. Soo…”

  He leaned forward, crowding her against the rock and his strength, his masculine scent swamping her senses.

  God, she already couldn’t think straight with him like this. Against her.

  She shoved again.

  “I’m serious, Iain. We need to talk. Now’s not the time for this.”

  “Fine.” He stepped back. “What do you wish to discuss?”

  “My sister!” She placed her hands on his shoulders and locked her elbows. “I meant what I said. I’ll take Glenfiddich and find her myself.”

  “You are not wandering off on your own in the Highlands.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, let’s just fast forward through all the male posturing. I get it. It’s dangerous. I could get hurt. I get it. I get it, Iain. But don’t you see? That’s how important it is to me. If it’s dangerous for me, it’s even worse for her. She could be hurt.”

  And now, God, her voice rose in pitch and got a little wobbly there at the end. She clenched her jaw tight and took a deep breath through her nose.

  To her further horror, she choked back a sob as she said, “And it’s all my fault.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  How base his ambition, how poor is his pride,

  Who would lay the high name of a Scotsman aside…

  “Though Rugged and Rough Be the Land of my Birth,” Jacobite Reliques

  Traci’s distress—ach, it tore through Iain. As if his poor heart went all squashy and helpless, like some puffed-up Englishman.

  By God. She looked close to tears.

  What he’d have normally done—crack a joke to take the other person’s mind off their trouble—just didn’t feel…right. However, he was helpless to know what to do in its stead. He just felt in his bones that now would not be the time to pour on the full force of his considerable charm. Aye, he was humble.

  At a loss, he placed his hands on her rigid arms, which still held him away from her, and rubbed slowly back and forth. “How…?” He cleared his throat. “How is it your fault?”

  He’d listen. For once. Her distress cut through his senses, dulled by the frantic rescue. His skin had long dried, and he barely noticed his wet féileadh.

  Her breath shuddered through her, and she looked to the side, avoiding his gaze. She bit her lip and looked down.

  “My sister had…” She took another shuddering breath. Combined with small tells—tightened jaw and fists, a measured, flat tone—it bespoke the struggle she waged to stay calm and in control. “She had this silly idea that all Scottish men were hunks in kilts.”

  “Hunks?”

  She gave a watery smile. “Hot.”

  He shook his head.

  Inexplicably, her face turned red, which seemed to annoy her. “An expression that means the men are incredibly good-looking.”

  “Ah, I ken your meaning.” He gave a little smile.

  “Anywho. She…well, my whole family is obsessed with Scotland. Even though we’ve lived in America for over three hundred years. It might be hard for you to imagine, but in my country, in my time, we have this celebration every year called the Highland Games, and my family always participates. They’re quite nuts about it actually. Campbell tartans for throw pillows and curtains. Scottish dancing lessons. All of it. And I…” She glanced away.

  He rubbed her arms again, and she s
oftened her hold. Enough so he was now pressed against her lovely form again. He cupped her upper arms and squeezed. “You…?”

  Her face flushed red again. “I hated it. It all seemed so pointless. And, I guess, part of me resented it because I had no choice in the matter. My brother and sister and I were trotted out as cute little Scottish kids to put on a show and make our parents proud. I felt like a damned performing monkey. Yet, anything I had an interest in, they just…pretended wasn’t the case. It was as if I were invisible.”

  Her lips rolled into a thin line, and she puffed out a sharp breath. “I feel so damn ungrateful for complaining about it, because really, how spoiled does all that sound? I had a family who cared for me. Fed me. Sheltered me. All they asked in return was that I make the Campbell clan proud every year at the Games. But…I was a kid.” She shrugged. “I didn’t know until later how good I had it. How safe I was.”

  “How did all this bring you here then?”

  “My sister came to visit me in London. She lives in America and wanted to see Scotland, because, unlike me, she and my brother are just like my mom and dad—”

  “Obsessed with Scotland.”

  “Yes. And she was loading up on all the Campbell tchotchkes—”

  “Tchotchkes?”

  She waved a hand. “Stupid items. All of them smeared with the Campbell tartan, or the Campbell motto, or some such shit. She’d already been here for five days, and we had fifteen more days of this. Touring around. Looking at Campbell monument this, or Campbell castle that. If I had to go in one more tourist spot, I was going to scream.”

  She paused, and Iain took the opportunity to interject. “I don’t understand most of what you say, but I think I understand. You were getting increasingly frustrated with your sister’s activities, correct? And you and your wishes were invisible again.”

  She choked back a sob. “Yes,” she said, her voice laced with tears.

  Seeing this tough woman turn emotional left him feeling anxious. That tough veneer, combined with her easygoing banter, he understood and knew how to play off of, but this? His experiences with women were either the high-strung, emotional types like his mother, or the tough-as-nails kind like his aunt. To see the latter become the former?