by Maggie Way
“You’re in Scotland, lass. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Your favorite then.”
He delivered the drink with an inquiry. His lips twisted into a grin. “I’ve never been to America. What does it mean to land a rooster?”
“What?”
“You said you could land your own cock a doodle doo.”
Alice’s cheeks heated. She could feel it, but she just turned up her drink and glanced away. “Just ignore me. Jet lag makes me a bit loopy.”
The bartender filled two frosty mugs and set one in front of her before taking a sip of the other. “You must be from the bride’s side, lass.”
“You’re observant. Do you always drink with the customers?” She tried to stifle the aggravation in her voice that this guy knew more about her than she did about him. What exactly had Cassie told him?
His lips twitched, and she glanced down to see if he was wearing a kilt in hopes something else might have twitched. She frowned to find him wearing jeans.
“I know that look,” he said with a Scottish lilt. “It’s the same one I get when women tourists find that I’m not wearing me kilt.”
Alice tossed back the scotch in one smooth gulp and slid the shot glass in his direction before picking up the beer. “I don’t want to tell you how to do your job, but you might get more tips if you did. I don’t always travel to Scotland, but when I do, you can bet that sweet ass of yours, I’m looking for knobby knees, hairy legs, and kilts.”
Alice laid some bills on the bar and slid off the stool. “Are the darts by the board?”
“Nay, I know better than to keep them out in the bar. Any one of these bastards’ wives could walk in at any minute and try to use them as a weapon.”
The bartender walked over to the register and hit a few buttons, making the drawer pop out. He took the darts out and handed them over.
“Brains and brawn.” She smiled. “If you had on the kilt, you’d be a contender.” She winked and walked away.
The old men sitting at the bar started laughing, and she didn’t even bother turning around. She wasn’t here to find a man. Alice couldn’t keep one on her own damn continent happy. No way could she keep one happy across the pond.
“She’s got the bite of a Chihuahua.”
The bartender had walked to the cash register and was depositing her money when she heard his comment. “And the legs of one too. She’s a wee lass.”
The dart flew from her fingers like a missile-seeking target embedding in the wall next to the bartender’s head.
“Sorry. It slipped.” Not sorry. Alice started mentally calculating how much money she had in case she needed to make bail.
The bartender cocked his brow. He didn’t yell, didn’t throw her butt out. He must have the patience of a Buddha, unless he was silently plotting how to retaliate. Either way, she was having a better night than she would if dining with the Barracuda, even though none of these Scots were wearing kilts.
“She’d have better aim if she could see over the bar,” one of the old guys said and let out a belly full of laughter.
The bartender grabbed a bottle of scotch before prying the dart out of the wall. He rounded the bar and set the bottle on her table before handing her back the dart. “How about we make this a game?”
A smile split her lips. Now he was talking. He had no idea that she’d hustled her college tuition playing darts and pool. No way could he beat her. “What did you have in mind?”
“Darts, The Broken Spirits way.” He lifted her off her feet, earning a squeal from her lips as he sat her on the barstool. “You win, I’ll put on me kilt, but if I win….” He paused dramatically.
“If you win…?”
“You take off my jeans.”
“Ha!” She yelled with a smile. “So, you win either way?”
“Or maybe you do.” He winked. “So, what do you say? A game of darts, wee lass?”
“Oh, you are so on.”
A half-hour later, Duncan, the kilt-less bartender, tilted the whisky bottle above her lips for the last drop. He needed all the help he could get. He was about to lose. No way would she miss. Alice turned back to the dartboard. Two boards blurred, and she closed one eye, trying to narrow her target. She stumbled backward into Duncan’s chest. “I’ve got you, lassie.”
“Shhh,” she slurred.
“No one’s talking, lass.”
“Right.” Sweat dotted her brow. She’d underestimated him.
He’d thrown his last dart, and it was a good hit, but… Alice lifted her arm and let the dart fly, knocking his off the board. Every Scot in the bar went wild. If you could call old drunks sitting at the bar sighing and lifting their beers in the air as wild, then they did.
“You can’t hustle a hustler, fella,” Alice teased before turning up a brand-new beer and doing a victory dance around the tables.
“I think we’ve both had enough,” he said, catching her at the waist as she passed their bar table. He slipped the mug from her fingers.
“You know what I haven’t had enough of?” She grinned. “Knobby knees. It’s time to kilt up.”
“I donae own a kilt.”
“Ah, well then.” She pointed from her nose to the kilt in the display case. “You can wear that one.”
“Come on, lass.”
“A bet is a bet.” She looked around at the others in attendance and grabbed the beer he’d taken. She raised it in the air. The cold liquid sloshed over the side as she grinned. “Time to sport the kilt.”
The old-timers at the bar raised their mugs in agreement. “She won fair and square, Duncan.”
“I cannae believe you let an American beat you, especially one so wee and drunk.”
He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “I’m going to put it on, but you’re going to take it off.”
“You’re so confident.” Alice laughed, and instead of heading for the manly kilt in the display, she opened the case that held the short pink girly one and pulled it free. She let the plaid fabric dangle from her fingers and wiggled her brows. “We’ll see just how far that confidence goes.”
“Aye, we will.” Duncan advanced on her, hoisting her fireman style over his shoulder and then walking toward the bar office.
Her head spun as she grabbed the loops on his jeans to try and minimize the damage he was doing to her squeamish stomach. “This isn’t how you carry a woman who’s full of alcohol and no food. You’re just asking for me to get sick down your back.”
He kicked the door closed behind him before easing her down on the couch. “A deal is a deal.”
The leather couch was cool against her heated skin, and she rested her head on the armrest, snuggling into its comfort.
“A deal is a deal,” she said with a sigh, fighting to keep her eyes open. “Give me a good show, Highlander.”
“You’re tired?” he asked as he unhooked his belt.
“Jet lag,” she mumbled, and her eyes felt like heavy weights. She was slowly losing in her effort to keep them open.
Chapter Three
Alice rubbed the sleep from her eyes after awakening in an unfamiliar dark room. Her temples throbbed as she swallowed through the cotton taste in her mouth. What the hell had she done?
“Go back to sleep, lass,” Duncan said as he tossed his arm around her stomach and pulled her closer to his side.
Oh no, no, no, no. She did not pull an all-nighter and get drunk on her first night in town. She’d promised herself she would prove the Barracuda wrong on this trip and survive it with style and grace, both of which she, the Barracuda, thought Alice was severely lacking, and at this moment, she’d be right.
Alice turned her head to find Duncan with a lazy smile. She glanced down at her clothed body, which disappeared beneath the sheet. A sigh of relief escaped her lips. The alarm clock on the bedside table read 11:00. The moonlight drifting through the sheer blinds told her it was night. She wouldn’t call that staying out all night. She could still return to the
castle with some dignity intact, not much, but some. Assuming she could find her way back. “How did I get here?”
“I carried you of course, after I called in a replacement bartender,” he said, lifting his head from the pillow and resting it in his palm. “It was either that or try to get your drool stains out of my leather sofa.”
“I don’t drool.” Alice inconspicuously wiped at the side of her mouth to check before removing his hand from her waist. She rested her arm over her eyes. “Where exactly is here?”
“My apartment,” he answered, rolling over on the bed to put his hands behind his head. His smile was cocky and sure. His eyes twinkled, as if he held the answers she’d yet to ask.
“Crap,” she whispered and slid out of bed. Her feet hit the cold floor, and she glanced around for her tennis shoes and socks, spotting them in the corner of the room by a chair. She hurried and pulled on her socks and shoved the shoes on her feet.
“Are you in a hurry?”
Alice glanced up and gave him a smile she was sure didn’t reach her eyes. “I have friends that will be worried about me. I’ve got to go.”
“When can I see you again?” Duncan asked, sitting up in the bed. The sheet dipped to his waist, giving her a glimpse of his tanned, muscular chest. Damn, why couldn’t she remember?
“I’m only in town for the week.” Alice rose and walked to the window to see if she could see the pub or the castle from where she was. The pub sign flashed below her. They were in an upstairs apartment. At least she didn’t have to ask the stranger for directions, another win.
“I’m sure you can find time to fit me in for a rematch.” His words were whispered in her ear as he rested his palms on her waist.
She stiffened at his touch. She hadn’t even heard him move from the bed.
“Sorry, no. My schedule is pretty busy.” She slid out of his hold and glanced around for her purse. She spotted it on the counter and grabbed it before heading to the door. She pulled the door open and paused, looking back at the sexy Highlander one last time. It was a shame she couldn’t steal another few hours so that he could help her forget how crazy her life had turned out. He looked like the kind of guy who could easily accomplish that, and so much more. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
He rubbed his neck. A look of hesitation clouded his eyes. “If the fates are fair, I’ll see you again before you leave.”
“I don’t believe in fate.” She smiled and gave him a nod of acknowledgment. That was all she could do. She might have been lucky at darts, and sneaking away from the Barracuda, but eventually Alice’s luck would run out. It always did.
She closed the door behind her, trotted down the back stairs and made her way out onto the main street. The brisk night air cleared her mind and her head as she followed the road that ran beside the cliffs back toward the castle. The entire way, she was silently debating the walk of shame and embarrassment from ringing the bell and waking up the entire castle staff. She silently wondered if there was a way to scale the castle walls or find a hidden entrance to the secret corridors that Cassie had teased her with.
The lights inside the castle were off. The only illumination was from the full moon and outside perimeter lights attached at each corner of the castle walls. Maybe, if there was a fire escape leading up to her floor, or a large tree with thick branches that reached her window, she might be able to climb. She’d done it plenty of times when she was a teenager.
Alice jogged around the castle in hopes she’d find another way in that didn’t include waking up everyone. She rounded the corner and skidded to a stop. A man had a woman, dressed in a maid uniform, pressed against the castle walls in an intimate embrace. He was kissing her hard as he fondled her breast.
The moonlight hid the extent of Alice’s embarrassment as she stiffened, momentarily abashed and, quite frankly, a little turned on. Their chemistry and heat sizzled in the air. Was it bad that Alice almost wished it was her on the receiving end and a certain bartender who was doing the kissing?
Alice slowly and quietly stepped back. She heard the unmistakable oink of a pig seconds before she tripped and found herself falling to the ground. The pig squealed again, splashing in the mud puddle and landing right on Alice’s chest, stealing the breath from her lungs. Her already wrinkled clothes were ruined as a cold chill covered her entire backside.
“Princess, heel,” the Scottish guy demanded. The maid, with thoroughly kissed lips and disheveled clothes, pulled her top closed and ran off.
He reached for the rhinestone collar and lifted the heavy pig off of Alice’s chest before offering her his hand.
“Well now. Who might you be?” he asked as Alice took his hand and let him pull her up. She glanced to her backside and grimaced at the mud covering her entire backside and shoes. There would be no hiding of the muddy trail she was going to leave while heading to her room. Would there be no end to her embarrassment?
“Alice Graham,” she said, wiping the mud from her hands onto the front of her jeans.
“Maid of honor.” The Scottish horn dog’s lips twisted into a smile. “I’m Rowan, brother of the groom.” His gaze traveled down to her shoes and back up. “Well, Alice Graham, maid of honor, you ran off my potential future date just as it was starting to look promising. Why are you sneaking around the castle?”
Alice let out a defeated sigh as she glanced back up at the windows to see if she could figure out what room was hers. “I didn’t want to wake everyone up. I was looking to see if I could figure out which room was mine in order to find another way in. Cass said there was a passageway.”
“There is, but you cannae wear that. Come with me.” He gestured across the property to a building that looked like a small groundskeeper house.
“Who lives there?”
“I do,” he announced.
“I should have guessed,” she whispered. She’d done her homework on the groom and all of his brothers. She knew this one was a player. The trail of women he left in his wake spanned a few continents. “You’re the player.”
He held open the door to the cottage. “I see you’ve done your homework.”
“That’s what friends do.” Alice shrugged, stepped inside and stopped, trying to keep the trail of mud to a minimum.
“So does family,” Rowan said with a smile as he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the bathroom, depositing her inside a tub. “Alice Graham, the only child of Ed and Catherine Graham. Your parents divorced when you were five and you were shuffled between homes. You went to college with my soon-to-be sister-in-law, where the other bridesmaids and you established a secret society.”
Alice was rarely at a loss for words, yet there she stood muddy, wet, and cold listening to a summary of her past. She snapped her lips closed, crossed her arms over her chest and called out after Rowan as he started to walk out of the bathroom. “We weren’t part of a secret society. It was more like a club.”
Within seconds, Rowan returned with a folded towel, jogging pants, and T-shirt. He set them on the counter before regarding her with a knowing smile. “Paranormal Hunters. You’re the psychic of the bunch, and they were the investigators trying to prove your claims. Maybe later I’ll let you read my fortune.”
Alice’s mouth parted as Rowan slid the curtain closed.
“Strip and wash off. Once you’re dressed, I’ll sneak you back into the castle and no one will be the wiser.”
The bathroom door shut before Alice could muster any type of comeback. She’d been in this god-forsaken country for less than twenty-four hours and she’d managed to get herself in a hot tizzy over the town bartender, and in need of help from the Castle Casanova, who knew enough about her life to be dangerous. Perfect.
Alice didn’t waste time stripping in the tub and rinsing the mud and cold from her body. She toweled off and redressed in the borrowed clothes before stepping out of the bathroom to find Rowan relaxing on his bed.
“What should I do with my clothes?”
“
Leave them. I’ll see that they’re cleaned and returned.”
She glanced down at her bare feet. “I don’t suppose you have any woman’s size six and a half shoes laying around. Maybe one of the maids left some behind?”
“Nay,” he said, sliding off the bed. “But you willnae need them. I’ll carry you across the yard and into the tunnels. The floor is smooth in there, so you willnae step on anything.”
“What is up with all of you Scots wanting to carry me?”
His eyes sparkled as a grin split his lips. “Some bloke beat me to it?”
“I’m sure you were preoccupied,” she announced, glancing around the room to see if there was anything she could use as makeshift shoes.
Rowan moved around the bed and blocked her view. “In my arms or on my back. Which is to be? I’m sure you donae want to leave evidence of your sneaking about.”
“Back,” she said, twirling her fingers so she could jump up, piggyback style. “And I wasn’t sneaking around. I lost track of time at the pub.”
“Ah,” he said, moving toward the door. “Duncan must have been the first to carry you, lass. Well, you know what they say. The first to carry you across a threshold is the one you’re going to marry. I guess we’ll be seeing more of you.”
“I think you have that backward.”
“Do I?” Rowan closed the door behind them before jostling her higher on his back.
“First you marry, and then you get carried across the threshold.”
“Maybe in America, but you’re in Scotland, lass. When a Highlander carries you to his bedchamber, there’s a good chance he’s smitten,” he teased.
“Smitten?” She chuckled. “Don’t you mean horny?”
“Or that.”
The moon slid behind the clouds, making everything darker in the empty courtyard as Rowan approached the castle wall. He slowed, walking alongside of it until he had them both behind some bushes. He ran his hand over the smooth stone before pressing on one. The stones gave way as a secret door opened.
He stepped inside and let her slide down his back until her feet touched the ground. The door shut behind them, leaving them in complete darkness. “I don’t suppose you have a light.”