Sarah bestowed upon me her most withering Southern smile. “Would you like me to mix you a Mimosa? I saw on YouTube you like 'em?”
Hayley said, “Okay we aren't talking about Mimosas either. Keep it civil.”
James stepped in to redirect. “Everyone knows how to eat an apple, around the middle.”
I grinned. “Nope.” Then I ate the apple the correct way, which is not actually a life hack I filmed before, I saw it on Buzzfeed or something. When you eat it from the bottom up it's possible to eat the core too, because it breaks apart easily, and the whole apple goes right down.
Mine however did not.
I ate about half, to very impressed comments from the gang, and then I vomited all over my lap. And the floor. While everyone screamed, gagged, and jumped out of my way.
I slid down and collapsed in the middle of my puddle of sick and threw up again.
Last thing I remember, Hayley was holding my hair while I said, “I'm so sorry, I'm a huge —” I threw up again, it was probably time for me to go to sleep.
Two
I woke up the next morning on the floor of James's bathroom. My head rested on a rolled-up towel and a beach towel covered me. How old was I? Oh right, twenty-three. This had been a dumbass move. Note to self: spent the night at James's, did not actually sleep with James. Not sure how I felt about that. Also not sure how I felt at all because my brain was not functioning. Because of head pain, parched tongue, ugh, my skin hurt. Someone's red cup was beside the sink, I poured out the stale punch, filled it with water, and drank it down. Forgot how island water tasted — not great. Drank a second, then a third.
I looked like hell. Not good at all. I shuffled into the kitchen, finding my way easily having spent much of my youth here. The whole house was actually making me quite nostalgic for the good old days, when I used to come here to go to the beach, partied here when James's parents were out of town, and snuck into James's bedroom when we were dating — sneaking out before his mom made breakfast.
I was super glad James's parents didn't live here anymore, the shame might have killed me. I found my purse. My toothbrush was in there, because I had suspected I might stay the night. I had planned, just not well enough, because this was one of those Be Careful What You Wish For kind of things. I brushed my teeth, smeared on some Burt's Bees lip balm, and wrapped my hair up in a messy bun, spot cleaning the vomit off my shirt.
I tiptoed through the house looking for anyone else awake. Hayley and Michael were sleeping in the extra bedroom. James's door was closed. Quentin was snoring on the couch. I tiptoed to the front door and headed for my car. Sarah's car was gone too, which was good, because for half a second I wondered if she might be in James's bed. I wouldn't put it past him. The heat of the day was in a full blaze, and it was only nine o'clock. I couldn't figure out why I was up so early. I also couldn't agree with myself about whether I was still too drunk to drive. Probably. Maybe not. I pulled my keys out of my purse, strode across the carport, and then I noticed, and remembered. Underneath the neighbor's house, the two cloaked figures were huddled beside each other on one of the lawn chairs. I watched for a moment. What was their deal?
As I passed them, the man called out, “Good mornin' Mistress…” I stopped walking as he drew closer. “Pray, where might I hire a horse, or — obtain a meal and lodging after our travels?”
The cloak half-covered his face. He glanced over his shoulder at his companion, seeming concerned about leaving her alone. She clutched a very large tapestry bag on her lap.
“There's a hotel, it has a restaurant, I could give you a ride.” He watched my lips as I spoke, his brow knit, seeming confused, as if he was translating my words. I was speaking the same language though, just not using the words in quite the same way, and without the same beautiful sexy lilt.
“Aye,” he said, finally, with a nod and returned for his companion. He led her across the sandy landscape with a steadying hand at her elbow.
I jingled my keys. My head was banging. My eyes were burning. It was sweltering hot out. My mouth tasted like a big wad of cotton had been dipped in a garbage can and stuffed into the spaces around my tongue. “My car is over here.”
He followed me down the driveway, to the street, where my Prius was parked all by itself on the shoulder like it had been abandoned. The man stared at it for a long and awkward pause. I guessed they wanted to sit together, so I opened the back door and gestured them in. Like an Uber driver. No, Uber drivers didn't open car doors; I was behaving like the chauffeur.
They climbed in on the same side. She slid over and he threw his cloak off his shoulder, slid a very long sword out from the harness across his back, and pulled himself in. He was very big and had to duck uncomfortably, sliding the sword across my entire car's floorboards, but when that didn't work he situated it diagonally. He was wearing a kilt, not the usual kind, small, pleated, and fitting, this one looked like wrapped fabric, draped, gathered, part of it twisted up over his shoulder. So much fabric he must have been sweltering.
Me too because every red-blooded American woman knows a kilt is the most godammed sexy thing in the world and this was no exception.
His companion tucked into his shoulder her eyes clamped shut.
“I thank ye most heartily, mistress.”
“No worries.” I climbed in the driver's side, started the car, and pulled onto the beach road. When I glanced into the rearview mirror, his eyes were clamped shut too.
I didn't really have the mental health to strike up a conversation, but it felt awkward to sit in silence, so I started with, “Where did you say you were from?”
He didn't open his eyes. “Scotland, Argyll.”
“Will you be staying here long?”
He didn't answer, but shook his head. Then his head lolled as if he was seasick and weak. I drove up to the hotel entrance. “This is the hotel — wait, oh, it looks like the restaurant is closed today. Are you hungry?”
He opened his eyes and looked around. “We are verra famished, Mistress. Pray, if ye could spare a meal, it has been many long days since we hae eaten.”
“Yeah, I need a coffee and a muffin sandwich or eight. Do you like Mcdonalds?”
He scowled. “Mistress, I winna be welcome in the lands of Donald, our clans hae been feudin' for many long years.”
This cos-play thing was getting pretty weird. His serious immersion in his character made me wonder if he was a method actor, but then again, wouldn't he go to Scotland instead of Amelia Island? We had windswept dunes, not moors.
“Well, your feud won't matter, they'll give you something to eat no matter what, and I need it for my hangover. My name is Kaitlyn Sheffield, by the way.” I wasn't sure why I gave him my full first name, but his stiff formalities made me embarrassed to call myself Katie.
“I am Mahgnus Archibald Caelhin Campbell, this is Madame Mairead Campbell.” He glanced at the woman beside him and added, “Madame Mairead Delapointe.”
“Do I call you Magnus then?”
“Och, aye, Magnus.” He made it sound like Mah-g-nus.
“Nice to meet you.” I pulled my Prius to the road, headed toward the McDonalds, and looked back to see Magnus's eyes clamped shut again.
It dawned on me as I turned on Eighth Street that I should have checked to see if they had any money. Maybe they were homeless, or gypsies, or was that even a thing anymore?
Or what if this was part of a reality tv show? Maybe the cos-players were involving me because I was the notorious former YouTuber, KatieMakeSTuff, the girl that had that complete breakdown on Facebook Live. The girl who took her career and flushed it down the toilet by calling her fiancé a cocksucker while lunging at his face and trying to kick his ass pretty good.
Of course, it was the fault of the Mimosas I had been drinking all morning while we tasted wedding cake samples. Just before he told me he didn't want to marry me because he had fallen in love with another YouTuber named Yummybabe.
I sighed. I had thought my userna
me, KatieMakeSTuff, was an awesome play on words, but beside sexy, cute Yummybabe I came off as pretty shrill and a lot psychotic.
That's why I lived in Fernandina now, and my ex-fiance lived in my apartment in Los Angeles, keeping our millions of subscribers. Because when the whole YouTube viewing world woke up the next day it was almost unanimous: KatieMakeSTuff was an embarrassment.
Braden fell in love with someone else, but she was cute so no one could blame him. I took all the blame because I lunged across the table cursing like a pirate.
I was no longer fit to be on video.
Wait, could this be a prank? Could Braden have sent this guy to embarrass me more? His ratings were kind of tanking, because ultimately he was hot, but not very bright. He didn't have the abilities.
I really hoped he would fail, and I'm sure he knew it.
But ultimately he wasn't smart enough to prank me this good. Yummybabe wasn't either. She was dumb as rocks.
I pulled the Prius into the McDonalds drive-thru. “What do you want to eat?” I asked over my shoulder. His hands were gripped into tight fists. I tuned my music down; maybe Katy Perry was too much this early in the morning.
His eyes met mine and held them, focused deep. “I dinna ken, Mistress Sheffield, though I am hungry enough tae eat a bear.”
“They don't have bear — you've never had a McDonalds breakfast before? I can recommend the muffin sandwich, and their coffee is good. Would you like me to order something for you?”
His voice came up from his chest like a rumbling wave. “Aye, Mistress Sheffield, I haena been tae a place as this, I would be verra grateful.”
“Okay then.” I pulled into the drive-thru and ordered: seven muffin sandwiches, three coffees, three milks, and three waters. I didn't have nearly enough cup holders for this many drinks, but I was going to drain most of mine right there anyway.
My two guests sat quietly in the back staring down at their hands. I asked, “Do you have any money?”
He looked at me quizzically, his brow pulled down in a question. Then he whispered with the woman beside him. Her voice was too low for me to hear what she was saying, but I didn't think it would matter because her words sounded unrecognizable.
Finally, Lady Mairead Delapointe, yanked at the rope of the very large and full tapestry bag and from inside it pulled a coin. I call it a coin, but it was clearly gold. And very old. And probably worth very much more than this meal.
“That's okay, wait, put that away. I mean, um, man—” I paid for our meal with my debit card. I pulled to the next window, received the food, and then considering the two did not look like they knew what to do with a bag of McDonalds food, pulled under the shade of an oak tree and kept the engine and AC running.
The two of them were still so dark and mysterious, could it be soot? In contrast, everything around my car was lit in the full bright sun of an Florida summer morning. A morning that was already steaming and about to become scorching. I turned and passed them drinks. “Careful, very hot coffee.” They both still seemed confused by everything about the meal, so I ate with big flourishes, opened my coffee, stirred it, blew into it, then closed the lid and showed them how to drink from it. Then I unwrapped a muffin sandwich and ate it with big copyable gestures. It was a lot like what I used to do on YouTube. “So where in Scotland did you say you were from?”
He furrowed his brow. “You know of Scotland?”
“I do. I've seen Braveheart.” I grinned.
He said, “My residence is Balloch Castle, the home of my uncle, tis on the south bank of the River Tay.”
“Oh,” I said, as if that explained it.
While he spoke, the woman's hood slid off the back of her head, exposing her full face to me for the first time. She was really beautiful, but her cheeks were marred by deep, jagged, red scars. Magnus carefully helped her unwrap her sandwich. It dawned on me he could have been the person who scarred her.
Maybe I was in the middle of a kidnapping, or people trafficking — crap. My heart raced. I needed to get them to a police station. Plus the sword. Any man who walked around in 2017 with a sword probably had a lot of baggage.
Magnus ate like he was famished. Devoured the sandwich, opened another one, and then a third. I built up my nerve, my phone in my lap, finger poised on 911. Then, while he was chewing, I looked directly at her, and jumped in, “Lady — um, do you need help? Is this the man who hurt you?”
“Magnus has rescued me from my second husband, Lord Delapointe. You hae nocht tae fear from my son, I promise ye.”
“Oh, good, thank you. My apologies.”
She said, “Thank ye for your kindness.”
Magnus had been looking between my face and Lady Delapointe's during our exchange. But didn't seem bothered by my accusation.
I relaxed and ate a few more bites of a second muffin while stealing glances at Magnus. He was handsome, broad-shouldered, that knee jutting up without a cover was a seriously sexy knee. And what was wrong with me? I shouldn't have been this horny.
This wasn't a long dry spell. I had sex with Braden literally the morning of the day he told me he loved someone else. What, less than a month ago? This horniness had to be some bizarre need for attention. How was I this needy?
Desperation. I loved him, I thought he loved me. I was going to marry him, and then he didn't want me anymore.
I scowled.
Magnus said, “You dinna like your muffins, Mistress Sheffield? Tis a braw feast ye laid out for us.” He licked his fingers, grinned, picked up his coffee cup, and drank deeply.
I smiled back. “I like it. It's my favorite meal to fix a hangover.” Then I segued. “I know this is a tricky question, but that gold piece you showed me, do you have a lot of it?”
His hand edged closer to his thigh. He had another weapon there, probably. The hilt of his sword, laying on the floorboards of my Prius looked precious too, antique and authentic looking. Perhaps a family heirloom? If so, it needed to be in a museum, not laying under the bed at the local hotel.
“I mean, if you have a lot of it, gold, you can't just check into a hotel like that. You'll get robbed. Seriously. I mean they'll have a safe box for you, but if you have more than a few pieces, it needs to be in a bank. For protection.”
“This bank would hae men guardin' it?”
“Sure. Enough. My dad works there.”
Magnus nodded. “Aye. Will ye passage us tae the bank, Mistress Sheffield?”
I started the car and drove it out of the lot and pointed it in the direction of the First Coast of the United Bank.
At the receptionist's desk I asked for my dad. He came to the lobby under the impression that it was a personal visit, but it wasn't. “Dad, these are um…” How to explain these strange strangers, wearing a sword and carrying a bag of gold? “This is Lady Mairead Delapointe and, um—”
The woman interrupted to correct me, “I am Lady Delapointe, or Lady Mairead, which I prefer.”
“Yes, and Magnus Campbell, they need to make a deposit.” I gestured toward the tapestry bag Lady Mairead was carrying, and introduced my father. “This is John Sheffield.”
My dad looked flustered at their costumes, but led them through to his office. I opted to stay in the lobby, waiting. It was none of my business, plus I had three missed calls from Hayley. “What's up?”
“Where'd you go girl? We woke up and you were gone.”
“Funny thing about that, I was going to pick everyone up some muffins and coffee, but that couple from last night—”
“What? Who — oh the hunka hunka Scotsman? I almost forgot them in the fog. That was fun, huh, and so weird. James keeps asking for you.”
“Yeah, yeah, tell him I'm sorry I ran out this morning, and sorry I didn't bring the muffins back, but I'm at the bank with that couple. They needed a ride and food and now a place to store their money...”
“So you're hungover, driving the weirdos around the island, being a tour guide? How LA of you.”
“Yeah, I
guess so—”
“James wants you to meet us tonight at the Turtle in downtown. Isn't that awesome? We can all four of us hang out together all the time.”
My dad stepped out of his office heading across the lobby towards me. “I have to go Hayley, I'll see if I can make it tonight. I haven't even showered yet, so it's hard to imagine doing anything. I'll call you back later.”
His face was flushed, excited, but he held his voice down. “Where did you find these people?”
I answered vaguely, “Friends of friends.”
“You were right to bring them here, have you seen what they have?”
“It looked like gold.”
“Piles of gold, also jewels, also a ring that looks very, very old. It will all need to be appraised of course, but market value on the gold is at least $200,000.” My dad had a habit of taking off his glasses and rubbing where they pressed on his nose, when he was attempting to control his excitement. He slid his glasses back on. “I've called your mother, she's on her way—”
“Mom, what does — Dad, is Mom coming to sell them a house?”
“She has a house that will do for them, I think. She can short-term lease it to them. It's on the beach, very ritzy.”
“I was going to take them to a hotel.”
“Don't be ridiculous. Have you heard where they're from? They lived in a castle, Katie. Let your mother and I do our jobs.”
I blew out a breath of air. “Fine, but it seems kind of unethical…”
“To get them in a home, like they're used — here comes your mother now.”
My mom blew in through the front doors headed straight for us. “Hello Katie. John, are they in your office?”
My parents bustled into dad's office together. At this point I was not needed at all, but felt sort of responsible for Magnus and Lady Mairead, so I lurked around, playing on my phone, until they all walked out of the office together. My parents were dressed in their Summer Suits for Selling People Big Expensive Things. Magnus and Lady Mairead were in their dark cloaks, hoods up. The tapestry bag looked empty and light. Magnus's sword remained, jutting up, behind his head. No one had convinced him to put it into the safe, so maybe it was a fake after all.
Kaitlyn and the Highlander Page 2