My Scottish Summer

by Connie Brockway

  Ann stared at Beatrice while she tried to make sense of her words. “Who exactly are you talking about?”

  “The ghost,” Beatrice said. “The ghost of Adair Matheson.”

  “Ghost?” Ann stared at Beatrice, thinking she must be teasing her. Yet Beatrice looked perfectly serious. “The ghost of Adair Matheson still wanders Dunmarin?”

  “Aye. Rose can tell you.”

  “I have never seen him myself, but it is true that he has been seen by others.” Rose pushed against the bridge of her glasses. “Of course it is usually after someone has had a wee bit of punch. It’s made with Dunmarin scotch, you know.”

  “Now, Rose, I had only a drop of punch that night.” Beatrice nibbled her shortbread. “And you know yourself several of the servants have seen him, as well as your brother Maxwell. And he wasn’t drinking punch at the time.”

  “No.” Rose walked to the stove to tend to the whistling kettle. “Maxwell was drinking his scotch neat the night he saw the earl.”

  “Well, I cannot say what state of mind Maxwell was in that night, but—”

  “The state that sees ghosts,” Rose said.

  “Perhaps he was a bit tipsy, but I was not.” Beatrice stared at the window above the sink for a long moment. “Still, I’m wondering how we could coax a ghost to tell us where he hid the jewels?”

  “You could try offering him a glass of punch,” Rose said, while she poured water into a teapot.

  “It wasn’t the punch.” Beatrice brushed the crumbs from the front of her pink silk blouse. “My sister’s husband has a cousin who dabbles a bit in witchcraft. I’m thinking she might help with contacting the mad earl. I’ll see what I can do. Perhaps she can come up with a spell to help us.”

  Ann could see that Beatrice was completely serious. “I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.”

  “No trouble at all,” Beatrice said. “My pleasure.”

  There was a simple logic in her thinking—ask the man who hid the jewels where they were hidden. Pity it couldn’t be that easy to find them, Ann thought. Yet she knew it would take work.

  Later that night, Ann found a clue that might lead to the treasure.

  Humid air lush with the mingled scents of jasmine and orange blossoms brushed her face as Ann walked into the huge conservatory of Dunmarin. Moonlight poured through the glass and steel that shaped the walls and the high domed ceiling enclosing a tropical garden. It was after midnight, but Ann couldn’t wait until morning to see if what she suspected was true.

  The splashing of water against stone echoed through the room from the waterfall at one end of the swimming pool, muffling the sound of her footsteps. She had traveled only a short distance along the flagstone path when a voice brushed against her back, freezing her where she stood. She pivoted and found Iain standing in the pool.

  Lights glowed beneath the surface of the water, the pale light glistening on Iain’s skin. Droplets of water glittered upon the hair that spread like an eagle’s wings across his broad chest. His thick hair was swept back from his brow, betraying the sculpted perfection of his face. He was smiling at her, his dark eyes alight with mischief and more. In that moment she could almost believe he was a creature of myth, a magical being who had left the sea to seduce any unsuspecting female who strayed into his path. “What are you doing here?”

  Iain lifted his brows at the sharp tone of her voice. “I live here, remember?”

  “You’re supposed to be in London.”

  “I came back a little early.”

  “And decided to take a swim?”

  “When I can’t sleep, I often come here. I like to swim. It’s very relaxing.”

  Although the pool was the size of an Olympic pool, the resemblance to anything conventional ended there. It curved through ferns and plants along one glass wall. At one end flagstone steps dipped down into the water. The other end of the pool rose into a hill of sculpted black stone. Water bubbled from the top of the fern-swathed hill, tumbling over rocks until it plunged in a narrow stream into the pool.

  “Did you come here to take a swim?” he asked.

  “At midnight? Alone?”

  “And here I was hoping you would surprise me. I thought you might have come here to enjoy yourself.” He tilted his head, a challenge entering his eyes. “Look at you, the buttons on your shirt fastened all the way up to your chin, even though the heat in there is begging for you to loosen your collar a bit.”

  She rubbed her hands over the sleeves of her shirt, the white cotton damp from the humidity. “Is it warm in here? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Iain pursed his lips. “Have you ever done anything that wasn’t nice and safe and secure, Professor?”

  Ann bristled at the censure in his tone. “I often have dinner at my sister Carol’s house.”

  He stared at her, a glimmer of curiosity entering his expression. “And that is dangerous?”

  “You have obviously never tasted my sister’s meat loaf.”

  He laughed softly. “If you didn’t come here for a swim, what brings you here at this hour?”

  “I was studying the plans of the various improvements that have been made to Dunmarin. That’s when I noticed that the conservatory was a garden in Adair’s time.”

  “You were studying the plans at this time of night?” Iain released his breath in a slow sigh. “Do you ever think of anything besides work, Professor?”

  Ann stiffened at the disapproval in his voice. “I am not here on holiday. I am here to work.”

  “Aye. And there is no room for a little pleasure in your schedule.”

  “I find pleasure in my work.” She crossed her arms over her chest, resenting the way he made her feel so defensive. “According to the plans, this area was a garden in Adair’s time. When the conservatory was built in 1932, the large fountain that once stood in the center of Adair’s garden was left as it was. The fountain has a sculpture of a sea lion.”

  “Aye, I’m aware of it. We can look at it tomorrow.”

  “I was hoping to examine it tonight.”

  Iain folded his arms on the smooth flagstone edging the pool. “Have you ever gone skinny-dipping, professor?”

  She molded her lips into what she hoped would be a sarcastic smile. “In a fountain?”

  Iain grinned at her. “Anywhere?”

  “Only in my bathtub.”

  “It is a very pleasant experience. But if you are a little too timid to try it, we keep bathing suits in the dressing rooms. I’m sure you could find one that fits you.”

  Ann’s back stiffened. “I am not timid.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He winked at her. “The water is fine.”

  Oh, the man was a master at this game. “I’ll pass on the midnight swim.”

  Iain fixed his gaze on her. “Afraid of me?”

  “No. I’m not afraid of you, I simply have more sense than to paddle about with a shark.”

  He placed his hand over his chest, grimacing as though she had wounded him. “My dear Professor Fitz-patrick, perhaps you should get to know the man before you cast judgment.”

  She knew him as well as it was safe to know him. “If you will excuse me, I have a Sentinel to find.”

  “It would seem you are determined to destroy a perfectly fine opportunity to have a wee bit of fun. I might as well help you, since you’ll be prowling about with or without me.” He walked toward the stairs at the end of the pool. The lights from the pool limned his body, confirming the fact he was as bare as Adam before the fall.

  Images flooded her mind, memories forged on a moonlit beach in the realm of her dreams. The sudden surge of her heart set her blood pounding. She clenched her teeth, annoyed at the power this man held over her. She had heard of people having recurring dreams, but until recently she had never experienced them. Each night when sleep claimed her, Iain was there, waiting for her. Each night the dream was the same. A sea lion swimming in the surf, a man rising from the water, this man, only this man. Each morning she
awakened in a tangle of bedclothes, hugging her pillow, restless and anxious and filled with a horrible longing.

  Iain paused at the base of the stairs and smiled at her. “You might want to turn around, Professor. I’m not wearing a stitch.”

  He expected her to turn and blush like a fluttery old spinster. That was precisely what she would have done, she acknowledged, if he hadn’t piqued her anger. Instead she returned his sarcastic smile, determined to turn the tables on the rogue. “Strange, I never would have suspected that you had a shred of modesty.”

  He lifted his brows. “I don’t believe I have ever been accused of being modest before.”

  She walked to a nearby chair, where a thick white cotton robe and a large towel had been tossed over the wrought-iron back. She lifted the heavy white towel and held it out for him. “If you stay in the water too long, you get all shriveled. But then, perhaps you’ve already been in there too long. Is that why you are hiding?”

  “Hiding?” Iain considered her a moment, as though he were assessing her. Finally a smile slid along his lips, shaping a grin wicked enough to please the devil himself.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew the folly of teasing a lion in his lair. Yet she had come this far; she had no intention of backing away now. Without looking away from her, he climbed the steps of the pool. As the water slipped away from him, moonlight embraced him, revealing every powerful line and curve of his body. Nothing about him looked shriveled.

  Come to me.

  The words rippled through her, tugging on her vitals like an invisible tether. She was staring straight at him. He hadn’t spoken, at least not aloud. Yet the look in his eyes spoke those words as clearly as the voice whispering in her mind. The heat of the room pressed against her, a pale glimmer of the heat flaring to life inside of her. When he drew near, she clenched the towel, fighting the insidious need to touch him.

  He slid his fingertips over her cheek. “You’re blushing.”

  She glared up at him. “You aren’t.”

  He slid his hand down her arm, the heat of his palm simmering through her sleeve. “How long are you going to deny this attraction that simmers between us?”

  7

  Heaven help her, she wanted him. Right here. Right now. She fought the urge to run, and an even greater need pounding through her. “I have no intention of getting involved with you.”

  He leaned toward her and whispered, “Perhaps you already are.”

  The truth in his words pricked her. She had hoped the attraction this man held for her would just run its course, the way a nasty cold might. Yet this affliction called Iain grew more virulent every day. “I suppose your pride won’t allow you to believe a woman could actually resist your masculine charm.”

  “And I suppose it is your fear that keeps you from taking a chance with me.”

  “I prefer to think it is some measure of common sense.” She opened the towel for him to don, hoping he wouldn’t notice the way her hands trembled.

  He took the towel and rubbed it over his arms and torso while he said, “I’m not the big bad wolf, Ann.”

  “Tell me, when was the last time you had an affair that lasted more than a month?”

  Frowning, he tossed the towel to the chair and lifted his robe. “And when was the last time you had a relationship that lasted more than a month?”

  The question caught her off guard. She started to reply, then realized the answer was far too embarrassing. “It isn’t the same.”

  “Isn’t it?” He donned his robe and cinched the sash around his slim waist. “Perhaps it is exactly the same. Only I keep looking, and you keep hiding.”

  “I’m not hiding from anything.”

  “I don’t believe you, lass.” He leaned toward her until his nose nearly brushed hers. “If you want me to leave you alone, you’re going to have to do better at convincing me you don’t want anything to do with me.”

  She stared at him, emotion crowding her chest. It was insane to even imagine making love with this man. Yet here she was with images flooding her mind. She stepped back, straight into a palm. Lacy fronds plopped over her head. She jumped as though someone had just come up behind her and poked her in the ribs.

  When she pushed her way out of the palm fronds, she found Iain grinning at her. As much as she wished he might ignore her behavior, Iain missed nothing. He was far too experienced with women to miss her reaction to him. His was the smile of a man who knew precisely how easily he could send her composure straight to perdition. “The only thing I want from you is your help in finding the Sentinel.”

  He held her gaze. She held her breath, silently praying he would not press her. If he did, she wasn’t certain she could resist him. Finally he released his breath on a long sigh.

  “Come with me, Professor. Let’s see if your Sentinel is hiding in here.”

  The next morning Iain paused on the threshold of the library, his gaze fixed on the woman sitting at his desk. Since last night had turned out to be another wasted effort, he knew he would find Ann here, searching the plans and documents of Dunmarin for an elusive clue. Sunlight spilled through the windows behind her, shaping a golden halo behind her head. He could almost believe she was an angel sent to torment him for all of his past transgressions. Ann Fitzpatrick was the most infuriating female he had ever met. She haunted him, day and night.

  The dream had come again to him last night, as it had every night since he had met Ann. Each night when sleep claimed him, Ann was there, waiting for him in the realm of dreams. Each night the dream was the same. He was swimming in the surf when he noticed her, a siren standing on the beach, luring him into her arms. Beneath the moon they made love, upon the soft white cotton of her nightgown laid upon the sand. Each morning he awakened wanting her more than he had the day before. Strange, his dreams had never felt so real before. Yet dreams could not satisfy this hunger clawing at his vitals, a hunger that grew each time he saw her.

  Ann lifted her shoulders, like a doe who has caught the scent of a hunter. She looked up and met his gaze. Sensation ripped through him like current zinging across a wire. The swift surge of excitement caught him off guard, stunning him, as though someone had just landed a clenched fist to his jaw. With each passing day the attraction grew more powerful, until the ache of wanting her pounded through him day and night. “Searching the plans again?”

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I keep thinking we are missing something.”

  “I’m sure we are.” And it had little to do with a two-hundred-year-old mystery. He crossed the distance between them and sat on the edge of the desk. “Do you play golf, Professor?”

  Her eyes grew wide behind the lenses of her glasses. “Golf?”

  “Aye. It’s a game played with a little white ball and a bag full of clubs.”

  She slipped off her glasses and looked at him with mock surprise. “I’m astonished.”

  “By what?”

  “The fact you have any interest at all in an outdoor sport. I thought you reserved all of your energy for games of a far more private sort.”

  He laughed. “I’m Scottish. We lose our citizenship if we don’t learn to play golf. And we learn at an early age never to waste beautiful days like this by remaining trapped inside. So tell me, do you play golf?”

  She folded her hands on the desk, a smile curving her lips. “Are you asking me if I would like to play a round?”

  “Lord almighty, I’m not that much of a cliché.” He rested his hand over his heart. “If I promise to be on my best behavior, will you come and spend the day with me? I can show you how to play if you like. And you can show me how indifferent you are to my charm.”

  “I went to college on a golf scholarship.”

  “Then I think you would enjoy the course here on Dunmarin. It’s beautiful, laid out right along the ocean.”

  She frowned. “I didn’t bring any clubs.”

  “How can you come to Scotland, the birthplace of golf, without any clubs?”
He shook his head, giving her a stern look. “Fortunately, we have a few extra sets here. I’m sure we can find a set you would like. As for shoes, we’ll get a pair in the clubhouse.”

  “I really shouldn’t.” She glanced down at the plans. “I need to see if I can find something in these plans.”

  “You need to take a break from all of this. You’ll be fresher and sharper if you take some time to relax. We’ll play golf, then have an early dinner in the village. Afterward you can choose a movie from the film library. My great-grandfather had a theater built at Dunmarin in 1939. Have you ever seen any of the old classics in a theater? On a full screen?”

  “No. I haven’t.” She drew her teeth over her bottom lip. “Do you have a copy of Bringing Up Baby?”

  “Aye, lass. I do.”

  Have you ever done anything that wasn’t nice and safe and secure. Professor? Iain’s words kept haunting her. Perhaps she did live a very conventional life. Perhaps someone like Iain would think she was boring. Well, perhaps she just might prove to him that she could have fun just as well as he could. She left the castle in the morning determined to put aside all of her fears and doubts and enjoy herself. At least for the day.

  The golf course was spectacular. On several holes she caught herself staring at the cliffs and the sea beyond, mesmerized by the sheer beauty of the island. Still, she managed to win the round—at least, her score was two strokes lower than his after she factored in the strokes Iain had insisted he give her as a handicap. Instead of being upset at losing to her, he had merely made her promise she would give him a chance to win another day.

  After golf, Iain drove to a restaurant and pub on the outskirts of the village. According to Iain, the Golden Lion had been in Deirdre Fraser’s family for generations, but under Deirdre’s management the restaurant portion of the business had grown in importance and quality. The building—a large wood-and-stone structure that ambled along the edge of the cliffs—had been built in 1882, after a fire had destroyed the original inn that had stood on the same spot since 1712.

  A warm aroma of freshly baked bread filled her senses as they entered the restaurant. Artificial candles burned in crystal and brass wall sconces on the oak-paneled walls, while real candles flickered upon each white-linen-draped table. The hostess showed them to a table overlooking the sea. Soon after they ordered, Deirdre stopped by their table. Dressed in an elegant black pantsuit, her hair in soft waves around her face, she looked as though she had stepped from the pages of a fashion magazine.