My Scottish Summer

by Connie Brockway

  Deirdre smiled at Ann, then patted Iain on the shoulder. “I see you’ve brought your pretty mermaid, Iain.”

  “It’s important to keep one’s mermaid well fed, otherwise she will be wanting to return to the sea.”

  Deirdre winked at him. “A wise man knows how to hold on to a treasure when he finds it.”

  A treasure? Ann couldn’t help but smile. “I suspect Iain finds treasures on a daily basis.”

  “You’re the first lady Iain has ever brought to my fine establishment. You must be very special, Dr. Fitzpatrick. But then I can see you are.” Deirdre rested her hand on Iain’s shoulder. “If I were thirty years younger and he looked at me the way he looks at you, I would know precisely what to do about it. Ah, to be young again.”

  With that, Deirdre left them to visit other patrons. The woman no doubt had been teasing Iain since he was a lad. There was absolutely nothing behind her intriguing comments. Still, Ann couldn’t completely erase them from her thoughts.

  “Tell me, what would you be doing if you hadn’t decided to complete your great-grandfather’s dream?” Iain asked, after their entrées had been served.

  “I suppose I would teach. But not at the college level.” Ann cut a small piece of her duck and dabbed it into the thick raspberry sauce on her plate. “There are times when I think I would truly enjoy teaching young children something as basic and illuminating as the simple joy of reading. I suppose that sounds terribly pedestrian to a man in your position.”

  “Not at all. To know you have had a small hand in shaping a young mind must be truly rewarding.”

  Iain looked perfectly earnest, as though he truly understood her feelings. During dinner he managed to keep the conversation focused on her, as though he were genuinely interested in everything about her. Although she should have been surprised to find they shared a similar taste in music and movies, she wasn’t. He had a way of making her feel as though she were important to him. He made her life seem somehow more than ordinary.

  They had just finished dinner when the band in the pub began to play for the evening. Across the low wooden wall that separated the restaurant from the pub, Ann watched as couples crowded onto the dance floor, forming sets and dancing to a lively Scottish tune.

  “Would you like to dance?” Iain asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t know the steps.” Ann glanced to the dance floor. “It’s too crowded. I could hurt someone.”

  “There’s a room Deirdre uses for wedding receptions and other special occasions. I’ll show you the steps, and when you’re comfortable we can join the others.” Iain stood and offered her his hand. “Will you join me?”

  Ann hesitated just a moment before she slipped her hand into his. A shock of contact sang along her nerves, snagging her breath. Startled, she glanced up into his eyes, then wished she hadn’t. She saw her own turmoil in his eyes, the same need that smoldered deep within her burning in their depths. Another time she would have been frightened of that look; tonight she chose to enjoy it and the excitement he always conjured within her.

  He led her into a large room adjoining the dining room, flicked on the lights, then closed the door. Round tables were grouped around a wooden dance floor. The music from the pub rattled through the thick walls in a low din. “I expect they will be playing mainly reels and a few jigs.”

  “You are fairly familiar with the repertoire?”

  Iain grinned at her. “There aren’t many places to go for an evening of entertainment here on Dunmarin.”

  Yet he had never brought a woman here before tonight. Somehow Ann found that hard to believe. “Are there many dances you can dance without a partner?”

  “Are you thinking about getting rid of me?”

  “No. I was just wondering. If you have never brought a woman here before, then how did you enjoy the dancing?”

  He leaned toward her, his eyes alight with humor. She had a funny feeling he could see right through her. “We are a friendly lot here on Dunmarin. Lots of people come here to dance, and the ladies don’t mind if I am one of the men dancing with them.”

  “Oh.” She glanced down at the wooden planks beneath her feet. “You think you can teach me to dance without fear of me making a wrong step and knocking down an entire line of dancers?”

  “Aye. First I’ll show you some of the basic steps.” He took her hand, then placed his left hand at the small of her back, the heat of his palm soaking through her blouse. “Now this is what is called a traveling step.”

  Ann managed to hit his ankle and step on his foot with her first try. “Sorry.”

  Iain rubbed his ankle. “It’s all right, lass. Just take your time.”

  Although she assaulted his toes more than a few times, he never grew cross or impatient. Instead he seemed to take delight with each small bit of progress she made. In a short while he declared her fit for action. “Come on, lass.”

  The man had the most uncanny way of making her feel as though she was the belle of the ball. He soon found several of his friends to make up a set for the reel. No one seemed to mind when she bumbled the steps. Instead, they all gave her encouragement as well as instruction. Soon she was shuffling when she should, skipping when required, and traveling almost as well as the woman standing in line beside her. Her accomplishment pleased her even more when she noticed the look of approval in Iain’s eyes.

  Although the room was filled with pretty women, each time she looked at Iain, Ann found him looking at her, as though she were the only woman there. For the first time in a long time laughter poured from her, the kind that came when you allowed the pure joy of the moment to reach deep inside you.

  Ann liked to tuck memories away in her mind, like roses pressed between the pages of a book. In all of her life she could not remember a more perfect day than this one. Golf had been wonderful. Dinner and dancing had been delightful. Now she sat in the large theater in Dun-marin watching one of her favorite movies. It felt as though she had stepped back in time, sitting here on this plush blue velvet seat, watching the antics of Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant play across the large screen. Iain’s great-grandfather had obviously felt the same passion for movies that Iain did. The auditorium was larger than most of the theaters found in multiplex cinemas in the States, with a screen large enough to accommodate an original screening of Gone with the Wind.

  When the movie finished and they were walking out of the theater, she thought of how very much she would like this day never to end. Yet midnight inevitably awaited Cinderella.

  “Have you ever tasted Dunmarin whisky?”

  Ann looked up at the man walking beside her, a warm tingling sensation simmering through her when her gaze met his. She could spend hours doing nothing but looking at this man. “I have never tasted scotch. Of any brand. I don’t drink much.”

  “Ah, you really have to give it a try.” Iain slipped her arm through his. “Come on, lass, it’s time for you to see what you’ve been missing.”

  Ann was far too aware of what she was missing. Common sense demanded she refuse his offer. Yet she could not find the will to resist that smile of his. What harm could there be in tasting a little scotch?

  8

  Ann sucked in her breath, stunned by the heat spreading like liquid fire down her throat and into her chest. A soft rumble of laughter brought her teary gaze to the man standing near the white marble hearth.

  Iain winked at her. “I should have warned you it’s a wee bit strong.”

  Ann coughed, trying to clear a passageway in her throat. “It really warms your throat.”

  He glanced down into his glass, and she had the distinct impression he was trying to suppress his laughter. “Perhaps it’s a wee bit too strong for you. Would you like a glass of sherry or wine instead?”

  Too strong for her? Ann’s back stiffened against the thick cushions of the sofa. “No. I’m fine.”

  Iain lifted his brows. “Are you sure?”

  “It’s all a matter of getting accustomed to it. I ca
n handle it.” Ann lifted her glass and sipped the warm whisky. The potent aroma flooded her nostrils while the amber liquid streamed over her tongue. This time her senses were prepared for the lush heat that flooded her throat and chest. Either that, or she had gone numb from the first swallow. “It’s actually very good.”

  “Be careful with it, lass.” Iain rested his arm along the mantel. “It will sneak up on you if you don’t take care, especially if you aren’t used to strong spirits.”

  “I think I can manage, thank you.” She leaned back against the sofa and sipped her whisky. Scotch wasn’t bad at all, she decided, a nice comforting warmth spreading through her. “Have you really never taken another woman to the restaurant?”

  He looked at her, his expression open and sincere. “You may find this difficult to believe, but I have never invited a woman to stay with me here at Dunmarin. This is a private place for me.”

  Ann resisted the lure of his words. After all, she hadn’t really been invited here by him. She raised her glass, gesturing toward the sea lions carved into the cornice, intending to comment about them. It was then she noticed her glass was empty. She tipped the glass toward Iain. “A little more, please.”

  Iain took her glass. “Are you certain?”

  A delicious sense of ease permeated every muscle in her body. She really could not remember the last time she had felt this relaxed. “I’m quite certain.”

  Iain took her glass and carried it to a cabinet across the room. While he refilled her glass, she glanced around the room, admiring the delicate lyre-backed chairs and Sheraton sofas, all upholstered in the same blue silk brocade. If she didn’t know better, she could imagine she had been swept back almost two hundred years, straight to this drawing room and into the company of a charming Regency rogue. As the thought formed, her imagination sketched a scene from that period, of Iain sitting beside her on this sofa. Strange, the images were so real she couldn’t help but laugh.

  “What’s so amusing?” he asked, handing her the glass.

  “Nothing.” She smiled up at him, wondering what he would say if she told him how very much she wanted to grab his hand and pull him down, straight on top of her. Wouldn’t that surprise the rogue?

  “You have a lovely smile.” He sat beside her at an angle, his arm resting along the curved back of the sofa behind her. “I would like to see it more often.”

  She couldn’t help but smile. Everything seemed so warm and lovely at the moment. She looked at him, etching each detail of his features in the book of her memories. “It seems to me that your family has run amok with sea lion images, or I should say selkies. They are everywhere in this castle.”

  “It’s because of the legend.”

  “The legend of Eleanor and Dugald.” Ann sipped her whisky, recalling all the beguiling nonsense he had related about the legend. A selkie will wander the earth for an eternity, looking for his one true mate. Strange, tonight it didn’t seem like nonsense at all. “It’s a very lovely fairy tale.”

  “What makes you think it is a fairy tale?”

  “Can you honestly say that you believe in selkies?”

  “I think it is possible.”

  Perhaps he did believe in selkies. For some reason she wanted to believe he did. She sipped her whisky, all the tension in her muscles melting, like wax beneath a flame. “You actually believe that you are destined to find one woman in all the world who can make you complete?”

  He brushed his fingertip over her brow, slowly, as if he were an artist applying the last stroke to a painting. “I don’t believe it happens with everyone. I think many times people settle for what they think is love. Sometimes they fall victim to circumstance, and never find that one person who is the missing half of their soul. Yet I believe when you come face to face with your one true mate, you will know. You will feel it deep inside. It will ring through you with the same sweet purity as a bell on Sunday morning.”

  Ann closed her eyes, enjoying his soft touch. “It is a lovely thought. But I suspect more times than not, love at first sight is actually lust at first sight.”

  “Are you really such a cynic, my bonnie Ann?”

  “I am not a cynic. Not really. Simply practical.” Yet she wasn’t feeling practical at the moment. She looked up at him and wondered what it might be like to awaken to see his smile. Longing and need shifted inside of her, slipping from the nice tidy box where she kept them hidden, teasing her with glimpses of another path in life. Strange, she had never truly realized how lonely she felt until she had met this man. “There is nothing wrong with being practical, you know.”

  “Nothing at all.” He drew his fingertip along the curve of her jaw. “As long as you remember to enjoy life. There is far too little of it to waste. When it is all said and done, we should have as few regrets as possible.”

  He was so close, all she need do was lift her head, just a little, and she could kiss him. Strange she couldn’t quite lift her head. Instead she stroked his cheek, enjoying the intriguing rasp of his awakening beard beneath her fingertips. “I wonder if all these selkie images are the reason I keep having the same dream, over and over again.”

  Iain stared at her, the smile slipping from his lips. “You have been having the same dream over and over again?”

  “Yes. I’m on the beach, and a sea lion is playing in the surf. Only he isn’t a sea lion at all, he is a man.” Ann rested her fingertips on his chin. “You.”

  Iain released his breath slowly, the exhalation warming her fingers with a damp heat. “You have been having the same dream every night?”

  “Yes. And I must say you are a very naughty man in my dreams.” She laughed as a keen sensation of pleasure rose with the memories in her mind. “It’s like Deborah Kerr and Burt Lancaster in From Here to Eternity. Only my imagination has filled in all the blanks.”

  He studied her as though he were fitting together the last piece of a particularly challenging puzzle. “You’ve been dreaming of us on a beach. How remarkable.”

  “Is it?”

  “Aye.” He brushed his lips against her right temple. “I’ve been having the same dream. I wonder what it means?”

  It meant he was trying to seduce her. And the funny thing was, she wanted him to. She drained her glass, then slipped her arms around his neck, the glass dangling from her fingers. “Do you suppose we could go swimming in that lovely pool of yours?”

  “Ah, lass.” He rested his brow against hers. “You have the tolerance of a kitten when it comes to liquor.”

  She felt like a kitten stretched out in the warm rays of the sun. She nuzzled his cheek. “I want to go skinny-dipping with you.”

  He slipped the glass from her fingers and set it on the commode beside the sofa. “You don’t know how tempting that is.”

  “Tempting.” She snuggled her head against his shoulder, feeling deliciously drowsy. “You are so tempting.”

  He cradled her against his chest, holding her close with one powerful arm cinched around her shoulders. “And you are driving me wild.”

  “I’m glad.” His heart beat comfortingly against her cheek. He slipped his arm beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms as he came to his feet. She looked up at him. “What are you doing?”

  “There is really only one thing to do, my adorable temptress.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Take you to bed.”

  “To bed.” The softly spoken words did something deliciously wicked to her insides. She rested her head against his shoulder while he carried her out of the room. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized there would be consequences to face for what she was about to do. Yet she could not utter a single protest. This is what she had wanted since the first moment she had met him. Perhaps even before then.

  He carried her for what seemed like miles and miles of corridors until he finally entered her bedchamber. The bedclothes had been turned down, revealing white linen sheets that seemed to glow softly in the moonlight spilling through the windows. He lowered her to th
e bed, then stood looking at her, as though she were the most intriguing woman he had ever met. Just for tonight, she would allow herself to believe in the desire burning in those eyes. Just for tonight, she would indulge in this fantasy, accept all of his lovely tales of soul mates and destiny. Just for tonight, she would believe she was the one woman who could tame this beguiling man.

  She stared up at him, watching in stunned disbelief as he slipped her shoes from her feet and drew the covers up over her. “You’re leaving?”

  “Aye, lass. I’ll not have the first time I make love to you spoiled by too much whisky.”

  She giggled; she couldn’t prevent the laughter from bubbling up inside of her. “I haven’t had too much whisky.”

  “When I make love to you, it will be with no regrets for either of us.” He stroked her hair. “Pleasant dreams, my bonnie Ann. I shall see you in my dreams.”

  He could see her now, if he would only stay. Yet she couldn’t seem to grasp the words she needed to make him stay. Instead she lay with her head upon the pillow, watching him walk out of her room.

  “I’ll see you in my dreams,” she whispered, singing the words softly. She closed her eyes and slipped into the sheltering arms of slumber.

  The next morning, Iain leaned against the doorjamb of one of the gatehouses that stood near the cliffs, watching Ann explore the small room. She stepped in and out of a ray of sunlight slanting through one of the long, narrow windows, as though teasing the sunlight. Although there was a sea lion carved into a stone slab on the front of the building, they had not found a clue suggesting this was actually the Sentinel. Still, Ann was determined to examine every possibility, except of course when it came to Iain. Gone was the warm and playful lass from the night before. In her place stood an icy lady determined to keep him at a distance.