by L. L. Muir
Handsome Highlander? Yes, please.
Sophie could admit, at least to herself, that she’d hoped to do a little flirting on the trip, if only to prove she knew how. But a relationship was out of the question. After Scotland, she had to figure out what she wanted to do with the rest of her vacation and her life—what her next career step would be. All she needed for the weekend was a break from her contact list, not a long-distance relationship to nurture along like a dying plant until she could finally give it up without feeling guilty.
Maybe she should have tried again to get onto that cruise website, but it was hard to have much faith in a company that couldn’t keep their internet links functional. And every time she’d given it another try, the Scotland Unplugged ad would show up. Whether it was clever marketing or Fate, she’d finally accepted it as a “sign” and clicked on the picture of a purple hillside, lime green mountains, and a deep blue lake.
Since she couldn’t picture her friends or family there, it was just the place for her.
“Here we are.” Loretta pulled a page from the pile and held it up, then dropped a pair of glasses onto her nose to look closer. “If you’re to have any time to catch your breath, we’d better get you set up and on your way.” She moved to the opening between two heavy green curtains and waved at Sophie to follow. “I didn’t know your size, dear, so we’ll have to choose your costume here. You will take it with you and change into it in the morning.”
Loretta led her through a large tea room filled with empty tables. One of the walls was covered with dark little alcoves full of tea cups. Off a hallway in the back, they stepped into a stock room with boxes, lockers, and a rack brimming with costumes and suit bags.
The woman whipped out a tape measure and took basic measurements of height, waist, and shoulders. Then she pulled a large bag off the rack and turned back with a grin. “You’ll love this one. Made it myself. But no peeking until tomorrow. You’ll be told when to change.”
“Costume, huh?”
“Of course. You will want to blend in with the others, won’t you?”
“Blend in? Are we all supposed to dress as beggars or something?”
“Beggars? I should say not. You’ll be a proper lady, and you’ll be treated as such.” The woman sucked in her bottom lip and clamped down on it while she studied Sophie’s feet. “I am not good with feet, dear. What size will you need?”
“Ten.”
“Ten? American?”
“Yes.”
Loretta grimaced, dug around, then pulled out a pair of what looked like dark leather slippers. She placed one on the floor next to Sophie’s new black boots she’d purchased for the trip.
“They’ll stretch, I daresay.”
Sophie thought they looked plenty big and said so.
“Just don’t get them wet, girl.”
After signing a couple of waivers, none that seemed too legally restrictive, Loretta walked her outside where she handed a small bag to Percy, who put it in the trunk with the suit bag.
He looked at the shop door. “Where’s Lorraine?”
“Home, getting ready for Band Night at Lauriston Hall.” She gave Sophie’s arm a squeeze. “My sister and I are members of the Edinburgh Swing Dance Society.”
Sophie didn’t know people still danced to big bands, but okay.
Loretta gave her a fierce farewell hug. “Our brother, Wickham, will be taking you from Dalwhinnie to Inverbrae,” she said. “He’ll pick you up at eight o’clock tomorrow morning. You’ll need to leave most of your things with him—including your passport—if you intend to unplug properly. He’ll keep it safe for you.”
Sophie had been looking for a chance to ask the only questions that seemed important, and though Percy had the door open for her, she couldn’t get in the car until she’d asked them.
“Please tell me there are functioning toilets at this place—Inverbrae.”
Loretta laughed. “Everything functions as it should, Sophie Pennel. Try not to work yourself into a tizzy. Relax and believe that you will be very glad you came to us.”
She nodded and was able to pull off a hopeful smile. “But just one more thing. If, for some reason, I change my mind…and want to cut the trip short…”
The woman’s lips pinched together and created a dozen wrinkles. “I will be honest with you, dear. It would require moving heaven and earth to bring you back early, but if that is what you truly want, we will do it and grant a full refund. It’s all in the fine print. Satisfaction guaranteed.” She waved the contract still clutched in her hand, the one Sophie had signed. “And if it helps ease your mind, I can honestly say that we have never had anyone bail out early on our Scotland Unplugged tour. Ever.”
Sophie did feel better. A lot better. So she got in the car and braced herself for another wild ride.
Considering how her young escorts were zooming through traffic no faster than other motorists, she felt better about them, too. Though, after a few close calls, it was obvious why the boys were given a clunker to drive. It was only a matter of time before one of their customers…
Her worry ebbed back when she realized she hadn’t asked how long they’d been offering their “unplugged” tour.
She looked at the young man sitting in the front passenger’s seat. “Percy?”
He turned and his dark eyebrows disappeared into his bangs. “Aye, mum?”
“How long have you worked for Loretta and the tea shop?”
“I help them out now and again. She and her sister are aunties of my step-mum.”
“So…how long have they been doing the Scotland Unplugged Tours?”
“Come again?”
“How often do they send people to Inverbrae?”
He twisted his lip to one side and chewed on it for a minute before he and the driver exchanged shrugs. “We’ve been told to deliver ye to Dalwhinnie, my lady. No further. As for Dalwhinnie, ye’re the first.”
Panic, pure and simple, landed on her chest like a pan full of burned cupcakes. But like always, she allowed herself a couple of deep, slow breaths while she waited for a solution to present itself. And if a couple of deep breaths didn’t do the trick, she took the next logical step—
Throw them in the trash, start another batch, and don’t look at the clock until you’re ready to do the math.
In this case, she tossed her worry in the trash—since it wasn’t helping. Starting another batch meant looking at the information from a different angle—just because these boys didn’t know anything about Loretta’s business didn’t mean she was starting out. And since she certainly wasn’t ready to do any math, Sophie looked out the window, sucked in the cityscape while there was still some city to look at, and looked on the bright side.
She was headed for the Highlands of Scotland, soon to be unplugged from the rest of the world, to spend a weekend in a place where, even if someone needed her, they couldn’t reach her. She was accountable to no one, with an all-inclusive weekend waiting for her. And after her extremely hard-earned down time there, the rest of Europe would be waiting for her too.
Plenty of other people would be at Inverbrae. If anything went wrong with the tour, she’d be able to find help. So…
She could afford a little bit of trust.
CHAPTER THREE
The boys dropped her off in the middle of nowhere. Literally.
There was one bed & breakfast—2 Station Cottage—in a town that was so small and so remote that they didn’t have to worry about marketing. No need for an inspiring name for the place. Not Highland Dreamer’s Cottage, not Brigadoon Bungalow. It was 2 Station Cottage, and if you needed a place to stay on your way to somewhere else, this was the place for you.
Her business teacher would have called it a destination store—if this is what you needed, this is where you came.
Percy helped her locate the key and get inside, then headed back to the car. Halfway to it, however, he turned back. “Miss Pennel?”
“Yes?”
; “I shall leave ye with the same warning my da offers me…” He suddenly blushed like he realized he was giving advice whether or not she wanted to hear it, though she did. “Nothing wrong with watching out for yerself, aye?”
Sound advice, even if she weren’t on the verge of freaking out. “Thank you, Percy. I’ll stay on my toes.”
He seemed satisfied with her response and ducked into the little red car. Through the open window, he waved a cheerful goodbye as he and Ian headed back down the road the way they’d come. She was tempted to whistle them back again and call the whole thing off, but it had turned into a game—just how crazy would this trip turn out to be if she just kept going?
She wandered back inside the cottage and took a good look around. There was solid leather furniture in the living room, along with a TV. The place had plaid curtains and pillows and a painting of a hairy cow on a wall in every room. She was still entertaining a new name for the place, but she supposed Cow’s Cottage might have put some people off.
The kitchen was modern with a subway tile backsplash that Joanna Gaines would have approved of, and it had that all-important dishwasher. It had been years since Sophie had washed anything outside of an industrial kitchen, and she wasn’t about to start.
In the front yard, there were two squares of turf that might or might not be real. While a thick pine forest poured down the hillside toward the house, it stopped just before the train tracks and the narrow road that separated her from them.
Behind the cottage, wide open fields were already drying up for the winter. The heavy, low clouds that had hovered over the airport were still there, but instead of a gunmetal grey, they were a purplish blue, like a wicked bruise.
A train gave a lonely whistle in the distance, but she couldn’t tell if it was coming or going. And though there was a line of houses farther down the road, she couldn’t help thinking she was all alone in the world.
It was overwhelmingly peaceful. It was terrifying. But like the monster under the bed, it wouldn’t harm her if she didn’t look directly at it.
~ ~ ~
Determined not to sleep until at least eight o’clock, she took a long walk. The Tollhouse was just down the road, but she decided to stretch her legs and go for the Snack Shack further on. Considering the size of the town, she was almost impressed to have two places to buy food, and that was besides the gas station.
The Snack Shack was a set of buildings that seemed more like a town hall. There was a large menu to choose from, a well-stocked bar, a pool table, and a wood burning stove in the middle of it all. An alcove nearby was topped off with firewood, and considering how quickly it cooled down once the rain started, she wouldn’t be surprised if they went through a cord of wood every few days.
The only tartan in sight was a strip of wallpaper border that ran around the edge of the bar. The tables were covered with red and white checked tablecloths, and a few of the banners over the bar had a touch or two of plaid, but that was it.
For a while, she had a hard time picking out a word here and there, but after listening to the locals while she ate, her ears and her brain made some adjustments. Once she stopped trying to translate words and simply watched the speakers to get some context, she suddenly understood entire sentences.
No matter how she pronounced it, however, none of them seemed to understand when she explained that she was on her way to Inverbrae. But the b might have meant an m sound, and the v might have meant a b—it was no use trying, so she just raised her glass and joined in a toast to the Dalwhinnie Distillery that was apparently the source of income for most of the crowd—a crowd of five.
The rain stopped just in time for her to walk back to 2 Station Cottage.
Misty Station Cottage? White Rabbit Cottage?
The bed had immaculate white sheets and was comfortable, and by the time her head hit the pillow, she’d been up for 36 hours straight. She offered a quick prayer that Inverbrae would have more people in it than Dalwhinnie, then she closed her eyes.
All she remembered the next morning was that she may or may not have drooled.
~ ~ ~
With butterflies in her stomach, Sophie answered the knock on the door with her bags in hand. They accidentally slipped out of her fingers, though, while she stared at a man that had no business living out in the wilds of Scotland, hiding his tall dark and handsomeness from the rest of the world.
“Miss Pennel?”
“Yes,” she said, though she might have sighed the word.
He laughed, not even pretending he didn’t understand her problem. After all, he looked in the mirror in the mornings, didn’t he?
“I’m Wickham Muir.”
By way of an excuse, she stated the obvious. “You’re gorgeous.”
He inclined his head, still smiling. “Thank you. I think you’re lovely as well—but perhaps we should ask my wife’s opinion.” He pointed to his truck where a pretty blonde woman waved from the middle of the seat. A long horse trailer was hitched on the back.
“Bummer,” she said, though she hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
The man laughed again, bent over, then snatched her forgotten bags from beside her feet before handing her the neglected suit bag. He took them to the truck, lowered them gently into the back, and opened the passenger door so she could get in. “My wife, Ivy.”
“Hiya.” Ivy patted the empty seat. “I promise not to bite.”
Sophie hung the bag behind the seat and got in. Wickham closed the door.
“I’m Sophie.”
“I hope you don’t mind me tagging along.”
Sophie realized Ivy was an American too and instantly felt like she had a friend. “Tagging along? Are you serious? If I had a husband that looked like that, I wouldn’t let him out of my sight.”
Ivy laughed, then stopped abruptly when Wickham opened his door.
“What are you two laughing about?”
Sophie cleared her throat. “The scenery.”
He got in, looked out the windows, then frowned at his wife.
She adjusted his rearview mirror and pointed to it. “This scenery.” Then she laughed so hard she snorted, which only made them all laugh. “Young Percy, who brought you this far, is staying with our two little boys so I can have a little time away from the house.”
“Young Percy?”
Ivy shrugged. “His whole family calls him that.”
“Aye,” said her husband. “But the lad’s getting to an age, he won’t tolerate it much longer.”
Sophie took the opportunity to look at the man directly. “Is there an Old Percy?”
Wickham bit his lip and shook his head, then dropped the subject.
They drove up into the mountains. The pine forests grew larger and closer together as they went. “Brace yersel’,” Wickham said, just before he eased off the asphalt onto a dirt road. But there was no need to brace herself, he was obviously driving carefully in consideration of his horses.
For another half hour, they meandered through fields—sometimes with no roads—and along animal trails. Eventually, he stopped the truck next to a sprawling tree in the middle of a clearing.
“We will take the horses from here.”
Sophie choked and sputtered. “We will?”
“It will be fine, lass. Trust me.”
Ivy rolled her eyes, but she didn’t let her husband see. “They all say that,” she whispered. “Like it’s the Clan motto or something.”
“Tell me ye ken how to ride, Miss Pennel.”
“Um. Sure. Doesn’t everyone?”
Wickham gave his wife a quick peck on the lips and got out. “I’ll ready the horses while Ivy helps ye into yer costume.”
With the suit bag in hand, Sophie followed Ivy around to the space between the truck and the tree, and though the heavy branches offered no real privacy, she doubted anyone else was on that mountain to see her changing.
“I’m so excited for you,” Ivy said. “I’ve never been to Inverbrae, but an unplugged
vacation sounds like heaven. You’re lucky to have the chance before you get tied down with children.”
Children? Kids weren’t even on the front page of her list of priorities yet, but she understood Ivy’s envy. She didn’t look much younger than Sophie and already had two little boys. She couldn’t have had much time for college or anything else. But considering who her husband was…having a family probably got bumped to the top of her list the second she’d laid eyes on him.
Sophie stripped down beside the trailer and hoped she would be decent before Wickham showed his face. The first item was a chemise that went nearly to her knees. Then a roomy petticoat that went to the ground. She could tell Ivy was trying not to laugh while she helped get the dress over her head.
The costume was not what she’d expected. Instead of a simple plaid dress, it was a pale green fancy number made of silk, maybe. The sleeves puffed up two inches higher than the shoulders, the collar stood up like a 1980’s Izod, and the skirt split, probably so she could straddle a horse.
Once she got the dress situated on her body, Ivy hollered. “Come look!”
Wickham took the long way around the truck, then stopped when he saw her. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Sophie shook her head and tried to figure out how to get it off.
Ivy slapped her hands away. “What are you doing? If you don’t wear a costume, you can’t go to Inverbrae. And we have exactly one costume.”
“But this is… This is… Are we going to another planet or something?”
Wickham choked and started coughing, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. He was just laughing his head off.
“I am not wearing this.”
The man finally calmed down and held up his hands. “Forgive me, lass. I was surprised, is all. And no, we’re not headed to another planet. Truthfully, that dress is…” he shrugged, “appropriate for the seventeenth century.”
“Seventeenth what?”
“The seventeenth century. ‘Tis…how everyone dresses at Inverbrae.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “I do need ye to trust me.”