Hot for the Scot

by Janice Maynard

  Though I could hear the steady beat of his heart, Angus was still a mystery. I knew him better now than when I arrived in Drumnadrochit, but I was a long way from being his soulmate. My mood plummeted from exhilaration to a dour outlook that would have done me proud as an old Scotswoman.

  Wasn’t it enough that I had shared my body and my bed with a man who was exceptional in every way? Who had made love to me with such power and passion that I felt his caring in every cell of my being?

  Why was I sinking into a quagmire of regret?

  Chapter 25

  In the end, I made like a coward and ran. Not literally, of course. I waited until Angus was snoring softly before slipping out of his bed and away from his room. Back in my own room, I examined my face in the bathroom mirror. A woman who had experienced fantastic sex should look different…right?

  Except for a bit of razor burn on the side of my chin and a small hickey at my collarbone, my eyes were the only giveaway. The irises were more gray than green today. Almost as if the stormy color matched my mood.

  Outside my window, the weather—in true Scottish fashion—had once again turned dreary. A misty rain shrouded the view in gray, though nothing that would cause the kind of problems the area had experienced last week. This was a gentle summer drenching.

  It was not a day for moving furniture. Which meant that I would be closed up in this house with Angus and his other two guests from morning to night. The prospect drove me to find my hiking clothes before I could change my mind.

  Once I was properly outfitted, including a rain slicker to protect me from the elements, I headed off in the direction of the village. I planned to buy a meal at the pub and then circle back around to find the cottage where Angus had taken me the day I met him.

  It was an ambitious route. Since I had been making the trip to and from town in the SUV, I had underestimated how far it was. Still, I made it in good time. Over a bowl of potato soup, I chatted with the bartender, a guy in his twenties named Mackie.

  “So you’re a friend of Mr. Munro,” he said, clearly angling for information about the local hero.

  “A recent friend,” I said. “I’m here visiting from the States. We only met a couple of weeks ago.”

  “He’s a fine man,” Mackie said. “We all knew it, but when he pitched in after the flood, we were amazed.”

  I swallowed a sip of the local beer, wrinkling my nose. I was still on my quest to sample new experiences, but I would have much preferred a Coke. “Amazed how? I though pretty much everyone helped out.”

  “Aye. But Mr. Munro handed over a large check to the kirk to be distributed as grants for disaster relief. There’s many a family here in the village that would have been weeks or months getting back on their feet were it not for that money.”

  “He’s a generous man,” I said.

  “The gift was supposed to be anonymous, but Mrs. Lindforth, the lady that cleans the church building, found out and blabbed it all over the village.”

  Poor Angus. I knew he was sensitive about his money. He wouldn’t want the men he’d grown up with to think he was posturing. Even his kind deed might have negative consequences.

  I paid for my lunch and headed out. The tempo of the rain was about the same, so I tugged the hood of my jacket close to my cheeks and tied it off. Walking in inclement weather in Scotland was no hardship. The air was fresh and clean and I relished the chance to get some exercise.

  I’d spent so much time soul searching, it was good to quit thinking and simply walk. I retraced the route I’d taken on the fateful day I met Angus. I even paused on the bank above the loch and studied the spot where I had nearly drowned.

  The water had sparkled blue and perfect that day. Now it was brown, the peat-stained depths ominous. I was careful to stay back from the edge. I had cheated death once—no need to take chances now.

  When I found my way through the copse of trees to the crofter’s cottage, I was pleased to find it unlocked. I had been betting on the fact that Highlanders were known for offering shelter and hospitality to cross-country walkers, not in their actual homes, but in small basic structures like this one. Given the recent weather, my guess was that no one had been inside since Angus and I were here.

  The little room with the fireplace was damp and cold. Without even taking off my jacket, I crouched and examined the hearth. A glass jar with matches inside gave me hope. I gathered a small stack of kindling from the woodpile and topped it with several good-sized logs. Then I lit a piece of newspaper from the stash nearby and blew gently.

  I had been a Girl Scout growing up. Though my merit badges numbered less than ten, I did know how to take care of the basics when it came to outdoor skills. In moments, I had a cheery fire blazing.

  After shedding my outer garment and hanging it up to dry, I pulled a chair close to the fire and rummaged in my backpack for my copy of Outlander. This was the book that made me fall in love with Scotland. Its hero had also made me yearn for a special kind of man, one who would love me even beyond death. Jamie was unlike my Angus in a number of ways. For one thing, the hero in the book hadn’t slept his way around the world.

  But both men were strong and kind and fiercely protective of those they loved. I read for an hour, reliving scenes from my favorite chapters. In this humble dwelling, I felt a kinship with the time-traveling Claire Randall. She had never meant to fall in love with a man from another place and time, but fate had placed her in Jamie’s path.

  Their story was a journey that spanned many years. Bleakly, I came to the realization that and Angus’s and my tale would likely be little more than a footnote in my personal history.

  At last, I was too sleepy to read anymore. I ventured into the other room of the cottage and found a crude bed made up with coarse sheets and a scratchy wool blanket. I suspected that Angus might also sleep here on occasion

  The bedding appeared clean, though everything felt cold and damp from the humidity in the air. I took off my shoes but left on all the rest of my clothes, sliding beneath the sheet and blanket. I shivered for a few moments, but gradually, the heavy blanket began to warm me.

  I curled on my side, wondering if my cheek lay in the exact same spot that had cradled Angus’s head. If I tried hard enough, I fancied I could smell his warm masculine scent on the cloth. Soon, I was dreaming.…

  The room was lit with a dozen candles, their flickering illumination casting large shadows on the wall. Angus stood before me in a kilt, his legs covered up to his bony knees in dark dress socks. A dagger hung from a pouch at his waist. A white shirt and black jacket strained to cover his broad chest. His face was all planes and shadows, his mouth grim.

  “Tell me the truth, lass. Do ye love me?”

  My heart pounded in my chest. How was it fair for me to answer that question when I had no clue how he felt about me? “You’ve no right to ask me that,” I whispered. I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands clasped in my lap. “We’re nothing to each other. Ships that pass in the night.”

  “Your lips spout nonsense, but your eyes tell another story. Ye want me, Hayley. There’s no denying it.”

  “Wanting isn’t the same as loving.” I was brave. Truthful.

  He went down on one knee, holding out his hand. Taking my fingers in a firm grip, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. “I’ll make you a pledge, wee Hayley from Georgia. If you’ll give up all that you know and love, we’ll make a home here in the Highlands. You and me. And maybe, God willing, a handful of bairns.”

  Suddenly, my rumpled hiking clothes were gone. We stood in front of the hearth with the minister from the old kirk in town. I was wearing a floor-length white gown with long sleeves and a panel of silver embroidery that ran from the low, scooped neck to the hem. The dress resembled something from a medieval museum, stunning and rare.

  I trembled. “And if I give it all up?” I asked. “What then?”

  He kissed me softly, unconcerned with our audience. “Then
you’ll be my bride for all the rest of our days.”

  “Yes, Angus,” I said. “I will be your bride. Your country will be my country. Your home will by my home. And I will love you until the sun no longer rises over the heathered hills.…”

  “Hayley. Hayley. Wake up, lass.”

  I clung to the dream, not wanting it to end. “Leave me alone,” I muttered. I burrowed further into the covers, angry and upset that the end of the beautiful fantasy had been yanked away.

  Angus had no clue that I didn’t welcome reality at that moment. He tugged at my foot. “Come on, woman. Open your eyes and talk to me.”

  Sullen and self-conscious, I rubbed the sleep from my face and sat up.

  Angus sat at my hip, the rickety bed squeaking beneath the added weight. He eyed me curiously. I had no clue what my expression revealed. But I felt horribly vulnerable…as if he could see inside my head and witness the pleasant fiction I had woven in my subconscious.

  “How did you find me?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Ye’re well known in the village now. It wasn’t hard to follow the trail of breadcrumbs. Why did you run away, Hayley?”

  His gaze was gentle, compassionate. As if he knew the turmoil I felt.

  “I didn’t run away.” The bald-faced lie fell from my lips easily.

  “I think you did.” He challenged me. “What else would you call it when a man and a woman are intimate for the very first time and she flees at the soonest opportunity?”

  “I’m a tourist,” I said, the words flat. “This is my vacation. I merely went out for the day.”

  He stared at me for so long that my stomach curled with unease. “Do I frighten you, wee Hayley?” His expression was troubled.

  It was my turn to shrug, my chin outthrust. “Of course not.”

  “Then why leave my bed, little one?” He frowned. “I thought we were building something together. A connection. A relationship.”

  My throat was so tight I couldn’t speak. Instead, I leaned forward and rested my head against his shoulder. When his arms came tight around me, I felt some of the doubts that bound me break and fall away. This was Angus. He was a dear, lovely man. It wasn’t his fault if I was several steps ahead of him in the emotional dance. I did love him. Maybe not as fully as I could, but sincerely and with a raw passion that terrified me.

  He stroked my back and muttered words of comfort. I was certain he didn’t know why I was upset. He only knew that I was.

  At last, he released me and put a finger beneath my chin, tipping up my face so he could see my expression. “If you won’t talk to me, lass, at least tell me if you’re okay. I’d never knowingly hurt you.”

  I sniffed. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Then why are you here?” He was far more perceptive than I gave him credit for. Most men would take the “fine” answer and run with it. Angus was probing my tender psyche. While I appreciated his desire to reassure me, I hated feeling as if I had no secrets at all.

  “I went out for a walk. I was cold and tired. The cottage wasn’t locked. End of story.”

  My flippant summation didn’t fool him, but to my utter relief, he let it slide. “Shall I show you what I brought with me?” he asked.

  “By all means…”

  He reached in his pocket and extracted a single foil-wrapped condom. With one upraised eyebrow, he shot my temperature through the thatched roof. “I won’t make any assumptions,” he said soberly. But his eyes danced with humor and something else I couldn’t define.

  Chapter 26

  Now I was back on familiar ground, I could handle Angus wanting me. I knew how to respond to that. “Not at all,” I said. “Shall I make room for you?”

  The bed consisted of a simple wooden frame and a feather nest bound in thick canvas ticking. Beneath the mattress, we were supported by a series of knotted ropes. When Angus joined me under the covers, the entire contraption strained to the limits of its structural integrity.

  We rolled together in the middle, face to face. He brushed a strand of hair from my forehead. “Is it too cold to undress?”

  I swallowed hard, already envisioning his big, warm body over mine. “Assume away,” I said hoarsely.

  We must have looked comical, struggling and tugging at our clothing. The old bed held us trapped in close quarters. But at last, we managed to free ourselves and end up wonderfully naked.

  He palmed my bottom, kneading the flesh experimentally. “’Tis a fine bum ye have here, Hayley.”

  “Thank you. I consumed a lot of ice cream to get it that way.”

  He grinned. “If ye’re fishin’ for compliments, lass, there’s no need. I could lie here with you the whole day and never run out of ways to tell you how beautiful you are.”

  My mouth dropped open. I scanned his face, looking for evidence that his hyperbole was nothing more than a hungry man wanting what he wanted, when he wanted it. But try as I might, I could see no deception in him, no intent to seduce an unwary, unworldly tourist with his wicked Scottish ways.

  “I don’t know what to say,” I stuttered.

  He kissed my eyebrows one at a time. “‘Yes, Angus’ will do. Open your legs for me mo chridhe.”

  I didn’t remember what the words meant, though I thought I’d read them in Outlander. But Angus said them with such tenderness, I understood the sentiment.

  He had already taken care of the condom. We came together with sighs and groans of pleasure. In some dim corner of my mind, I wondered how many couples had enjoyed carnal relations within these modest walls. I was never more aware of my place in time as I was at that moment, with the scent of wood smoke in the air and Angus possessing me so fiercely.

  No matter how the world leapt forward in technology and connectivity, when all was said and done, some things remained the same. A man. A woman. The intimate melding of two bodies. Sexual need transcended time.

  In this most private of moments, our universe was neither modern nor historical. It was elemental.

  The bed left little room for movement. I was squashed most pleasantly, my nose buried in Angus’s collarbone. He thrust in me lazily, the urgency of the morning transmuted into something more languid, more precious.

  He actually laughed at one breathless moment.

  “What’s so funny?” I asked, half insulted.

  “Me. You. Us. I have a perfectly wonderful king size mattress back home. But I knew it would take too long to get you there. I couldn’t wait. You make me want and want and want until I’m near sick with the need of you. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a sith, a fairy come to steal my soul.”

  I gave him a squeeze with inner muscles. “You’re free to go at any time. I don’t want a man who has to be bewitched to stay with me.”

  “But that’s the thing, wee Hayley.” He paused for a moment, the blunt head of him pressed deep inside me. “I’m bound to you as surely as if you had cast an enchantment. As soon as I laid eyes on you, all wet and terrified, I knew you were mine. ’Twas no denying it.”

  He angled his hips, giving me a jolt of heat where our bodies joined. I cried out, unable to help myself, as my climax rolled through my body.

  Seconds later, Angus found his end as well.

  In the aftermath, we dozed.

  I have no idea how much time passed. I swam in a sea of dazed euphoria. The fact that Angus had come to find me seemed noteworthy. But I cautioned myself not to make too much of it.

  Why didn’t I simply ask him? Angus, do you see yourself falling in love with me and making little Scots babies together?

  I made up my mind right then and there to find the courage I needed. I would tell him how I felt and see if there was any more to this affair than sex. But only after Oban. If the outcome of my pointed question did not fall in my favor, I didn’t want to miss out on my romantic adventure with Angus.

  At last, he stirred. “Sorry, lass,” he mumbled, yawning. “Ye’ve sapped my energy.
”

  It was a nice compliment in my way of thinking. “Don’t expect me to apologize for that,” I said gently, wondering if he had brought a second condom.

  Apparently not. Though he gave me a heavy-lidded, hot stare, he untangled himself from my arms and legs and sat up on the side of the bed. “I’ll put some more wood on the fire,” he said.

  I watched him walk away, unashamedly ogling his firm butt, muscular thighs, and big feet. Coming or going, Angus Munro made an impression.

  Since we weren’t anticipating another round right away, I put on my clothes and went to find my Highlander. He crouched in front of the hearth, blowing on the embers of the fire and slowly adding more kindling.

  I stopped short in the doorway, my heart beating fast. He was beautiful. There was no other word for it. Though his body had scars from a football field and not a field of battle, he must look much the same as his ancestors had. The broad shoulders. The strong nose and sharp gaze. The effortless athleticism with which he carried himself.

  He glanced up, making me blush. “I’m verra sorry to see you dressed, wee Hayley.”

  “I was getting cold.” That might not be an outright lie, but my weak explanation stretched the truth. In reality, putting on my clothes made me feel less vulnerable around Angus.

  He passed me nonchalantly on his way to covering up all that yummy male pulchritude. When he was decent, he joined me at the table in front of the fire. “Coffee?” he asked.

  My mouth watered. Though I had come to enjoy the endless cups of Scottish tea, at the moment, his offer was irresistible. “Oh, yes. I suppose you picked up the habit abroad?”

  “Mostly in South America. I don’t like wasting hard-earned money, but my guilty pleasure is ordering Columbian coffee beans.” He rummaged in a tin case and produced two chipped mugs, the kind mom-and-pop diners used. Then he ground the beans and added them to an aluminum pot. After setting the pot on an iron grate over the flames, he sat back studied his handiwork. After a few minutes, the pungent aroma made me inhale sharply.