The Sweetest Hours (Harlequin Superromance)

by Parry, Cathryn

  Just one full day with him, and somehow, she now felt comfortable. Attached, as half of a pair, as strange as that seemed.

  She glanced up at Malcolm’s gruff expression, his hooded eyes. It was the same mask he’d worn throughout their tea with his parents. What had happened to the guy who had been so passionately kissing her, tempting her to stay longer in Scotland only a few hours ago?

  “So, when can I meet your sister?” she asked brightly. She would like an ally, if she could find one. Maybe Kristin could show Malcolm’s sister some of the Born in Vermont samples she’d brought with her in her suitcase. Maybe she would like the great smell and feel of Laura’s creations, too?

  Barring that, perhaps Kristin could persuade Rhiannon to be friends with her. Kristin would love someone to show her around and maybe give her some insight into Malcolm.

  “I don’t know where she is,” he said.

  “Hello,” a soft voice said behind them on the stair landing.

  They both turned.

  “Er, Kristin, this is my sister, Rhiannon. Rhiannon, this is Kristin Hart.” Malcolm’s voice was clipped and he sounded off balance.

  His sister was the opposite of what Kristin had expected.

  Rhiannon wore trendy jeans and a pretty, pale purple blouse with tight-fitting sleeves, a loose neck with strings, and a flowing, peasant-style bottom. It gave her a bohemian look, and it conflicted with everything Malcolm had told her about Rhiannon on the drive here, warning Kristin about her shyness and her reclusiveness.

  Kristin smiled at his younger sister. “Hello. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Rhiannon ignored Kristin’s outstretched hand and, instead, leaned in to give Kristin a hug. In a lilting, rolling accent she said, “So, you must be my brother’s fiancée!”

  Kristin gasped. “No!” She looked helplessly over Rhiannon’s shoulder at Malcolm.

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. Without amusement, he answered his sister. “Kristin is a friend.”

  Rhiannon cocked her head, a furrow in her brow. “Sorry, I just assumed.”

  “Why?” Kristin asked, genuinely curious.

  Rhiannon smiled sheepishly at Malcolm. “Cousin Gerry’s wedding is next weekend. I thought you were home for it.”

  Malcolm groaned and closed his eyes. “Damn it, I completely forgot.”

  Rhiannon turned to Kristin. “I apologize for my assumption, Kristin. But you see, my brother once told me that unless I saw him bring a woman to a family wedding, not to expect him to be getting married soon himself.”

  What should she say to that? “Well, that explains that. So, ah, do you have many cousins?” she politely asked, sidestepping the controversy.

  “Mum has four brothers. All except Uncle John have kids.” Rhiannon put her hands in her pockets. “So, yes, we do have a lot of cousins.” She rolled her eyes. “Ask Malcolm to tell you about it sometime.”

  “I have four brothers, too,” Kristin said.

  Rhiannon smiled. “Then you and Mum have lots to talk about.”

  Kristin smiled back at Malcolm’s sister. Kristin liked her already.

  “Let’s go take a walk on the grounds.” Malcolm put his hand lightly on the small of Kristin’s back and steered her toward the door.

  His gesture seemed possessive, but not too much so. He kept his hand resting against her, and even through her thick sweater Kristin felt his touch. Admittedly it was nice, but...he was distracting her from what she was really interested in seeing. There seemed to be more to Malcolm’s private life than she would’ve guessed, and it might be helpful to find out more about what exactly that was.

  Kristin looked back at Rhiannon, only to find Rhiannon staring at her, too.

  “Would you like to join us?” Kristin called to Rhiannon.

  “Not now,” Malcolm murmured.

  “Tomorrow morning would be brilliant,” Rhiannon replied. “Malcolm,” she said to her brother, “will you be staying for the wedding?”

  “Er...”

  “Staying for the wedding sounds lovely,” Kristin said breezily.

  Malcolm raised his brows at her.

  “Why not? My plane ticket home to Boston isn’t for two more weeks. I’ll just let Arlene know I won’t be joining them when they go to England.”

  “Boston, did you say?” Rhiannon glanced to Malcolm. “Malcolm studied in Boston.”

  “Yes,” Kristin replied. “I live nearby, in Vermont. It’s a three-hour drive from Logan airport.”

  “And you traveled to Scotland by yourself?” Rhiannon looked surprised. Or impressed, Kristin couldn’t tell.

  “That’s enough,” Malcolm hissed before Kristin could answer his sister. He seemed distinctly uncomfortable, and Kristin did enjoy turning the tables on him for a change. It was amusing to cause him the same discomfort he’d caused her in her hometown. Of course, she wasn’t overly serious about any of it. It was just that seeing him flustered also made him seem not quite so composed, with his emotions locked away. This way, he was more accessible. More human.

  Teasing him, she patted his cheek. Such a masculine face he had. He hadn’t shaved in the day and a half she’d been with him in the wilds of Scotland, and the dark stubble made him look that much more brooding and dangerous.

  Not that she was frightened. In the short time she’d seen him interacting with his family, she’d become certain of two things—he was a good son and a caring brother. Add that to the fact that he was a fantastic kisser...and Kristin had to admit that Malcolm was becoming more and more attractive. She’d have to tread very carefully if she didn’t want to fall for him.

  His response to her pat on the cheek was to clamp his jaw tight and grind his teeth. He steered her in a more determined fashion away from his sister and down the stairs.

  They passed the kitchen on the way out to the back door. Paul, the butler, stuck out his head. “Mr. MacDowall, sir, would you like a picnic box delivered on the grounds?”

  “Really?” Kristin asked Paul. “You’ll do that? Yes, please! The tea was very nice, but I was polite and didn’t really eat much. I’d love to try those little ham sandwiches and some of those—”

  “Send it,” Malcolm growled to the butler.

  “Very good, sir. I’ll find you within...” Paul glanced at his watch. “The back of six, it looks like.”

  Malcolm nodded and grabbed a blanket and an umbrella from a cubbyhole in the coatroom. Holding Kristin’s hand, he pulled her far enough away from the castle that they couldn’t see the turret beyond the curve of the gentle slope they descended.

  A faint pathway was visible in the pale green moor, and Malcolm followed it like a man who knew where he was going.

  When they came to a dry glen protected by an overhang, and with an incredible view of the valley stretched before them, Malcolm spread the blanket. “After you,” he said.

  She plopped down, and he sat beside her, tearing his hand through his hair.

  “Look, I’m sorry, Kristy. I just don’t want to get Rhiannon’s hopes up that you’ll be staying around permanently if it’s not going to happen.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, too. I was just having a bit of fun with you. Don’t you think it’s deserved?”

  He leaned back on one elbow. “Wedding guest or no, it’s an impossible situation. Rhiannon will get crushed if you get close to her and then leave. She’s...different from most people, Kristin. She’s very sensitive. I want to spare her any hurt.”

  “Okay. I can understand that.” Kristin crossed her legs and watched two majestic hawks fly past in the distance. “I’ll be clear to her that I’m not looking for anything romantic from you—temporary or long-term. I’ll let her know that I’m here for Born in Vermont.”

  He nodded curtly. “If you don’t mind, I’d like us to call a truce on it. A time-
out with the Born in Vermont question, at least until Monday.” He gazed at her. “I’ll drive you to Edinburgh then. It’ll take us three hours down, three hours back, but for a good part of it, we’ll be on a fast, safe, dual-lane carriageway. Then, when I’m in the office, you can tour the Royal Mile and the museums. I’ll find a top-notch guide to escort you, if you want, and we’ll meet for lunch at midday.”

  “I’m here for Born in Vermont, not to sightsee, Malcolm,” she said gently. “I will go to Edinburgh with you, but we need to discuss the particulars about Born in Vermont sometime, you know.”

  “I know. Lunch on Monday is what I prefer. After I’ve reviewed the confidential contract we signed with Jay Astley, then I’ll have a better idea of how you and I should go forward.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “With your permission, I’ll bring my uncle to lunch with us.”

  Her heart beat faster. “You’ll take me to a lunch meeting with your uncle?”

  “Aye.”

  That, and the fact that Malcolm was pledging to review the contracts, meant that he was taking her idea seriously. She kicked off her boots, wiggled her toes and stretched out her legs. “That sounds excellent to me.”

  “Thought you would like that,” he said wryly. But he leaned back on his elbows and stretched out his legs, too. He pulled out a whisky flask from his jacket pocket. “You must think I’m a lush. I’m not. It just seems appropriate at the moment.”

  He tipped back the flask and downed a sip. “Cheers.” He passed it to her.

  She drank a tiny amount, feeling herself getting used to the comfortable, peaty warmth that the real Scottish whisky gave her. “Cheers,” she agreed. And to think that she’d thought she hadn’t liked Scotch. Now, visiting the northern country with all its dampness, she understood the appeal of the blood-warming fire.

  She passed his flask back, and noticed that the skin on his hands was rough...hmm. Feeling daring, she found the small pot of hand cream she kept in her pocket and unscrewed the lid. “May I?” she asked him, motioning to his hands. “It’s made from shea butter and honey, mostly, with some essential oils mixed in. Smell it.” She held it up to his nose.

  He breathed in. “Nice.”

  “Do you mind if I rub it on your hands?”

  His brow furrowed, but he held out his hands to her, palms down.

  She took one of his hands. She had meant to begin gently teaching him about Born in Vermont, one small step at a time, but she’d miscalculated. Holding Malcolm’s hand in hers and rubbing in the rich, sensuous cream was much more intimate than she’d expected.

  His eyes hooded, he watched her. She could barely breathe. His hands were so much larger than hers. Rough. Those long fingers with short nails, bitten to the quick.

  She swallowed and tried to think of Laura. Mimic the way that Laura spoke—the professional, enthusiastic cadence she employed.

  “This...is my favorite healing cure.” Kristin’s voice sounded high; she was failing, utterly, getting distracted by the feel of his skin. She took Malcolm’s other hand. “I know you don’t want to talk about it,” she said in a rush, “but at home in the plant, when I’d be having a bad day, the smell of the bees’ products always made me feel better.”

  He put his hand to his nose. “I smell like you now.”

  “Pardon?”

  “This cream, Kristy.” He looked at her with those direct, clear blue eyes. “It reminds me of you.”

  “Oh.” She was embarrassed. She put her palms to her cheeks; they felt warm.

  Sighing, he leaned all the way back on the plaid wool blanket. Crossed his arms beneath his head and stared at the sky.

  “The sweetest hours I ever spent,” he murmured.

  “That’s from the Robert Burns poem, isn’t it?”

  He turned his head and looked at her. It reminded her of his body position just before the kiss they’d shared earlier, and for a moment, her mouth went dry.

  But he did not move toward her; he stayed where he was, his hands behind his head, smiling slightly, his thoughts seeming far away. “This was my favorite spot when I was a lad.”

  “It seems like a great place to grow up.”

  He turned his head and looked back at the clouds. “Aye.”

  She rolled onto her stomach and picked a small purple flower blooming just beyond their blanket fringe. “Cousin Gerry is lucky to be getting married here.”

  Malcolm closed his eyes and smiled. “Gerry is an idjit.”

  She laughed. “How many cousins do you have?”

  “On my mother’s side?” He opened his eyes and appeared to be counting silently. “Dunno. Ten, maybe. Twelve?” He closed his eyes again. “My Uncle John is the only bachelor of all the siblings. He’s the only one who didn’t have any kids.”

  She rolled the purple flower between her fingers. “So...are you the heir apparent to John Sage’s empire?”

  He grunted. “You know how to ruin a Saturday evening, lass.”

  “I’m just trying to understand you.”

  He opened one eye. “Very possibly, but none of us knows for sure who will inherit it. One of my cousins is studying international finance in New York City. Much more ambitious than I am.”

  “Is he after your position as heir apparent?”

  “She. She is.”

  “Who’s winning, you or she?”

  “I don’t know. Does it really matter anyway? We’re all in this together, Kristy. We live together as a family, or we die alone.” He sat up and took a sip of whisky.

  Was that bitterness or matter-of-factness, she wondered. She couldn’t help asking him the question that was most on her mind. “Were you kidnapped and held for ransom because you are John Sage’s nephew?” she asked bluntly.

  He looked at her, his face stony. “Aye.”

  She hugged herself, arms around her knees. “What happened, Malcolm?”

  He shook his head, laughing slightly. “I forgot you didn’t know. I’m not used to that.”

  “Why not?”

  He snorted. “They made a bloody television drama about it. Made every softhearted woman in the U.K. cry. They used a wee, pathetic boy actor. Changed the names and the order of things, of course, because it wasn’t supposed to be me. The lawyers got involved, but still, everybody knew who it was based on.”

  “So...is that why you went to boarding school and college in the U.S.?”

  “Yes. What choice did they have but to send me away? Safety reasons.”

  “Were you...hurt?”

  He nodded. Took a drink from his flask. Didn’t look at her.

  “Rhiannon must have been devastated,” she said.

  Again, no response. Just a tightening of his jaw.

  Poor Rhiannon. She must have been worried sick. No wonder she was sensitive to Malcolm’s troubles.

  “Did your uncle...pay the ransom?” she asked gently.

  Malcolm focused his efforts on screwing the cap back on to the flask. “The family didn’t have all that much money back then,” he said carefully. “But now, we do, Kristy.” He gazed at her. “And we will continue to, as long as I have breath in my body.”

  No money-losing deals, that’s what he was telling her.

  She put her forehead to her knees. There was a message in there for her. And suddenly, she understood him so much better.

  She shivered, wiping the dampness in her eyes onto her jeans, hiding it from him. Poor Malcolm. So young... She hoped he didn’t take it wrong, her showing him the Born in Vermont cream. She’d meant no disrespect.

  There were so many more questions she could ask him, but it was just...sad. What good was it dwelling on past pain—and from his face just now, there’d been more than he wanted to tell her about. She should just cheer him up and be grateful for the “sweetest hours�
�� on a rare, not too cold, sunny spring day in the Highlands.

  It wasn’t until they were walking back to the castle that, out of nowhere, what Malcolm had said hit her.

  John Sage had not paid his nephew’s ransom.

  That meant that Malcolm had been with the kidnappers longer than he should have been.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ON MONDAY MORNING, Malcolm picked through his nearly empty closet—a futile attempt. He didn’t have many clothes up here at the castle, and he would just have to stop at his Edinburgh flat and fill up a suitcase before he and Kristin returned to Inverness this afternoon.

  Malcolm groaned and tossed a jacket and trousers onto the bed. He was just so damned exhausted. Not even a hot shower had been able to wake him up. He stood in his dimly lit bedroom rubbing his face. How to solve the problem of Kristin’s presence in his life?

  Outside, it was dark; the sun hadn’t risen. He and Kristin had a three-hour drive ahead of them, and though Malcolm had traveled the route often, it wasn’t something he was looking forward to repeating again tomorrow. Yet for as long as Kristin stayed in the castle with him, he would be pleased, so he would have to speak with his uncle today about working remotely from his parents’ home, just to make life easier.

  On one level, the weekend with Kristin had been the best weekend Malcolm had spent in ages. Saturday night, they’d gone out to a small, intimate Italian restaurant by the river in Inverness for dinner, then to a local pub that friends of his parents owned, to listen to live music. Sunday had been bright and unseasonably warm, so they’d taken a long walk in the hills with Rhiannon.

  Simply put, Kristin had a way of lightening his burdens. She made Rhiannon smile, too, more than he’d seen in quite a while. Malcolm should be happier about it.

  On the surface, everything was great, and it even seemed that Kristin and Rhiannon had much in common. The only problem was that it was marred by the nagging feeling that he needed to be more vigilant about letting Kristin get too close to them—part of the ongoing damage control over his decision to bring Kristin into the castle in the first place.