by Sara Logan
"Well, we don't usually eat it plain. You should put butter or ham gravy on it, or eat it with your eggs."
Christina glanced around the rapidly emptying dining room. There was no sign of James and Monica. They could already have been there, or even eaten breakfast in their rooms—or room, as the case probably was, she thought cynically. Knowing the situation between the two, Christina hardly thought James would waste any money on an extra room when he intended for them to share a bed anyway.
As she and Alex finished their coffee, Christina allowed her admiring gaze to rest on her companion, and she smiled at him.
"Really, it's a shame, Alex, that you men don't wear that outfit all the time! It's the most becoming thing I've ever seen. Better even than a uniform."
He laughed. "You don't look too shabby yourself," he commented, appraising her tartan skirt, black velvet vest, and long-sleeved white blouse.
"Perhaps not, but the kilt never looks right on a woman. It's the men who show it off to such fine advantage. And, besides, it looks sexy."
And it did! His tall, lean frame showed off his tweed jacket admirably. The colorful Stewart tartan, of dark red with darker green and an occasional yellow stripe, complemented his dark good looks. It was strange, she reflected, how what was, after all, a skirt could look so utterly masculine.
"If you've finished admiring my legs, we should go," he teased as the waitress arrived at the table with their check.
The girl ran an admiring glance over Alex, set the check face down on the table, and murmured, "I hope you and your wife have a nice time at the games, sir. We've got a beautiful day for them."
Alex smiled and thanked the girl and then saw Christina's scarlet face. He waited until the waitress reluctantly removed herself; then he leaned over and flicked a finger against her hot cheek. "I've been promoted, I see. Come on, wife; let's enjoy this lovely day."
"It must be the kilts," Christina mumbled, rising as he held the chair for her. Her embarrassed glance went from his bright Stewart tartan to her own matching one.
"Perhaps," Alex said calmly. "But I prefer to think that the young lady thought we looked like a perfect couple. We must have presented a picture of married bliss, which should impress your James quite a lot."
"Alex! He's not my James!"
He grinned and took her arm. "Smile, wife! We're going to enjoy ourselves today. Are you ready?"
As he escorted her out of the dining room he seemed superbly unaware that every remaining diner turned to watch him. Feeling a surge of pride in her escort, Christina happily took his arm and went out to the car, determined to enjoy every moment of the day.
At the parking lot she hesitated and asked him, "What do you want to do first?"
He looked at his watch and frowned. "How did it get so late? What's usually the first event?"
"There's a sailboat regatta on Loch Dornie, at the Grandfather Golf and Country Club, that you shouldn't miss."
"How long does that last?"
"About an hour. Why?"
He shrugged. "No reason."
They got into the car. When they pulled out of the parking lot he asked, "Aren't we going in the wrong direction?"
She laughed. "Trust me, Alex. I've been up here lots of times. I promise not to get us lost."
He didn't return her smile; he was looking at his watch again. She was rather surprised at his behavior. He was so hurried and acted so pressured… quite unlike his casual, at-ease manner of the day before. Much as she disliked the expression, uptight was the most apt description of him today. She considered asking him what was on his mind and then thought better of it.
They pulled into one of the last parking places at the country club and hurried over to the loch. The race had already begun. Neither of them knew any of the contestants, but Christina was content to enjoy the white sails, the crystal-clear day, and the beauty of the surroundings. She played the game of picking out a boat to favor and suggested to Alex that he do the same. "That one, Alex, the Mary Stuart."
Minutes later, when the Mary Stuart pulled ahead of the other boats, she jumped up and down enthusiastically. "It looks like our girl is going to win," she shouted to Alex.
"Chris, do you mind if we go ahead?" he answered back. "I really am more interested in the activities at the meadow."
She was puzzled. "No, I don't mind." After all she had seen the regatta every time she had come to the games, but it seemed strange to her that Alex would not want to see the finish, especially when "their" boat was doing so well.
"What now?" he asked as they headed for the car.
His long strides made it almost impossible for her to keep up with him.
"We drive to the next parking lot and take a shuttle bus," she explained, slightly out of breath.
He stopped and looked at her. "Don't we take the car up?"
"Well, we can, but the chance of finding someplace to put it is quite remote. In fact, we always take the bus on Saturday. Tomorrow there aren't quite so many people, so we usually drive up."
He opened the door and helped her into the car, nearly lifting her off the ground in his haste. The urgency of his manner communicated itself to her, and she found herself speeding as they drove the few miles to the main parking lot. With a sigh of relief she slid into a parking place and hurried out of the car. Alex, who had spotted the shuttle bus, slammed his door and ran, shouting for the bus to stop. She caught up with him and they raced to the stopped bus. The driver opened the door to speak to them and grinned.
"Lotsa time, folks," he said. "I don't have a single seat left on the bus and it's too dangerous for you to stand up. Be another bus along in ten or fifteen minutes. Sorry."
"Blast!" said Alex, stepping back from the bus. He consulted his watch again and paced the parking lot impatiently, stopping every two minutes to peer down the road, hoping, no doubt, that he could will the next bus to show up early. Christina sighed. She was finding his impatience nerve-racking and was beginning to think that if he didn't calm down the entire day would be a fiasco. She had watched him out of the corner of her eye at the regatta and was sure he hadn't watched the race. She would almost bet that he had no idea which boat they had picked, but she decided not to test him.
"Here it comes—finally," he said, and they were the first two people on the bus. He asked the driver several times how long they had to wait and finally relaxed somewhat when the bus began to move.
"Couldn't we have walked?" he asked her.
She nearly giggled. "You look out the window while we drive. No way could we walk two or two and a half miles—straight up the mountain."
The road up the mountain to MacRae Meadow was extremely steep and curving, but neither of them noticed it because of the breathtaking scenery around them. On one side, the sheer cliff fell away to the blue glitter of the lake they had just left. On the other side, they looked up to a virgin forest of giant hardwoods interspersed with clumps of fern, granite boulders, and banks of rhododendron and mountain laurel. In the ferns, overlooking the road, Christina spotted a doe with two fawns.
"Quick! Look up there!" she exclaimed.
But he didn't look. "Can't this bus go any faster?" he snapped, ignoring her totally.
"Alex, what on earth is the matter with you?" she wondered. "You've been dragging me around at a dead gallop all morning. What's the hurry?"
"Stop complaining," he said irritably. "I've heard that events in the South moved at a snail's pace, and now I believe it."
"What difference does it make? We're not trying to break any speed records today!" she persisted, furious at his attitude and his insults.
He looked at her, his attitude softening momentarily, and then he asked, "Do you mind very much if we change the subject?"
"That's what you always say. Whenever something isn't to your liking you demand we change the subject."
"Maybe you'll like this subject better," he said and, in front of a busload of interested spectators, he pulled her into his arms. Sh
e realized that struggling would only create a bigger scene, so she kept quite still. As his lips descended on hers she willed herself not to respond, but she didn't succeed with that plan at all. Her lips softened and parted under his as she forgot where they were and who might be watching.
When at last he released her she observed a satisfied smile on his face and turned away to stare out the window and try to ignore the giggles and comments from the other passengers.
Suddenly he broke into her embarrassed musing. "Do you hear pipes?"
Resolutely she pulled herself together and attempted to answer civilly. "Of course I do. You'll hear pipes on the mountain the entire day."
"I would hate to be a person who didn't enjoy them," he commented dryly.
"I love them. They're my favorite musical instrument."
"Have you ever tried to play them?"
"No. Have you?"
"Yes, but to no avail," he admitted.
Then he abruptly stopped talking and hustled her off the bus, which had now reached its destination. He quickly bought the necessary tickets of admission and was striding toward the meadow when she grabbed his arm.
"Look, Alex, at the shops. You can buy all kinds of Scottish things here. I expect your own firm is represented. Look at the bookshop. It's much bigger than last year…" The last word trailed off as Alex continued his determined pace toward the main area. They passed hurriedly through the great arch that framed MacRae Meadow and Christina stopped, amazed as always at the sight before her eyes.
Once more, she felt as though she had taken a giant step back in time. Set all around the field were the green and gold, red, or blue tents of the clans, their tartan banners whipping in the breeze, their coats of arms proudly displayed. She instinctively looked around for an armored knight to gallop by on a caparisoned charger, and for his medieval lady in the stands, tossing her scarf to him. He was never there, but Christina had always thought the setting was highly suggestive of such a scene. She then glanced around for Alex and found that he was far ahead of her. He strode back and took her hand impatiently. "Come on," he said urgently. Christina stopped and stood stock still, and he looked at her in amazement. "We'll be late," he explained.
"Alex," she said gently. "There's no hurry about anything. We have all day today and tomorrow. Take it easy, will you?"
But he wasn't listening. He was looking around, and finally his gaze settled on the speakers' platform. Just then the announcement was made for the singing of "The Star-Spangled Banner." He grabbed her wrist in a painful clasp and began pulling her through the crowd.
"Come on; hurry up," he ordered.
She attempted in vain to pull away, and at last, when he realized she had stopped and was literally dragging her heels, he looked back at her. "Alex," she began, "it's our national anthem. We are supposed to stand still and sing!"
Obediently, reluctantly, he stopped and stood impatiently while she joined the others in the singing. The instant the last notes died away, he began dragging her toward the speakers' platform again. The gathering then began to sing "Scots What Ha'e," and Christina thought it only proper that they stop and sing along with the group. But Alex would have none of it. She found herself hustled through the crowds of people. Many were in kilts with their ladies in tartan skirts and suits, but the majority of the people were dressed in the universal blue jeans and T-shirts and other comfortable attire. Christina thought ruefully, as she was being dragged along, that she might look proper now, but the warmth of the day would make her wish later that she were casually dressed. Then she ceased to think at all because at last they had shoved their way to the platform.
He took her at a near run around to the back, ignoring her gasping protests, and rushed her up the stairs to the platform just as the song ended and the introductions began. To Christina's appalled surprise, she found herself standing on the platform with the master of ceremonies, Clyde MacLean, the heads of the various other Grandfather Mountain Games committees, and other personages of differing degrees of importance. She was sandwiched hastily between Alex and a slender, blond young man who grinned amicably at Alex.
"Glad you could make it, laddie," said the young man.
Christina tugged urgently at Alex's arm. "We aren't supposed to be up here," she whispered as the master of ceremonies began introducing the distinguished guests. Suddenly he turned and was introducing the young blond man on the other side of her who turned out to be the main guest. He was Rory MacRae—where had she heard that name before? Christina wondered frantically—earl of Auldern, chief of the Clan MacRae. It began, then, to dawn on Christina what was happening. Lord Auldern stepped forward to the microphone, said a few words of greeting, and drew forward a woman who had been standing on his other side, a woman whom Christina dazedly wondered how she could have missed noticing.
Few people would overlook Lorna MacRae, countess of Auldern. As the earl introduced her, Christina gazed in awed surprise at the lovely creature standing there. She was tall, nearly as tall as Rory MacRae himself. She had a face that would not be out of place on any list of beautiful women; it was perfectly molded, with high cheekbones, a flawless, creamy complexion, and large, dark eyes. Her black hair, expertly styled, threw back bluish lights in the bright sunshine. A suit of white linen, with Paris written all over it, set off her slim figure and long, elegant legs to perfection. This beautiful woman was saying a few words of greeting in a perfectly modulated voice, touched with just a hint of an accent, when Christina began to recover a bit from her surprise. Lorna MacRae stepped back, flicking a swift, puzzled glance over Christina, and Rory continued with his speech. He expressed his deep appreciation at being invited to attend the games. He then said he would like to introduce to them a surprise guest, his cousin, also a Scot, who had been in the United States on business and was with them today.
"My cousin," Rory began, motioning to Alex. "Alexander Stewart of Glentorrie, laird of Glentorrie, chieftain of the Lennox Stewarts. Alex…"
Alex moved forward, taking a shocked Christina with him. "Thank you, Rory," he began. "Ladies and gentlemen, I also appreciate the honor of your invitation, and I'm very glad to be with you today. Allow me to present my very good friend, and my guide today to the games, Miss Christina Lennox, of Charlotte, North Carolina."
Numbly, Christina acknowledged the introduction, smiled, and stepped back. Her brain was going around and around and she missed the remainder of the speeches and the official opening of the games.
Laird of Glentorrie? Chieftain of the Lennox Stewarts? Alex was no less than the head of her own clan! The Lennoxes were a branch of the Clan Stewart, so they were entitled to wear the Stewart tartan, which she was, of course, wearing today, and claim membership in the clan. Alex must have known this. In fact, she was sure he knew that he was her own clan chief—he had noticed her tartan, hadn't he?—and he hadn't warned her in any way! The more she thought about how she had been duped, the angrier she became. Her grandfather, too! Of course he knew. Ohhhh! she muttered to herself, her eyes glittering with rage. Wait until she got Alexander Stewart alone! This explained why he had been in such a tearing hurry all morning and had made no effort at all to fill her in. She ground her teeth in exasperation.
"Alex!" said Rory. "I'm glad you did make it. Miss Lennox, a pleasure, I assure you. Alex said he had come with you when I talked with him last night. I'm his cousin, as you may have guessed, and this is my wife, Lorna."
The affable young man was obviously unaware of what had taken place. Christina shook his hand, briefly touched the cool, slim hand of his wife, and made an effort to say all the correct things. She was intent on avoiding Alex's eyes but couldn't help noticing that Lorna MacRae was looking from her to Alex with an intent, frowning regard.
"I was sure you would make it, Alex," Lorna said quietly and confidentially to him, slipping her hand in his arm. "I told Rory not to worry."
Alex frowned down at the beautiful creature clinging to his arm and glanced at Christina. Then h
e smoothly extricated himself, took Christina's elbow in a firm grip, and turned to his cousin. "Rory, let's get off this platform and find a place to watch. Chris?"
Without a word, Christina marched off the platform, painfully aware of the hard hand still holding tightly to her elbow. Lord Auldern and his wife were cornered by a very large, very determined old lady in the MacRae tartan, and Christina walked into the crowd. Alex caught up with her and said, "Chris, I'm sorry. I had meant to mention it to you myself."
She turned and faced him. "I'll bet you did, Alexander Stewart, laird of Glentorrie, chieftain of the Clan Lennox! Why couldn't you have told me? Have you any idea how embarrassing it was to find myself up there with one of the honored guests and not even know he was an honored guest? And the chieftain of my own clan, at that! Did it amuse you to keep me in the dark that way, Alex? I simply don't understand it."
"I didn't do it to amuse myself," he said firmly, his face serious. "You weren't very willing to have me come up with you, Chris, and I thought that if you knew who I was, and that I was expected here, you would refuse to come. Yes, of course, I was expected. Rory had rooms for us all. I called him from Charlotte and told him to cancel mine."
Christina stood very straight, mustering all the dignity she could manage. She drew herself up to her full height and met his intent gaze. "Why?" she asked coldly.
Alex frowned and then shrugged. "Let's just say that I thought it would be more interesting coming up here with you."
"Let's not say anything of the kind," Christina retorted. "It might be closer to the truth to say that you were angry because I didn't seem very enthusiastic about having you come up with me, so you decided that this would be a good way to put me thoroughly in my place. Well, you've done exactly that, so I suggest that you join your family and we'll forget the entire thing!"
"You're very beautiful when you're angry," he said softly. "And what you've said isn't true, Chris. I didn't plan it this way; I never intended to embarrass or humiliate you. Why shouldn't I rather come with you? You're a very lovely girl who knows the area and is familiar with the games—and you're a much more enjoyable companion for the weekend than my cousin! I'm sorry it made you angry. I did intend to tell you this morning but didn't get around to it. And what does it matter who I am? I'm not a duke, you know," he added, smiling wryly. "Just a country laird and chieftain of a branch of the clan."