Any Scot of Mine (The MacLarens of Balmorie, 4)

by Kam McKellar

  "Och. Now... Dinna fash yerself, lass," he mumbled, hurrying over and giving her a hard pat on the shoulder. "Now, now... Was it Ross? One word from ye and I'll give that lad a lashin' he willna soon forget."

  And she had no doubt he'd do it, too.

  His words made her smile, and she rubbed the wetness from her face. "Sorry," she said, sniffing. "It's not Ross. Well, it has to do with him..." What an understatement. It had everything to do with him. And she was in way over her head. "I'm okay, Hamish." His mouth dipped down doubtfully. "Okay. I'm not right now. But, I will be."

  "Oh, I ken just what ye need. Come with me."

  Hamish led her into the dining room where he grabbed a bottle of Scotch—whisky, to him—and two glasses, then continue to the back patio.

  He sat sideways on one of the lounge chairs and Harper took the companion lounge chair facing him. She accepted the offered glass. He filled it. And then she sipped the fragrant liquid, focusing on the burn in her throat and the taste of peat and alcohol on her tongue. Yeah. Just what she needed.

  Hamish set the bottle on the patio and regarded her for a long moment before taking a drink and then asking, "What's happened, lass?"

  As the alcohol spread, it infused warmth into her chest. She took another sip as images of the past and present converged, making it hard to separate out her feelings. There was no way she'd even hint at what she and Ross had done together back at the distillery. Hamish didn't need to know that. But his concern was touching. He barely knew her and yet Harper was sure he'd leap to her defense in a heartbeat. She sorely missed having someone like that in her life, someone who gave a damn. It made her feel such loss for her father.

  Before she could reason her way out of it, she took the note from her pocket and handed it to him.

  He frowned curiously as he took it, holding it way out in front of him to read. "So that's the way of it then," he said sadly when he finished. "Thought as much when Ross came home. Lad was so far left of himself... Tried my patience. Ye kept it all this time?"

  After swallowing another sip, Harper shook her head. "No. That's the thing. I just found it. It fell out of Mary's notebook."

  His eyes went wide, and he waved the paper at her, his voice loud in disbelief. "Ye mean ye never got this?"

  Liam appeared, sat down next to Hamish and took the paper out of Hamish's waving hand. A slight buzz had begun in her body and she liked it. It felt good and took the sharp edge of emotion away. Liam finished reading and he, too, gave her a look of shock and regret. "Holy shite."

  Hamish elbowed him in the rib.

  "Ah ya, Hamish! What'd you wallap me for?" He rubbed his side, looking offended. "All things considered, I think this deserves a holy shite."

  Hamish elbowed him again. Harper laughed along with Hamish as Liam rolled his eyes and then turned his attention back to the topic at hand. "You found this with my mother's things?" he asked, obviously having over heard some of what was said.

  She nodded and then stared into the amber liquid glistening in her crystal glass. Hamish let out a heavy sigh.

  "If you had gotten this..." Liam started.

  "No. It's pointless," she said. "All the would haves, might have beens. It doesn't matter now."

  "What do you mean it doesn't matter? Ross loved you, Harper. You loved him. And my mother kept you apart."

  "Loved. Past tense, Liam. And my father was in on it, too, apparently."

  He gave her a doubtful look, not believing the love portion of her statement—which she decided to ignore. "So, wait a minute," he said. "Did you find his notes, too?"

  "No. They don't exist. Just that," she gestured toward the paper. "I think he wanted me to come here and find it . . . and I don't know. Get closure maybe." Find love. Be happy. Trust again. "Whatever. Can't ask him now, can I?" With that, she grabbed the bottle off the ground, filled her glass, saluted the men, and took a deep drink.

  And came up coughing.

  Damn. That burned!

  "Might want to take it slow," Liam said, wincing when she turned a glare his way.

  "You know what, Liam? You look too much like your brother." Which only made her drink more. "And a little advice. Never tell a woman to take it slow when she's upset. Makes her want to drink more. Just sayin'."

  Fran and Lucy approached. Harper gave an inward sigh. She liked everyone just fine, but she certainly didn't want an afternoon pity party. After pleasantries were exchanged, Lucy pulled two chairs over for her and Fran. The letter was passed around along with the explanation that Harper never received it and, of course, Ross believing she'd turned her back on him.

  Throughout this, Harper continued to drink, listening in and feeling oddly like she was listening about someone else's life, someone else's heartache.

  "God. That makes me want to drink." Lucy said. "I'm so sorry, Harper."

  Harper shrugged, swinging her glass between her thumb and pointer finger. "What can you do?"

  "Why not set things right?" Fran said. "Tell Ross the truth. Seems a terrible thing for him to go on thinking the worst."

  "Aye," Hamish said, stroking his beard and flashing a quick look at Fran.

  "Might be just what the lad needs," Fran continued. "To get over his old hurts and finally have a normal relationship. Lad is overdue to settle down..."

  Harper frowned at the weird look on Hamish's face and the small smile tugging Fran's lips, which was gone so quick Harper wondered if she imagined it. She didn't see anything warm and fuzzy and wonderful about Ross moving on and finding a normal relationship. In fact, the idea made her ornery as hell.

  "He does deserve to know the truth, Harper," Liam said gently, turning those baby blues on her.

  They were right, which did nothing to help her declining disposition.

  It was hard reversing twelve years of what she'd believed, to let go of the broken-hearted chip on her shoulder, one that—if she was being honest with herself—she'd used as a crutch more times than she could count. Losing her virginity to Ross and then being abandoned had shaped her, had changed her.

  And, yeah, she was angry. Pissed. All the lost time... All the nights she'd spent thinking and hurting and deep down, wondering what she'd done wrong, why she wasn't good enough, why two people she'd loved—her mother and then Ross—could so easily walk away from her.

  It tended to give one a complex.

  And she couldn't exactly cling to her crutch anymore, now could she?

  Which made the idea of telling Ross the truth even more terrifying.

  He hadn't left her. It changed everything, yet it might change nothing at all. Being with Ross today had been ... Well, honestly, it had been mind-blowing. Even now she wanted him, wanted to feel his lips on hers and those big, roughened hands on her bare skin. The way he'd grabbed her hips...

  "Harper?"

  She jerked. "Sorry?"

  "Are ye going to tell him, dear?" Fran asked.

  "I'll go with you if you want," Liam offered.

  "I think this is something they'd probably want to do alone," Lucy said knowingly and then stood. "When you're ready, of course. How about I make you something to eat?"

  Fran joined her. "Aye. You just rest a while and we'll bring everything here to the patio."

  "Thanks." Harper smiled and watched them go. Such nice people. They all looked out for each other, took care of each other. She caught Hamish watching her and felt a little embarrassed at what she knew was longing on her face.

  "Ye dinnae have much family back home?"

  Harper shook her head. "Not anymore, no."

  He leaned forward, looking into her eyes with compassion and a gentle smile. "Ye'll always have a place here, lass, ye ken?" Before she could answer, he patted her knee, pushed himself up, his old joints making a popping sound, and then shuffled off after the women.

  Liam watched him go with fondness, shaking his head, and rubbing his ribs. "He hits me and comforts you. Doesn't seem fair."

  "Oh, please." Harper kicked back
on the lounge. "I doubt you need much comforting."

  "Hey. Deep down, I'm a sensitive guy." He glanced back at the castle where a group of women—three of Riley's friends who'd come from the States for the engagement party and Riley—were headed out for a walk.

  "Let me guess. Trouble with the ladies," she surmised, noticing the way he'd turned serious.

  He scoffed, then scratched his head, finally giving a slow boyish grin that Harper couldn't help but laugh at. "You're such a player."

  He stared at the group once more, his tone rueful as he said, "So I've been told."

  Harper sat up, faced Liam, and set her glass on the ground. "Okay. Let's hear it. Lay it on on me."

  "What?"

  "Your woman troubles. Come on. It'll make me feel better."

  He rolled his eyes. "Your concern is touching."

  "Isn't it? Now come on. Tell me."

  He reclined on the lounge, crossed his ankles, and tucked his hands behind his head. "It's nothing a little focus and determination can't fix." He glanced over and wiggled his eyebrows at her. "What you call trouble, I call a challenge."

  "Right," she said with a laugh. "Good luck with that." Reclining in her chair, the alcohol buzzing through her veins, Harper began to feel much better than she had a few minutes ago.

  It was a start, at least.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ross turned off his laptop, sat back in his chair, and rubbed a hand down his face. He'd been at it—working on a beer label for a start up brewery based in Glasgow—for all of fifteen minutes. Harper invaded his mind at every turn and made it impossible to focus. He'd watched her run away, wanting to go after her, but forcing himself instead to close up the old distillery and go home.

  He'd be damned if he'd chase her.

  Leaning back in his desk chair, he let out a heavy breath. He wanted her. Every cell, every sense, every part of him wanted Harper Dean. Twelve years erased none of the heat, the need, the lust. In fact, it was stronger than before. Harder. More erotic. More. . . grown up.

  He'd waited for her once upon a time. And damned if he'd go running after her now like some love sick fool. This time she had to come to him.

  If she wanted him at all.

  He let out a snort and pushed out of the chair, heading upstairs to his bedroom. Stripping, he tossed his clothes into the corner, walked into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. Once it ran hot, he stepped in, dunking his head under the spray and then moving his shoulders beneath the water. He placed his palms on the wall and hung his head low, trying to calm the storm of emotions wanting to rage through him.

  A bloody dobber was what he was. An idiot. A fool.

  And the worse part about it was when Harper returned home, he'd feel the sting of rejection as clear and sharp as before.

  He was ready to hit the tile with his fist when a loud thud stopped him. Odd, it sounded like it had come from his bedroom. He reached to turn off the shower, but froze when he heard a southern voice curse him for putting a lamp on the table by the door.

  Harper.

  Ross was debating on how to deal with her when the shower curtain pulled back. Harper stood there, glassy-eyed, slightly swaying, a bottle of whisky dangling from her fingertips, and her eyes going wide at the sight of him. He ran a hand over his wet head and arched an eyebrow as she ogled him, taking her time going from top to bottom and then back up again.

  "Up here, Harper," he finally said.

  "Hold on a sec. I'm not done."

  A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. She was completely hammered and obviously not shy at all, nor was she trying to hide the fact that the sight of him produced a rather dreamy, lustful look on her face. When she sighed, and he started to grow hard under her worshipful gaze, he turned the water off, reached past her for a towel and wrapped it around his waist. "Breaking and entering again?"

  She shrugged. "Details."

  He stepped out of the shower, grabbed another towel and dried off his hair, keenly aware of her scrutiny. "What are you doing here? Notebook's been found. Would have guessed you'd be packing up and heading home." He rested his hip on the counter, curious to see what she'd say.

  Her brows drew together as she pondered his words rather intensely.

  The fact that she couldn't form an answer, or even appear like she might want to stay, left him with a sour taste in his mouth. He left her, heading into his room to dress. In front of his dresser, he dropped the towel. In the mirror above the dresser, he glimpsed her moving to the bathroom doorway to watch. He ignored her and pulled on boxer briefs, lounge pants, and a T-shirt. Obviously, she had a thing for his body. Just not for him.

  Weariness settled over him. "When are you leaving?" He might as well know now. But Harper didn't respond. "It's not a hard question."

  "I'm booked until Sunday. Don't worry, you'll be rid of me soon, if that's what you're worried about," she muttered, rolling her eyes, and then parking her bottom on the edge of his mattress. "I'm tired," she announced in such a defeated, honest tone that Ross found himself, once again, giving a damn.

  He crossed the floor to stand in front of her. She lifted those big, sad, golden eyes, and he felt a punch right to his solar plexus. "Do you want to talk about today?" she asked.

  "Not finding the notebook? Or the sex against the art table?"

  She bit her lip, staring off at some point beyond him. The bottle in her fingers slipped. He took it before it could fall to the floor and placed it on the nightstand.

  "I haven't done something like that in a long time, Ross. It was very nice."

  He couldn't help letting out an ego driven snort. Harper smiled, amending her statement. "Okay. It was pretty stellar. I don't remember it being so, um, extreme the first time we were together."

  He sat next to her on the bed. "I remember nerves. And fearing my heart would pound right out of my chest." She was so drunk, she'd probably never remember anything he said. "I remember all of it. Every detail. And it was stellar. Just in a different way."

  "Well, yeah, because we loved each other," she echoed sadly. "What we did today was just blatant in-your-face sex. No love required for that."

  The room went silent again, and Ross wasn't quite sure how to feel about her drunken admissions. She was right. And yet he didn't like knowing that she could care less, that today meant nothing more to her than blatant sex. Which meant, if it bothered him, today had meant something to him—something else he didn't like knowing.

  "I should probably go." She went to stand, but then thought better of it, and instead fell back onto his bed. "Ugh. The ceiling is spinning."

  Ross lifted her legs onto the mattress and then slipped his hands around her rib cage to move her up so her head could rest on his pillow. Then, he pulled off her shoes, chuckling when he saw she wore only one sock. He grabbed a blanket and spread it over her and then smoothed the wild hair from her face. Her eyes opened and took a moment to focus on him. When she did find him, a brilliant smile came over her. Gone was the guarded aura that usually surrounded her, and she seemed completely and genuinely happy to see him. "Hi," she said.

  Harper's expression addled his wits for a second, causing a light airy sensation to sweep through him. He ignored the shot of longing that followed, telling himself it was no big deal. What man wouldn't want a woman to look at him like that? Like she cared, like the sight of him made everything better. Of course, none of it was real. She was drunk and he was acting bloody pathetic fool.

  "Hi," he answered back, then leaned over and kissed her forehead.

  Harper cupped his cheek, rubbing the stubble on his jaw. "You left me that beautiful note," she said in a strangled voice. "And I never met you."

  "Why didn't you?" The question slid right out of his mouth before he could stop it. He bloody well knew why she hadn't, so there was no point in hearing her say it and making himself look even more pathetic. "I'll get you some water." Ross left the room, cursing himself as he went.

  By the time he retur
ned with a glass and a wastebasket, in case Harper fell ill during the night, she was out cold. He put the basket on the floor by her bedside, pulled up the leather chair from the corner, sat and rested his feet on the mattress.

  For a long time he watched her sleep.

  She'd shown up out of the blue, shocking him, and had systematically up-ended his calm—boring, as Liam would say—existence. But things would go back to being quiet and peaceful when she left. Just the way he liked it.

  The first thing Harper noticed when she woke was the smell of her pillow. The faint scent of Ross wafted over her, momentarily taking the edge off her pounding headache. Unfortunately, a moment was all there was. She felt like she'd been hit by a freaking tour bus. As she moved to stretch, her foot hit something. She rolled onto her back and lifted her head, looking down the length of her body through the narrow slits of her eyelids.

  The lower part of Ross' legs rested on top of covers. He was in a chair pulled close to the bed, his big body slouched, his arms sprawled over the arms, one leg bent, his head turned away from her...

  Slowly, she pushed to a sitting position. Pain throbbed through the blood vessels in her head. She reached for the glass of water by the bed and the bottle of aspirin that accompanied it. Two white pills sat next to it, just waiting for her.

  She glanced at the sleeping Scottish hunk, her heart tripping at his thoughtfulness.

  She took the aspirin, gulping the cool water and then wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as the mortification of what she'd done slowly seeped in. Who the hell had let her leave the castle and walk all the way to Ross' house? Oh, yeah. She sort of remembered, swiping the bottle, and telling everyone she was headed for bed. But really all she'd been able to think about in her drunken haze was telling Ross the truth about the note and then maybe climbing up his big, hard body and doing a repeat of their time in the art studio.