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

by Kam McKellar

  "Ugh," she muttered in a scratchy voice.

  Ross' head shifted from right to left. "Good morning," he said, opening his eyes, looking incredibly sexy and rugged. Apparently, he was one of those people who woke up looking beautiful.

  "Morning."

  Ross scooted up in the chair and removed his legs from the bed. He sat forward, elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands through his hair and then scratched his face, the ever darkening stubble on his jaw giving him a wicked look. He took in her appearance, and Harper knew she did not sport the morning sexy look like he did—not even close. She was a hot mess and grumpy as hell, and that was on a good morning.

  "How are you feeling?" He noticed the aspirins were gone from the table.

  She shoved her hair from her face. "Not so good."

  "Aye or nay on breakfast?"

  "Aye. Definitely aye." Ross pushed to his feet and headed toward the door. "Ross?" She waited for him to stop and turn. "Thanks."

  He gave her a slight nod. "Feel free to use the shower." He cleared his throat, obviously remembering. "I'm assuming you remember where it is," he said, glancing toward the bathroom door.

  Heat filled her cheeks. Harper fell back and covered her face with her hands and let out a groan. The sound of Ross' chuckle made her throw a pillow at the door. But he dodged it easily as she fell back again, the motion making her head pound even worse.

  "Here, put this on when you're done," he said, grabbing a hoodie off the doorknob and tossing it on the bed. "It's chilly in the mornings."

  She grunted a response and lay very still, hoping her head would stop hurting.

  Eventually, the smell of bacon wafted into the room, making her stomach growl. The motto in her family had always been to feed the ails of the body whether it be cold or hangover. Spurred by the thought of food, she slid out of bed, and shuffled to the shower.

  As she went to remove her jeans, her memory kicked in and she pulled the note from the front pocket. She'd meant to give it to him last night, to explain. And then she'd seen him naked and completely lost her focus.

  Now, fear curled around her. She tucked it back, unsure of what to do, and stepped into the shower.

  In the cold light of day, she didn't possess half the drunken bravery as she'd had when she left Balmorie last night.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ross served breakfast on the small patio at the back of the house. The view was lovely. The late morning sun had warmed the stone, and there was enough shade that Harper's eyes didn't go into hangover shock.

  As he set the plates on the table, she admired the land as it sloped gently down, revealing hills and mountains in the distance. The air still held a chill and she was thankful for the sweatshirt he'd offered. In the pouch, she played with the note, trying to work up the courage to give it to him.

  "Sit, Harper," he said, sliding into a chair and motioning for her to do the same.

  "You didn't have to do all this." She was glad he had, but it also made things a bit uncomfortable. It was a heck of a lot easier dealing with Ross when she had the chip on her shoulder. And when he had one right back. "And everything last night." She cut off a piece of sausage and shoved it into her mouth. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome. Surprised you actually made it from the castle to here. Seeing how wasted you were."

  She didn't rise to the bait. The food was too good and she was trying to keep calm so her head wouldn't hurt. "I have a good sense of direction even when I'm drunk. Which, by the way, rarely happens."

  He chewed, his look going thoughtful. "What possessed you to show up here."

  She smiled sweetly, chewing. "The thought of annoying you."

  He picked up his glass of juice, saluting her as he brought it to his lips. They ate in silence for a while, thank goodness. The last thing she wanted was for him to start poking around in her mind.

  Ross sat back in his seat and watched her for a second. "Why did you run yesterday, Harper?"

  Usually she could appreciate directness. She was that way herself most of the time. But this morning, the last thing she wanted to do was remember anything from yesterday. "There was a lot happening yesterday," she said, uncomfortably.

  "Aye. I know. I'm sorry you didn't find what you came here for," he said sincerely.

  She smiled, appreciating his words. He looked so relaxed, long legs sprawled out in front of him, arms resting on the sides of the chair, but she knew he was anything but. Behind that calm, sexy exterior was a man who'd been hurt, who wanted answers, whose startling blue eyes burned with an inner light. He might never come out and point blank ask her why she'd rejected him, but that didn't mean he didn't want to know. Or didn't want retribution. Or closure, like Fran and Hamish had said.

  To move on and find a real relationship with out Harper Dean Baggage hanging over him.

  "Still trying to figure out if you ran because of what happened between us," he said easily, "or because of the notebook. Or," he eyed her critically, "a little of both."

  Yeah. She definitely didn't like being under his microscope. Setting the fork on her plate and sitting back, she avoided a response and tried like hell not to feel cornered. By his comment. By sitting here with him. By the fact that she was enveloped in his warm hoodie and surrounded by his faint scent.

  His steady gaze, however, made her squirm. "Fine." Drawing in a deep breath, she looked him dead set in the eye. His funeral. "I left the distillery yesterday because I found out my father sent me on a wild goose chase. I ran because even though I knew Dean's couldn't be saved, there was still hope that if I found what he wanted somehow, miraculously, it could be. And, yeah, I ran because of you and me, and everything happening at once. It was overwhelming," she said defensively. "Happy now?"

  She wanted him to be snide back. It would be so much easier to leave and never look back. But, of course, Ross never quite did what she expected. "Not really," he answered honestly. He seemed like he wanted to say more, but decided against it. "When are you leaving Scotland?"

  Her stomach twisted into a sudden knot. She pushed away from the table. "I'm not sure. Thanks for breakfast, Ross. That was really nice of you." She pulled his hoodie over her head and placed it over the back of the chair. "Take care of yourself."

  Feeling sick, and knowing it wasn't all due to her hangover, she walked off the patio and headed around the house to the driveway. Her head hurt. Everything hurt. And all she wanted was to get back to her room, crawl under the soft down comforter, and cry. And sleep. And wake up to a world where her father was still alive, Dean's was going strong, and Ross was no longer a pain in her ass.

  Half way back to Balmorie, Harper froze.

  Icy dread snaked down her spine.

  Oh God.

  No, no, no. "You idiot!" How could she have been so stupid?

  She'd left the note in Ross' hoodie.

  Looking back toward the direction of his house, she thought of hurrying back, but the thought of facing him with the truth was more than she could handle right then.

  That, and she was being a world class coward.

  But Harper was okay with that.

  Telling Ross the truth was the right thing to do. There was a chance he might wash the hoodie, never realizing the note was inside. She'd been biding her time, looking for the right moment. Now that moment was gone, and she couldn't exactly picture herself walking back up and saying hey, by the way, never actually got your note.

  "Daddy why did you do this?" she said to the blue sky. This had all been such a gamble. Hell, her father could have sent her here not knowing if Ross was already married and had a house full of kids. But then maybe he did know. Maybe he'd done his research...

  Harper pinched the bridge of her nose to try and ease her headache. Figured on the day of her hangover, the sun would be brighter than any day thus far.

  She had to regroup first. Then she'd tell him. Then, maybe she could let go. Just forget everything and move on like Fran and Hamish had talked about. It could w
ork for her, too.

  Back at Balmorie, she went straight to her room, turned the Do Not Disturb sign, pulled the curtains closed, stripped to her underwear and T-shirt, and crawled into bed.

  Harper slept until four o'clock, but stayed in the bed for another twenty minutes enjoying the warmth and softness beneath the covers. Once she finally rose, she showered again, changed into fresh clothes, and called the kitchen to order room service.

  While she waited, she decided to start packing some of her things. Once she told Ross, she wasn't sure she'd hang around. It wasn't like he was going to be happy about it and want to pick up where they'd left off as teenagers. Which was a stupid thought really. Why would he? He no longer loved her. Obviously. And she didn't love him. Hell, she'd spent a decade hating him. Kind of hard to reverse things now.

  So why did it hurt so much?

  But she knew why. She just wasn't going to acknowledge it. She wasn't going to dwell on possibilities and hopes and unrealistic dreams.

  The knock came as she was searching her bag for a ponytail holder to keep her hair from falling in her face as she packed. Giving up the search, she went to the door and pulled it open.

  Ross stood in the hall.

  All that intensity he'd kept so well in check earlier was out in full force. His jaw was clenched. His eyes practically spit blue flames, and his chest rose and fell with a force that told her, he'd just taken the great castle stairs two at a time.

  The note was clutched in his fist.

  Awesome.

  She gripped the door knob tightly as her legs suddenly went limp.

  "You forgot something." It was a deep, low statement. She'd almost rather he yell at her than speak in that lethal tone.

  "You can keep it," she said without thinking her words through and realizing how flippant they'd sound.

  His fist tightened, crunching the note. "Aye, I'm pretty familiar with the fact that you never wanted this." He tossed her the wadded up note. It bounced off her chest before she could catch it. He spun on his heel and marched away.

  "Ross, wait."

  Harper swiped the note from the floor and went after him, surprised he actually stopped. For the first time, she saw pain behind his angry gaze. Yeah, she knew exactly what he was feeling.

  "It's not what you think."

  He shoved his hands in his pockets, radiating frustration. "You have no idea what I think, Harper. You don't know me that well."

  She winced. Point taken.

  Her pulse was racing and she had to concentrate on keeping the emotions at bay. One of the women Harper had seen around the castle before—Ellie, she recalled—came down the hall with a tray carrying Harper's order.

  "I'll take it, Ellie, Thanks," Ross said.

  The young woman hesitated for a moment, glancing at Harper for confirmation. Harper nodded and Ellie handed over the tray. "If you need anything else Ms. Dean, just let us know."

  "Thanks. I will."

  Ross carried the tray past Harper and into her room. She followed and shut the door, leaning back against it as he dropped the tray on the small table in the corner. The rattle it made told Harper he was just clinging to his composure. Wisely, she stayed by the door.

  He finally turned and crossed his big arms over his chest. "So, if it's not what I think, than what is it, Harper?' he asked tightly.

  Her heart was hammering fast now. She glanced down at the note in her hand. "Ross, I found this in your mother's notebook. I never saw it before yesterday." She swallowed and looked at him. "I never got it. That's why I ran."

  It felt as thought the entire universe paused for a moment, holding its breath and giving that statement its due.

  Ross' brows drew together in a deep, disbelieving frown as Harper forged ahead. "I thought you left me. That . . ." She took a steadying breath, "you just used me and walked away..." It hurt so much to say those words to him, to give voice to her pain.

  He blinked, shaking his head as if he could erase the shock away.

  Then, he pulled out a chair, sat down heavily, put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, and let out a loud sigh, followed by a, "bloody hell".

  "I think they had good intentions," she offered after a long pause.

  Ross snorted and glanced up. "What, to make us hate each other? To make every relationship I had since you... " he shook his head and dropped that line of thought. "I can't believe she'd do this."

  "My father did it, too. He sent me here to find your note. He knew it was in the notebook. There were no yeast recipes... I think he wanted us to come to some sort of understanding or closure or . . . something." She could feel the heat rise to her face. "He was worried about leaving me alone."

  Ross moved to the Gothic window and stared out for a long moment. "Would you have met me, Harper? Had you gotten my message?" he asked at length, still gazing out.

  "Yes."

  Finally he faced her once more, some of the tension seeming to ease from his shoulders. His eyes, however, were fierce and possessive, making her feel a little bit like a mouse caught in the gaze of a hungry cat. He stepped toward her, flicking a glance at the bed, and froze. Her suitcase on the bed, half packed. A wall slid over his features, making them cold and impenetrable. "Were you even going to tell me?"

  "Yes. Of course I was."

  "So you'd just drop that bombshell and off you go. That's fucking brilliant, Harper."

  He stormed toward her and she ducked out of his way as he pushed open the door, stopping next to her to say, "I think they were right to keep us apart. Because had you gotten my letter, it wouldn't have mattered. You wouldn't have been able to accept what I was offering then. And you sure as hell—" he flicked at look at her suitcase— "couldn't accept it now."

  Harper flinched. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

  "You figure it out."

  As he strode down the hall, her anger got the best of her. "Why are you so mad at me? I didn't reject you, Ross."

  "No," he said, spinning. "But you are now, aren't you?"

  Harper drew back as if slapped. Ross kept going.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ross shoved the castle doors open and stormed across the yard. Hamish called to him from the large outbuilding across the drive, but Ross didn't stop. He wanted to shout, to fucking smash something, to pound his hurt into the ground, anything other than to feel his heart shrinking into a hard knot.

  A shrill whistle made him look again. Liam waved him over, gesturing to the bed of the truck where Hamish, Jamie, and Devin were preparing to unload several large logs that they'd eventually cut up for firewood. He suspected Ian was also lurking around somewhere.

  With a huff, Ross turned direction and headed over.

  "What's eating you, cuz?" Jamie asked as he approached.

  "Nothing." Ross moved to the bed of the truck. Normally, the job would call for one man at each end, but Ross didn't care if he pulled a muscle or bruised a shoulder. He'd welcomed the hurt. At least it'd be a distraction. He grabbed the end of a log and pulled it part way off the tailgate. "Might want to move."

  Liam snorted as Ian came around the side of the building. Devin just nodded in that quiet way of his, seeing way more than the others. Ignoring the lot of them, Ross bent down, got his shoulder beneath the wood and lifted. Thing was a brute, but he got it up.

  Pain shot through his shoulder with every step he took around the building. When he tossed the piece near the woodpile, he was breathing heavy and his heart was pounding.

  Better than have it pounding over Harper.

  When he came back to the truck they were all staring at him, which only added to his irritation. He wasn't some goddamn spectacle. "Why don't you wee lasses take your weak arses into the dining room for tea while I finish."

  Hamish shook his head and let out a low chuckle. The rest of them took Ross' words as a challenge. Jamie grabbed a log, positioned it, and then hefted it as Ross had done. "Yours is smaller than Ross'," Ian noted.

 
Liam grinned. "That's what she said."

  "Bugger off," Jamie shot back, trying not to laugh, and unable to look over his shoulder as he limped around the building. Ross had to admit he was impressed. Jamie had lost his leg below the knee in the war, but the man never let it slow him down.

  Over the bed of the truck, Ross met Hamish's inquiring eyes as Ian and Devin tested their mettle as well. Clearly, the old man knew something was very wrong, but he stayed quiet. Liam, however, had no such wisdom. As Ross shimmied another log into place, Liam rested his forearms on the top rim of the truck bed and said, "Let me guess. She told you."

  It took a second for it to hit him, and it definitely hit him. Right in the fucking chest.

  "You knew?" A look beyond his idiot brother to Hamish, told him the old man knew as well. The three MacLaren brothers returned from their task. Ross glared at them, his blood boiling. "You three, too, I suppose."

  Aye, they did.

  Ross' fists clenched at his sides. It was twelve years of his goddamn life, twelve years of believing the worst, of having his fucking heart ripped open and left as damaged goods. And now she'd rejected him again by not even giving them a chance. Fury flowed through his body. He was going to wipe those pitying looks right off their faces.

  "Now lads," Hamish warned with a defeated note. He knew well once it was on, he'd have little chance of controlling them.

  Aye. And they knew it was on, too. Ross could see it in the way they straightened, the three brothers. In the way the light and anticipation of challenge came into their eyes. He charged his cousins, much like he'd done as a lad when rough-housing during their summers together. His shoulder drove into Ian's gut, the force lifting the big bastard off the ground and onto his back. Ian let out a loud grunt and laugh.

  Devin tackled Ross from behind, his weight shoving Ross off Ian and to the ground. Then, they piled on and the breath was squeezed from Ross' lungs. Liam jumped on as well.

  He could hear Hamish's laughter through the melee as he struggled to free himself. "I can hear you laughing, you old bastard! Your next!" He delivered a few good punches to someone's ribs, maybe a gut, a chin or two for sure.