Legacy of the Highlands

by Harriet Schultz

  As soon as Alex and Will were out of sight, Mackinnon locked the door and placed a “closed” sign in the shop’s window. He carefully folded the paper with Will’s address on it and tucked it into his pants pocket as he headed to the cramped back room he used as an office. He dialed a number on the black rotary phone that sat on his desk. The thing still worked and, as a thrifty Scot, he wouldn’t replace it until it was beyond repair.

  “Himself walked into my shop today,” Mackinnon had said with satisfaction. The others had thought him daft when he’d assured them that the son of John Cameron would show up there one day and now they’d have to eat their words. He didn’t speak again until the person he’d called paused for breath. “Aye, I’m certain this lad is Cameron’s son. I said I’m certain, didn’t I?” Mackinnon had responded irritably. “Why he’s the spit of the photo we have. He said he’s from Boston and brought regards from Ewen. What more do ye need? Yes, yes, I gave him the paper and told him to give it to his Da. He promised he would and I believe him.” Mackinnon continued to listen, nodding occasionally. “Aye, of course it can be arranged. The usual place?”

  As Will and Alex walked back to their B & B, he’d draped an arm across her shoulders and began to stroke her neck. His touch was light, but it made her skin tingle. And while her stomach said otherwise, she no longer wanted food and she certainly didn’t want to discuss Scottish history. What she’d desperately wanted at that moment was the man who exuded...exuded...maleness from every pore in his body.

  She’d shifted her head and her lips met his ear. “I keep visualizing you in a kilt, galloping across a field on a beautiful black stallion, racing to get home to me.”

  “Was I wearing anything under that kilt?” Will murmured, picking up on her fantasy and making it his own. His lips spread into a mischievous grin as he lowered his head to give her earlobe a gentle bite.

  “Everyone knows that a real Scot never wears anything under a kilt, and I’m pretty sure that the bulge in your jeans would be a lot happier if you had a kilt on. Why, I’d be able to reach right under and…” she teased.

  “God, Alex, have mercy or I may have to drag you into an alley and tear your clothes off.” Then he shook his head. “Christ, I sound like one of my barbaric ancestors. I’m sorry.”

  “No need for an apology, my love. The idea has its appeal, but I think we better wait until we get back to our room.”

  Their suite in the ancient stone manor house that was now a bed and breakfast contained an immense four-poster bed and a fireplace, which the landlady thoughtfully left laid. Will struck a match and the kindling caught. His boyish playfulness had completely vanished, replaced by a more adult need. His eyes had met Alex’s and she went to him, slowly skimmed her palms down his arms and grasped his hands. They knew each other well enough to realize that this kind of desire wouldn’t be satisfied by tender lovemaking or an everyday quickie — it could only be relieved by slow, sweaty, no-holds-barred, breathless, unbridled lust. That they still desired each other — they were not newlyweds after all — with such intense passion surprised and thrilled them.

  “We should get out of these wet clothes and warm up in the shower,” Will had murmured hoarsely as his arms came around her waist. He nuzzled her ear while he began to tease the bare skin beneath her shirt.

  “Mmmm, a hot shower is one of your more brilliant ideas.” She fleetingly regretted that the soap would wash away his body’s muskiness — an aphrodisiac in her already aroused state — but she knew the water’s delicious warmth would feel great on her chilled skin. They’d quickly stripped off their clothes and as Will began to soap her body, Alex knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that she’d be cold again that night. He’d quickly washed himself, then passed the soap to her as he turned away. “Do my back, okay?”

  She worked the heather-scented bar into a creamy lather, then slid her hands over the long muscles of his beautifully formed back. She’d closed her eyes as her hands continued their downward journey until her hands cupped his firm ass. He could have posed for Michelangelo’s David, she’d thought dreamily, but this wasn’t cold marble under her hands. Will held his breath, waiting, as Alex’s fingers slid ever so slowly toward the cleft between his cheeks, but before she reached her goal he’d suddenly turned and grasped her wrist, breaking the spell.

  “If you keep doing thaaaat,” he’d dragged the word out quietly, “I’m going to come right now and I don’t want to do that until later, much later.” He’d bent to kiss her and her mouth opened to welcome him. His erection brushed her thigh as he’d deepened the kiss while his fingers tormented her, working their magic as they moved in lazy circles. They’d only begun and Will was already driving her mad. Alex was beyond restraint and started to wrap her legs around his waist when he abruptly drew away, his breath ragged as he tried to regain control. “I want you. Oh, Christ, I want you, but not quickly. I want to tease you and make you scream.”

  “I’m ready to scream now,” she’d moaned.

  “Me too, but we’ve got all night.”

  The sun’s glare woke them just a few hours after they’d exhausted themselves.

  “Shhh…go back to sleep,” Alex had mumbled as Will stirred.

  “Can’t. Gotta pee. Then I need food,” he’d whispered groggily as he untangled his limbs from hers.

  She’d yawned loudly and opened one eye to watch him walk across the room. The desire his naked body provoked was set aside as her empty stomach growled.

  The previous night’s activity had made them grateful for the bounty of Scottish breakfasts. Their cheerful hostess may have been old enough to be Will’s granny, but that hadn’t stopped her from flirting with him each time she’d pop out of the kitchen to the breakfast room with another course.

  “You’re a big, braw lad,” she’d commented, taken by his size, good looks and easy charm. “And ye have the hearty appetite of a Highlander, Mr. Cameron…if ye don’t mind me saying so,” she’d added, with a wink and a slight curtsy. “Eat up, eat up. I enjoy a man who knows how to satisfy his hunger,” she’d said as she aimed a knowing glance at Alex.

  It was obvious that the name Cameron meant something in this part of the world, and Will had lapped it up. “I bet our hostess was visualizing you in a kilt the same way I did,” Alex teased as they’d walked off their breakfast and he’d laughed. “Maybe I’ll have to buy one,” he’d grinned, “so we can play Highlander and ravished lass when we get home.”

  Chapter 7

  Alex fought to keep her eyes closed. She knew that once they opened she’d have to face the grim reality that she was alone on a beach in Florida and not in the Highlands with Will. The drugged dream — or vision or whatever it was —made her believe she’d somehow lived their Inverness vacation all over again. Her impulse was to try to conjure the mirage back, but it was already dusk and a chill had replaced the day’s heat. She wrapped a large towel around her goose bump-studded arms and hurried up the lighted path to the sanctuary of the house.

  “Un momento por favor, Señora Cameron,” Luisa called as Alex headed for the stairs.

  “Your friend, Señora Francie, phoned today. She said you are to call her as soon as you returned. The Señora said she was very worried about you, but I assured her that you are well. You looked so peaceful resting on the beach that I didn’t want to disturb you,” Luisa explained. “But first you must eat. The cook told me that you ate little today.”

  Oh, come on, Alex thought irritably. The drugged dream about making love with her dead husband had left her in a horrible mood and she wanted Luisa to leave her the hell alone. But the woman was simply being a good hostess, so she made herself bury her own emotions and tried to be a polite, appreciative guest.

  “Okay, fine, I’ll eat,” she answered petulantly. “Has Diego had dinner yet?”

  “Did he not tell you? Ay, Díos mío, that boy,” she said shaking her head. “He left this morning and we’re never sure when he’ll return.”

  “That
sounds like Diego. I guess I was still asleep when he left so he couldn’t say good-bye. Don’t worry about it. Can I have dinner in the courtyard?”

  “Seguro, Señora.” said Luisa. “Of course you may eat wherever you wish. Would fish and a salad please you? Some wine?”

  “That sounds fine, thank you,” she answered distractedly as she crossed the large kitchen, its intricate tile work and rustic stone floor another reflection of the Navarros’ heritage.

  Alex felt safe in the verdant oasis of the villa’s courtyard as if its walls could protect her from the outside world. Will’s murder was so irrational that she had trouble believing that she wouldn’t be the killer’s next prey. Maybe that was the real reason she’d left Boston, but she wasn’t ready to examine her motives yet, so she tucked that thought away in the corner of her mind where she stored her other fears.

  She decided to sit at one of the small tables scattered around the courtyard. They reminded her of those outside Paris cafés, just large enough for a coffee or an aperitif. “Señor Diego often chooses to dine at this table also when no one else is in residence,” Luisa commented as she served Alex’s dinner.

  “I’m not surprised. Diego likes beautiful things and this is a gorgeous spot. And Luisa…I was rude to you before. I’m sorry.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, but I thank you for apologizing. There are many who think nothing of treating an employee rudely. I already know you’re not like that,” the older woman said. “Enjoy your dinner, Señora.”

  The sautéed snapper was simply prepared and delicious, and the accompanying wine had that hint of sweetness that she preferred. She’d never understood the appeal of dry wines. Will’s parents had been appalled when she expressed her dislike for brut Champagne in favor of the less expensive, but sweeter, extra dry. Her mother-in-law haughtily informed her that Dom Pérignon, the only Champagne the senior Camerons ever served, doesn’t even produce an extra dry.

  “She’s used to Asti Spumante or beer,” she’d once overheard Anne Cameron hiss to one of her stick-thin friends as they’d twittered hysterically at Alex’s expense. She’d been very aware that Will’s mother was ashamed of Alex’s middle class pedigree, but not enough to hide it — as if she could — from her equally stuck-up girlfriends.

  As Alex fractured the crisp caramel atop the créme brûlée dessert, she wracked her brain about the one clue the police had found — the sgian dubh. Will’s murder must be connected to their vacation in Scotland. It had to be. Why else was the Scottish dagger left beside his body? It was supposed to mean something, send some kind of message — unless it was a diversion intended to lead investigators on a fool’s errand. But damned if she knew what it was. There had to be a link, there had to be, but any connection eluded her. Even more disturbing, the police had come up empty after interviewing the owner of the bed and breakfast where they’d stayed and that gift shop owner, Mackinnon. Without witnesses or evidence, the trail was already cold.

  The medical examiner concluded that Will had quickly lost consciousness after his jugular was pierced with expert precision. The choice of weapon — a knife instead of a gun — implied that the attack was personal and that the assailant had enough confidence to get close enough to complete the job swiftly and silently.

  Forensics surmised that the Scottish dagger — whose blade was too narrow and free from any trace of blood residue — wasn’t used to inflict the deep, fatal wound. If the murderer had slashed Will’s throat, it would have been more difficult to determine the weapon’s precise size. Detective O’Shea had explained that many knives, unless they’re very thick, make the same size cut when used in a slashing motion. But Will’s neck hadn’t been slashed. He’d been stabbed, the blade entering the side of his neck point first, which left a clear impression of the knife’s dimensions. Because of the upward angle of the wound, police were also sure that Will was attacked from behind and that the killer was a couple of inches shorter than he or had crouched. Will was strong and very fit, but he’d had no chance to react or defend himself and probably never even saw his attacker. If he’d fought there would have been scrapes, bruises or some trace of skin, hair or fiber beneath his nails, but there were none. Everything came up blank. No bloody footprints, no fingerprints, no DNA except Will’s, no witnesses, no murder weapon, no anything.

  Frustrated, she concentrated on something she could control. Something basic. She had to shop for clothes, shoes, makeup, and everything else she would have brought with her if she’d known she was going to end up in Miami after the funeral. People like Diego kept clothing in each of their homes so he hadn’t considered that she’d arrive in Florida with only the clothes she was wearing. So…she’d go shopping tomorrow. That small decision took care of how to fill one day, which was how she now lived her life. She scraped up the last of the rich dessert then climbed the stairs to her room to return Francie’s call.

  “Ciao, Francesca.” Alex smiled as she pictured her best friend pacing like a caged tigress, a bundle of nervous energy until she could relax and lose herself in conversation.

  “Alexandra MacBain Cameron! What kind of friend has someone else — and Diego Navarro yet! — leave a voicemail that she’s on her way to Florida and then doesn’t call for twenty-four hours? Are you crazy? No, don’t answer that. I guess you’re allowed to be a little bit nuts. What’s going on? Talk to me. Are you all right?”

  “Well, if you’ll be quiet for a minute...” Alex replied. She didn’t like being put on the defensive, but if the situation were reversed she knew she’d be grilling Francie too.

  “Okay, okay. When I’m worried, I can get a little hysterical. I’m sorry, but you were so upset and…”

  “I’m fine. Or I’m as fine as I can be,” Alex interrupted.

  “I was kind of shocked that you’d left with Diego.”

  “Yeah, me too, but he knew exactly what I needed and made it happen. And you know what? A part of me was sure that he would. Diego’s always been a take charge kind of guy.”

  “So how’s it going?” Francie probed.

  “Fine, actually. He was gone when I woke up today, off on some business trip I think. When he gets back he and I will have to talk. It was Will who was furious with him after all, and so I went along with it. I never heard his side of what happened between them, so who knows, maybe we can work things out and put it all behind us. I don’t have the energy for feuds.”

  “So when are you coming home?” Francie asked in her no bullshit fashion. Subtlety was not her style.

  “Who knows? It’s going to be a long time before I’m ready to face reality and besides, I feel safe here.”

  After a brief pause Francie changed the subject. “You’ll never guess who called this morning.”

  “I give up. Who?” Alex was tired and wasn’t in any mood for games.

  “Will’s father! Can you believe it?”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “I wish. John Cameron actually said he was worried about you because you’d left their house with a migraine and then didn’t answer your phone. He asked where you were and of course I played dumb, but I’m pretty sure he knew I was lying”

  Alex began to pace restlessly. She opened the French doors to the balcony and inhaled the salty air. It helped. She’d never been comfortable with her in-laws and without Will as a buffer she didn’t expect to have much to do with them anymore. “Did John say anything else?”

  “No, but he sounded kind of weird…almost jumpy…not Mr. Suave at all.”

  “He probably wanted to tell me I’ve been excommunicated from the high and mighty Cameron family and I have to move out of the condo. You remember they bought it for us as a wedding gift, right?”

  “Cut it out, Alex. What would people say if they did something so despicable to their recently widowed daughter-in-law?

  “I shouldn’t have let Will go out that night.”

  “Stop that! So you had fabulous sex and you BOTH wanted ice cream. So Will, being a great
guy, offered to get it. I know you’re going to whine, ‘I told him to go through the alley,’ but shit, Alex, we know that man only listened to you if he damn well wanted to. It was his decision, not yours.”

  “Are you done?”

  “No, I’m not. You could not have kept it from happening. You’re not God, Alex. You don’t control the universe. It just is,” Francie said, her voice softening.

  “I know…I know.” She wiped her runny nose and the tears that began to drip from her chin during Francie’s tirade. “It’s easier if I have someone to be mad at, to blame, you know? And since it looks like this guy is never going to be caught…I guess I’m it.”

  “Come home, sweetie. Maybe if you get back to a normal routine it’ll help. You could go back to work or start a business or something to occupy that sharp mind of yours. I know you don’t have to work, but...”

  “I’ll think about it and believe me, I know I’m lucky not to have to worry about money, but bottom line? I don’t want to come back yet. I’m in a very luxurious, secure cocoon and I think I’ll stay a while.”

  “Define ‘a while’.”

  “Maybe a week...maybe even a month. I don’t know. By the way, I’m very grateful that David stays in touch with the police. O’Shea called today with a routine question and it freaked me out.”

  “David says the cops are surprised that the Camerons haven’t used their influence to apply pressure on the investigators. O’Shea is going to talk to Will’s parents again.”

  “Does he think they have something to do with it?”

  “David didn’t get that impression, just that in a high profile case like this O’Shea expected the brass to lean on him to solve it quickly. Will’s parents couldn’t be covering up something, could they?”

  “No, of course not. They adored him, but it’s odd that John isn’t on the phone with the Mayor or even the Governor every day. He has access. I wonder why he doesn’t use it. But enough about my in-laws.” Alex rubbed her eyes and yawned. “ Look, France, I’m wiped out and I’ve got a big day of shopping ahead of me. This time I’m not exaggerating when I say that I’ve got nothing to wear!”