The Blacksmith: A Highlander Romance (The Ghosts of Culloden Moor Book 38)

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The Blacksmith: A Highlander Romance (The Ghosts of Culloden Moor Book 38) Page 6

by L. L. Muir

Feeling herself getting sucked in by the romance of it all, she leaned away from him and narrowed her eyes. “But in your version, you have two Enchantment Days?”

  “Just so. My fellows and I are given a pair of days.”

  “Your fellows? How many people are in Brigadoon 2.0?”

  “Nine and seventy.”

  What bothered her most about his little fairy tale was that he actually appeared to be telling the truth. The guy would make a great actor—if he weren’t going away…

  “And tomorrow, you’ve got to go back into the mist.”

  “Aye. One last day and no more.” He winked at her, above a sad smile. Then suddenly, he bobbed his dark eyebrows and laughed. “So ye’d best make it memorable, Jordan, love. Give me a day that will last me another hundred years.”

  “Oh, I plan to.”

  He seemed genuinely surprised. “Truly?”

  “Yup. Tonight, we’re going to my new favorite place for dinner.”

  “Oh? I thought ye’d never been to Brechin before.”

  “I haven’t. But I saw a flier today. And we’re going.”

  His eyelids lowered. “I smell the proverbial rat.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. You’re going to love it. And you’ll remember it, too.” She chuckled. “Don’t let me forget to charge my batteries. You know, just in case.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  At midafternoon, the pair of them sat still and quiet on Brechin Bridge, absorbing the warmth of the sun as if they were just two more stones in the ancient structure. Just sitting near the lass was pleasant enough, but Kerry was reminded of the solitude of Culloden and broke his silence.

  He suggested that, since they’d missed their picnic for luncheon, they would have one the next day. It was the simplest way to ensure they spent another day together. And a good thing, too. The minx might believe she was fooling him, but he could tell she was determined not to become personally involved with him.

  And the longer they were together, the more he was sure that softening Jordan Lennox’s lonely heart was the deed he’d been sent to accomplish from the start.

  “A farewell picnic,” she said with a nod, hopped off the wall, and dusted her hands. “Before the mist comes to claim you.”

  Kerry sighed inwardly. The lass didn’t know just how close to the mark she’d hit. “Just dinnae be surprised, love, if the mist happens to be green.”

  She gave him a curious look and shook her head as she often did when he said something she didn’t understand, or when his brogue was so thick she couldn’t pick out the words. Or perhaps, she’d noted his endearment and thought by shaking her head she could erase it.

  Kerry pushed off the wall, stood, and stretched. “Ye will miss me once I’m gone, lass. I vow it.”

  She laughed. “I promise not to get too attached, you know, since you have to return to Brigadoon tomorrow. Are you sure we’ll have time for lunch?”

  “As soon as the sun is up, I can promise nothing. But we shall hope.”

  She laughed again, and though it thrilled him to have brought her joy, he was beginning to regret the Brigadoon tale. He had to admit, however, it was the best way to prepare her for a sudden disappearance. Letting the truth sink in would take a while, but the miniscule chance he might be spirited away by some form of magic might help her make heads and tails of it later.

  Until then, he had some serious wooing to do.

  He was reminded of a saying he suddenly felt inspired to heed—absence makes the heart grow fonder. And though it pained him to waste any time with her, he considered it worth experimenting.

  “If ye’ll forgive me, Jordan, I have a bit of business to see to this afternoon. Perhaps we should choose a time to meet at this restaurant?”

  She was instantly suspicious. “Oh, come on. Don’t be a chicken. I promise you’ll have a good time. And if you don’t, I’ll owe you a…” She licked her lips, obviously thinking of their first kiss, but she fell short of admitting it.

  “A boon?”

  “Yeah. That’s it. I’ll owe you a boon if you don’t have a good time tonight.”

  “Done and done, lass. But I must leave ye for the present. Shall I drop yer things off at yer apartment, then? I remember the code to rescue the key from the wee box.”

  “Yeah. Uh… I’ll just keep my camera and the small bag. We’ll meet at Bridgend Bar, 7:00?”

  “I shall be there.”

  “You’ll see it on the right, as you head back.”

  He nodded and quickly gathered the rest of her equipment. It was hardly fair to make her lug it up the hill. Besides, he had nothing better to do with his time…

  ~ ~ ~

  For the first time since she’d checked into her rental apartment and gone chasing a ghost, Jordan was alone in Brechin.

  She lifted her camera to her eye and started shooting the receding figure of the Highland Blacksmith, telling herself she was watching for a good shot, not waiting to see if he would look back. He hadn’t looked back when he ditched her at the restaurant the night before, but he’d been playing her, then.

  “So, if he doesn’t look back now,” she whispered, “I’ll know he’s just playing me again.”

  He obviously didn’t expect her to run after him again. So what was his game?

  Just then, Kerry stepped sideways, then turned to face her, walking backward as he smiled and waved at her with the fingers of the hand holding straps to his shoulder.

  She lowered the camera and waved back. Just a few fingers. Then she turned and aimed her camera in a different direction. She counted to ten and looked up the rise. He was still walking backward, waiting to catch her attention again. She could almost hear him laughing when he finally disappeared around the bend.

  And I’m only grinning because he’s so silly…

  Jordan scanned the far end of the bridge, turned and looked in all directions, but it was no use. Nothing caught her eye. Nothing worth shooting…without a tall handsome blacksmith in the foreground.

  “He’s playing me,” she said, tucking her camera in the pack then heading up the hill. “I know he’s playing me. I just don’t know what to do about it.”

  In her mind’s eye, she watched him walking up the hill in front of her, walking like a man who had somewhere to go. But if he were from Brigadoon, he shouldn’t really have business to do in Brechin, should he?

  Nonsense. Unprofessional nonsense. And if she wasn’t careful, she’d find herself buying into something much more disturbing than an old Scottish myth—She’d start acting like her mother, blind to everything but one boring man.

  “Brilliant, if I do say it myself.”

  Kerry felt light as a feather as he hiked up the rest of the rise, back to the center of town. Ten seconds was all she could stand before she’d looked for him again. Ten seconds. He’d counted. Then ten seconds again.

  A tune from the Brigadoon musical meandered through his head and he had to agree. It was almost like being in love. In fact, if he knew how to dance like Gene Kelly, he might have given the locals a bit of entertainment as he emerged from the other end of the tunnel.

  As he neared the wee park, however, he realized the joke was on him. Jordan wasn’t the only one alone now.

  With only a day left of his mortality, he’d chosen to waste hours that could have been spent with her.

  He shook his head vigorously. No. It had been the right thing to do. What did a few hours mean when it might help her learn that attachment was a good thing, that she should be happy for her mother. That relationships should be sought out, not avoided.

  A dark thought splashed into the pit of his belly like soured whiskey—

  If he succeeded in winning her affection—not just having piqued her interest, but truly engaging her heart? Would a broken heart not reinforce what she already believed?

  “Oh, dear Lord. What have I done?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A couple of second-hand shops ate up an hour of the afternoon for Jordan befor
e she headed back to her rental. She didn’t know how she felt about running into Kerry, so she kept her head down and tried not to search for him along the way. He’d been seeing to business that was obviously none of her business.

  If he’d wanted to tell her about it, he would have. He could have even invited her along. But since he hadn’t, she was going to keep her curiosity in check and let him have his privacy.

  It isn’t like we’re real friends.

  The thought made her chest kind of hurt, like she’d been surprised by a nice hard basketball to the sternum, thrown by a gym bully. It stung. It throbbed. It felt damned familiar.

  She’d been so sure she could keep a professional distance, but she knew now where she made her mistake. She should have been grateful for those shots by the tunnel, asked him to sign the waver, then paid him instead of taking him to dinner.

  Nearing that same tunnel, she tried to imagine the encounter playing out the way it should have, watching herself turn away from him, marching back to the town square…alone.

  “Yeah?” She hissed at herself. “I’d like to see any other red-blooded female keep her distance from a man like him, when that man didn’t want to keep his distance from her. And my hormones are the same as anyone else’s. I can only resist so much.”

  Torn between forgiveness and disgust with herself, she marched the rest of the way to the center of town. The hasty arrival of a rainstorm sent her running the last hundred yards to her door, but she still got soaked. Her camera bag kept her equipment safe. She pulled out her batteries and plugged them in before she worried about taking her coat off. The place was warm but empty. Kerry had left the fireplace going for her, but he was gone.

  It had been a long time since she’d had a roommate of any kind, so it was kind of odd that she’d feel alone. But she did. An extra-tall Highlander took up a lot of space, and now, without him, the apartment seemed too big for one person.

  The storm showed no signs of letting up, so Jordan decided to wear her hair down for their dinner appointment. She took a quick shower and pulled on her jeans, a crisply ironed shirt, and a thick wool cardigan. Beneath her coat, it all made her feel like the Michelin Tire Guy, but it looked great.

  Her comfy leather boots wouldn’t be ruined by puddles, so she pulled them on, sat at the kitchen table, and stared at the clock until six thirty. The restaurant was nearly as far away as the bridge, so she wanted to give herself plenty of time.

  On the stoop, she expanded her “brolly.” The walk would be long, but at least it would be dry. And a little lonely, just like the afternoon.

  She gasped. Since when did being alone mean I’m lonely?

  She felt the answer coming and pretended to ignore it. Since Kerry Moffat Mather walked in front of her lens, that’s when.

  ~ ~ ~

  Maybe it was the fact that Jordan had just passed the Blacksmith statue, but as soon as she started up the far side of the park, toward River Road, she had the unmistakable feeling she was being followed. Because of the incline, she concentrated on climbing the rise, and only when she was on level ground again did she stop and look behind her.

  The tree trunks of the town square looked like a small army standing in the downpour, but nothing moved except a few clusters of people on the sidewalks. No one headed her direction. No one stood and stared.

  She turned and walked on.

  A van came along the road beside her. It was filled with laughing men who called to her through cracked-open windows, but she couldn’t understand a word. They honked at someone further down the sidewalk and the red lights disappeared into the tunnel.

  When the feeling of being followed returned, she held her umbrella handle between her chin and shoulder while she pulled out her pocket knife and opened it. Then stopped and turned around.

  Her heart lurched at the sight of a hooded figure, thirty feet away, staring at her.

  It started moving. She jumped back and was just getting ready to run when she realized his movements were familiar. He wasn’t wearing a black cloak—just an old-fashioned kilt, one end of which was draped over his head like a cloak.

  “Jordan, ‘tis I!” Kerry hurried to catch up.

  “Now you tell me,” she grumbled. “You scared the crap out of me.”

  “Forgive me. I didnae wish to intrude.”

  “Intrude on what? You were stalking me.”

  He shook his head and the rainwater splashed off the fabric. “I only intended to protect ye, should the need arise.”

  She lifted the knife and waved it at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t freak out.”

  He pushed her hand away. “I see that now. I shan’t be so quiet about it next time, aye?”

  She folded the blade and dropped it back into her pocket. With one hand free again, she almost expected him to grab it, but he kept his own hands inside his jury-rigged cloak, and together they started down the sidewalk again.

  The rain made the evening so much darker than the night before, but she could tell he had nothing else on his head.

  “Did you lose your hat?”

  “My tam? Nay.” He patted his sporran. “Too much rain for that.”

  This time, two lightbulbs were lit inside the pedestrian tunnel. She assumed they were the reason Kerry didn’t hold onto her like he had before. But just having him near made her feel a lot safer than she would have otherwise.

  When they came out the other end, he took a definite step to the side, and she suspected the light in the tunnel had nothing to do with him keeping his distance after all. It wasn’t her imagination that a second Highlander could have walked down the sidewalk between them.

  She tried to see his face, but his plaid was in the way. “Is something wrong?”

  He barely glanced at her. “Nay. And how are ye this evening?”

  She ignored the obvious small talk and lifted her umbrella high. “We can both fit under here.”

  He turned and looked at the umbrella, then back at the path. “I’m well set, thank ye. Wool keeps out the rain just as well as yer brolly, aye?”

  She lowered the thing again and felt herself slipping into a sour mood, but a hundred yards closer to the river, she had an epiphany—she’d promised Kerry, if he didn’t have a good time at dinner, she would grant him a boon! He was just trying to collect on it!

  Jordan bit her lips together so he wouldn’t catch her smiling. She would let him figure it out for himself, that his sober act wouldn’t do him any good.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Keeping his distance from Jordan was an act of supreme self-control on Kerry’s part. While they walked through the tunnel, for instance, he imagined all sorts of dangers lurking at each end, but he kept a modicum of space between them, ready to touch her only if circumstances warranted.

  He almost wished for a shady character to come their way.

  It was no wonder the lass noticed a change in his demeanor. She dangled her hand at her side in what was the equivalent of dangling a worm before a fish, and if he hadn’t had his hands locked together beneath his plaid, he’d have taken that bait. And once again, he’d be guilty of drawing the woman closer to him, drawing her heart closer still, luring her into a trap of disappointment when he left her on the morrow.

  Aye, he was destined for a long evening—his last mortal evening. But his last chance for a bit of happiness would cost Jordan more than he wanted her to pay.

  When they stepped out of the tunnel, he was quick to put distance between them again, and he reminded himself that at least he was able to walk beside her instead of following from a distance as he’d begun. If he were honest with himself, he could have been stealthier, had he not wanted to be caught…

  ~ ~ ~

  The Bridgend Bar...

  The Bridgend Bar was a hub of lights and activity despite the storm. Headlights flashed as people passed in front of cars and headed across the beer garden to get inside.

  Cars stopped. Jordan and her silent escort joined another couple crossing the
street. No one took the time to look closely at Kerry’s kilt until they were well inside the building. While they paused to get their bearings, the rest of the patrons paused to look him over.

  One man frowned, then called to another. “Paul? ‘Zit Sunday, then?”

  “No, no. Only Saturday. Perhaps the lad’s an Adventist.” That got a laugh from a dozen people close enough to hear it.

  Kerry simply smiled politely, saying nothing.

  “Ye’re welcome to find a table,” called a waitress from behind the bar. “If ye plan to play, tonight, sign yer name and be quick about it, before it fills up.” She pointed to a poster on the wall to their right. Jordan didn’t bother explaining anything to Kerry, leaving him to fend for himself while she wrote on the next fee line. Kerry Moffat Mather.

  A balding man watched her, then swaggered over to the poster when she backed away. He peered at the name, then moved his head closer, then backed away with a jerk. “Seems The Blacksmith of Brechin has risen from the dead to play a bit of footpool!”

  Everyone in the bar turned to stare at Kerry then, looking him up and down like they’d never seen a kilted Scot before.

  He frowned at Jordan, then shook his head. “I’m nay the Blacksmith of Brechin,” he smiled at the others, “obviously.”

  The bald man came closer and looked up into his face. “Ye look just like him, I must say.”

  Another man wearing a ratty red and gold sweater looked at the poster. “Oy! And he’s got the name.” He pointed at Kerry with his chin. “Kerry Moffat Mather, it says.”

  A woman at the bar crossed herself. “He’s a ghost all right.”

  Kerry frowned at Jordan again.

  She gave him her best don’t look at me head shake. “Hey, all I did was add you to the lineup.”

  “You wrote my name, not my... The Blacksmith of Brechin is Kerry Flynn Mather.”

  “Go on with ye!” The bald man was playing to his audience now. “Wouldnae we be the ones to ken the name of our own blacksmith?”

  Kerry was not happy. “Are we speaking of the statue in the square, or another man?”

 

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