He stumbled into the room, then kicked the door shut.
“Good grief, everyone will know,” Ann said.
“I do nae fucking care.” He raced to the antique walnut bed, stopping there to look at her, his chest heaving. “I’m a man of my word, Ann McConnell.” Quivering, he laid her down on the soft mattress as if he thought her made of glass.
She tumbled into a vortex of desire, relinquishing self-control and diving into a lake of pleasure. William wouldn’t let her drown. As she slipped out of her clothes, his warm hands skimmed across her breasts, sending her nipples into tight buds hungry for his mouth.
He stripped off his shirt, revealing the sensuous curve of hair she remembered from the night he stumbled in drunk. It flowed downward from his pecs and disappeared behind his jeans button.
She hooked a finger there and pulled him to the bed.
He leaned forward to sweep a strand of hair off her forehead. “Ye okay?”
“Uh huh.” She traced a finger down the valley of his abs, now rising and falling like he’d just run a 5K. “Remember when you said you wouldn’t make love to me in the dirt?”
“I remember.” He smiled.
“You should have, you dumb ass.”
He laughed, igniting a wicked set of flames in his eyes. “In retrospect, I believe I should have. Though your sandy fanny would have hated me the next day.” He kissed one eyelid, and then the other. “She’s gonny love me after tonight,” he whispered against her lips.
He stripped out of his jeans, revealing the full measure of his arousal, then stood back to shamelessly scan every inch of her.
Remembering her bruises, she slid under the covers.
“No,” he said, flipping the bed linens aside. “I want to see ye.”
She grew lightheaded as he leaned over the bed. His mouth pressed hot kisses from her chin to her breasts, across her belly button, and over her mound. He muttered words of fire there. “God Almighty woman, ye’re gorgeous.”
When her hand encircled him, he moaned and threw his head back, offering his pulsing length for her to admire and touch. It was hot, hard, and heavy.
She could find no words to describe her need of him.
Nigel breached her thoughts once only—when William climbed into bed and entered her. She gasped and dug her nails into William’s meaty shoulders, knowing she would leave marks on his galley tattoo. Then, she thought of nothing else but the rising waves of passion, and the heady rapture of loving a man who loved her back.
~ ~ ~
They woke to a ringing cell phone. It was early; too early.
“Shite.” William’s feet thumped on the hardwood as he jumped out of bed. “This canny be good.” His belt buckle jangled as he fumbled for his phone. “Hello?”
Ann snapped on a Victorian light, illuminating William’s frame. He faced away, the phone at one ear and his finger in the other, giving her a good look at the curves of his muscular ass.
Were those claw marks?
She bit her lip and pulled the duvet up to her nose.
“Aye, I’m in Oban. I can barely hear ye. Hold on.” He walked to a window, where daylight was only beginning to appear in pink and yellow tones. “What did ye say?”
Ann heard a man’s tinny voice.
William’s head fell forward. “Jesus . . . Jesus. What the devil was he doing oot there?” He rubbed his forehead, then looked up at the ceiling. “Aye. Aye. What aboot the dog?”
Ann slipped from the bed with the sheet wrapped around her. She hugged William from behind, clasping her hands at his belly button. Something sounded terribly wrong.
“Aye,” William said. “I have James until Wednesday, but he can come along. Thanks for letting me know. Right. Right. I’ll see ye soon. Bye.”
The Off button beeped as he pressed it.
“What happened?” Ann asked.
His face was grim. “That was Liam Doherty calling from Iona. Alasdair MacDonald is dead.”
Chapter 37
It was noon by the time they reached Iona, where bright sunshine turned the beaches to snowy arcs and the wings of gulls to glinting diamonds.
Liam waved from the shore. “Will,” he shouted over the heads of tourists waiting to board the MV Loch Buie. “Will!”
William sprinted through the crowd of disembarking passengers and down the ferry ramp.
Ann lagged behind, her hand clasping James’s. A man cut in front of them with a rolling suitcase, nearly tripping them.
James was too preoccupied to notice. “Daddy looks worried.” The inner corners of his eyebrows lifted, carving wrinkles into his forehead.
He should have been watching sailboats or imagining grand adventures among the rocky hills of the island’s landscape. Instead, he weltered in anxiety, the chaos of his early life rendering him a keen student of body language.
She crouched to take his hands, severing the flow of passengers heading for the ramp. “He is a little sad. A good friend passed away. Daddy will be all right.” She gave his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Try not to trouble yourself with these things. I’m here now.”
His hazel eyes searched hers, as if weighing the danger in asking a question burning in his mind. “Was it the man who sold Daddy’s paintings?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it was.”
“Daddy was gonny bring me to meet him a couple of times, but he always got drunk, and then we could nae go.” He dropped his gaze to the green deck.
She laid a palm on his warm cheek. “He won’t be drunk anymore.”
“That’s good.”
It seemed as though he wanted to say more. Deciding not to push him, she lifted his chin and gave him a reassuring smile. “Should we try to catch up?”
He nodded, his curls springing.
The men leaned against the pier railing. “. . . hard to believe,” Liam was saying.
“Aye, he seemed fine.” William noticed them approaching. “Ah, Liam, this is Ann McConnell. Ann, this is my good friend, Liam Doherty.”
She recognized Liam’s cap and smile. He was the roofer she saw the day she left Iona. “Pleased to meet you.” She shook his hand. “Though I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
“Likewise.” When he looked at James, he feigned surprise. “Who’s this chancer?”
“Och, Mr. Doherty, ye know I’m James McDonnell.” He kicked at a pebble. It skittered across the pavement and into the water.
“Naw, canny be. James McDonnell is a wee lad. Ye’re nearly a man, sir!”
James looked up to make sure Ann heard.
She rumpled his wheaten hair, her heart swelling at his matchless charm.
His delight faded quickly, and his hand tightened its grip. “What happened to Daddy’s friend?” he asked Liam.
“Nobody really knows, lad,” Liam replied, his face turning solemn. “A couple of tourists found him sitting at the base of Cnoc nan Aingeal. God rest him.”
William translated for Ann. “The Hill of the Angels. We passed it on our way back from the machair.” He dropped an arm across her shoulders to pull her close, no doubt remembering their time in the cave. “Ye cold?”
She shook her head. Although a chilly breeze rippled across the sound, the sun and her borrowed fleece were warm. Maggie had no need of the garment today. She would swelter in Doug’s kitchen, making good on her promise to have his dinner waiting, God help him.
“There’ll be an inquest.” Liam adjusted his cap. “They assured me we’ll have him back in a few days for services.”
“I’ve never known him to walk so far,” William said. “And he never went anywhere wi’oot his dog. Ye say the beast was locked up at the Centre?”
“Still is, God bless him, no doubt burstin’ for a pish.”
/> Ann recalled the old man’s affection for his dog. She couldn’t bear to think about the animal being sent off to a shelter, or worse. “We can take the dog, can’t we, William?” she asked.
James danced in place, yanking on her tender shoulder. “Oh, Daddy, please, can we?”
William scowled at Liam. “I find a bold, new alliance under my roof.”
“Aye, and soon, a smelly dog as well. We should go and let the poor thing out. Do ye have a key?”
“No,” William said, kissing Ann’s cheek. He started up the hill. “But I know where he keeps it.” His voice turned wistful. “Kept it.”
They trudged past the stone post office, where tourists took photographs and unfolded maps. At the nunnery ruins, the road turned right. James, who still held Ann’s hand, began to feel weighty. No wonder; they had him up and packing at dawn.
“Are you tired?” she asked him.
He shook his head. “Tommy Frasier saw a ghost once.”
Well, that came out of nowhere.
“I’d shite my togs if I ever saw a ghost.”
Ah, so that was it.
“Will,” she half-shouted, since he was now about ten feet in front of them.
William and Liam waited for them to catch up.
“Can I talk to you privately for a second?” she asked William.
“Aye,” he said, looking concerned. “James, wait here wi’ Liam.”
“What is it?” William asked, after they walked a few yards off the road.
“James is tired, and I think maybe afraid.”
“Afraid? Afraid of what?”
“We’re heading for a dead man’s house.” She remembered her first funeral, experienced at age seven, and the nightmares she suffered for several weeks afterward. “Alasdair was a dear, sweet man, but James didn’t know him, and his death is very fresh. Kids don’t handle this stuff well sometimes. I’d hate to send him back to his foster home in a state.”
“Jesus.” His face blanched. “I’m glad ye thought on it.”
“Why don’t you and Liam go on without us? We’ll tour the nunnery.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”
“And I the luckiest woman.” She offered a weak smile. “Don’t forget the dog.”
To her dismay, James’s disquiet did not lift with the change of plans. At the pink granite walls of the nunnery ruins, he slouched on the bench beside her, biting his lip and swinging his legs.
“Isn’t this a beautiful place?” she asked him, noticing the candy-pink lollipops of sea thrift bouncing on the breeze along the rocky shoreline.
“Daddy painted it a few times. Was it a castle?”
“It was a nunnery. Do you know who its first prioress was?”
He shook his head.
She pointed at a sign past the cloister gardens. “That sign says her name was Bethóc. That’s Beatrice in English.”
He screwed up his face. “Hmm. That’s a nice name.”
“Your daddy sometimes paints her father.”
His legs stilled instantly. “Somerled?”
“Ah, you know him then?”
His eyes lit up. “Aye, he was the King of Argyll, but because Vikings took his land, he had to run away and live in a cave, and then he went to Ireland, but then he came back with a whole bunch of boats and men, and he chased the Vikings away, and he must have been rich, and I’ll bet he lived in a great castle.” His excitement faded, as if he remembered something painful.
“James, you seem unhappy today. Is there something wrong?”
He looked away to hide his gloom, but his pouting lip betrayed him.
“Honey, if you don’t want to talk about it, I understand, but maybe I can help?” She rubbed his back.
Oh, God, what if he’s being molested at his foster home? That stuff happened all the time. Kids sometimes told complete strangers instead of their parents. If James did—if he mentioned abuse of any kind—what would she do? Would she tell William? Yes, of course, she would. He would murder someone, but she would tell him. She wouldn’t blame him. In fact, she would probably buy the gun.
She shook her head and corralled her stampeding thoughts.
James faced her, tears in his eyes.
“Aw, sweetheart.” She pulled him to her.
Whatever it was, it hurt him deeply. He trembled within her embrace.
“I do nae want this to ever end,” he sobbed, at last.
William was obligated to return James to his foster home by Wednesday. Any delay would harm his odds of obtaining a favorable ruling in his custody petition. His strict adherence to the Court’s Order would lend credence to his claims of stability, and his engagement to Ann—a financially secure woman with a sparkling record—could only further help his case. Full custody was a certainty, and soon, but until a judge put pen to paper, James would see his father only every other weekend.
She kissed the top of his head. “I know it must be hard to go back to your foster home, but you’ll be back with Daddy in two weeks. The time will fly in. You’ll see. And it won’t be long before a judge lets you go home with him forever.” She pushed him away to offer a hopeful smile.
“That is nae what I mean, though.” He wiped snot on his sleeve. “I mean this.” He made a back and forth motion with his hand, then broke into racking sobs that spasmed his tiny frame. “Everybody I love goes away. Mammy . . . Daddy . . . and now . . .”
“Me,” she said, emotion choking her.
He sniffled and nodded.
It touched her that he should miss her as much as she would miss him.
“Please stay.” He fell against her chest, nearly knocking the wind out of her. His words were muffled. “I waited for ye all this time. I canny bear it if ye go.”
“James, I’ll be back.” She stroked the back of his head.
He sat up to look at her, his lower lids sagging arcs. “How do I know for sure?”
She swallowed hard. “For starters, I’m marrying your father. Don’t I have to come back for that? Besides, you need a mother, and I need a child. We make a perfect pair, don’t you think? Here, let me show you something.” She pulled the photograph from her purse. It was creased down the middle now, and one corner was missing.
“I remember that day. Daddy took me to Ireland. We went to see a castle that belonged to Sorley Bhoy MacDonnell. Daddy said if I looked hard enough across the ocean, I might see America. I looked and looked, but I didn’t see it.” He wiped his cheeks. “I’d have looked harder if I’d have known you were there.”
“And I’d have started swimming if I’d known you were looking for me.” She brushed a finger across the image. “This picture kept me going through some really bad times recently. I couldn’t wait to meet you. You know how you sort of loved me before you met me?”
“Aye.”
She decided against telling him about the sultry night at the cabin eight years ago, when she felt certain a child was trying to make its way to her.
“I felt the same way about you. I promise you”—she tapped the end of his nose—“if you can wait just a tiny bit, you’ll have me forever. I have to go back to America, sell my house, and get all of my belongings shipped over.” An idea occurred to her. “Hey, didn’t you say you knew I would one day step out of your daddy’s paintings?”
He sniffled. “Aye.”
“Did anyone believe you?”
He shook his head. “Tommy Frasier called me a nutter.”
She laughed. “Well, I can’t wait to meet him, then.”
That made him smile. “Can we talk on the computer sometimes?” he asked.
“Every night, sweetheart, and mornings, too, if you want.” It would mean chatting at odd hours, given the time diffe
rence, but she would do it.
His brows rose. “Tommy’s ma talks to some wank in Pakistan when his da’s away on the rigs.”
“Goodness,” she said, laughing. “Where did you learn that word?”
“My da.”
“I’ll need to talk to him about his language,” she muttered.
“Fucking right,” he replied, slipping underneath her arm to wrap his arms around her waist.
They held each other for a long time, the warmth of their hearts outmatched only by the sun.
James fell asleep with a smile on his face.
He woke and jumped off the bench when William and Liam returned.
Ann gave the grizzled dog a pat. “Hello, again.” It was hard to believe its master was dead. Her heart sank at the memory of Alasdair’s kind face. “Poor fellow.”
“Does anyone know this damn dog’s name?” William asked. A flat, gift-wrapped box peeked out from under his arm.
She thought she did. It was . . . Alasdair had called it something, hadn’t he?
“Rowan,” James said, yawning. “His name is Rowan.”
“How do ye know that?” she asked, admitting it sounded familiar. “Ye never met this dog before.”
James shrugged. “Do nae know, but that’s his name.”
“Well, it’s as good a name as any.” William scratched behind the dog’s ear. “Fine. Your name is Rowan.”
“I’m away to the pub,” Liam said. “Will ye be down later?”
William shook his head. “Raise a glass for Alasdair for me.”
“I will.” His eyes darted to Ann and back. He winked. “And good on ye.”
After Liam left, Ann asked William, “How’d you make out at the house?”
“Every dish was clean and in its cupboard. The beds were made. There was no dirty laundry, no ashes in the hearth. It looks like he knew he was going.”
“So weird. He seemed pretty healthy for a guy his age.”
The Scent of Forever Page 23