Scot on the Run

by Janice Maynard

  Shoring up her defenses, she broke away from him and pretended an intense interest in the couple arguing loudly a few steps away. “I really am hungry,” she said. “What about fish and chips?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ian tossed and turned beneath the covers of his narrow hotel bed, trying to blame his insomnia on the lumpy mattress. If he were a travel writer, he’d be forced to deduct a star for his lack of sleep. Unfortunately, he knew what or who was really behind his misery. Her name was Bella, and she was no doubt sleeping peacefully on the other side of the wall.

  Earlier, after buying fish and chips and consuming them at a small outdoor table, he and Bella had walked up the Royal Mile and back down, peering into shops and in general enjoying the early autumn evening. The sun dropped low in the sky, painting the historic castle in golden light.

  A dozen times Ian had come close to blurting it out. Sleep with me tonight. I want you in my bed. Say yes, Bella. In every instance, though, he had lost his courage at the last, or something had interrupted the moment.

  Bella had insisted on walking all the way back to the hotel, a distance of three miles at least. After their return, she professed exhaustion and disappeared into her own room.

  Now Ian was at the mercy of his troubled thoughts. It wasn’t only unsatisfied sexual hunger keeping him awake. The prospect of the ceremony at the castle hung over his head like a dark cloud of doom. He hated exposing himself in public. That’s what this felt like. People staring at him. Judging him. He didn’t want the award… didn’t deserve it. All he yearned for was to live his life in peace and do the work he was trained to do.

  Eventually, he dozed, but he slept only in snatches. When morning finally dawned, he dragged himself about of bed and used a miserably cold shower to revive himself. Afterward, he texted Bella.

  Breakfast?

  She must have been in the shower, too, because she didn’t answer. Which meant he spent the next few minutes imagining her lush body naked and wet. Damnation. This trip to Edinburgh was going to drive him insane one way or another.

  In the end, he decided not to wait for her. He needed space and time to think. Over unexceptional scrambled eggs, sausage links, and white-bread toast, he brooded. In his present mood, it seemed a mistake of monumental proportion that he’d insisted Bella accompany him to the ceremony. It was bad enough he had to suffer through it. Now, she would be there to witness any awkward flubs on his part. The thought made him cringe.

  Bella was poised and graceful and the kind of woman who stood out in social settings. Her warm, magnolia-kissed accent. Her genuine laugh. The way she lit up when talking about a topic that interested her. It was hard to believe that no man had staked a claim.

  On the other hand, she could be decidedly prickly when she wanted to be. Maybe she had kept would-be suitors at a distance.

  He was finishing up a final cup of tea when the subject of his musings appeared in the dining room. She was flushed and damp and dressed in running clothes. Clearly, she had been up and out early.

  “Hey,” Bella said. “How are the eggs? I’m starving.” Without waiting for an answer, she hastened over to the breakfast buffet and filled her plate.

  He stared across the room at her indignantly, noting the way her running shorts hugged her heart-shaped bottom. Long, toned legs gave evidence of her dedication to exercise. The bounce of her thick, dark ponytail made him smile, despite his frustration.

  When she joined him and began buttering her toast, he did his best to tamp down his volatile emotions. “You went for a run?”

  She eyed him over her cup of juice and nodded. “It’s a beautiful morning. I couldn’t resist. But don’t worry. I’ll be dressed and ready in plenty of time for our appointment.”

  “Did it occur to you that I might have liked to join you?”

  Her small pink tongue darted out to catch a crumb at the corner of her mouth. “I’m sorry. It was a spur of the moment thing.”

  He stared at her intently, cataloging each detail from her stubborn chin to her deep-as-a-mountain-lake blue eyes. “We need to talk, Bella.”

  Every trace of exercise-induced color leached from her face. Her gaze darted away from his, landing on the antics of two fussy toddlers nearby. “No,” she said firmly. “I don’t believe we do.”

  He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. “Tell me the truth, Bella. When we had sex the other night, you didn’t have an orgasm, did you?”

  “Ian!” Her face turned a bright crimson shade somewhere between tomato-red and all-out sunburn. “You can’t say things like that,” she hissed. “Someone will hear you.”

  He lowered his voice and leaned toward her. “You’re avoiding the question.” He paused, his brain spinning. “That’s why you left my bed,” he said, only now realizing what had transpired. “And it wasn’t in the morning when you woke up and ran off. You sneaked out as soon as I fell asleep. Lord, Bella. I’m sorry. Please give me another chance. I’m not usually so selfish. My only excuse is that it had been a long time for me, and I seem to lose my head around you.”

  If anything, his explanation made things worse. Bella looked hunted. Her fingers clenched the cutlery, her expression aghast. “I’m not doing this,” she said. “Get a grip, Larrimore. I’ll meet you in the lobby at a quarter ‘til.” Before he could stop her, she fled, leaving a third of her meal uneaten.

  * * *

  Bella was so humiliated she could barely look at her reflection in the mirror. As she used the small hotel hair dryer to tame her hair, she felt her face flush all over again. Somehow Ian had put two and two together and come up with the correct answer. Now she had a choice to make. She could fib and say the sex was great, and he had rocked her world. Or she could refuse to discuss the topic altogether. Last but not least of her options was to admit the truth, that she had sneaked away right after he fell asleep, not because she hadn’t enjoyed herself, but because she was embarrassed and unsure.

  None of the alternatives were the least bit appealing. For several long minutes she considered the possibility of simply calling a cab and hightailing it to the train station. The only thing holding her back was the thought of Ian having to endure the ceremony at the castle all on his own.

  He was a grown man. There was no reason in the world for her to feel sorry for him or worry about his wellbeing. Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to abandon him. Truthfully, the thought of going back to Portree without the handsome scientist made her sad. Ian was a complex and fascinating man. Being with him was stimulating in more ways than one.

  When she arrived in the hotel lobby two minutes early, Ian was already waiting. He stood by the ornate fireplace, his fingers drumming restlessly on the mantel. “I’m here,” she said, smoothing her hair self-consciously. She rarely wore it down, but she wanted to see what the dress would look like without a fancy updo.

  He stared at her unsmiling. “In case I forgot to mention it, I’m paying for your dress.”

  “Oh, but—”

  He interrupted her with a sharp gesture of his hand. “No buts. You’re doing me a favor.”

  She didn’t even try to argue. It would have been a lost cause.

  For the second day in a row, they took a cab over to Old Town, presumably because Ian thought they should show up for their fitting fresh and not sweaty from walking across Edinburgh. The Duffys were waiting with smiles and sly comments about the handsome couple. Mr. Duffy took Ian off to one side of the room. Mrs. Duffy steered Bella toward the other.

  The minuscule dressing room Mrs. Duffy offered so proudly barely allowed Bella to turn around, but she managed to disrobe and slide the dress over her head. Though it was not finished—the hem had to be finalized, and the sleeves as well—Bella was stunned at how the elderly seamstress had so accurately pegged her figure.

  The fabric was black silk Crepe de Chine, high quality and beautifully lustrous. The dress skimmed Bella’s curves flatteringly, but stayed well within the bounds of wha
t would be considered appropriate for a palace visit. The simple scoop neck and long sleeves were modest in the extreme. The cut of the dress and the way it draped Bella’s curves gave a far different impression.

  A hidden side zipper snugged the dress at her waist. Black jet buttons at the wrists and at the back of the neck added a touch of glamour. Bella flung open the door and pirouetted in front of the mirror. “I love it,” she said. “You’re a genius.” She had always rued her unabashedly feminine curves, but this dress made her look truly stylish.

  While Mrs. Duffy pinned the hem and the sleeves, Bella shivered, excitement and anticipation bubbling in her veins. Despite everything that had happened, this ceremony in which Ian and others were to be honored would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

  Mrs. Duffy looked up from her position on the floor. “Did ye bring yer high heels, lass?”

  “Yes, ma’am. They’re in my tote.” Bella was released from her fitting long enough to rummage in the bag for the required footwear. The shoes were old but not worn… classic black pumps with a narrow heel. She felt like a kid playing dress-up when she looked in the mirror.

  Mrs. Duffy stood and examined Bella’s reflection, her lips pursed as she concentrated. She tugged at a shoulder seam and smoothed the bodice. “Well, lass, what do you think?”

  “I adore it,” Bella said. “I feel like a queen myself.”

  “Yer the kind of woman who’s a pleasure to dress. Plenty of curves to add interest to the picture.”

  “Thank you for the compliment. I have to give the seamstress all the credit, though. I’ve never had anything fit me so well.”

  A tinkling bell sounded in the distance. Mrs. Duffy went to the front of the shop to deal with a customer, leaving Bella to take one last look in the mirror. It was true. She did feel special. No wonder all those Hollywood types had designers on speed-dial when it came to red-carpet events. Nothing off the rack could compare to this kind of fit and detail.

  She was about to step off the raised dais and return to the dressing room when curiosity got the best of her. Moving slightly, she peeked in the mirror and caught a glimpse of Ian on the opposite side of the room. Her heart stopped for three long beats. He looked magnificent. Even in his usual attire, he was striking, but now, wearing a tailor-made tux, black cummerbund, and snowy white shirt, he was nothing short of spectacular.

  Luckily for her, his attention was focused on the old man. Otherwise, Bella’s face would have given her away. It was difficult to parse the emotions that curled in her stomach and gave birth to the lump in her throat. Desire. Wistfulness. Distress. Yearning. Surely somewhere in that avalanche of feelings was a strain of common sense.

  It wasn’t news that she had fallen hard for Ian. Back in London he had hordes of women literally chasing him down and giving him their lingerie and room keys and undying devotion. Even a man who professed not to enjoy the limelight had to be flattered by the attention, albeit reluctantly.

  Before she could retreat to the tiny closet that passed as a dressing room and turn back into Cinderella, Ian half turned as if he knew she had been watching him. Their gazes clashed in the mirror. The masculine visage gave nothing away. His jaw was firm, the planes of his face taut as though indicating his bare tolerance for the formal wear and the fitting itself.

  What was he thinking?

  Her heart beat rapidly, her breathing shallow. What would it take to tame a man like Ian Larrimore? Was there anything in the world with the power to coax him? At this very moment he seemed almost a stranger, a younger, sexier James Bond ready to take on the world. His incredible intellect and powerful body could handle any dangerous situation.

  But did he know anything about love?

  Even at this distance, she felt his pull like an actual touch. She wanted to throw herself at him and beg him to be normal and boring and hers. That, however, was not in the cards.

  It cost her, but she managed to break the visual standoff. Once in the protective confines of the changing room, she leaned against the wall and put her fist to her mouth, breathing shakily. Tears sprang to her eyes. She wanted him so badly, but she was terrified of getting hurt.

  No one in her life had ever loved her the way she needed and wanted to be loved. Her father had been a selfish and controlling man. Even Finley, whom she adored, had abandoned her and fled to Scotland when she was not yet sixteen. In all fairness, his father and stepmother had treated him abominably, but still…

  Bella knew what it was like to be alone. It was possible to exist in a fancy house with servants and everything a young girl could possibly want and still be achingly lonely.

  What was she going to do?

  At long last, the interminable fittings were complete. The Duffys promised to have the finished garments delivered to Ian and Bella’s hotel the following morning, hours before the actual ceremony.

  It was disorienting to step back outside into the bright sunlight after spending time in the dim confines of the tailor shop. Neither she nor Ian spoke as they began to stroll up the hill. They stopped momentarily along the way and bought meat pies and sodas from a street vendor.

  The awkward silence continued even after they purchased tickets for the castle tour. Once they arrived at the gate, Ian faced her soberly. “Perhaps you’d like to explore on your own?”

  She shook her head, searching his eyes for answers to the questions that troubled her. “No. I’ll stay with you. I’ve always heard it makes sense to tour with a local.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not exactly a local, but I’ve definitely been here a few times. If I go overboard with the history stuff, feel free to rein me in… I tend to go on and on when I get on a roll.”

  “No such thing as too much history,” she said stoutly. “You forget what I do.”

  Fortunately for the awkward ambiance that had sprung up between them, the presence of numerous tourists made personal conversation impossible. Instead, Ian was as good as his word.

  The castle was much larger than Bella had realized. Within its walls was a city in miniature. The views from the ramparts were amazing.

  Though a scientist by trade and training, Ian knew as much or more than Bella did about the history of his own country. They toured the great hall, saw the crown jewels—the oldest in the British Isles—and photographed each other with the cannons of the famous Half Moon Battery. They even paused to witnessed the firing of the one o’clock gun which Bella had come to know was an Edinburgh tradition.

  When they were ready to take a break from the sunshine, Ian led her to a weathered rock structure near the center of the complex. “You’ll like this, I think,” he said. “It’s the oldest surviving building in all of Edinburgh.”

  They stepped through the low, arched doorway of the stone building into a small, narrow chapel. Immediately, peace and serenity enfolded them. Pale lemon light glowed from sconces on the plaster walls.

  “It’s beautiful,” Bella whispered softly. For the moment, none of the throng of tourists outside disturbed them.

  Ian’s voice echoed, even though his words were quiet. “The chapel was built in the early twelfth century by David I to honor his mother, Margaret. She was an English princess, but she and her family were forced to flee from England to Scotland following the Norman invasion. By all accounts she was a pious and beloved woman. When Robert the Bruce destroyed Edinburgh Castle roughly two hundred years later, he spared St. Margaret’s Chapel, and here it stands.”

  “How extraordinary.” Bella wandered closer to the altar, trying to imagine the nine hundred years that had passed and all the souls who must have sought refuge within these walls.

  Ian joined her at the braided rope that kept visitors at a safe distance. Fresh flowers scented the alcove. “The chapel is tended by a special guild whose members keep an eye on things. They also supply the flowers. Everyone in the guild is named Margaret, either first name, or middle.”

  When Bella sucked in an audible breath, Ian gave her a quizzical glance. “W
hat did I say?” he asked.

  She smiled at him, feeling off-kilter and amazed. “My middle name is Margaret. I never told anyone when I was growing up, because I always hated it. Seemed old-fashioned and old-lady-ish.”

  “I think it’s a lovely name,” Ian said. “Arabella Margaret Craig.”

  Bella winced and sighed when a family of five tromped through the door talking loudly. “After today, I’ll wear my name proudly,” she said. “Thank you for the tour, Ian.”

  They stepped aside to let the newcomers read the plaques and make a quick circuit of the small space. Fortunately, the trio of preteen boys was more interested in armaments than religious relics. Their parents led them away, leaving Bella and Ian alone once again.

  Her companion seemed preoccupied now. “Any other tidbits I should know before we leave?” she asked lightly.

  Ian shrugged. “I’m told they have weddings here… and baptisms. This room wouldn’t hold many, though. I suppose most people are interested in the view outside.”

  “Not me,” Bella said. “Think how perfect and intimate this would be.” Especially for someone who had dedicated her adult life to studying courtship and marriage in Europe.

  Yet another group of tourists intruded on the simple, quiet spot, forcing Bella and Ian to give up and leave.

  Ian put on his sunglasses once they were outside. “We’ve pretty much seen all there is to see. Let’s head back, if that’s okay with you. I’ve made reservations at a special restaurant tonight. I hope you like French cuisine.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” Bella said, feeling her spirits lift. She had made up her mind. There would be no rehashing of their one and only intimate encounter. As far as she was concerned, all that mattered was the here and now. They would enjoy Edinburgh as friends.

  Chapter Fifteen