Scot of My Dreams

by Janice Maynard

  Would Bryce dance with me during the party? I suppose he would have to or his sister would think it odd. My heart raced at the thought of my laird holding me one last time.

  With all the bustle of getting the castle ready for a party, Abigail and I still managed to do more sightseeing. Ancient abbeys and mysterious ruins and ordinary pleasures like rummage sales and old bookshops. I loved every minute of it.

  Even though Bryce and I were estranged, I found comfort in knowing he was nearby. Some small part of me still hoped for a reconciliation, but because I had been the one to rebuff him and not the other way around, any change in the status quo would have to come from me.

  No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t think of a single valid reason to be intimate with him again. I was a strong person, but not strong enough to wallow in my infatuation and then give up my laird cold turkey. The course I had chosen was the only one that made sense.

  In the evenings, I began hiding out in the library. The formal, wedding-like invitations for the charity ball had borne fruit. Abigail and Bryce were inundated with mail, and they worked together after dinner each night to deal with it all. Though they had hired a competent event planner, they wanted to see the reply cards themselves so they could begin working on a seating chart.

  Some of the attendees would be served around the enormous dining table in the great hall, with other smaller tables tucked around the outer edges of the enormous space. At one end of the room, a polished, wooden, parquet surface was being installed on top of the stone floor for dancing.

  Two nights before the party, I fond myself swamped with a wave of melancholy. The thought of leaving Dunvarstone was a physical pain. I had come to love the old castle. There were still many parts yet to be explored, but like Cinderella with her eye on the clock, my time was running out.

  With my two hosts hard at work, I slipped away to the library. The room was drafty. Someone had carefully stacked wood in the fireplace, ready for use. I decided that Bryce wouldn’t mind if I availed myself of the warmth and cheer, even if it was August. The kindling was dry. It only took me two tries to get the fire going.

  I pulled a chair close to the hearth and curled up with yet another leather-bound book. This one was all about customs concerning birth and marriage and death in Scotland. I read about changelings, babies supposedly left by the devil in place of the real children who were snatched away. Again, bits and pieces of Outlander came to mind. Perhaps if we taught all our history in novels, more students would be enthralled by it and want to know the rest of the story.

  Though it was a form of self-torture, I took particular delight in the chapters about marriage. Courtship in the old days had not been easy. Small communities had to devise ways for teenagers to meet each other. It wasn’t unusual for groups to gather at a church and stay four or five days, feasting and singing and dancing and generally allowing the young people to get acquainted. Often four or five marriages came out of the event.

  Sadly, in modern times, marriage was less necessary. We no longer sent the men to work in the fields while the woman sewed and cooked and tended to the children. That old partnership idea had been supplanted by independent men and women choosing careers and lives that fulfilled them.

  Truthfully, I didn’t need a man to take care of me. But what about love?

  I closed the book and rested my head on the back of the chair as I stared into the dancing flames. I was confused and sad, and, though it caught me off guard, homesick again. My life back in Atlanta involved plenty of hard work. But at least I knew what I was doing day after day. I had a purpose for getting up in the mornings.

  Here at Dunvarstone, I was playing a part without a script. Soon the final curtain call would come.

  When a small knock sounded at the door, it startled me. I had almost drifted off. I sat up and quickly opened the book again. “Come in.”

  Abigail poked her head around the door. “I don’t want to bother you.”

  “Don’t be silly,” I said. “It’s your house.” I paused. “How are you doing with the RSVP cards?”

  Abby grimaced as she settled into the armchair adjacent to mine. “Bryce had planned for two hundred guests based on other years. But apparently no one in the area has a thing at all on their social calendars, because they’re all coming. We sent out almost three hundred invitations, and I’ll bet we have less than fifteen or twenty regrets.”

  “Wow. That’s good though, right?”

  “In theory. But because so many people were late returning their replies, the caterer may wring our necks.”

  “Ah.”

  I wanted to talk to Abby about my situation and ask her advice. But as nicely as she and I had clicked, there were certain lines I knew I shouldn’t cross. Number one, she was fighting her own battles. Number two, Bryce was her brother.

  “What are you reading?” she asked.

  There was no reason I should be embarrassed, but my face heated anyway. I handed her the book. “Do you know this one? It’s really interesting.”

  She turned up her nose. “Willow. Honestly? I have an e-reader loaded with wonderful books. You’re welcome to use it any time. These leather-bound dinosaurs are old as dirt.”

  “Maybe to you, but I’m learning things. Did you know about tying the knot?”

  “You mean getting married?”

  “Yes. But do you know why we call it that?”

  “Do I care?” She grinned to let me know she was kidding.

  “You should. It’s fascinating. Back in the old days before Velcro and snaps and zippers, all the fastenings on the bride and groom’s clothing—garters, shoestrings, petticoats, and such— were loosened just before they entered the church. Then after the ceremony was over, the bride stepped aside with her attendants and the groom with his to have all the knots tied before heading off to the post-wedding celebration. And voilá…tying the knot.”

  “You’re making that up,” she said.

  “I’m not, honestly. Look at page one eleven. We say ‘tying the knot’ back in Georgia, too, but I never knew the expression came from Scotland.”

  Abby read the section I had marked. “It was probably based on some old superstition. We’re drowning in them here. No mixing red and white flowers without other colors in amongst them. No getting married in May.”

  “I’ve never been the superstitious type.”

  “Nor me. But sometimes it’s hard to overlook the things we’ve heard our whole lives. Mine was a May wedding,” she said softly. “There were times I wondered if…well, you know what I mean.”

  I wanted to comfort her, but I was hardly an expert on how to rise above superstitious nonsense. I’d been known to step over the cracks in a concrete sidewalk, even if I felt foolish while doing it.

  Abby put the book aside. “What time do we need to pick up your dress in the morning?”

  “Mrs. Duff said anytime after ten.”

  “Let’s have lunch in town then. Maybe Bryce will join us. He could use a break.”

  An instinctive protest hovered on my lips, but I couldn’t think of a believable reason why I didn’t want Bryce to come along. Maybe he would tell his sister no. I could only hope.

  Chapter 26

  I slept poorly. Everything in my Scottish adventure was coming to a head. I grappled with a mixture of anticipation and dread. When morning came, I had no interest in going into Inverness, but my party dress required one last fitting.

  Skipping breakfast was cowardly. The prospect of being closed up in a car with Bryce had me sweating. I certainly didn’t want to add an uneasy meal to the mix.

  Abigail and I had agreed to meet downstairs at 9:45. When I made it to the front foyer, both of my hosts were already present. Bryce looked handsome in dark slacks and an oxford-cloth dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Luckily for the success of the upcoming party, the weather had turned balmy and warm, one last homage to summer.

  Bryce gave me an inscrutable look and then focused his attention on h
is phone. Abby hugged me. “Let’s do this,” she said.

  Outside, I made a beeline for the car. I wanted to climb into the backseat and eliminate any possibility of having to sit beside Bryce. Fortunately, Abby chatted nonstop on the way into the city. I probably should have figured out the bus system and escaped on my own. Too late now.

  At Mrs. Duff’s home, I assumed Bryce would drop off his sister and me and go take care of whatever errands had drawn him into Inverness. Instead, he parked the car in front of the neat, modest house and got out. Inside, it was soon evident that Mrs. Duff had known the MacBrae family for some time. She chatted amiably with Bryce and Abigail as she sent me into a bedroom to put on my dress.

  I’d brought my party shoes with me to check one last time that the hem of the new gown was the correct length. Stripping off my clothes in a stranger’s bedroom was an odd experience. Shimmying my way into the red dress took some acrobatics, but I managed. I didn’t want to ask for help. I was hoping that everyone in the outer room had forgotten about me.

  Once I was ready, I looked in the mirror. The woman staring back was wide-eyed. And there was something else that amazed me: she was beautiful. Though I felt like a little girl playing dress-up, even I could see that Mrs. Duff had been spot on. The vibrant red hue lent a glow to my complexion.

  I tugged at the bodice. Surely it wasn’t cut this low before. Turning slowly, I looked over my shoulder at the back. Gulp. My tall, thin frame was transformed by the graceful drape of the fabric. Instead of a gangly giraffe, Mrs. Duff had transformed me into a swan.

  As I began removing the swirl of red silk, my seamstress knocked at the door and entered. Her brows drew together in a frown. “Ye’re taking it off, lass? It’s not right?”

  “Oh, no. It’s perfect,” I said hastily.

  “Then why aren’t you modeling it for the laird and Miss Abigail?”

  “There’s no need,” I said desperately. “They’ll see it tomorrow night.”

  “Nonsense. Hold still and let me have a look at you.”

  She tugged and smoothed and clucked her tongue until she was satisfied. “They’ll not get the full effect without jewelry, but you look bonny, if I do say so m’self. A film star couldna’ wear that dress any better. Good bones. Come along then.”

  When she took me by the hand, I had no choice but to trail after her into the living room. Abigail spotted me first. Her eyes widened.

  She must have made some sound, because Bryce had been standing by the door checking his phone, but he turned around sharply.

  As long as I lived, I would never forget the look on his face. It was as if someone had punched him in the stomach. His eyes blazed, even as the color drained from his face.

  Abby jumped up and hugged me carefully. “Oh, Willow. It’s perfect. You’re a genius, Mrs. Duff.”

  The dressmaker preened. “Aye. But it helped that the young lass has the body of a model. She’ll turn heads at the ball.”

  Abby smiled happily. “She won’t be lacking in dance partners, that’s for sure.”

  Still, Bryce hadn’t said a word. I felt his hot gaze searing my skin, but I couldn’t look at him. Not again. Not when I had seen such naked hunger on his face. I felt wobbly and too warm. “I’ll change,” I said. “So we can go on to lunch.”

  No one stopped me. I fled to the bedroom and carefully shut the door, leaning against it and closing my eyes. Shaken and startled, I pondered the truth. Bryce wanted me as much or more than ever. Naively, I had assumed that my awkward end to our physical relationship had convinced him to wash his hands of me. After all, we had barely spoken in days.

  Clearly, I was wrong. What was I going to do about it?

  Mrs. Duff zipped my beautiful dress into a garment bag, and then we were on our way. Abby had promised me fish and chips, but Bryce overruled her. Instead, we ended up at a small, elegant bistro tucked away on a side street. A tourist would probably pass it by. From the outside, it looked like nothing at all. But inside, the furnishings were elegant.

  A string quartet played quietly on a small balcony overlooking the main floor. The hostess led us to small leather-covered booth. Abby touched my arm. “You sit with Bryce. I’ll put the dress bag beside me.” Though her smile was guileless, I had a feeling she was manipulating me.

  Bryce didn’t seem any happier about the seating arrangement than I was, but he didn’t say anything. I sat down and scooted toward the wall as far as I could go. Even so, I ended up thigh to thigh with Laird MacBrae. He was a big man.

  I decided I could ignore him. If I tried really hard. But he smelled so good. My determination wavered. All I had to do was put my hand on his leg, and I was pretty sure I could provoke a reaction.

  Fortunately for my willpower, the server arrived to take our order. I didn’t care what we ate. I was close to Bryce again, physically close. I didn’t know whether to thank Abigail or smack her.

  I must have ordered coherently. Thirty minutes later I was eating venison stew, though I’m sure I’d never chosen such a dish in my life. Fortunately, it was very tasty.

  Abigail and Bryce chatted about last minute details for their charity event. They were down to the wire. I listened with half an ear, content to enjoy my food along with the wonderful sensation of sitting in a pseudo-romantic position with the man who had stolen my heart without even trying.

  What was he thinking?

  The dessert was simple, fresh brandied pears and cream. Bryce ordered a bottle of champagne to accompany our last course. “What’s the occasion?” I asked.

  My seatmate poured three glasses and replied without even looking at me. “You’re leaving soon. I thought we should toast to your successful vacation.”

  Oh. My. God. The man was taunting me! Though Abigail might not pick up on his sarcasm, given what had transpired between Bryce and me, I was under no illusions.

  Abby’s face fell. “I don’t want to toast to that, Bryce. I don’t want her to go.”

  His smile was bland. “She has a life back in the States. Dunvarstone was never anything more than a passing fancy to her.”

  This time, the cynicism and irony were fully unveiled.

  Abby stood up abruptly. “I need to go to the loo.”

  I turned sideways in my seat and glared at Bryce. “Are you happy now? You’ve upset your sister.”

  He mimicked my pose and rested his arm along the back of the booth, effectively boxing me in. “Did I say anything that wasn’t true?”

  “You’re angry,” I said, only then picking up on the fact that he actually bristled with fury. “Why?”

  “Because I want you, damn it.” Those beautiful blue eyes blazed sapphire fire.

  “I didn’t think it mattered that much to you. It was only sex.”

  His expression softened. “Was it, Willow?”

  Suddenly, my throat was tight. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. But you barely know me.”

  “I know enough,” he muttered. With his free hand, he winnowed his fingers through my hair and brushed his thumb across my cheek. “Let me come to you tonight, Willow. The sands in the clock are running out. Don’t deny us this. It may be temporary, but it’s special. You know it, too.”

  Chapter 27

  It was difficult to look him in the eye, but I found the courage to do it. The truth stared me in the face. He was going to break my heart. He already had. But some things in life are worth any cost.

  So what if Bryce wasn’t mine? I had him for the next five days. Did I really want to give that up?

  I nodded slowly, knowing I had lost the will to protect myself. “Yes. It’s special,” I whispered. “Yes, Bryce. I want whatever time we have left.”

  Abigail came back from the ladies’ room and stood beside us. “So have you two hard-headed people kissed and made up?”

  Her timing sucked.

  Bryce cursed under his breath. “I haven’t kissed her. Somebody is in my way.”

  She punched his arm. “I invited you out today, not
the other way around. So get off your high horse, Mr. MacBrae. Come on, Willow. We have our mani-pedi appointments in fifteen minutes.”

  Bryce gaped. “Seriously?”

  “You said you had things to do,” Abby reminded him.

  When he looked at me, I shrugged. “We have to look good for the party. She’s right.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  The disgust in those two words made me want to laugh, but I suspected this was not the time. I put my hand on his thigh. “Let me out, Bryce.”

  It was touch and go for a moment. I almost believed he was going to drag me down and have his wicked way with me right there in the booth. I can’t say that I would have minded. But Abigail waited patiently.

  Bryce stood up and raked his hands through his hair. “Meet back at the car at four?”

  I scooted out of the booth as well. Abby nodded and went up on her tiptoes to kiss her brother on the cheek. “Don’t forget to pick up the gift.”

  “I won’t. You lasses enjoy yourselves.”

  As we exited the charming restaurant, Bryce strode off in one direction, Abigail and I the other.

  “What gift?” I asked.

  “During dinner at the gala, Bryce will present a silver chalice to the man or woman or couple who has made the largest donation.”

  “And how do you decide which charity you’ll support?”

  “Bryce has a list of applicants. We usually select three—one that involves children, another for medical research, and the last one something that has to do with conservation and care of the Highlands.”

  I fell silent, realizing anew how far removed my life was from the world Bryce and Abigail moved in. This event at Dunvarstone tomorrow night was no bake sale on the church lawn. The MacBraes’ friends were influential Scots, who had deep pockets and a heart for philanthropy. The effort was admirable. I felt like the poor relation at the dinner table.

  Once Abigail and I were at the nail salon, I told myself to relax. Even back home I seldom took the time to pamper myself. It was fun to have a girls’ afternoon.