Best Laid Plaids (Kilty Pleasures)

by Ella Stainton

They made it back to New Town, which was only a few centuries old rather than the medieval Old Town, and still Graham wouldn’t deign to speak to him. Bristlier than a hedgehog and he kept tugging at the crotch of his trousers as if that would provide fuck-all relief. It was hard not to laugh. Gray Georgian town houses curving in a crescent loomed above.

  “Where are we?” he asked, not expecting a reply.

  But the sour look of earlier was replaced by a handsome half smile that took Joachim’s breath away. He scowled to hide it.

  “Queen Street in Edinburgh. It’s our town house. While you so rudely snored in my ear on the ride down from Pitlochry, I stopped and sent a telegram to get two bedrooms ready.”

  Ainsley let himself out of the car and crossed the street with an obedient Violet, letting himself into a green park, lush and overgrown with trees. Joachim was a few steps behind and eased himself down a sloping hill with his walking stick.

  Standing propped up by a large pine, Ainsley puffed a cigarette.

  “I didn’t know you smoked,” said Joachim conversationally.

  “I don’t usually.” Gray eyes cut his way. “But, you’ve driven me to it, haven’t you?”

  Very, very difficult not to laugh.

  And then he sobered. Two bedrooms? Christ, that was no good.

  Violet kicked up grass behind her and trotted back to her master’s side. Ainsley ground out his cigarette and strolled back up the hill as though showing off that he didn’t need a bloody stick to walk.

  Over his shoulder, Ainsley said, “We have one more visitation for the day, and if you don’t admit to seeing something, then we can be done with this charade.”

  Shite. Not having the chance to touch Ainsley again left him feeling as though he’d been kicked in the gut. With a football boot.

  Ainsley didn’t wait for him while he struggled to stand with his ankles at an awkward forty-five-degree angle. He was forced to balance himself and his stick and the bloody gate, which opened inward for God knew what reason.

  That would be a damned shame if they were finished now, but it was never supposed to last. And he knew that going into this. But Ainsley was exactly the powerful drug Joachim worried he’d be. He was desperate for a fix.

  The Englishman did his best to clear his throat because something felt trapped there like he couldn’t breathe properly.

  Heavy-hearted, he followed Graham up the steps of one of the more ostentatious homes, shiny white door under a glass arch. Inside was a console drooping with hothouse flowers, which scented the place of orchids. Ainsley dropped the key and called out if anyone was there.

  No response. Down the hallway, French doors led to two closed rooms on the right, a study and a flowery parlor by the looks of them on the left. Joachim followed Ainsley on a short walk to the kitchen. A cooked haunch of beef and bowls of parsnips and carrots were thoughtfully placed on the top of an old oak table. Joachim touched the back of his hand to a crusty loaf of bread. Still warm and scenting the air with a homey fragrance. His stomach rumbled.

  His host plucked an apple from a bowl and buffed it on the leg of his raffish red, green, and navy tartan trousers before tossing it to Joachim, who caught it. Only Ainsley could get away with clothes like that and still look like an angel on a Christmas card.

  “Does anyone live here?” he asked, crunching into the fruit.

  “Of a sort. Upstairs.” Ainsley shook his head as if it were a daft question. “There’s a skeleton staff, but they only come to air it out, or to leave food if Trixie or I need it.”

  Rolling his eyes, Joachim said, “How nice to have a staff to magically bring you food with a telegram.”

  Guilelessly, Ainsley nodded. “Oh, it’s a perfect arrangement.”

  “And which ghosts will we venture to drag out of their lair tomorrow?” Joachim dropped the core of his apple into the bin and wiped his fingertips on his trousers.

  “My brother Charlie.” Ainsley looked him full on and didn’t smile. “And we have no need to wait. He’s upstairs right now.”

  Cockburn’s stomach somersaulted. “Y-your brother?”

  Blinking hard, Graham turned away and busied himself with pouring them each a glass of lemonade from a bottle he pulled from the larder. Joachim wished he could offer some sort of consolation because Ainsley’s face had that pale, drawn look he’d had the other times he’d mentioned anything to do with the war.

  But he wasn’t a coward and he lifted his chin and offered his arm to the older man.

  “He’s upstairs and...well...let’s see if he speaks to you, shall we?” The brash young man’s voice held a hint of resignation. The same sort he’d projected when talking about losing his career. What could the room hide that could mean as much as that?

  He took Ainsley’s arm, glad to have a reason to touch him, even if it was this. Together, they climbed the steps that twisted at the landing and led to a heavily wallpapered upper hall with five doors open and the one on the end closed.

  It had to be that one they headed toward.

  Goose bumps dotted Joachim’s arms under his shirt. Ghosts can’t be real. More people would know, and Ainsley wouldn’t be considered mad. Which he was.

  As would Joachim if he risked his reputation and future employment by agreeing.

  Tugging his arm free from Joachim’s, Ainsley balked a few feet from the door. “I’ll figure out sleeping arrangements, shall I?”

  No. He didn’t wish to do this alone. Because he didn’t think Ainsley was a lunatic.

  But the pale cheeks and larger-than-usual eyes affected Joachim in a way that was idiotic and sealed his destination for heartbreak. He nodded and straightened his tie. His hand lingered on the knob for a moment before he thrust the door open like he was ready to find out the truth.

  There was nothing untoward about the room. A bed, a set of drawers. An empty ewer on a stand. Clothes hung in the open closet. Books stacked next to the bed, which was made up nice and tidy. Joachim picked one up. H. G. Wells’s The World Set Free. He’d liked it. Read it his last year at school. He flipped open the cover; Happy 19th Birthday, Charlie, Don’t forget our bet, Ainsley Hopkins Graham. February 9, 1917.

  God, Ainsley was what? Fifteen? Sixteen?

  Joachim had been twenty that year, not too long after; early April. He’d already been in Belgium, hadn’t he?

  The skin on the back of his neck prickled. Clinking noises like those from a dinner party, with an orchestra, or at least a quartet, rang in his ears. Murmuring voices that he ought to make out but couldn’t. Like he was underwater.

  The violin scraped a melancholy tune that had reverberated in Joachim’s mind for years and he’d blocked. What was the name of that song?

  It was gone.

  As was the bustle of people.

  Someone walked into the room, footsteps echoing over the floorboards in a precise beat. Joachim turned and smiled at Ainsley.

  But it wasn’t him.

  It was close; the auburn hair was trimmed to the same variety of handsome face, but this one lacked the effervescence of Ainsley Graham. There was a fearfulness in the eyes that Joachim had seen a hundred times back in the war. The men destined to die. As though they knew they’d drawn the short straw beforehand and nothing would save them from their fate.

  His chest contracted like he might faint.

  “That’s my book,” the man—boy, really, God he was so young—said, hand outstretched.

  Shaking, Joachim held it out. “I liked this one.”

  Charlie Graham’s eyes widened with happiness. “Me, too.”

  The boy wore a fresh uniform. The creases on his sleeves could cut Joachim’s hand they were so sharp. Khaki kilt showing his nationality but not clan allegiance. No insignia designating his rank. He clutched the book to his chest and walked to the door. “I must go back. They’re expecting me.”
<
br />   The buzz of the dinner party came back, loud, full of voices, which this time were more clear. An argument of some kind, and an adolescent’s voice, crowing triumphantly while the rest laughed, indulgent in their cups.

  “All the luck to you, soldier,” said Joachim, wet behind his eyes because this boy was off to die for eternity, wasn’t he?

  Charlie smiled and winked so reminiscent of Ainsley that Joachim ached deep down in a place he’d sealed off years before.

  “Will you tell Ainsley it wasn’t his fault? I was going even before he won the bet.” The young man’s shoulders rose as though it were obvious.

  No matter that he was utterly at a loss, Joachim nodded. “I will.”

  The specter smiled that half smile he knew well. Up the left side toward his ear. “He might believe you. He won’t believe anyone else.”

  And then the ghost walked to the door and disappeared.

  A ghost. An honest-to-goodness one, because this wasn’t easily explained, was it? Another actor, perhaps, but looking so very like Ainsley...? A cousin?

  But how could a lad younger than Ainsley give off that undeniable essence that only another soldier would recognize? The fractured gaze that held the terrible knowledge that the world wasn’t good or kind or fair.

  Dear Lord. Charlie Graham was an honest-to-goodness ghost.

  A young man slaughtered in his prime for a cause he’d likely not even understood.

  Exhaling as though his breath had been held for ages, Joachim sank into the softness of the bed, clutching his face in his hands. Allowed himself a few minutes to grieve for all of the Charlie Grahams he’d known and lost, who’d gone over to Europe with some notion that their sacrifice might mean something, not realizing it didn’t when all was said and done.

  Finally, he stood and glanced around the room. The World Set Free was on top of the stack, right where it’d been when he came in. He strained his ears but there were no sounds of anything. Joachim walked to the hall, pulling the door shut softly behind him.

  Ainsley sat on the floor, knees under his chin like a child. He didn’t react to Joachim’s footsteps, or the call of his name.

  Joachim squatted, ankle protesting as if that mattered. Right now nothing mattered except that the young man in front of him was suffering. He took one of Ainsley’s hands in his. It was limp and Ainsley was gone into one of the worlds he slipped into so often.

  “Come back,” whispered Joachim, squeezing his fingers. Nothing. He snapped.

  Wrinkling his nose tight and squeezing his eyes shut, Ainsley stood, back still pressed to the wall. His eyes opened and fixated on Joachim.

  “Did you see him?” Tremulous voice, full of doubt and dread.

  He wrapped his arms around Ainsley’s waist and pressed his forehead to his. He’d promised not to lie when it had seemed inconceivable. What he’d give now not to know better. “I did.”

  “Truly?” Fingers clutched at his belt and pulled his chest tighter. “What did he say?”

  Gently holding Ainsley to the wall, Joachim kissed his cheek in a series from his chin to his ear. “Whatever that bloody bet was, love, you didn’t make him go. He wants you to know. He was already going to sign up.” Joachim pressed his fingers between Ainsley’s and held them like that. “Does that mean something to you?”

  Those gray eyes scanned Joachim’s face and his voice caught. “Did he say that?”

  Joachim nodded and pressed a kiss under each of Ainsley’s eyes. Right in the spot where he’d get circles from worry and lack of sleep.

  Ainsley sobbed on his exhale. A single ragged note that Joachim would never tease him over. “Anything else?”

  “Just that he hoped you’d believe it, if I was the one to tell you.” He pressed Ainsley into the wall, not with lust, but with an urgent need to connect every bit of their beings together, if only for that moment when the distance between their worlds had been bridged. “Do you know why he said that?”

  The eccentric Dr. Graham was reduced to a fifteen-year-old boy close to tears who dug his fingers into Joachim’s shirtwaist. Two days with Ainsley and he was certain the man wasn’t lying about this. He nodded.

  “Will you tell me?” he asked.

  Ainsley shook his head, eyes not meeting Joachim. “I’d rather not.”

  He wouldn’t press. And if he flattered himself that he knew Ainsley at all, allowing Joachim to watch him flounder in his emotions would do him no favors in the long run.

  Joachim stepped back with some effort and gave a determined grin. “I’m not sure what to make of this experience. Because I can’t think how you could fake your brother’s ghost, or why you would. But I’m utterly fascinated, because this really could change the world, couldn’t it?”

  The ginger’s eyes widened and he clutched at Joachim’s belt. “You believe me?”

  “I must admit that I do. But one ghost isn’t enough for scientific research.” Joachim dragged a hand through his hair and sighed.

  Bloody hell. It wasn’t the single ghost.

  Because if Charlie was real, then Lizzie and even the Pitlochry hedge thing might have been, too.

  “If you give me one more, I’ll call a truce and leave you alone. I can go home tomorrow, if you wish me to?”

  God, he hoped Ainsley wouldn’t wish him to, but he wouldn’t press. Not even if this short time with Graham gave him more pleasure than he’d had in ten years totted up together.

  It was fascinating to watch the mental gymnastics behind Ainsley’s mind, not having a clue what went on in that brain. But his eyes lit up and he smiled. Put his arms around Joachim’s neck and pressed his hips into his.

  Naughty Ainsley roared back. “I’m not sure that is what I want. You’re rather comfortable to spend time with. Sometimes. I’ll let you know tomorrow. But for now, let’s go out for air?”

  The moment when Joachim would have sworn their souls touched was gone. But he smiled and nodded, because it was the right thing to do.

  And he followed Ainsley back down the stairs with one glance over his shoulder.

  No one was there, but he could have sworn he heard the orchestration of crystal and porcelain and laughter at the top of the stairs lingering in the hallway.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ainsley

  As many times as Ainsley had walked out of Tuskers with the expectation of fucking, he’d never walked in with it already preplanned. Well, he’d counted on it, perhaps, but not with his prey already tagged and bagged. Therefore, he was uninterested in spending hours there when he could be doing much more entertaining things.

  Naked.

  And now that they headed back to Queen Street, there would be an orgasm in his future and he’d give Cockburn one more chance to be the one to help him reach it.

  If he mucked it up, then he would not be staying for the dinner party.

  Though the gruff Geordie had been very good about Charlie. Ainsley didn’t wish to think about his brother because he always ended up with a painful twist in his belly that settled like undigested hardtack.

  He’d never tried hardtack—did they even sell it at the shops?—but he’d read his share of adventure books as a boy and they always seemed to be eating it on voyages. And jerky, which he had tried and found revolting.

  “Is pemmican a sort of jerky?” he asked, stopping to tie his shoe, and enjoyed the shape of Joachim’s arse, which was a few steps ahead and in his line of vision. He’d like to bite it, truth be told. Though it might break his teeth—all that hardness in the muscles.

  “Pemmican? Hmm.” Joachim didn’t even twitch like most people did when he asked what Trixie called his oddball questions. He narrowed that handsome gaze while he thought. “Something similar, though I believe they add things like dried berries. Why?” There was a hint of a smile buried in that lovely, lovely beard.

  “I
was thinking about Charlie.” It was startlingly pleasant to not be treated as a continual oddity. Ainsley gave him a kinder look than he gave most people. But only because he was so nice to look at. “Thanks for...all that, by the way.”

  Joachim swallowed hard like he had pemmican stuck in his throat. Or hardtack. Squeezed his shoulder in a way that Ainsley was sure he meant he’d squeeze something else if they weren’t on a street walking back from parking the car.

  “He was very clear that you weren’t to blame yourself—”

  Ainsley held up his hand unable to digest any more of that line of conversation and Joachim was prescient enough to snap his mouth shut. It made him easier to be around than most people who wouldn’t let up on needing to know why Ainsley thought the way he did about things. It was almost a joy to spend time with the deuced man.

  “You knew more songs than I’d have imagined.” Ainsley unlocked the front door. Lights had been left on in a path to both the kitchen and his bedroom. The staff knew him very well. Did enough to get him by and no more to aggravate him.

  “I enjoy singing.”

  Ainsley took off his jacket and slung it on the back of a chair. “You’ve a lovely voice.”

  And he was good at injecting the comedic bits, too.

  “I was a choirboy.” Joachim’s whole voice wrinkled into a smile and they shared a laugh even though it wasn’t truly funny. Loads of boys were, presumably. But something about great big Joachim as a child in short pants and a bow tie was absurd.

  Though if he wore short pants now...not so silly. Those heavenly thighs.

  “It helps me focus when someone is singing or playing music.” Ainsley went to the wet bar and poured them each a nightcap. Toed off the shoes he’d tied moments before. What a waste of time. He ought to have removed them in the street. But blech. People spit and other foul things happened on the street and the pavements, which was why Barley would allow no shoes in his flat.

  “Take off your shoes, won’t you?” he asked Joachim, a bit dizzy at the thought of all those germs all of a sudden.

  Joachim complied exactly where he stood instead of walking over the carpet and tracking the filth, and then carried his shoes to the door. He came back barefoot and crossed the floor, unbuttoning Ainsley’s shirt, mouth on the younger man’s ear, humming.