Katie's Highlander

by Maeve Greyson

  “My father was an archeologist—so am I. It’s amazing how many different modes of transportation you discover depending on the country you find yourself in.”

  He did his best to politely ignore Katie’s additional information, refusing to make light conversation to avoid getting to know this delightful human being that fate, or more likely, Dwyn and the damn goddesses had seen fit to drop in a ditch in his woods. He was in no mood t’be sociable. He’d done his duty and rescued the lovely woman. Was that no’ enough?

  An incessant humiliating burn in the center of his chest reminded him that he’d made the mistake of getting to know a woman better before. He’d let down his guard—failing to find out how ruthless and cold she truly was until it was nearly too late. She’d made a damned fool of him. Shamed him in front of the clans. If no’ for Dwyn’s intercedin’, she wouldha surely ruined him.

  I’ll no’ make such a mistake again. He tightened his grip on the reins and urged Dubh to follow him at a faster pace. “I’ll have ye to the keep soon, mistress.”

  “I wasn’t trying to insult Dubh. Or you.”

  Oh God a’mighty. Her voice is a quiverin’ like Esme’s does when she’s on the verge of tears. Guilt washed across him in a wave strong enough to submerge the embarrassment of his recently failed relationship. He was no match for a woman’s weeping. His little sister Esme had learned long ago that not a single one of her four older brothers could stand to see her cry and they each would do whatever she commanded to avert her use of tears.

  “And I didn’t mean to hurt your chin.” A faint sniff followed the softly trembling apology.

  Ramsay halted, dropped his chin to his chest, and blew out a heavy groan of surrender. I should be ashamed a m’self. ’Tis no’ this dear lass’s fault that I’m as feckin’ miserable as I am. He lifted his head and made his way back to stand beside Katie’s fine long leg resting against Dubh’s side.

  “My chin is fine, mistress, and Dubh’s feelin’s are fine, as well. I’m sorry if I seemed rude or put off by ye.” He shook his head and shrugged, looking everywhere except up at Katie. “I’m no’…I dinna…I’m no’ verra good with people these days,” he finally confessed with a hurried huff then made another curt dip of his chin. “My apologies. Truly. ’Tis nothin’ against yerself.”

  Katie reached down and gently rested her hand on his head as though he were a much-loved dog that had just peed on the floor. Ramsay forced himself to look up at her. The woman was smiling. A genuine smile as though she couldna be happier. The wreck must have addled this poor lass’s wits for certain.

  Katie’s smile disappeared, and her eyes squinted shut as she quickly straightened and covered her mouth with both hands. She shook with a hard sneeze that nearly unseated her. “Damned airbag dust. I’ve always bragged that I’m not allergic to anything, but I think I just discovered my kryptonite.” She pulled a bright red printed cloth from the back pocket of her khaki shorts, aimed her smile up at the moon, and said, “Sorry, Papa. But I’m fresh out of tissues.” She blew her nose hard into the cloth, then scrunched it up and shoved it back into her pocket. “Sorry. That was gross, I know, but I’ve got to get rid of that dust. Anyway—you didn’t seem rude or not a peopley sort at all. Rude would’ve left my ass back there stuck in the roof of my car. Thanks to you, I’m rescued.” She flashed him an even brighter smile that lightened his mood considerably and relaxed the tension out of his shoulders.

  What an amazing woman to behave so after the night she’s had. “Good, then.” He patted Dubh on the shoulder, pleasantly surprised at how easily this woman he’d just met calmed him and made him feel more at ease than he had in a while.

  He tucked the reins up and around the pommel of the saddle and gave Dubh another pat. Dubh would follow wherever Ramsay led. The horse was as affectionate and devoted to Ramsay as any dog. “Come, lad. Let’s get this fine lady to our home.” Dubh resumed his walking pace and Ramsay walked beside him. He glanced up at Katie, who looked to be extraordinarily calm and happy for someone who’d just destroyed her car. “Yer a rare woman, Mistress Katie.”

  “Call me, Katie, okay? I consider anyone who rescues me a friend. Mistress sounds kind of formal and…standoffish.”

  “Aye, then. Katie.” Ramsay considered getting back in the saddle then thought better of it. ’Twas no’ so bad walking beside the lady’s bare leg and ’twas a hell of a lot easier keeping his cock in a more mannerly frame of mind whilst down here on the ground. The woman’s scent and softness were too much a temptation. “As I said, yer a rare woman.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because ye dinna seem all that upset considerin’ the sort of night ye’ve had.”

  Katie rewarded his observation with a soft laugh and shake of her head. “Papa always said that everything happens for a reason—usually a good reason if you’re smart enough to find it. Besides, the only person who’s going to suffer if I piss and moan about it all night is me—well, and you too if you have to listen to me. But seriously, I’ll be the one to suffer in the long run. Bitching about stuff you can’t control just prolongs the misery, so I try not to do that very often.”

  Her gaze dropped to her hands atop the saddle horn. A thoughtful look transformed her features into a perfect picture of peace and calm. “That’s another thing Papa always said. Must be the moonlight helping him put thoughts in my head.”

  “Yer father is no longer with ye?” Something about her tone made him feel her emptiness and loss.

  Katie’s already quivering smile failed, and her gaze shifted away. She blinked hard and fast while looking out at the dark woods to her right. “He’s gone. Died several weeks ago.”

  She quickly returned her attention forward, lifted her chin, and pulled in a deep breath then slowly blew it out. “But he died doing what he loved so I refuse to dishonor his memory with constant tears and sadness. He was on a dig. South America this time. Some kind of respiratory infection got him.” She shrugged and stared back up at the moon peeping down at them through the leafy canopy of the trees hanging over the dirt path. “He’s not with me physically. But I know he’s watching over me. I can feel him just as surely as I can feel your warmth while you’re walking beside my bare leg.”

  The last part of Katie’s observation disturbed him no small amount. Ramsay quickened his pace so that he was up even with Dubh’s nose again and a fair space from the lass’s treacherous bare leg.

  “I am verra sorry for yer loss,” he said without looking back. “And I’m quite sure he’s watchin’ o’er ye. When those we love feel our need for them, even death canna keep them from us.” His words thumped a hard sense of uneasiness square in the center of his chest. Why the hell did I say such a thing? The woman will think me a fool for certain.

  They continued through the woods in silence when, much to Ramsay’s relief, he spotted the warm welcoming lights of the keep. He pointed at them. “Up ahead. Ye see the lights? We’ll get ye a bit of food and drink if ye like and then ye can call any family who might be worryin’ after ye.” Surely, such a woman, so friendly and outgoing, would have many worryin’ after her.

  “Oh, it’s just me now since Papa died.”

  A trace of sorrow remained in her voice, but Ramsay also heard a strength and surety that surprised him no small amount. He glanced back at her and she smiled.

  “I’ll wait until tomorrow to call my friends and let them know I’ll be delayed once I find out how long the repairs are going to take.” The closer they drew to the front of the keep the more animated Katie became. “I saw signs about the theme park when I turned off the interstate and took the two-lane. Seems like I saw one about the town too right before I turned off, but I don’t remember the name. Is the town close to the park and do you know if they’ve got a good mechanic—and a hotel?”

  “Aye, the village of Brady is just outside the main entrance of the
park and Gordon Abernathy is the best ye’ll find when it comes t’engine repairs and such.” And he’s also clan chief to the Abernathys. One of the most trusted clans when it comes to supporting Clan MacDara and our duty to the goddesses. But this woman didna need t’know any of that. From the sound of it, she was just passing through, like a gentle breeze on a hot summer’s day. A pang of disappointment at that realization took Ramsay by surprise.

  He shook free the worrisome feeling and forced himself to properly continue the conversation. “The man’s also trained his son up on makin’ a vehicle look as though it were brand new.” Ramsay allowed Dubh to take the lead so that he found himself once again walking beside Katie’s lovely leg. “I’ll be happy t’call him once we reach the keep, if ye like. He’ll probably no’ be able t’send his tow out for yer car until daylight but he’ll fetch it for ye first thing in the mornin’, I’m quite sure. And ye can stay the night here at the keep. I promise ye, there’s room aplenty.”

  “You’re awesome, you know that?” Katie highlighted this pronouncement with a light infectious laugh that reminded Ramsay of water tricklin’ across the stones of a shallow burn. She turned toward him and regally bowed her head. “And once again you’ve rescued me. Thank you, Sir Ramsay. I hereby dub thee my knight in shining armor.”

  Was the lass makin’ fun of him? He couldna tell for sure. Before Sylvia, he wouldha smiled at Katie’s words and mayhap even joined in with a harmless bit a flirtin’. But not now—not when both his heart and his arse were still raw from the skinnin’ Sylvia had givin’ him.

  “I’m no’ a knight, mistress,” he said in a tone sharper than he intended. “I’m just a man who kens the proper way a lady should be treated.”

  Katie frowned down at him, a perplexed look drawing her pale brows together. “Boy, did I hit a nerve.” She extended a hand toward him. “Hey. I don’t know who your enemy is but it’s not me. I swear I had no ulterior motives when I decided to clean out that ditch with my car. Relax, Mr. Ramsay MacDara. I’m harmless. I promise.”

  “I verra much doubt that,” Ramsay said to himself as he reluctantly took her soft hand in his. “Thank ye, lass, and I’ll bear yer words in mind.” He pecked a polite kiss to the back of her hand and immediately regretted it. The satin of her skin against his lips colored his imagination and sent another surge of fire to his man parts.

  Lore a’mighty, lass. There’s no way in hell yer harmless.

  Chapter 3

  “Your home is…” Pure unadulterated awe silenced Katie the deeper they moved into the keep. She hadn’t felt such a spine-tingling zing of wow since her last major discovery on a dig. The stark reality of this place. The history. A sense of ancient filled the air like a heady addictive drug to her archeologist’s soul.

  Damn, this place is amazing.

  The outside of the keep had been breathtaking enough in its medieval authenticity. Weather-beaten stone hand-chiseled and fitted together with little to no mortar. A pair of imposing towers framed the high arched gate and a battle-ready skirting wall, tall and imposing with arrow slits to discourage uninvited guests, surrounded the cobblestoned bailey. Even down to the dark hardware on every door and the heavy sun-faded wooden shutters framing the windows—the roughly shaped wrought-iron hasps and latches looked as though each hinge and square nailhead had been painstakingly hammered out by hand. The place was amazing in its historical accuracy of a medieval Scottish stronghold. She’d seen recreations before, but this place looked as though it had been plucked straight out of medieval Scotland.

  Slowly turning in a circle as she walked, Katie did her best to process the grandeur around her. If possible, the interior of the keep was even more impressive than the exterior. Cathedral ceilings with massive beams, the mind-boggling length of which were scarred with axe cuts and realistically blackened and stained as though they’d withstood years of smoky fires. The timbers could pass for the ribbing of a centuries-old structure. More wrought iron had been shaped into simple sconces that were evenly placed along the walls and support columns spaced throughout the room. The soft flickering glow of the sconces’ blue-white gaslight flames, the only nod to modern conveniences, perfectly framed the tartan banners and coat of arms tapestries decorating the columns and centered above the dark wood mantel.

  That mantel.

  Katie fought the urge to go to it and run her fingertips along its unbelievable length. The sturdy beam had to have taken more than one tree in its making. It stretched across the stone fireplace that took up the entirety of one wall of the keep.

  The great gathering room, awe-inspiring in its rugged starkness, was filled with heavy wooden benches and rough-edged tables that reminded Katie of the medieval structures lecture that she and her father had attended at the University of Edinburgh before she’d gone off to grad school.

  Papa would’ve so loved this place. She meandered deeper into the room, slowing her steps while turning to fully enjoy the space. “This is fantastic. So…authentically medieval. Your architect really researched the era. Absolutely nailed it.”

  Ramsay gave her a look that she didn’t quite understand then politely acknowledged the compliment with a brief nod. He motioned toward the other end of the room to a stone archway barricaded with a set of oak doors fitted with more antique hardware that looked as though it had come from a blacksmith’s anvil. “If ye’ll follow me, we’ll go to the upstairs kitchen. I can almost promise ye that Máthair and Mistress Lydia havena gone to their beds. The two insist on staying up and seein’ to the warmin’ of m’supper as though I’m a helpless bairn rather than a man grown.”

  Damn, I love the way you talk. But Katie kept the compliment to herself. The last time she’d mentioned his accent and the rhythmically archaic way he put a sentence together, he’d seemed sort of…something. What? Maybe a little leery? That was the only adjective that came to mind and she wasn’t really sure why that was. What did he have to be leery about? The man was one of the most gorgeous males she’d come across in her world of bespectacled history nerds. He had a rugged, come roll with me in the heather kind of look about him, what with that kilt and all, and he lived in an amazingly authentic castle. As far as she was concerned, Ramsay was damn near perfect.

  I wonder if the kitchen’s authentic? Curiosity piqued, Katie moved faster, her fingertips grazing the rough texture of the stone walls as they made their way up the steep steps of the spiraling stone staircase.

  “Ye took yer sweet time on yer ride this evenin’, boy. ‘Twill be a wonder if yer supper isna fair ruint.”

  A thin slip of a woman, barely five feet tall—and that was a generous guess—turned from the stove with a bowl-shaped platter piled high with meat and roasted vegetables hugged against her aproned middle. Her blond hair was streaked with bands of silver and pulled back into an elaborate braid that wrapped around her head once then fell down her back and hit just past her narrow waist.

  “He’ll eat it, Sarinda—no matter how crusty or dry. That boy and his brothers are the reason we rarely have leftovers.”

  The speaker, the petite woman’s polar opposite—a stocky fairy-tale, grandmotherly sort of woman with gray hair swept up in an untidy knot at the top of her head—stood with her back to the room, her thick arms rhythmically moving to and fro as she worked a huge mass of dough on the flour-dusted worktable in front her. Small clouds of the white powder poofed into the air with each cut and pat she used to shape the dough into small palm-size balls before tucking them into a row of waiting pans whose oiled surfaces shone beneath the kitchen lights.

  The one called Sarinda stood there, hugging the bowl of leftovers, seemingly frozen. Her sharp-eyed gaze settled on Katie for a long moment, shifted over to Ramsay, then came back to Katie. She resettled her grip on the ceramic trencher then almost imperceptibly, her chin lowered with a curt dip as though she’d just come to a decision and her stern scowl softened to a more welco
ming look. She shifted back a few steps and leaned close to the older woman who was still busy at work parsing out the dough and filling the bread pans. “We’ve company, Lydia. Mind yer tongue, aye?”

  Lydia spun around from the table much faster than her matronly body should’ve allowed. With a flour-coated knuckle, she nudged her wire-rimmed spectacles up the bridge of her nose, then wiped her hands on the apron tied around her waist while peering at Katie with the interest of a cat sizing up a mouse.

  Sarinda stepped forward and nodded at Katie with a genuinely warm smile. “Good e’en t’ye, mistress. Please forgive our manners. Ye caught us by surprise.” She cast a quick scolding look in Ramsay’s direction then returned her full attention to Katie. “Ramsay’s midnight guests, the ones he usually brings home, are of the four-legged variety that are no’ welcome in my kitchen.”

  The slight woman’s dark blue eyes crinkled at the corners, dancing with a friendly liveliness that belied the extreme lateness of the hour and immediately put Katie at ease. Sarinda hurried across the room and leaned in close for a not very quiet conspiratorial whisper. “Tell us, dear lady. Did brave Dubh flush ye out of the faery wood t’ease m’dear Ramsay’s heart and keep him company on his rides?”

  “Máthair!”

  Ramsay’s deep rumbling one-word warning nearly rattled the copper pots and long-handled ladles hanging from the rack overhead. His tone also reminded Katie of a little boy informing his mother not to hug him in front of the other kids. Katie could tell by the way the muscles in Ramsay’s cheek twitched that he had his jaw clenched and was about to grind his molars into dust.

  Katie caught the inside corner of her lip between her teeth to keep from grinning. Poor Ramsay. He rescued me. Time for me to rescue him.