Katie's Highlander

by Maeve Greyson

  “I’m Katie Jenson.” She stretched out her hand. “Your son was good enough to free me from my car after I decided to launch it into a dried-up creek bed turned ditch. I really owe him.”

  Ramsay’s mother set the platter on the table and turned back to her. She took Katie’s hand, then quickly scooped her other hand up as well and held them both tightly between hers, squeezing Katie’s hands and slowly rubbing her thumbs across Katie’s knuckles.

  “Are ye hurt then, lass?” She gave Katie a rapid up-and-down look, turning her first one way and then the other, steering Katie’s body with her captured hands as though they were a rudder. “I see a few scratches—nothin’ deep, mind ye. Bruises can take as long as a day or so t’make themselves known. D’ye feel pain anywhere?”

  “No…ma’am.” Katie tried to extricate her hands without seeming rude but Sarinda just clutched them tighter. “I’m fine. Not hurt a bit.” Holy crap, this woman’s got the hold of a python.

  Sarinda dipped her chin in a slow satisfied nod. “Good, then. And I’m Sarinda MacDara, by the way.” Still holding Katie’s hands tightly, she turned and nodded to the older woman still standing beside the flour-covered worktable. “And that there’s Lydia, and it’s our pleasure to meet ye.” She eased a step closer, squeezed Katie’s hands again and gave her another up-and-down look that made her want to squirm. “Yer certain yer no’ hurt? Ye dinna hafta be brave with us now, ye ken? I promise ye, we’ll take good care of ye.”

  “I’m fine.” Katie gently but firmly wiggled her hands free of Sarinda and eased a step back. Ramsay’s mother might be on the tiny side, but the woman had turned intense and appeared to rule the roost. Katie clasped her hands behind her back, just to be on the safe side. “I feel much better now that all my blood’s rushed back down where it belongs.”

  “Beg pardon?” Sarinda’s brow furrowed and she leaned a bit closer. She gently but firmly took hold of Katie’s chin and angled her face downward so she could peer deep into Katie’s eyes. “Did ye hit yer head, child? Are ye feelin’ dizzy at all?”

  Katie eased a step backward out of Sarinda’s reach. “No—I was stuck upside down in my moonroof.” Now that she’d said it out loud, it did sound sort of stupid even to her. Time to explain. “I forgot my bag when I climbed out the first time, so I decided to try and hang down through the moonroof and fish it out with a stick instead of climbing back into the car.”

  “And ye became wedged? A thin young thing like yerself?” Sarinda took a step back, loosely folded her arms across her middle, and gave Katie another piercing once-over that ended in a look that said she didn’t believe her.

  “Why didn’t you drop through feetfirst, girl?” Lydia chimed in. “Then you wouldn’t have gotten stuck upside down.” Lydia had doubt written all over her flour-smudged face too. Neither of these women believed her.

  “I’m telling the truth…and about the ‘feetfirst’ thing.” She forced a grin at Lydia. “Good idea. But airbag dust is nasty.” Damn. They’re worse than Nanny Fay used to be when she didn’t think I was telling the truth.

  Thankfully, Ramsay appeared at Katie’s side, gently took her by the arm, and turned her toward the kitchen table. He shot a look back at both women, his expression saying a lot more than his words. “I’m sure she had good reason for the way she did it, aye? Let the lass be. Her night’s been bad enough without the two of ye pickin’ her t’pieces.”

  Ever my knight. Katie gave Ramsay a grateful smile as she turned back to the older women. “Thanks, but I kind of need to explain,” she said with a pat to his arm. I can’t have them thinking I’m nuts, she silently added.

  Motioning with her hands and working her elbows back and forth against her sides to help demonstrate her explanation, Katie continued. “I didn’t want to climb back down into the airbag dust, so I thought I’d just hang down through there and fish my bag out with a stick I’d found on the embankment. I was hanging there when Ramsay called out to see if I was okay and I tried to squirm around and make him hear me when I accidently bumped the button and closed the panel on myself. Then my car battery died, and it wouldn’t reopen.” She motioned toward Ramsay, noticing for the first time that he no longer had his spear nor her bag with him. “Hmm…I guess he left it downstairs with my bag. Anyway, Ramsay shattered the glass with his spear and pulled me out. Your son is my hero.”

  “Uh-oh,” Lydia murmured in a low ominous tone that perfectly suited her wide-eyed oh shit expression. She clamped her lips shut in a tight thin line while her bespectacled gaze darted back and forth between Ramsay and Sarinda. With a judicious arching of her sparse gray brows and a slow shake of her head, she turned back to her bread dough pans and started scooping them up, balancing them down the length of one fleshy arm.

  “His spear?” Sarinda repeated slowly in a deadly mama’s about to kick her son’s ass tone that Katie didn’t understand.

  “Uh…yes, ma’am.” Suddenly, Katie felt like she was back in mean old Professor McCreedy’s science class trying to explain why she was toasting her sandwich over the Bunsen burner. “But the spear worked great. It shattered the glass panel without a lot of force. I didn’t even get a scratch.” She toyed with the idea of baring her belly to offer proof then decided against it. Sarinda MacDara was obviously pissed about something and anything Katie said or did at this point might make the situation worse.

  Sarinda shifted to an angry battle stance of fisted hands on narrow hips and glared at her son. “Yer spear, Ramsay? Really? How many times—”

  “Hush’t, Máthair. Ye ken as well as I that now is no’ the time.” Ramsay steered Katie to the long kitchen table and pulled out one of the chairs. “If ye’ll have a seat, Mistress Katie, I’ll be happy to share my supper with ye. I beg ye forgive our manners. Surely, a bite to eat and a bit of drink will make this evenin’ easier t’bear for the lot of us.” He gave his mother a narrow-eyed glare and defiantly squared his shoulders.

  “Aye, lass. Forgive me.” Sarinda sprang into motion as though someone had fired a starting pistol. “Sit ye down and I’ll bring ye bread to enjoy with yer meal. Lydia kept a fine basket of bannocks steamin’ hot on the back of the stove and there’s plenty of the roasted potatoes and carrots to go along with the meat.”

  Thank you, Katie silently mouthed to Ramsay as she took her seat.

  The corners of his mouth twitched with the beginnings of a grin.

  Katie rolled her eyes and made a face to nudge his smile the rest of the way out.

  Ramsay relented with an amused look, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes and failed to chase the dark shadows away.

  Damn. Sad puppy eyes. He’s so…unhappy. Wish I could help him. It was the least she could do especially after all he’d done for her.

  Sarinda plopped a bowl-like plate down in front of Katie, filled it to the rim with chunks of falling apart meat and steaming hot carrots and potatoes. Before Katie could utter a “thank you,” Sarinda spooned a rich, dark brown gravy over the pile of food then passed the platter over to Ramsay. Without missing a beat, she hurried back to the stove and retrieved a basket filled with toasty buttered chunks of crusty bread and provided Katie with a small plate for her rolls.

  Setting a stemless wineglass in front of Katie’s place setting with a hard thunk, she gave her son a stern look. “Ye wish t’tend to yer lady? Fetch the wine and serve her then, aye?”

  Ramsay didn’t speak to his mother but fired back with a pissed-off look of his own before he rose, disappeared into an adjoining room, then returned with an uncorked bottle of red wine. He filled Katie’s glass without a word then returned to his seat. The warm, welcoming ambiance of the kitchen had frosted over into an icy war zone.

  “Hmpf!” Sarinda turned and stomped away, her heels pinging hard against the wood flooring, tapping out her anger in an easily understood Morse code.

  Damn. What a shitstorm. Katie gla
nced over at Sarinda who now had her back to them and was busy at the stove—and from the sound of it, was taking out her frustrations on whatever was in the pan in front of her and had decided to beat the hell out of it. Lydia had disappeared into the pantry with the cloth-covered bread pans as though taking refuge from a pending attack.

  Convinced that Ramsay’s mother was making so much racket that she couldn’t possibly overhear, Katie leaned across the table and kept her voice low as she picked at a chunk of bread. “Did I say something wrong to your mother? Was I not supposed to mention the spear?”

  Ramsay didn’t answer, just looked askance with nostrils flared and blew out a long-suffering huff of air that would’ve been flames if the man had been a dragon.

  “Well?” she whispered after washing down a nibble of bread with a deep sip of wine. This situation definitely called for alcohol.

  Ramsay still didn’t answer.

  “Was it the spear? Is that subject taboo around here or something? You could’ve warned me, you know?” He was going to answer her one way or another. He didn’t realize it yet, but she was fully capable of pestering the living piss out of him. Stubbornness was her superpower.

  “Dinna fash yerself,” Ramsay finally said with a low growl then shoved a chunk of meat into his mouth and shot a fiery glare over at his mother.

  “You have to tell me what’s wrong, so I don’t do it again.” She had a talent for putting her foot in her mouth clear up to her hip. Always had. Any pointers on how not to do that would be welcomed.

  Her inner archeologist nudged her. Better yet, tell me about that spear. It looks like a relic I’d find on a dig. And the architecture of the place couldn’t be an accident. What about this place? She couldn’t ask him about all that was MacDara just yet but that didn’t mean she was about to give up on learning more about that weapon. It was too authentic to be a modern-day replica. She’d find out the rest of its story one way or another.

  Ramsay didn’t answer, just stared down at his plate and kept shoving food in his mouth as though it was his last meal before his execution.

  The longer she watched Ramsay focused solely on his food, the more frustrated she got and that was quite a feat since she prided herself on rarely getting mad. Stubborn? Epically so. Easily riled? No.

  Of course, today has scored pretty high on the suckitude meter.

  Katie managed another small bite of bread and washed it down with the wine, all the while staring at Ramsay. Too much was going on to eat. She amped up her glare at Ramsay to a narrow-eyed, you better talk to me level, but he remained silent against her efforts. Unfortunately, her powers of coercion sucked just as badly as the day had.

  No wonder I’m still single. She tossed the roll back to her plate and turned her empty wineglass in her hand. Where the hell had that thought come from? From the proximity of that delectably surly Highlander sitting across the table and all the sparkly little secrets that are sure to come with him. Damn…enough! She shifted in her chair and thumped her empty glass on the table, trying to get Ramsay’s attention.

  Ramsay just sat there. Silent. Chewing. Eyes focused on his bowl as though he wished he could dive into it and disappear.

  Fine. Even I can only handle so much. Katie pushed back her chair and rose to her feet. This was exactly why she’d become an archeologist—and why she was still single. Long dead people and ancient civilizations in general, no matter the era, were a hell of a lot easier to figure out than the living, breathing individuals she ran into every day. Spear or no spear, time to retreat.

  She turned toward Sarinda who was still working at the stove. She cleared her throat—twice. When Sarinda finally turned and faced her, Katie put on her best smile. “Mrs. MacDara, thank you so much for the meal. It was delicious.” She backed a step away from the table and motioned toward the door with one hand. “Um…you wouldn’t happen to know the number for a cab or an Uber around here, would you? I think I’ve imposed on your hospitality long enough. I’m going to just head into town and find a place to stay until I can make arrangements to continue my trip.”

  Sarinda didn’t answer, just studied Katie for a long moment, then turned and glared at her son, giving him an easily readable look that said he was in even deeper shit now.

  Katie looked at Ramsay. He and his mother were locked in an I won’t look away until I’m dead stare that would rival any MMA fighters’ pre-bout glare. It seemed like they were arguing—silently—but arguing just the same.

  Well, shit. Fine. I’ll just walk to town. My cellphone’s dead anyway and something tells me I’m not about to find one in this place. It can’t be that far, and this part of North Carolina looks peaceful enough—a hell of a lot more peaceful than this damn kitchen.

  Backing toward the door, Katie cleared her throat again until both Ramsay and Sarinda broke free of their silent battle-stare and turned to look at her. “Again. Thank you both so much—for everything.” She waved a hand toward the stairs. “I’ll just find my way out.” She paused at the doorway. “You’ve all been great, and I really appreciate the rescue and the meal.”

  “Hold fast, woman. Ye’ll no’ be goin’ anywhere this evenin’.” Ramsay spared one last accusing glare at his mother, then rushed to join Katie at the top of the stairs. “I’ll no’ have the town believing that the MacDaras put a helpless woman out on the streets in the middle of the night. ’Tis not done, ye ken?”

  Helpless? Seriously? A bit of a ditz sometimes, but I’m a far cry from helpless, dude. Katie opened her mouth to argue but was immediately cut off.

  “—Aye. My son speaks true.” Sarinda rushed forward, pausing but a moment to hurry over to the pantry door and stick her head through it. “Lydia. The east wing’s fit for company, aye?”

  Katie couldn’t make out what Lydia said, and it really didn’t matter. She really needed to move on and extricate herself from this weird little situation she’d managed to find.

  “Aye, I thought so. East wing it is. No…ye go ahead and tend to the mornin’ bread. Ye ken Emrys must have his fresh baked bread even though ye fix him biscuits as well. We’ll get the lass settled in for the night.” Sarinda gently closed the door, a smug satisfied look on her face. “The east wing is all yers, m’dear. Ramsay will show ye the way.”

  Nah…I don’t think so. Enticing Highlander and tantalizing secrets or not, she needed some space to rest and regroup before she attacked this particular can of worms again. Katie shook her head and held up both hands to shield off any further suggestions of her staying the night here in Castle MacStrange. “Thank you so much but that’s really not necessary. I—”

  Ramsay’s hand shot up and she could’ve sworn she’d heard him growl. He topped all that with a look that made all the arguments she had in mind disappear. The man was pissed beyond measure, and damn, the look suited him well. Dark, determined, and glowering. If you searched the phrase hot brooding Highlander god in the sexy men database, his picture would be beside it. On a shield. Holding that spear.

  “I’ll fetch yer bag from the stairwell below and show ye to yer room. I’m sure yer fair gone weary after the day ye’ve had.” Ramsay jerked a nod toward her with decisive finality and flexed his hands as though he could hardly wait to get hold of her bags and have her safely ensconced in their guestrooms to not only avoid small town gossip but also have her out of his hair and away from his mother.

  He pushed past her and started down the steps without waiting for her to acquiesce, acting as though her refusal wasn’t even an option. His archaic you will do as I say, and I shall brook no argument attitude both irritated and piqued her interest in him even more. Who was this guy and what was his deal?

  Time to poke the Scottish bear. She couldn’t resist.

  “Yeah, I’m weary, all right,” she called down after him from the top of the staircase. “I’m weary of dangling like a piñata in the middle of this late
-night kitchen party—that’s why I’m heading into town. Alone. See ya.”

  Ramsay froze midway in fetching her bag and his spear from the floor. Ever so slowly, he retrieved the items, straightened, then turned and studied her. His slate gray eyes narrowed and shifted to an even stormier shade. “Beg pardon?” he said through gritted teeth. He took a slow step toward her.

  Ha! Katie ignored Ramsay and tossed a smile back at Sarinda. “It was a pleasure meeting you and I appreciate your hospitality.”

  “The pleasure was all mine, lass,” Sarinda politely replied. “And dinna fret about moving on so quickly.” Her expression shifted to a smug look—dangerously so. Kind of like she’d just baited a trap and couldn’t wait to see to see it snap shut on Katie. “Yer quite welcome here, child. I assure ye.”

  “Katie.” Ramsay had returned to the top of the stairs, his jaw locked in a stubborn will you stop being difficult look. “Ye’ll no’ leave here tonight, ye ken? ’Tis late, woman. Now follow me. Please.”

  Katie just looked at him and smiled, not so much as twitching a muscle while she leaned against the stair rail.

  “Now,” he repeated in a tone that could almost be described as a growling bark.

  That was definitely the guttural sound she’d heard earlier, and she had to admit she kind of liked it. An endearing growl. Who knew?

  “I’ll lead the way, aye?” He snorted out an impatient huff, gave her a curt nod, then started back down the stairs without a look back.

  Anticipation shivered up Katie’s spine. I have stepped into the Scottish twilight zone and I kind of like that too. Shrugging away the heady feeling, Katie hurried to catch up with Ramsay and his long-legged stride. Luckily, her legs were just as long. In fact, Ramsay had seemed a bit irritated when he’d helped her stand and she’d looked him in the eye while standing flat-footed in front of him, but Katie had been relieved.

  At least the man was the same height as she was, maybe even an inch or so taller and that was a refreshing change. She towered over most men she knew. Tall, gangly, and flat-chested, she was built more like a basketball player for the NBA rather than one of the cutsie curvy little cheerleaders. She’d decided long ago that was the reason she’d always been “one of the guys” instead of “one of the guys’ girls.”