Kilty Pack One

by Amy Vansant

  His smile grew and he ran his hand through his shaggy locks. “Ah wis thinking ye dinnae need worry ah’d keek at ye again.”

  “Peek. Not keek. But no, I would hope not. You said you wouldn’t.”

  His grin grew broader. “Aye. Dinnae need tae. Ah've already seen ye.”

  Chapter Eleven

  He watched the women encircle his bed, staring down at him with such love he could feel their gazes warm his flesh.

  “Och he’s aff tae be a handsome lad.”

  “Like his father.”

  The women tittered with nervous laughter.

  Broch sat up, panting.

  The women.

  He remembered.

  My mothers.

  He looked around the room, but found no way to reconcile the memory of his mothers with the place he’d awoken.

  Standing, he stretched and felt the bandage on his hip pull against his tender flesh. He touched it and remembered Catriona.

  A very different sort of woman.

  She didn’t wear a dress, much like his mother Blair. He could picture Blair teaching him to wield a sword. She, still taller than him when he was a teen and braver than most men he knew.

  Blair preferred the company of women. Perhaps Catriona did as well? He hadn’t considered the possibility.

  On the other hand, Catriona had things in common with his other mothers as well. She practiced healing arts like his mother Rose. Rose, the side of her face and body riddle with twisting scars from where they’d tried to burn her for witchcraft. Rose told him how the skies had opened and rained salvation upon her, extinguishing the flames. Mother Blair found her and carried her body away to heal, staving off those who yearned to relight the fire once the storm had passed.

  Watching over them all was Mother Margaret, once a nun, now the keeper of an inn for abandoned and abused women. The villagers called them the broken women.

  My mothers. Margaret told him they’d found him as a baby, left on their doorstep. Yes, he remembered bits and pieces of his childhood now, but little else.

  It was infuriating.

  Broch padded barefoot down the hallway of Sean’s home, passing a closed but unsealed door. He peered inside and spotted Catriona asleep in the clothes she’d been wearing. Her hand was curled and tucked against her lips like a sleeping child.

  No keekin’. She’d warned him.

  He continued down the hall, certain she hadn’t seen him. He hoped not. The mouth on that girl could frighten a banshee, but there was a softness to her, too. She hid it well, but he sensed it.

  Sliding open the large doors, he walked outside where a pool of bright blue water glowed as if by magic. He spotted the source of the light embedded in the wall at one end. Opposite the light, stairs led into the depths. He touched the water with his toe and found it warm. Much warmer than the waters of Glenorchy.

  Broch moved to the stairs and entered one step at a time, wary the glowing water might be enchanted. In to the bottom of his kilt and suffering no ill effect, he stepped out, disrobed and returned to bathe.

  “We have a shower,” said a voice.

  Hip deep and moments from diving headfirst, Broch stopped and searched for the source of the voice. The old man, Sean, sat at the same table at which he’d met him earlier.

  “Ah dinnae see ye.”

  Sean stood and walked from the shadows.

  “What’s the last thing you remember, Broch?”

  “Entering this glowing loch.”

  “No, I mean before you rescued Catriona from those men.”

  Broch tried hard to find a memory other than peering down on Catriona in her bed. He didn’t think Sean would appreciate that story.

  “Ah was at her home. There was a great metal chest with food inside.”

  “The refrigerator?”

  He shrugged.

  “You don’t remember anything before that? Anything about where you were raised? You said you knew you were from Glenorchy.”

  “Aye. Ah mind that. And just noo ah remembered mah mothers.”

  Sean’s expression lit. “Isobel?”

  Broch scowled. “No. Blair, Rose and Margaret. The villagers called them the broken women. They took me in as a laddie. Who’s Isobel?”

  Sean ignored his question. “And your name, Brochan. Did they name you?”

  “They…” Broch looked away, recalling a conversation. He opened his hand before him and studied his palm. “They named me after mah hand. Rose tellt me mah timeline was broken.”

  “Could one of the women have been your birth mother?”

  “Na. Of that ah’m sure.”

  “So they took you in, like I did Catriona?”

  “Yer nae her father?”

  “No. I found her—in a bad way—during one of my jobs. She’d been orphaned so I brought her home. I taught her my business because it’s the only thing I had to share.”

  “Whit’s yer business?”

  Sean sighed. “At my best I protect people. Fix wrongs. Do what I can to help people find their path.”

  “And at yer worst?”

  “I bend the rules to offer people a second chance.”

  “That doesn’t sound so ill.”

  “There are worst ways to spend a life or two.” Sean crossed his arms against his chest. “Would you like a job, Broch?”

  “Workin’ for ye?”

  “Yes. Me and Catriona. Could you work for a woman?”

  Broch chuckled. “If whit ah’m remembering is right, I’ve always worked for women. Whit do ye want me tae do?”

  “I’d like you to do what Catriona asks you to do, but most of all, protect her.”

  “From who?”

  “Everyone and everything. But most of all that red-bearded bastard you saw earlier.”

  Broch nodded. “Ah kin dae that.”

  Sean smiled and leaned down to shake Broch’s hand. “Can you read?”

  “Aye. Mother Margaret taught me. Kin speak and read a wee bit of French and Spanish as well—though at the moment I dinnae ken how come. The French might have been Rose.”

  “Great. When you’re done swimming I’ll find you some clothes so you don’t stick out quite as much. Though with the size of you, it might not matter.”

  Sean grabbed a towel and dropped it beside the pool before returning to his chair. Broch bathed and stepped out. As he reached to grab the towel, he caught a flash of movement in the window, but saw nothing when he looked directly.

  He wrapped the towel around himself, a question weighing heavily on his mind.

  “Sean, can ah ask you something?”

  “Of course.”

  “The memories ah’m having of the women wha raised me. The more details ah mind, the more it seems to me that ah'm farther from home than ah think. Mah question is: whit year is it?”

  Sean grimaced and chewed the inside of his cheek for a moment. “Let me ask you this. What year do you think it should be?”

  “Seventeen forty-nine.”

  “You’re wrong by nearly three hundred years.”

  Broch nodded. “Ah wis feart o' that.”

  Sean nodded toward the chair opposite his own. “Sit a moment. I think we need to talk.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Catriona watched Sean and Broch chat beside the pool

  What could they be discussing at five-thirty in the morning?

  Sean had disappeared and Broch swam from the shallow end to the deep and back again with deliberate, powerful strokes. Sean returned with a towel. Soon after, Broch climbed the stairs, the dimple on the side of his naked posterior flexing with each step.

  She looked away. How many times could she see the stranger naked in a week? Too many times and it ceased to feel like an accident.

  Keeping her eyes averted for what she thought was an appropriate amount of time, she returned her attention to the pool. The light from the water danced across the topography of Broch’s back as he wrapped the towel around his trim waist.

 
He has to be a jerk. No one who looked like that was ever nice. The vanity it took to keep a body in that kind of shape precluded the possibility of him having any depth. She knew. Working for the studio she’d been propositioned by more actors, body doubles and stunt men than she cared to remember. She’d grown up with terrible men. As a child she’d run away from terrible men. Now she spent all her time fixing the problems of terrible men.

  But that didn’t mean she had to date terrible men.

  Fool me once, shame on you…

  Refusing to date men who were vain, dim or vapid, wannabe actors or musicians—in Los Angeles—left few options available. Her last date had been with an accountant from payroll. He’d been nice enough, but to say their relationship lacked fire would be an understatement. Her job didn’t bring her in contact with very many normal guys—

  Catriona gasped and dropped to the floor.

  She’d been so busy recalling her dating woes that she hadn’t noticed Broch’s head swiveling in her direction.

  Crap. Now he’s going to think I was staring at him.

  No doubt he was used to being ogled, and probably thought she was yet another woman rendered weak in the knees by his perfect abs.

  Ugh. The thought made her furious. She vowed to never look at him again. Why was he even still here? Granted, she owed him a little gratitude for saving her life, but enough was enough.

  She crawled beneath the window and placed herself at the kitchen table, where she could pretend she’d been for some time. She heard someone enter through the living room and grabbed a magazine. A few minutes later Sean appeared.

  “Coffee?” he asked.

  “Sure.” She stared at his back as he made coffee, waiting for him to reveal his clandestine tête-à-tête with the Strapping Scotsman. He turned on the coffee machine, pulled out a chair and sat at the table, only to tuck his nose into a magazine of his own.

  Silence.

  She dropped her own reading material. “Fine. I’ll bite. What were you two just talking about?”

  “Who?”

  “You and the lizards. Who do you think I mean?”

  “The boy?” Sean shrugged, his nose never leaving the magazine. “Nothing.”

  Catriona smoldered. “Dammit, Sean. Who is this guy? Do you know him?”

  He looked at her, expressionless. “You’re the one who brought him here.”

  “I know. I didn’t know what else to do with him and I had to tell you about my day with Redbeard. But now you’re out there like you’re his pool boy, handing him towels—do you know him? Is he an actor?”

  “I don’t think so. He could be though, huh? Handsome lad—”

  “Yeah, yeah. Did he tell you anything?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like why I found him passed out on the lot? Like why it looks like he’s been stabbed? Like how he learned to fight like he did?”

  “You were impressed?”

  “He hit a guy so hard he snapped out straight like a piece of lumber and clattered to the ground. Until then, I’d only seen that in cartoons.”

  “Sounds like a handy guy to have around.”

  Catriona’s jaw fell. “Oh no. You’re not thinking of hiring him are you?”

  “What if I was?”

  “We don’t even know who he is. Are we just going to overlook the fact that his only possession is a plaid blanket that he wears?”

  “It’s a Breacan an Fhéilidh.”

  “A what? You sound like you’re coughing up a hairball.”

  “A Breacan an Fhéilidh. A belted plaid.”

  “Whatever. It’s weird. Does he even have a home? Or are you just going to address his paychecks to Scotland?”

  Sean chuckled. “Look. I’ve talked to him—”

  “I know. In a language I can’t understand. You can cut that out, too.”

  “Sorry. Yesterday I asked him where he was from in Scotland and if his intentions were good.”

  “Oh let me guess. He said his attentions were all roses and candy. Great. Now we’re in the clear.”

  “He’s new to town and he needs a break. Set him up in that spare apartment above payroll.”

  Catriona slapped the table. “He’s going to live on the lot? Next door to me?”

  “Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  “Big Luther is going to lose his mind.”

  “He won’t be working with Big Luther. He’ll be working with you. You’re going to teach him your end of the business.”

  “I’m going to teach him—” Catriona put her face in her hands and took a deep breath. “Fine. Let’s forget about Kilty for a second. What about Thorn Redbeard and his pet unicorn?”

  “I’m going to look into them today. You worry about Broch.”

  “Thorn kidnapped me. I think I have the right to be involved.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “You know him don’t you.”

  “Broch? No. I told you—”

  “Not Broch. Thorn.”

  He glanced at her. “No.”

  “And did you kill a man with a sword when you found me? Cut his arm clean off at the shoulder?”

  Sean paled. “What?”

  “I had this memory of a man—”

  He cut her short and raised his paper. “You’re crazy.”

  “But—”

  Broch entered the room wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

  “Good mornin’,” he said arching his back and twisting his hip. He grimaced and Catriona could see the jeans were a touch too small for him. The jeans had it easy. She could almost hear the t-shirt screaming for mercy as it strained across his pecs.

  “Sean, he looks like he’s wearing a denim condom.”

  “They’ll work until you can get him his own.”

  “Until I can? You hire a guy with no apartment, no vehicle and no clothes and now I’m his personal shopper? Is he even legal? Does his kilt have a secret pocket where he keeps his work visa? Does he have a last name?”

  Broch grimaced and looked away and she glared at Sean. “He doesn’t have a last name, does he?”

  Sean shrugged. “It’s his memory—”

  “Even people in witness protection and criminals on the lam invent last names. How can a man not have a last name?” Catriona’s phone buzzed and she fished it from her pocket to look at the text.

  “Oh for the love of—it’s Jaxon’s assistant. He’s got an emergency. Naturally.”

  “Take the boy,” said Sean.

  Catriona stood. “You mean Kilty MacNameless? Sure. Why not? Get up, stranger, you’re coming with me. If you can walk in those pants.”

  “Ah kin walk. Though, we wilnae be riding, will we?”

  Catriona snatched her keys from the table. “No. We won’t be riding. My horse is in the shop.”

  She offered Sean one last glare and his expression danced with amusement as she led Broch from the house.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Take it easy, Jaxon.”

  Broken glass lay at Catriona’s feet. Above her, teen star Jaxon Pike stood on a balcony devoid of any safety barrier. He’d kicked away the glass and framework and stood on the edge, two stories above a cement pool surround, his fingers coiled around the twig-like bicep of a sobbing young woman. Jaxon roared a rambling sentence from which it was possible to infer that the girl’s cheating had both broken his heart and caused a hole in the ozone layer and then jerked her closer to the edge.

  Jaxon’s manager, Chad, who stood a safe distance from the drop zone, mumbled, “That’s not half bad.”

  Catriona glanced at him. “What’s not bad about the fact your client is threatening to kill a girl?”

  “Oh that’s bad. I meant that line about her putting a hole in the ozone of his heart. That could be a hit.”

  Catriona rubbed her eyes. “That’s what I love about you. You’re a real silver-lining kind of guy.”

  Broch stood behind her and stared up at the struggling couple, one flattened palm shielding his
eyes from the sun. “Ye should dae something aboot that.”

  “Great idea, Kilty. Thanks for the input.”

  Chad stepped closer and spoke in Catriona’s ear. “What’s with the hunk? Is he one of those Thunder from Down Under strippers?”

  “That’s a Scottish accent, idiot. Not Australian.”

  Chad nodded, seemingly considering this new information. “He need a manager? Can he sing?”

  She glared at him and he stepped back into the safety zone.

  I need to think.

  Jaxon Pike had starred in the studio’s latest high octane thriller for youth, Teen Cop. He was a double threat; actor/singer as well as drinker/drug abuser. He’d been trouble during the filming of the first movie, but—to Catriona’s chagrin—the picture did well despite his dubious acting skills. They’d kept him on to do the sequel.

  “Is he aff tae hurt her?” asked Broch.

  “Depends what he’s on.” She glanced Chad. “What’s he on?”

  His gaze darted in her direction. “Jax? He’s clean, Cat. He’s been clean—”

  She held up a palm. “Save it. Let me know now and maybe you won’t spend the next fifty years earning twenty percent of his prison allowance.”

  “Meth. Maybe X. Mostly meth. Probably.”

  She sighed and looked at Broch. “Yes. He’s aff tae hurt her.”

  Catriona noted the witnesses: a boy Jaxon’s age and two teary-eyed young women clinging to each other as they screamed supportive phrases like hold on Brynlee! at regular intervals.

  Catriona watched Broch wander away from the drama toward the side yard, his eyes downcast.

  I guess the big guy doesn’t have the stomach for this sort of thing.

  Jax was hugging the girl now, rocking back and forth, mumbling. The girl looked like a spooked horse, eyes wild and ringed with white. Both Catriona and Brynlee knew the next outburst would probably be the one that sent her over the edge.

  “Quick question, Chad. What was the last thing I said to you a few months ago when we were in a similar situation?”

  “You said to keep him away from drugs. But—”

  “And what is he on, Chad?”

  “Drugs. I’m so sorry. Please. You have to help him. You always know what to do. He’s just had a really bad week. He was supposed to get the Rolling Stone cover and they bumped him.”