Kilt in Scotland

by Patience Griffin

  “He’s a temperamental mister,” Deydie remarked to no one in particular.

  Drama queen would describe Leo more accurately.

  Rory liked Deydie. He really did. He flipped opened his notebook and jotted down a few more notes.

  No sooner had Deydie gone—with McCartney as her protection—than the door opened again. It was Ewan, well bundled up except for his protruding ears.

  “Parker? Are ye ready to go on our picnic?” Ewan said.

  Rory thought it was crazy to picnic in this weather, but the bloke looked besotted and no doubt the two would find some way to keep warm.

  Parker’s smile was glowing. “I’ll be right there.”

  Rory stepped over to Ewan. “Do ye have a moment?”

  “Sure.”

  “Would you confirm where ye were last night?”

  Those ears of his turned the color of beets. “Parker and I slept out by the loch. There’s a small hunter’s cottage about five miles away that I know about.”

  Which was basically what Parker had said.

  Parker looked up and beamed at the man. But then her expression fell. “Ewan, I better stay here. I have to get these videos up on YouTube for Three Seals.”

  “Go on,” Diana said. “I can finish it from here.”

  Parker looked hopeful. “Are you sure?”

  “Oh yeah. They’re almost ready to post anyway.”

  The two lovebirds turned to one another and practically cooed as they exited the building. For a moment, Rory was a bit envious of the two.

  He walked over to Diana.

  He knew she was busy, but he had to say something so she’d ask him to sit down beside her. “Not hungry then?”

  She gave him a wary look, and he understood why. They’d had a connection—he’d kissed her, for heaven’s sake—then he had cooled things down between them. He was regretting it now. He missed her smile.

  He was such a confused idiot. He’d always been a man in control of his faculties, but apparently not around Diana McKellen. He wasn’t sure of himself anymore. He knew she was a distraction that he couldn’t afford to have and he wasn’t certain what he might do next.

  Like kiss her again.

  11

  That night, Diana filled the electric kettle in the kitchen of Duncan's Den and flipped the switch to heat the water, while Parker stood by the back door, presumably texting Ewan. The chill from the evening had settled into Diana, or maybe it was the death of Jacques and then the long day that followed.

  Back when she was watching Rory interview everyone at Quilting Central, Diana had expected the retreat guests to pack up and go home. Instead the quilters perked up when they settled themselves in front of their machines and began sewing. Maybe Bethia was right when she’d said, “Quilting helps ye forget yere troubles.”

  Diana’s troubles, though, had increased exponentially since coming to Scotland. It was no easy task to restore Marta’s scarred image, strategize a resurrection of the Buttermilk Guild, deal with the murders. . .and then there was the Rory problem. Though Diana tried, she couldn’t help but be aware of his every movement. Fantasize about another kiss. Definitely longer than the one before.

  The water boiled and the kettle shut off. Just a few more days, Diana told herself as she made instant cocoa for herself and Parker. The Rook quilts would be finished and she’d post the final few teasers about the big reveal, and then the real-life town that inspired the Quilt to Death series would be unveiled. After which Cait would have to be ready for the rush of quilters who would want to attend their Kilts & Quilts Retreats.

  But right now, Diana needed to rest her mind and calm her nerves.

  “Here.” She handed a mug to Parker.

  Diana pulled a quilt over her shoulders, grabbed her own mug, and followed Parker out to the back porch. They’d decided to give the retreat goers some time to themselves. After being on PR duty all day, it felt good for Diana to let her guard down. She was glad the wind was no longer blowing, but it was still cold outside.

  Parker blew on her hot cocoa. “Ewan said he’ll be in Whussendale tomorrow.” She sounded relieved.

  “I told you not to worry,” Diana said.

  A noise at Thistle Glen Lodge next door drew her attention, and she saw Rory stepping out onto his own back porch, holding a mug as well.

  So much for letting my guard down.

  Diana raised her mug to Rory as if in a toast. He nodded in return. ‘Tis the season, Diana thought, though Christmas wouldn’t be for another five weeks. For a brief moment, she wondered what it would be like to celebrate Christmas in Scotland.

  Cait knocked on the door frame and then walked out on the porch to join her and Parker. “Hey. I thought I’d stop by.” She looked Diana over as she huddled under the quilt. “And maybe not a moment too soon. It’s been brought to my attention that you’re not dressing warm enough. By the way you’re holding that quilt, I suspect he’s right.” She gave a cursory wave to Rory on the other porch. She held out a sack to Diana. “I think we’re about the same size. Heavy shirts, insulated yoga pants, warm socks, gloves, and a hat.”

  “Thank you,” Diana said. “The life of a popsicle is getting a little old. I’ve heard Scotland can even be cool in the summer, too.”

  Cait sighed. “Aye. But Gandiegow is beautiful in the summer. The gardens are lovely. The view from here and from Thistle Glen Lodge makes for some relaxing summer evenings.”

  Diana felt far from relaxed, which was all the fault of the handsome Detective Chief Inspector on the other porch, looking as calm as can be.

  Diana snapped out of it and focused on Cait. “Would you like a cup of cocoa?”

  “Thanks, but no. I have to get home to feed Hamish.” She smiled at Diana and Parker. “Sleep well.”

  “Wait a second,” Diana said. “You aren’t out alone, are you?”

  “Nay. Hamilton and Gregor walked me here. They’re inside saying hello to the quilters. They’ll get me home safely.”

  Diana stuck the hat on her head.

  As soon as Cait disappeared back inside, Parker’s phone rang.

  Parker glanced at her screen. “It’s Ewan. I’m going to take this in our room.”

  Suddenly Diana was alone. But she wasn’t really. Rory was standing on the other porch, glancing at her every so often, as if keeping an eye out for impending danger.

  Sure, she’d been around brooding, good-looking men before but this was different. It was probably just Rory’s accent that exerted such a pull. Like right now. Even though he wasn’t talking, just taking a drink from his cup.

  Or maybe it was the magic of Scotland that made her attraction to him more powerful. After all, she could easily picture him in a kilt.

  But whatever caused her to feel this way, she wanted it to stop.

  At that thought, Diana should’ve gone inside to escape. From the cold. From the danger of wanting Rory to come over and put his arms around her…to keep her warm, of course, and for no other reason.

  She waited too long to make a move, because Rory stepped off his porch and began walking toward her, maintaining eye contact, which seemed impossible in the moonlight, but he did.

  The butterflies in Diana’s stomach woke and fell over themselves, as if they wanted to get to Rory first. She desperately wished for someone to talk to about Rory. A sounding board. But her sounding board had died when she was seventeen. If her dad was alive now, he would give her sage advice, tell her how to handle the situation now, because she was way in over her head. Dad had been the one to listen to her from her first crush, to her first date, when Dad had told her not to listen to any of the bull that teenage boys tended to say. The night before Dad had died, they’d sat at the kitchen table and he’d given her advice about the football player who was flirting with her. Dad, I wish I could call you now. But Dad was gone and Rory had arrived.

  “How are ye this evening?” Rory asked as he stepped up on the stone porch.

  Diana looked Rory square
in the eye. “Before today, had you ever lost someone you cared for?”

  “Aye.” He took a sip from his mug.

  He paused so long, she wondered if that was all he was going to say.

  “The first was my parents, and then my gran,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” Diana said sincerely. She knew how he felt.

  “My gran is the reason I became a police officer.”

  “Oh?” Diana said, encouraging him to elaborate.

  “Ye see, me and my brother, Kin, were hellions when we were young, always up to trouble. But on Guy Fawkes Night, when I was seventeen, my gran wanted me to walk her to the market near our house in Glasgow. We didn’t live in the best of neighborhoods. I was to meet my friends and resented the fact that I had to walk her to the store. I planned to leave off once we were at the market, let her walk home alone. I was such a fool. Before we even made it to the market, we were mugged at knife point. The muggers walked away with her benefit money. I received a couple of punches for trying to intervene. Gran was very upset and collapsed in the street. Her heart, it gave out. I decided then and there that my mischief-making days were over. Kin joined the force as well. He works out of Aberdeen.” Rory seemed to get lost in thought then.

  “What about Jacques?” she asked. “Were you two close?”

  “Well, we met two years ago. He’s done security for me a number of times. A good man.” They were both silent for a moment, then he said, “And you? Why are ye so calm in the face of death? Have you lost someone close to ye?”

  She felt ambushed, like he could see right through her. But she couldn’t tell him about her father. It was something she never spoke about. Not to her sister. Not to her mother. No one. She was afraid if she spoke of him, she’d start crying and never stop.

  Rory came closer. “I didn’t mean to upset ye.”

  She couldn’t look at his face, as she felt a tear slide down her cheek.

  “Aww, lass.” He pulled her into his arms and hugged her.

  She shouldn’t have let him. She should’ve pulled away. Instead, she soaked in his goodness, his warmth…just soaked in all of him. And imagined what it might be like if Prince Charming did exist. He’d probably look as gorgeous and feel as strong as this man that she was leaning into now.

  Rory looked down and wiped away her tear. Then he leaned in and kissed her.

  It wasn’t the hurried kiss he’d given her earlier. It was a comforting kiss. She couldn’t help herself, she held on to him tighter. Yes, he’d made her feel better, but also feel more. More than she’d ever felt before in a man’s arms. He picked up the message as if she’d printed it out for him in bold type, because he held her tighter, too, and deepened the kiss.

  She should’ve stopped. She meant to. But she couldn’t, and the quilt slid from her shoulders.

  He caught it in one smooth motion, never breaking the kiss, and wrapped it around both of them, cocooned.

  Kissing Rory was heavenly. She could almost forget that police officers get shot in the line of duty.

  Then it hit Diana. Was she turning into her mother? Falling for a man who would throw himself in front of bullets to save others?

  Diana’s inner thoughts battled her attraction to the man she was kissing. I can’t be falling for Rory. Not a police officer! Diana had promised herself she’d never make that mistake. Falling for a cop only brought long nights of worry, days filled with anxiety, and then the possibility of crushing heartache. Mom had never smiled again the way she had when Dad was around.

  Diana jerked away from Rory. The quilt fell to her feet.

  Suddenly, she was cold.

  * * *

  What the hell? Rory watched a battle play out on Diana’s face as she moved away from him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” Not meeting his eyes, she knelt, grabbed the quilt, and then clutched it to her chest as if she was naked.

  It was all going so well. “What happened? Tell me.” Had he shared too much about himself? Had he come on too strong? He had no freaking idea what was up with her. Maybe he’d been wrong that she was a different kind of woman, one who didn’t play mind games.

  Yet…

  “It’s late,” she said. But her explanation felt lame. “We have a big day planned for tomorrow.” She headed for the door.

  He held out his arm, blocking her way. “Ye can’t go. Not until ye tell me what’s going on.” All she needed to do was to go underneath his arm. He wasn’t touching her; he would never hold her against her will. He just wanted to know why. Why was she throwing up roadblocks?

  He hadn’t even told her of the other losses. How two years ago, he’d lost his partner in a grocery store robbery. And not a week later, a friend had died in a train bombing in France. So much loss that Rory hated to remember. For a second, while kissing this American lass, the pain had slid away, and he could breathe easier.

  She hung her head and shook it. “I’m tired.”

  “Fine,” he bit off. Be that way. He dropped his arm.

  He didn’t have time for female nonsense. He had a killer to catch. He should have no problem letting this bird go. No problem at all. Except…

  He did.

  Something was up with Diana. His gut knew she wasn’t a flighty female. He was an investigator, wasn’t he? He was going to get to the bottom of this and he knew just the person to ask, too.

  Suddenly, the fire alarm next door rang out with an ear-piercing meep, meep. Two seconds later, the alarm went village-wide, sounding from the bullhorns atop the electrical poles.

  He squeezed Diana’s shoulders. “Stay here.” He tore off for Thistle Glen Lodge to see what had happened.

  * * *

  Hamilton Duffy smelled smoke. He rose from the kitchen table at Thistle Glen Lodge and sniffed again. Like all fishermen, he was acutely attuned to smoke; fire was one of the worst things that could happen on a boat.

  The next second, the alarm went off, and Tilly jumped to her feet, too, both of them forgetting the late-night snack she’d fixed for them.

  “What is it?” Tilly yelled above the blaring alarm. She looked frightened.

  “I don’t know,” Ham said. “But I’m going to find out. You go outside!” He didn’t wait to see if she did, but raced toward the living room. Surely, the fireplace was the culprit. But on the way, he saw smoke snaking down the stairs like an ominous cloud. He ran up two steps at a time.

  What was upstairs that could cause a fire?

  At the top, he saw tendrils of black smoke seeping from the crack under Marta’s door. “Marta, are ye in there?” He grabbed the fire extinguisher from the wall and pulled the pin. He kept his ears sharp for her answer, but he heard nothing from the other side of the door. But who could tell with the alarm blaring?

  He turned the doorknob, but the door was locked. “Stand back! I’m coming in.” He rammed his shoulder into the hardwood and the door gave way, the trim shattering.

  “Ham?” Rory called from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Up here.” Ham hurried into Marta’s room, where the bed was on fire. Fortunately, Marta wasn’t in it and he pulled the fire extinguisher’s trigger; first on the flames that were licking the curtains, then on the counterpane lying over the bed. The acrid smoke stung the inside of his nose and burned his eyes.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rory run into the room with a wet towel in his arms.

  “Marta?” Rory called out.

  “I’m here,” she coughed. She was standing with her back plastered against the wall, looking too shocked to move.

  “Here, lass.” Rory pulled her toward him and wrapped the towel around her head and shoulders. “Let’s get ye out of here.”

  The fire wasn’t completely under control yet, so Ham continued to spray the bedside rug. Then Gregor burst into the room with a fire hose and doused everything…including Ham.

  “Hey!” Ham yelled, but it only made him cough more.

  “Sorry,” Gregor said.

/>   Ross and Ramsay were behind Ham, manning the back of the hose. Minutes later, the fire was drowned out.

  The five of them were coughing now.

  Ham set the extinguisher at his feet. “Are Marta and Tilly okay?”

  Rory tilted his head toward the front of the house. “Tilly’s fine. She’s outside with the rest of the village. Doc MacGregor is with Marta. He says she’s going to be okay.” Rory scanned the room. “Now tell me. Was the fire in one location when you busted in?”

  The door frame is a shambles, but the Dixons are okay. Thank the Almighty. “The bed,” Ham said. “It was on fire when I came in.”

  Rory grabbed a sooty dress that was hanging on the closet door and used it as an oven mitt to pull the iron bed frame to the center of the room. Underneath was a melted pile of ash and plastic.

  “What is it?” Ham asked.

  The others moved closer to see what Ham saw.

  Rory dropped Marta’s dress, frowning. “I’m not a fire expert, but if I had to guess, I’d say that melted plastic was an incendiary device.”

  * * *

  Rory motioned to the door. All of them were wheezing and holding their shirts over their noses, using them as bandanas. “Let’s get out of here.” Hamilton, Gregor, Ross, and Ramsay headed out the door, and Rory followed them downstairs and outside.

  The town descended upon them, inundating Rory with questions. “How did it start?” “Are ye okay?” “What are ye going to do about this?” But Rory had a few questions of his own. It would take time to get to the bottom of this latest crime.

  He held up his hand to get the villagers’ attention. “As soon as I know anything, I’ll let ye know.” But only if it was in the best interest of the investigation.

  Doc seemed to be finishing up with Marta because he motioned Ross over with his stethoscope at the ready.

  Rory pulled out his notepad and went to Marta. “Do you know how the fire started?”

  Tilly joined them, standing protectively beside Marta.

  “No. I don’t have a clue,” Marta said. “One minute I was drifting off to sleep, and the next minute, my room was filled with smoke.”