His throat tightened and he couldn’t speak. Childhood memories rushed him and fought for his attention. It hadn’t been all bad. Yes, his parents had had a volatile relationship that frightened him, but he remembered walking between them, holding their hands, for fresh scones on a Sunday.
“Is something wrong?” Her voice had pinched with worry. Worry and love went hand in hand.
“I’m fine. I’m still in Highland with Gareth. And the Buchanans,” he added as a picture of Isabel, teasing him in the river last night popped into his head.
“What’s the status of their relationship? Is it beginning to cool?”
“No. But he understands he can’t leave Cairndow forever.” An ache in his chest had him briefly closing his eyes. “I fear both of them will be hurt in the long run.”
“She knows his situation.”
But, Rose didn’t know. He certainly wasn’t going to betray Gareth to his mum.
“What is the daughter like?” his mum asked.
“She’s…” He wondered if his mum could hear the smile he couldn’t contain. “… special. Funny and smart.”
“Pretty?” his mum asked with a sharpness that punctured his bubble of happiness.
How could he confess his confusion and guilt and want when it came to Isabel? If his mum didn’t approve of Rose for Gareth, she certainly wouldn’t appreciate his undeniable interest in Isabel.
“She’s not bad to look at, I suppose. No hairy moles or crazy eyes.” He bit his tongue to shut himself up and cleared his throat. “Anyway, how are you doing?”
She paused, then said suspiciously, “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
With no small amount of shame, he realized how rare it was for him to ask. He was used to her high-handed coddling, and to never returning the favor. “Just wondering if you’re, I don’t know, dating anyone?”
“What’s brought on this interrogation about my love life?”
“It’s been a long time since Da died, and I thought maybe you were dating. I mean, you’re still quite attractive.”
Christ Almighty, could the conversation get any more awkward? He was ready to claim a case of virulent diarrhea to end the call when she said with unusual tentativeness, “Well, actually, there is someone.”
“Bloody hell!”
“Why did you ask if you don’t want to know?”
“No, I do. I’m glad for you. That’s great. When can I meet him?” He cringed, thankful she couldn’t see him.
“We can have dinner when you’re back in London, if you really want to.”
“Of course I do.” No, this was good. His mum deserved another shot at happiness with a man. “How long have you been seeing him?”
“A little over a year.”
“A year! When would you have mentioned him if I hadn’t asked?” He was beginning to wonder what other secrets his mum was holding.
“I don’t know.” His mum paused. “I never plan on remarrying, and you’re grown. Introducing you hasn’t been a priority.”
Alasdair scratched at the stubble along his jaw, his head whirling with the implications. “You could remarry. There’s nothing stopping you.”
When his mum didn’t answer right away, he knew why. His da. Even with all the time gone by, his mum couldn’t break the bonds. Alasdair didn’t know whether love or hate was stronger.
Softer now, Alasdair said, “You deserve to be happy, Mum.”
“I am perfectly happy, darling. I’ll always have you, after all.” His mum’s voice was thick with emotion and she heaved a sigh. He could picture her patting her cheeks and stiffening her upper lip, and sure enough, when she spoke again, her voice was chipper. “When will I see you?”
“Soon. Probably.” London was calling—literally as his mobile vibrated in his hand—but he couldn’t summon any urgency to leave Highland. Had the place—or Isabel—cast a spell on him?
His mum made a worried little sound in her throat. “Ring me as soon as you land and I’ll pop over with takeout so we can catch up.”
“That sounds great actually.” He bit his lip then added, “I miss you, Mum.”
The silence was loud. “Call me again, Alasdair. Anytime.”
They disconnected. Was he giving his mum short shrift when it came to her ability to handle the truth about Lewis with equanimity? For the first time, he second-guessed his decision to keep his half-brother a secret.
His mobile vibrated again in his hand. Richard calling for an update. Alasdair darkly considered whether “eff you” would be suitable.
“Richard. How are you?” Alasdair kept his voice level.
“What news do you have for me?” Papers shuffled, indicating Alasdair was on speaker.
“Stonehaven is not for sale. Move on to another property.”
“No.” Richard’s brusque tone imbued the word with the feel of an expletive. “Make it happen, Blackmoor, or I’ll find someone else who can.”
“Who? George? He can’t find his arse with both hands tied behind his back.” Under Alasdair’s bravado was desperation for Richard to shift his focus off Stonehaven as a project.
“I don’t know, the little faffer has dug up some interesting information.”
“What?”
“I’m inclined to let George take a crack at this nut, seeing as you don’t seem motivated to close the deal. Ta-ta.” Richard’s jovialness was more worrying than a dressing-down would have been.
Alasdair muttered a string of curses. George was an annoying arse-kisser, but not incompetent. How could he protect Stonehaven and Isabel when had no idea what attack Wellington might mount? George, wisely, had never sent Alasdair the file, so he didn’t know what sort of leverage might be applied.
What the situation made abundantly clear was that his loyalties had shifted dramatically. He’d spent the last eight years of his life furthering Wellington and, in extension, Richard’s interests around the world. Now, after mere days in Highland with the Buchanans, he was plotting to undermine Richard.
His time at Wellington was coming to a close. Whether he quit or was fired, the outcome would be the same, a bitter parting. He wasn’t worried about money. With his experience, he could have another job at a firm like Wellington in a half hour. Was that what he wanted though? His orderly world had gone mad, and he was tired of the machinations.
He collapsed to the ground, closed his eyes, and enjoyed the pinpricks of light on his lids like a kaleidoscope. A simple pleasure he remembered from his childhood. The elemental scents of nature acted as a grounding force. Rustling had him blinking his eyes open. A halo of chestnut waves wreathed in light bent over him like an angel of mercy.
“Are you here to put me out of my misery?” He fought the urge to pull her down to him.
“I was watching from the window.” Her voice matched her expression, a crinkle between her eyes. “Are you okay?”
He was feeling remarkably better with her there, but he couldn’t tell her that. “My mum has a boyfriend.”
“Join the club,” she said with a quirking smile. “Don’t worry. Once you get over the shock, it’s not that bad. At least, you don’t have to watch them kissing and cuddling.”
“Point taken. Although, she’s invited me to meet him when I get back to London.”
She sat crisscross next to him and angled to face him. “One thing I’ve learned is that our parents aren’t just our parents; they’re human beings with strengths and weaknesses and, heaven help us, sex lives.”
He stuck his fingers in his ears. “Why did you have to put that thought in my head?”
“That was cruel.” She looked off to the side, the sun firing lighter strands in her hair and casting shadows along her profile. “I need to apologize.”
Unable to stop the compulsion, he reached out to rub a lock of soft hair between his fingers. “For what?”
“For running off with your clothes last night. You had every right to be mad.” She tilted closer, but not close enough. He would only be satisfied with her body touchi
ng his.
“I wasn’t mad; I was frustrated.”
“With me,” she said in a small voice.
He surrendered and wrapped her hair around his palm, tugging her down to him. She didn’t resist, but lay her head on his shoulder. “With you, with me, with the situation. I wanted to kiss you.”
“You did?”
How could she even ask him the question? “Who wouldn’t want to kiss a fairie by moonlight?”
She tucked her head into his neck, her hair tickling his chin. “I was a little drunk last night.”
Usually, such a statement was a precursor to make excuses. Tension roiled through him. “And?”
“I’m going to take your advice and write something literally magical.” She propped her hand and chin on his chest. In her face, he could see the conflicting emotions. “It might be a total waste of time, but I’m excited about it, which I can’t say about my great Southern epic.”
“You seemed stuck. I have a good feeling about your new direction.”
“Yeah, me too.” She touched his stubbled jaw. “You seem stuck too.”
He startled to hear his inertia verbalized by her. “Stuck in Highland?”
“No, silly. Stuck in your job.”
Understatement at its finest. At the moment, he felt like he was in a hostage situation with Richard. “Even though I’d be giving up scads of money and throwing the middle finger at a promotion, I’m considering leaving Wellington. I’ll probably have to start in a lower position at a different company and spend the next who knows how many years scrabbling my way back.”
“Or you could do something completely different.” Her simple statement realigned his confusion.
“What could I do?” He was asking himself as much as her.
“That’s up to you.” She shrugged and gave him a curious smile. “Where were you the happiest and what were you doing?”
He stared at her unblinking until she commanded, “Close your eyes and let your mind wander.”
He did as she bade. The sun and the stroke of her hand across his forehead lulled him into a state between alert and dazed. “I loved my time at Cambridge.”
“You could teach.”
The suggestion didn’t resonate. “No. I loved Cambridge because of the history steeped into the buildings and grounds.”
“Yet you majored in business.”
“I’m practical.” He squinted up at the sky. “You of all people can’t fault me there.”
“Touché,” she said with a smile in her voice. “When was another time you were happy?”
“At Cairndow.”
“It all comes back to Cairndow. It’s too bad your only connection is with the groundskeeper. I’d guess taking a job under Gareth would be too much of a pay cut.”
He expelled a long breath. Isabel was correct. Cairndow was at his center. He was bound to the estate through duty, yes, but his love of Cairndow was at the center of who and what he was. He’d tried to bury the truth after his da had died, but Alasdair was a Blackmoor and Blackmoors belonged to Cairndow. It was an ancient bond Alasdair couldn’t sever.
Isabel took his introspection in stride and continued. “I’ll bet your financial wizardry could be put to good use.”
“How so?”
“I watch PBS. I know how those old estates need money and work. You could consult with whoever owns them and help them stay afloat.” Enthusiasm quivered her voice. “How much fun would it be to travel all over Great Britain to set all the historic houses to right?”
“I’m not sure such a job even exists.” The practical side of him turned the idea over in his head and found holes.
“Even better. You can be the first and make it whatever you want. What do you think?”
He wasn’t sure if other great houses in Great Britain needed him, but Gareth and Cairndow could use his help and expertise. Isabel’s energy infected him and filled him with an optimism he hadn’t realized he’d been missing until it reappeared.
“You might be on to something.” He rolled them so she was the one on her back and he loomed over her, his shadow shielding her face from the sun. With her hair spread around her like a halo, she looked an angel, but he knew better. She was a tart-tongued, sexy dervish who had cast a spell over him. “Now, how much time do you have?”
“I made inroads on my to-do list this morning, so a break is justified. Why?”
“I’d very much like to play the marauding Highlander and kiss you.”
A throaty sound that might have been surprise or acquiescence emerged. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkled. The future was a long way off. He wanted to live in the present with Isabel.
Tangling her fingers in his hair, she said, “Is it still considered marauding if I’m willing and eager?”
His lips had almost made contact with hers when he whispered, “Promise you won’t run off with my clothes?”
“I’d have to rip them off to do that.” Her lashes threw spikey shadows on her cheeks, and her smile revealed the single dimple in her cheek.
“Let me rethink this. That plan does have merit.”
She pressed her smiling lips against his, and he skimmed his hand out of her hair and down her side, delighting in the soft hint of her breast, stopping at the slope of her hip. He moved over her, notching his leg between hers, cursing the presence of his pants for many reasons, but mostly because he wasn’t able to feel the skin of her calves and thighs against him. His chest pressed into her full breasts as her lips sweetly explored his.
The smell of wildflowers would forever be linked to Isabel. Halfway around the world at ninety years old, he could imagine taking a breath of blooming heather along the moors of Cairndow and rocketing back to this exact time and place with Isabel in his arms.
They were hemmed in by a wall of pink and orange and white flowers, her hair tangled in the stems as if she was indeed fae and sprung from nature. He braced himself on his elbows, his nose close to hers, their breath mingling. While the moment had all the romantic hallmarks of a movie, a more primal urge rose between them.
He kissed her again, wanting to be gentle, but her hands pulled at his back, her nails biting through his shirt to skin, her impatience driving his own higher. He tilted his head to slip his tongue to spar with hers in much the same way they sparred with their words, give and take and with more than a little tease.
He shifted enough to glide his fingertips under the edge of her shirt and spread his palm flat along the smooth skin of her side. Her sharp intake of breath registered against the pads of his fingers.
His thoughts and worries had been wiped clean and replaced with one overriding goal—please Isabel. Her leg curled around his, and she pulled his weight more fully on top of her, the same time her hand wandered down to grab his arse. He muffled a groan as his pelvis ground into hers. It seemed her goal was opposite and equal to his.
He wanted to strip her down in the middle of the flowers and bury himself inside her. It was elemental and sexy and … Her hips bucked hard against him and her torso jerked like lightning had struck.
“I’m on fire,” she said with a drawn-out moan that was more horror movie than porn flick.
“Uh, me too?”
“Get off.” She shoved at his shoulders and he immediately shot to his hands and knees, giving her room.
“Did I scare you? I’m so sorry, Isabel.” Confusion melded with horror. What had he done?
She rolled away from him as if desperate to put space between him, but instead of stalking away in disgust, she swatted at her ankle. “The little devils are eating me alive. Help!”
Peering closer, he could see the tiniest of insects crawling up her legs. She pinched one off and flicked it away. He scooted closer and slapped two off her calf. Finally, her frantic movements calmed, and she brushed her hands from thigh to foot.
It was then he noticed the angry welts on the tender skin around her ankles. He touched one. “Are you telling me that tiny little insect did that?�
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“Fire ants. They earn their name. Nasty little things. These were just a few scouts. We’d both be in a world of hurt if we’d rolled over a mound.” She leaned back on her hands, but kept her legs bent and out of contact with the ground. “Is it a sign?”
“Of an ant coup?”
“No, a sign we shouldn’t be messing around.”
While having sex in the middle of a field of flowers seemed romantic, apparently, the reality was far itchier and more painful. Yet he refused to believe the tiny ants were harbingers of disaster.
No, if disaster was going to befall them, it would be of his own making. There was still time to fix things. Alasdair would handle George and Richard and all of Wellington. Isabel and Rose never need know what he’d inadvertently set in motion. As for Gareth, his lie was white, or at least, beige.
“The ants were merely a sign to seek privacy before one of us was bitten somewhere far more intimate.”
She gave an exaggerated shudder. “I can’t even imagine an ant bite on my girly bits.”
His laugh roared out as unstoppable as a rockslide, and a decision clicked into place. “I’ve decided to stay for the festival and escort Gareth back to Scotland afterward.” He studied her reaction, hoping for a jump for joy. What he got was a worried draw of her brows. “If I’m welcome, that is,” he added hastily.
“What if Gareth decides to stay in Highland? Forever, I mean.”
Alasdair shook his head, knowing things Isabel did not. Gareth had to return home. Hundreds of years of tradition demanded it. “He has responsibilities at Cairndow.”
“Surely, it’s just a matter of hiring someone else.”
Alasdair plucked grass from her hair. “You were ready to parade around town with his head on a pike after he arrived and now you’re his champion?”
Her gaze darted like a bee searching for pollen. “As much as the thought of Mom with a sex life gives me the willies, I don’t want her to be lonely. She deserves to be happy, and Gareth makes her happy. Ergo, I will do what I can to make it happen.”
“You sound like you almost believe that.” Alasdair wasn’t sure what “the willies” were but he thought they might be the squirmy feeling assailing his stomach at the moment. He couldn’t foresee a scenario where someone didn’t get hurt.
A Highlander Walks into a Bar--A Highland, Georgia Novel Page 15