“You must plan on staying with Gareth at Cairndow,” Alasdair said.
“I thought he lived in a small stone cottage?” Izzy cast him a curious glance over the rim of her cup.
“He does, aye.” Alasdair seemed to be gathering his thoughts. “It’s a good-sized cottage with an extra bedroom. I can testify that it’s cozy and charming. I’m sure Gareth would welcome the company.”
“I’d be absolutely tickled.” Dr. Jameson seemed to already be planning his trip, a dreamy smile on his face.
“Where in Scotland did you grow up?” Mr. Timmerman asked Alasdair.
Something of Alasdair’s body language turned defensive even though his voice remained level and friendly. “Glasgow until I left for Cambridge, but I spent summers at Cairndow. My da and Gareth were very close, and Da didn’t want me to be a city lad who didn’t know a sheep’s backside from its head.”
“My hobby is genealogy. I’d love to trace your tree, Mr. Blackmoor,” Mr. Timmerman said.
“No,” Alasdair said forcefully, then modulated his voice. “You’re busy getting ready for the festival. I wouldn’t dare impose.”
Izzy watched the exchange with a sense of missing a vital piece of information. The brief beat of awkward silence was broken by Dr. Jameson. “How do you think the land compares to ours?”
“The actual Highlands are harsher. More barren. Less green. For all that or maybe because of it, it’s breathtaking. When the heather blooms, you’ve never seen anything so beautiful. The mountains of Scotland couldn’t be any more different than your Blue Ridge, but there is one way they’re the same.”
“What’s that?” Izzy had scooted forward on her chair, mesmerized by his voice and forgetting all about his earlier odd behavior.
He held her gaze and spoke softly, “Ancient magic infuses both places.”
She wanted nothing more than to take him into her woods and explore for hours, days, weeks. Then, she wanted him to show her all the places in Scotland he held dear to his heart. They didn’t have enough time. There would never be enough.
Anna was right; Izzy was a goner.
Chapter Fourteen
The week leading up to parade—the official kickoff of the festival—passed in a blur of checking and double-checking nothing was headed off track. Like approaching the finish line of a marathon (or so she’d heard as she’d never tackled one herself), Izzy was equally exhausted and euphoric. Her nights were spent in bed with Alasdair where they made a good-size dent in the stash of condoms.
The weather forecast was partly cloudy, which meant a drop in temperature from scorching to mere roasting. Having Gareth and Alasdair had made a difference in the workload and morale. Dinners were spent going over last-minute details while sharing bottles of wine and plenty of laughter. The four of them fell into a familial ease that both comforted and set Izzy on edge.
Because even though she was unbelievably happy, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering what would happen after the festival. Afraid of the answer, she never asked, but she’d caught Alasdair watching her in the same fearful, perplexed way. As the days ticked down, their relationship careened toward a cliff and certain death.
The day of the parade and the whisky tasting and the dance found Izzy lying in bed watching the slow creep of dawn light into her room. Soon the field would be full of contractors and volunteers setting up booths and preparing for the influx of people the first full day of the festival would bring.
But for now, only the faint calls of waking birds sounded on the breeze. Alasdair was curled around her back, his body slack and his arm heavy over her waist. Three days more. A weekend. The end was nigh.
Not the apocalypse, but the aftermath would be a test of survival. Hard questions asked and answered. The temporary halt Alasdair had put on his life and career would lift, and forward motion would resume. She would go back to her nine-to-five accounting job and start writing again in her free time. Everything would revert to the way it was before. Before Alasdair.
Except, some things had changed. She was going to try writing something new and exciting and (hopefully) magical. She was more confident, not only in her own skin, but in dealing with vendors and townspeople who tended to still view her as a kid. And, her relationship with her mom had shifted toward equality and a deeper friendship.
“What are you thinking about?” His voice rumbled close to her ear. He’d woken up without her realizing it.
“Nothing.” It was a kneejerk response and so obviously untrue, she couldn’t leave it hanging between them. “The whirlwind begins as soon as we get out of bed. Three days of nonstop motion and then…”
He didn’t try to fill in the blank with a platitude or false promises, and she appreciated the honesty. The hard brutal truth was sure to break something fragile inside of her. Not her heart. It was too soon for that. Maybe a valve though. Or a ventricle. Could she live with a broken ventricle?
Gently, he turned her to her back and settled over her. Neither of them spoke the questions swirling and threatening to drown them. They made love tossed in the battling currents of urgency and melancholy. She was loathe to let him go, yet aware he was already slipping away.
Afterward, Izzy took a quick shower and pulled on shorts and a tank top and secured her hair into a ponytail. Alasdair dressed in his single pair of athletic shorts and his Scotland flag T-shirt.
“Should we practice the dance one more time?” he asked.
“I’m not sure I’ll have time. The marathon officially turns into a sprint to the finish today. The parade starts at two, then the whisky tasting at six. Until then, we’ll be slammed here.”
As soon as their feet hit the first floor of Stonehaven, preparations swamped Izzy. She’d been through enough festivals now to accept the panic. Even though it didn’t feel like it at the moment, everything would get done.
Her mom thrived on the stress and excitement. She fairly glowed as she directed the workers. It was like a hive of bees had moved into their field, buzzing with energy and purpose as they constructed the vendor booths and performance stage like honeycomb.
Izzy headed down the lane to make sure the portable potties were delivered and stocked. Less exciting than the dancing and piping and caber throwing, but even more important. All of their contractors had worked the festival before, and except for any last-minute hiccups, they knew where to set up.
Alasdair and Gareth organized the sport section of the field and got in a little more practice before the events kicked off the next day. Izzy shot glances in their direction, but they seemed to have things well in hand. It was lunch when her mom hip-bumped her.
Swiping the screen of an e-tablet, her mom said, “We’re ahead of schedule. Are we that good or is it the extra hands?”
“Some of both.”
Her mom shot her a side-eyed glance. “Are you going to the parade?”
“I thought it’d be nice to take Alasdair down so he could watch. Is that okay?”
“Yep. Gareth and I will keep things moving along here.” Her mom gave her cheek an air kiss and hustled off to her next task.
Izzy freshened up in the bathroom and changed into a lightweight skirt in a pink and green tartan print and a matching pink T-shirt. She ceded the bathroom to a sweaty Alasdair after laughingly pushing him away when he’d tried to claim a kiss.
Izzy kept up a stream of chatter on their way to town. Main Street was closed off, and the closest parking spot was several blocks behind the church on a residential tree-lined street with bricked two-story homes.
“This is lovely.” Alasdair slotted his rented car into a space next to the curb.
Live oaks crossed arms overhead and dappled the ground with shadows offering shelter from the sun. The lush green yards were meticulously maintained, the walkways lined with flowers. She preferred the chaos of their wildflower field, but she couldn’t argue with his assessment. “This street is referred to as banker’s row. Although it houses a fair share of lawyers and doctors t
hese days.”
Alasdair took her hand and linked their fingers as they strolled toward Main Street. The occasional bleat of bagpipes cut through the thick air of the afternoon. It wasn’t long before they joined up with others headed toward the parade.
Some she knew, most she didn’t. Tourists with cameras stepped lively as they herded kids along. The parade would feature various businesses and floats from the high school clubs, churches, and various organizations around town. Anna would be marching with her pint-sized dancing gremlins in tow. All of them would be throwing candy to the crowd. But the main draw would be the Pipe and Drum Corps led by Dr. Jameson.
As they grew closer, they were carried along on all sides, buffeted by the current of people. The hum of conversation was like the swell of a river, and even after seeing the parade countless years, Izzy’s pace quickened with her excitement, and she pulled Alasdair along.
“I can’t believe it.” His eyes were wide, taking in the packed sidewalks.
“It’ll be like this all weekend.” She led him around the line that snaked out of the Brown Cow for both ice cream and liquid refreshment. She stopped a few feet from the Dapper Highlander to claim a spot behind a vertically challenged family with two already-wilting kids.
The firetruck’s siren pierced the air, and a cheer went up. The firetruck always led off the parade. Floats passed by with smiling, waving people. Alasdair caught several pieces of candy and passed them over to the kids.
“Could I have a moment of your time, Mr. Blackmoor?” Mr. Timmerman had sidled up next to them.
“Make sure you’re back for the pipers. It’s the highlight of the parade.” Izzy shot Alasdair a smile, but did a double take of Mr. Timmerman.
A tape measure hung around his neck and a fabric pencil perched behind his ear. All perfectly normal, but instead of his usual jolly Santa-like smile, his brow was crinkled and his lips were pinched.
Alasdair disappeared inside the store, and a niggling itch in her brain grew more insistent. It had been bothering her off and on since their shared coffee in the Brown Cow a week before, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it meant. She turned back to the parade, but her enjoyment had dimmed.
* * *
Alasdair followed Mr. Timmerman into his shop with the gait of the condemned. Still, Alasdair tried to put on a bland smile. “Do I owe you for the alterations?”
“No, no.” Mr. Timmerman waved him off, but didn’t meet his eyes or smile in return. “It’s another matter. I realize it was overstepping, but I was so curious, you see. I traced the Blackmoor name.”
“You connected the branch between me and Gareth.” It wasn’t a question, yet Mr. Timmerman continued.
“At first, I assumed Gareth Connors was a different man than Gareth Blackmoor, but…” Mr. Timmerman glanced up for a sign of confirmation.
“They are one and the same.”
“He’s your uncle.” At Alasdair’s brusque nod, Mr. Timmerman whispered, “And an earl.”
“Yes.” Alasdair didn’t add anything about being his heir. He had a feeling Mr. Timmerman’s thorough research had uncovered that as well.
“But, why—?” Mr. Timmerman made a sweeping gesture that encompassed the lies told.
“It’s quite innocent, I assure you, Mr. Timmerman. Gareth didn’t want anyone, especially Rose, to treat him differently because of his title. I agreed to go along with deception.”
“Rose and Isabel don’t know?”
“Not yet, but Gareth plans to confess all after the festival. He didn’t want to be a distraction.” Alasdair leaned closer. “Can I ask you to remain mum until he can tell Rose?”
“If for some reason, she asks me, I won’t lie, but I won’t seek her out. I’m not a gossip.” Mr. Timmerman took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses in a fussy manner that spoke of his uneasiness with the situation.
Alasdair was equally as uneasy now that Mr. Timmerman had been drawn into the morass. Not that Alasdair’s situation with Richard and Wellington was resolved yet. His most recent conversation with Richard had been less than satisfying, but Richard’s interest in Stonehaven seemed to have cooled.
A bullet dodged. Maybe. Richard was unpredictable, which made him dangerous. Until he was sure Stonehaven and Isabel were safe from his machinations, Alasdair would remain on guard.
The note of a single bagpipe lilted through the town, then a dozen joined in playing “Scotland the Brave.” Alasdair’s heart stirred into a rhythm that tightened his chest in a good way. After murmuring a thanks to Mr. Timmerman, he hurried out the door and rejoined Isabel. The family had left, clearing a spot in the front.
The music scythed through him, cutting away the hurt and pain he’d carried with him when his da had died. None of that mattered anymore. The notes of the pipes gave him courage, and he understood how they roused men in battle. The battle he fought now was with himself.
It was time to forgive. It was time to go home.
The pipers came into view. In deference to the weather, they didn’t wear full regalia but T-shirts with their swinging kilts. White spats flashed smartly as they marched by. The notes echoed off the buildings until he was sure his ears would ring afterward. He loved every second of it and wished Gareth was at his side.
In a blink, he descended from the highest of highs into hell. As the last line of drummers passed him, he spotted George on the opposite side of the street. He dropped his gaze, trying to recalibrate his brain, and looked again. Unfortunately, George wasn’t a figment of his imagination.
A welling of anger had him straining to keep from stalking across the street and launching himself at the smaller man.
Isabel whirled, her eyes alive with the same energy and gusto he’d felt not thirty seconds earlier. “What’d you think?”
“It was entertaining.” The smile he grit out didn’t fool her.
Fiddling with hair at her nape, her gaze focused over her shoulder. “It doesn’t compare to Edinburgh or Glasgow, I suppose.”
Alasdair gripped her wrist and pulled her hand to lay it over his heart. “It stirred my heart.”
“That’s how I feel too.” Her tense expression eased into an almost smile. “There are a couple of people I need to talk to. Will you be alright for a few minutes?”
“Take your time. Do you want meet in front of the Brown Cow?”
She patted his chest and plunged into the crowd. Alasdair waited until her brown hair was swallowed in the swell of people and crossed the street. George had disappeared. Alasdair turned right and worked his way through the milling crowd like a salmon heading upstream. He was rewarded when he spotted George’s thinning blond hair and white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
With his quarry in sight, Alasdair quickened his pace, murmuring excuse me’s, until he was close enough to nab the shoulder of George’s shirt, yanking him to a halt.
“Here now, what’s this?” George’s huff was one of annoyance. He turned and stared at Alasdair as if he were a stranger, but as recognition registered, his lips quivered into an unpleasant moue. “Oh, it’s you.”
“What are you doing here?” Alasdair asked through clenched teeth.
“Finishing your job. Then taking your promotion.” The casualness of George’s announcement was meant to demean and rub Alasdair’s face in the fact he’d been usurped in Richard’s eyes.
What George failed to understand was that Alasdair’s loyalties had shifted. Alasdair swept his gaze to either side without moving his head or releasing George. Too many people around to do what he really wanted to do, which was to tear George limb from limb.
Instead, Alasdair manhandled him into a bricked alcove with a mural of the mountains providing a backdrop. It afforded them a small amount of privacy. “Let me make something perfectly clear to you, George. You are not to approach either of the Buchanans with an offer. Stonehaven is off the table. And if you cross me, I’ll pull your arsehole through your throat.”
Perspiration dotte
d George’s forehead and at Alasdair’s threat, a rivulet ran down the side of his face, emphasizing his pastiness. “I told Richard months ago he couldn’t trust you. You can’t keep your cool during negotiations, and now you’ve gone positively primal. You don’t scare me.”
Alasdair barred and snapped his teeth. George flinched. Alasdair whispered, “You’re a liar and a sneak for going behind my back in the first place. But I don’t think you understand the situation. I no longer owe my allegiance to Richard or to Wellington. Any action you undertake against the Buchanans will be met by direct opposition from me.”
George tried to break the hold Alasdair had on his shirt, but the effort was puny. “You don’t have any authority here.”
Alasdair pushed George against the wall and leaned in to whisper, “Try me,” before letting him go.
George straightened and smoothed his hands down the front of his shirt, revealing underarm stains that hadn’t been there before. Whatever else happened Alasdair had at least given George a humiliating scare. He deserved worse.
Alasdair left him and jogged across the street, finding Isabel already waiting on the sidewalk of the Brown Cow. Her eyes were narrowed on him, and he tamped down any lingering ferocity.
“Who was that man you were talking to? I didn’t recognize him,” she said.
“A bloke needing directions.” It was weak, but the first excuse that popped into his head.
“And he asked you?”
“I guess he thought I looked like a local.” Alasdair took her hand. “Shouldn’t we be heading back to Stonehaven to prepare for the evening?”
With questions still shadowing her eyes, she nodded. Alasdair was anxious to put as many miles between Isabel and the trouble he’d brought to her doorstep as possible, but feared it wouldn’t be enough.
Chapter Fifteen
As soon as Isabel stepped through the front door, her mom swept her away from Alasdair, and the questions circling in her head remained unasked. The truth was she feared the answers.
A Highlander Walks into a Bar--A Highland, Georgia Novel Page 22