“I can’t wait to see you in the dress Anna altered. It will be even lovelier on you than it is on the hanger. Are you nervous about the dance?” her mom asked, her face alight with all the fizzing nerves and excitement of the day before the festival. Usually Isabel battled the same feelings, but unease had sidled into her psyche this year.
Perhaps her strange mood was due to her imminent date with humiliation. She had tried—mostly successfully—to put the dance out of her head all day. A wave of nausea had her grimacing. “Ugh. I wasn’t until you brought it up.”
“What could possibly go wrong?”
“A multitude of things including but not limited to a fall, a wardrobe malfunction, a maiming.”
Her mom’s laugh was one of delight. “You are so funny. All you have to do is trust Alasdair.”
Her mom made it sound easy. Izzy gazed toward the far end of the field and easily picked Alasdair out where he’d gone to talk to Gareth. The warm goo rushing her chest muffled the dread hollowing her stomach. Her body was fighting a battle between her heart and her gut instincts, and her brain didn’t know which to name as champion.
“Go shower and take your time getting ready.” Her mom shooed Izzy toward the stairs. “I want you to enjoy tonight. I’ve got everything under control here. Go on.”
Izzy rolled her eyes all the way to her mom, but once they locked gazes, the understanding reflected back killed the quip on her tongue. Without saying it, her mom was telling her to live in the moment because happiness was fleeting.
Once in the solitude of her room and under the warm spray of the shower, she put away her worries about Alasdair and promised to enjoy herself. She closed her eyes to visualize the dance steps, but all she could see was Alasdair’s smile and laugh and the way he looked at her like she was a puzzle he was trying to fit together.
An hour and a half later, she swayed at the window in the beautiful green dress Anna had altered for her, waiting for Alasdair. Bumps from the other room signaled he was getting ready. The moment loomed like the first step down the plank toward a drop into the sea.
The beginning of the end.
A soft knock sounded on the connecting door. She smoothed her skirts and turned. “Come in.”
Alasdair entered in his kilt and boots, wool socks pulled to under his knees. A new black button-down shirt dressed up the look, but with his dark beard and unruly hair, a sexy, animalistic vibe radiated off him—and if she wasn’t an integral part of the evening, she’d fake sickness and make him play doctor with her.
His gaze was as busy as hers. “You look lovely.”
“Thank you.” Izzy touched the back of her neck. She’d spent an inordinate amount of time intricately braiding her hair and twisting it into an updo, wisps framing her face. “I can’t even take how hot you are right now. I might melt in your arms tonight.”
“I was worried—okay, hoping actually—my kilt might make you lose control and take scandalous advantage of me.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Her laugh erased the nerves and tension and dread to a shadow that might trail her but wouldn’t overtake her like a dark cloud. She was going to dance—and possibly humiliate herself, but Alasdair would be there to help her laugh about it—and drink whisky and have fun with her friends and neighbors and Alasdair.
“Don’t worry, Highlander, I’ll bring you to your knees later.” She sashayed toward him, her pantherlike intent ruined when her ankle wobbled in her heels and she grabbed his arm.
He dropped a kiss on her nose, repositioned her hand into the crook of his arm, and escorted her down the stairs. Her mom and Gareth were waiting in the kitchen with glasses of champagne, the activity outside left to a handful of workers.
Her mom lifted Izzy arms and examined her head to foot. “Anna is a wonder. You look gorgeous.”
“Thanks. So do you.”
Her mom’s emerald green jumpsuit and strappy heels emphasized her lithe grace. Gareth was dressed in a traditional dress kilt with knee socks, blazer, and sporran.
“I’m so happy you decided to stay with us through the festival, Alasdair. You look very handsome.” Her mom bestowed a maternal smile on him and turned to a chair with a dark green blazer hanging off the back. “I thought you might want to borrow a jacket for the evening.”
Izzy’s heart crimped. It was one of her daddy’s. Her mom helped slip it up Alasdair’s arms to settle on his shoulders as if it had been tailored for him. Did it retain a hint of her daddy’s aftershave or did it smell of cedar?
Izzy prepared for resentment or melancholy to invade, but there was only a feeling of rightness and the world spinning and the laws of nature being proved true. She brushed her hands down his shoulders and arms and took his hands in hers. “Now you’re ready to open the festival with me.”
Gareth handed them two glasses of champagne before retrieving his own and clearing his throat. “I need to say something.”
Izzy smiled and glanced toward Alasdair. He wasn’t smiling. In fact, he was so still and tense, Izzy wouldn’t have been surprised to reach out and find him turned to stone.
Gareth continued. “These last weeks have been the happiest of my life. Meeting you, Rosie, wasn’t luck; it was fate. I bless the day I found you, because only then did I realize I had been looking for you all my life.”
Emotion drew tears into her mom’s eyes, and she tucked herself into Gareth’s side and wrapped her arms around him.
Gareth wasn’t done. “Getting to know you, Isabel, has been a joy and to have my … to have Alasdair here as well really is a dream come true.” Gareth grabbed Alasdair’s shoulder. Like a modified man-hug, Alasdair returned the gesture.
Her mom laughed and flapped her hand. “I’ll not forgive you if you make me bawl and mess up my mascara, you big bear.”
“Sláinte.” Alasdair raised his glass. They all repeated the toast and drank.
Izzy blamed the burn of tears in her eyes to the sharp tang of the champagne. While uncertainty still lurked in the not-too-distant future, optimism bubbled up like a newly discovered natural spring.
In high spirits, they made their way to the whisky tasting in separate vehicles, Alasdair and Izzy in his rented car. She ran her hands over the leather. “I’m going to miss your car.”
“I’m going to miss it, too.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and she had the feeling the car wasn’t on his mind. She looked out the window and blinked back the sting of tears. She didn’t have the time or energy for sorrow.
“What do you drive in London?” she asked.
“I don’t keep a car. My flat’s close to the tube and trains.”
“Is this what you’d want if you could have anything?”
“It’s been fun, but it’s not practical. I’ve always been partial to four-by-fours.”
“Like Daddy’s truck.” She grinned.
“Exactly like your truck except with functional air-con, heat, cushioned seats, sat-nav. You know, anything a vehicle would have standard in the last decade.” He linked their fingers and kissed the back of her hand. “Gareth had an old Range Rover that I loved. I would probably buy a newer model.”
Alasdair parked and helped her out of the car. The room was already packed. Dr. Jameson greeted them at the door, his color high from excitement or perhaps from sampling the wares.
“An excellent crowd has gathered.” Dr. Jameson grasped her hand and nodded at Alasdair. “Rose tells me the three of us are going to open the festival this year.”
Izzy tamped down on the nerves that sprouted like kudzu around her stomach. “Yep. Do I have time for a drink?”
“Two if you double-fist them.” Dr. Jameson’s lopsided grin made him look a decade younger. “Seriously though, you have fifteen minutes.”
Self-proclaimed whisky aficionados came from all over the Southeast and paid for premium tickets to sample a variety of whiskies from Scotland in a back room. Those with general tickets milled in the main area and were made up mostly of Highland residents
. A dark wood bar took up a corner of the room to prepare full-sized drinks for cash. Profits went to the local animal shelter and for beautification projects in Highland.
A spotlight shined in the middle of the room and the guests scooted around the bright light like insects. She and Alasdair would dance under that light for all the world—her world of Highland, anyway—to see.
“I need a drink stat,” Izzy said.
“What would you like?” he murmured in her ear.
“I know it’s sacrilege but a whisky and Coke, please.”
Alasdair shouldered his way through the crowd toward the bar. This was the weekend the men and women of Highland wore their finest Scottish fashions. Alasdair was far from the only man in a kilt, but she didn’t spot anyone who wore one better.
As soon as the drink made contact with her hand, she drank half in one go. The cascading warmth helped lubricate her stiff joints. She focused on Alasdair like he was a buoy ready to save her from drowning in her own fears.
Looking disgustingly unruffled, Alasdair sipped on a whisky neat. “I’ve never seen this much tartan in my life. It’s really quite something.”
“That’s a polite way of saying that we’re crazy, isn’t it?”
“I’d go with enthusiastic.” His genuine smile turned into a pensive one. “Believe it not, being in Highland, farther away from Scotland than my London flat, has made me feel more connected with my heritage. It’s time to face my past.”
“Will you tell your mother about Lewis?” Although the room was buzzing with the noise of a hundred people, they were easy to ignore with Alasdair so close.
“I should have told her a long time ago. I’m bone-tired of keeping secrets.” His chest expanded on an inhale and his lips parted.
Izzy tensed, instinct telling her what he said next was sure to upend everything.
The crackle of the sound system as it fired up was like a lightning strike to dry brush in her belly. She was grateful and exasperated and terrified by the interruption. After downing the remainder of her drink and depositing it on a tray, she rubbed her shaky, clammy hands together.
“Is this thing on? Can y’all hear me?” The spotlight moved to cast its terrifying circle on Dr. Jameson. Standing on a dais next to the DJ station, he held a microphone in one hand and cradled his bagpipes in the other. An explanation about the sampling room and the events of the evening followed.
“I’m not sure I can do this,” Izzy said through dry, numb lips. How could her mouth be so dry and her hands so sweaty? It defied nature.
“Of course you can.” Alasdair took her hand in his and led them toward the dance floor.
“What if I permanently disfigure you?”
“I’ll wear any scars you inflict upon me with pride.”
As if she’d entered a long tunnel, she heard Dr. Jameson’s voice echo. “And now, to open the Highland games, welcome Isabel Buchanan of Stonehaven and her escort, Alasdair Blackmoor.”
Her escort. It made it sound like she had paid Alasdair for services rendered. A hysterical-tinged laugh clawed its way up her throat. Keeping her gaze focused on Alasdair and not the wall of people surrounding the floor, she clenched her jaw and grimaced out a smile to keep it in check.
Alasdair led her to the middle of the dance floor and whispered like a ventriloquist, “Quit looking at me like I’m planning to sacrifice you to the gods.”
“They wouldn’t accept me; I’m not a virgin.” The quip popped out. Alasdair’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. Her pent-up nerves emerged on slightly hysterical giggles.
Her mom and Gareth beamed like proud parents at the two of them. Anna gave her a wink and thumbs-up. Even Holt was there in a kilt, although absent an encouraging smile. She let out a breath and rotated her jaw.
The spotlight caught them. Blinded, she blinked up at Alasdair, his head rimmed in starbursts of light. An expectant hush lengthened and stretched until she thought she might snap in two.
“Steady now,” Alasdair murmured. “Focus on me. Only me.”
The first strains of Dr. Jameson’s bagpipes brought a rush of relief. Something familiar in the entirely unfamiliar situation of being the center of attention. With a count of three, Alasdair led her into the dance.
She didn’t get lost in his eyes or in the moment like the romantic books she’d read, and no one would think she’d missed her calling by not following her mom into professional dance, but she didn’t embarrass herself, even finding a genuine smile for Alasdair.
She didn’t know why he had confidence in her, but she was grateful.
Except, he didn’t return her smile. In fact, contrary to his frequent admonishments, he wasn’t staring into her eyes as he twirled her to the left. Someone over her shoulder had caught his attention. The urge to steal a glance made the hairs on the back of her neck waver, but she didn’t want to risk her grasp on the beat and the steps.
Alasdair took a misstep and trod on her left foot. She stumbled. He stumbled. Doing her best to reinsert herself into the dance, she stepped forward the same time Alasdair did. Her forehead hit his nose hard enough to make her head ring.
He dropped her hand and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering a curse involving bollocks and blood. The blood appeared more metaphorical than literal. Somehow, their feet realigned with the music and moved them around the floor.
Her mom and Gareth had joined them and so had Holt and Anna. Other couples who knew the St. Bernard’s waltz and even some couples who didn’t filled the floor. The spotlight moved away from them. They shuffled back and forth like they were at a middle-school dance.
“Are you alright?” Izzy peered at his nose. It was red across the bridge, but wasn’t bleeding. The rush of relief at having completed the dance bordered on euphoria. “It’s not as bad as when I bonked you with your phone. I would like to point out, it was you who messed up and not me. This time.”
Her tease didn’t garner a returning smile. Again, his focus was elsewhere. Without having to worry over the complexities of the dance steps, Izzy looked over her shoulder.
It was difficult to parse the wall of people surrounding them. Someone had rattled Alasdair to the point of immobility. Izzy grabbed Alasdair’s hand and cut through a gap in the wall of people, a smile pasted on her face as she nodded at friends and acquaintances and strangers.
Once they achieved the relative seclusion of an alcove against the far wall, Izzy stopped and pulled Alasdair around to face her.
“You okay?” she asked.
“My nose will be fine.” The words were sharp.
“I’m not asking about your nose.”
His full attention transferred to her. His body language spoke of anxiety. They hadn’t crashed and burned on the dance floor. Why was he still distressed?
Anna swished up and linked her arm through Izzy’s. “Y’all did great, and you look fabulous. I’m so proud.”
“Thanks,” said Izzy. “We couldn’t have done it without you.”
When Alasdair didn’t speak, Anna widened her eyes at Izzy. “Let’s go to the bathroom and freshen up.”
Anna didn’t let go until they reached the bathroom. “What’s up with the tension between you two? Did something happen?”
“No.” As Izzy considered the day, she wasn’t sure she spoke the truth. “I don’t know. Things have been weird since the parade. I saw Alasdair talking to some dude that I didn’t know.”
“Did you ask him about it?” Anna touched up her red lipstick, popped her lips, and met Izzy’s eyes in the mirror.
“He claimed he was giving the man directions, but that’s not what it looked like.”
“What’d it look like?”
Izzy hesitated, but her suspicions emerged. “Like Alasdair was threatening him.”
Anna was quiet while an older lady washed her hands. When they were alone once more, she said, “What are you going to do?”
“Honestly, I don’t have the energy to expend on unearthing the story. The
festival will become all-consuming tomorrow.” In fact, Izzy planned to be on the way home to Stonehaven within in the hour. She couldn’t afford to be tired or hungover in the morning.
Izzy stepped out of the brightly lit bathroom into the dim main room, blinking to locate Alasdair. Sterling eased up beside her with a loud clearing of his throat.
“Hey, Sterling.” She spared him a quick smile before resuming her search for Alasdair.
“Do you have a second to talk business?” he asked.
The seriousness of his tone garnered her full attention. “Our loan?”
“I’d rather be doing this in the office, but I know how busy y’all are, and it can’t wait.”
“You’re scaring me. Are we not approved?”
“You are but it’s … complicated.”
Her relief was tempered by his qualification. “Spit it out, Sterling.”
“I talked to an old frat buddy in the corporate loan department, and he said your loan had been flagged. It was to be approved, but as soon as Rose signed, the loan was to be sold. Our bank would no longer hold the lien.”
“Who would?”
“A British company called Wellington.”
Visceral emotion speared through her to pierce her heart. Pain radiated, yet she stood, pride and anger and grief stiffening her spine and holding her upright.
She refocused on Sterling and what he was saying, “—no idea why.”
“I know why.” She wanted to rewind her life five minutes. To before she understood how badly she’d been used by Alasdair.
Sterling leaned closer. “I’ve sent your loan application to Mindy at Farmer’s Credit Union. She’s going to set you up, and there’s no chance of interference from big shots.”
She took Sterling’s forearm and gave him a grateful squeeze. “Thank you. You deserve a raise.”
“Not sure the corporate yahoos would agree, but you’re more than welcome.” Sterling strolled toward the bar.
Izzy turned in a slow circle and scanned the crowd.
Alasdair was in a heated conversation with a woman. Not bothering with a polite smile, she cut a warpath in his direction.
A Highlander Walks into a Bar--A Highland, Georgia Novel Page 23