His Lass Wears Tartan (2 page)

Rogue cleared her throat; had she sent up red flags of concern? She didn’t want the old couple nosing around in her direction. She gave the couple a brilliant smile, as if she’d just entered the room. “Yes, you’re most right, Robbie. It’s but a blink of the eye before they return in all their splendor and glamour.” She snapped her fingers in a z-motion like T-Cup had shown her. “And we got a wedding today.” She marched out of the room, her floor-length skirt rustling, and heard Putney whisper as she left.

“Lost, I tell ya, mooning like a she-wolf in heat she was.”

• • •

Bruce stopped his Ford delivery truck at the empty crossroads a mile before town, looking left and right for clearance, when his vision blurred into the tantalizing image of Rogue Baillie Bruce in a dress. Not any style of dress you’d see in church or a fancy restaurant on the girls in town, but like she’d stepped out of an epic movie about ancient times. Like royalty, with her hair done up off her shoulders with ribbons—a bewitching style, he noted.

The temperature inside the truck cab increased as he replayed their brief conversation, her nearness as he steadied her from falling. After the months of seeing her out by the stables in boots and jeans, his heart had pounded at the view of her plowing into him. The tight top half of the dress hugged her slight figure, showing her cream-colored neck and cleavage; her russet-brown hair pulled into fancy curls atop her head made her more beautiful than he could have imagined. He’d wanted nothing more than to pull her closer and caress the smooth curve of her exposed neck with his lips, like a knight of old claiming the princess after a joust, a crazy split-second notion of make-believe.

Bruce snorted. Like he had a chance in the world of dating the richest woman in the county. Word in town, as well as stories from Putney herself during his deliveries, confirmed that Rogue and some American relative of hers had made the haunted castle into a popular bed and breakfast concept. Their business had practically put their town on the international map. And he’d also heard the vineyards next door belonged to Ms. Bruce; after all, she’d started her own wine label, so it made sense.

Yet time and again, Putney cooed about the young woman, filling his head and dreams with romantic notions like some matchmaker, she did. None of them exaggerations, mind you. The woman was everything and more Putney had described her as. But why in the world would a bloody wealthy, gorgeous heiress be interested in the likes of him?

Though she hadn’t run away from him today, hadn’t bit his head off to let her go, the look on her face seemed to say otherwise. That was something, aye?

“Da,” he whispered aloud, “I met the most incredible woman today. I think she’s the one, I do, like you told me as a boy how I’d ken when I found her, a woman like Ma.” His hands gripped the steering wheel making the dry, rugged lines of his fingers almost white. “A woman of grit and softness, she is, in one fair package. As Ma took your breath away, aye, so does Rogue do mine, Da.”

A montage of images over the last months rolled through his mind: her stepping out of the barn holding a leather harness of the four-legged black beast Putney called Dougal while he crossed the bridge with a case of groceries in his arms. The cook told him stories of the indelible bond between the monster of a black stallion and Rogue, raising a heat of ire in his heart, almost a jealousy of their friendship.

“She’ll no bother with a lowly businessman, though. She’s the closest thing our town has to a princess, with her name and photo showing up in the daily papers. Da, what am I gonna do? The beautiful witch has stolen my heart.”

The blast of a horn behind him knocked Bruce from his heavenly conversation. Stomping the gas pedal, he bolted back toward the village, leaving his fantasy for bland reality once again.

With the happy bride and groom off on their honeymoon, the castle’s guests slowly settled into their rooms for the night. The immediate family and a handful of friends would leave in the morning after a grand breakfast. The extra staff had gone home and would return at the crack of dawn to help set up and serve.

Sitting around the kitchen table with a warm pot of tea and leftover treats from the wedding, Baillie and Rogue gathered on one side while Robbie occupied the head of the table, with Putney on his left. A familiar setting for the group, a time to unwind after another successful event, they’d kicked off their shoes and were sighing while nibbling on the delicious bites of Putney’s culinary talent.

“I’ll sure be glad when this lot is away. The security surrounding the place sets my teeth on edge. Ya can’t step outside for a wee breath of fresh air without six gorilla men staring at ya.” Robbie broke the silence, scratching under his fancy suspenders. He’d rolled up his sleeves long before.

Rogue was slumped in her chair. She fidgeted against the high wooden back. “This dress is irritating. Seems like it’s been glued on for days.”

“It has been a long day, hasn’t it?” Baillie smiled. “You looked so noble with the exception of the little faux pas just outside the reception tent this morning.”

Rogue abruptly stopped rubbing her body against the wood chair, her eyes wide. “You saw?”

“Saw what, you two?” Putney poured more tea into her cup. “With the color of your face right now, I’d say it was rather a juicy tidbit discovered of our Miss Rogue. And Baillie, you’re grinning like a Cheshire cat.” She stirred a lump of sugar into her cup and leaned closer. “So which of you is going to put my curiosity to rest? I’m waiting.”

“Seems Rogue met up with your Bruce MacKenzie this morning.” Rogue thumped her head on the table.
Here we go, I’ll never hear the end of it.
“She practically knocked him into the mud, never watching where she’s going. Thank goodness it was Bruce and not the father of the bride, child.”

Putney sat straight up, the edges of her lips in a grin. Rogue noticed Robbie put a hand on her arm as if to stop her from leaping over the table from the side of her view. “Saints preserve us, ya did indeed finally introduce yourself, lassie?”

“I dinna mean to run into him, Auntie. I dinna expect to find anyone out there at that time of day.” Her voice was muffled against the top of the table. She suddenly felt like a wee fish in a bowl, with everyone staring into her life.

“It was rather romantic, Putney.” Baillie put her arm around the back of Rogue, her voice more dramatic. “He grabbed ahold of her by the arms to keep her from ending up in the mud, and their eyes locked for moments.” She leaned closer to the cook. “He looked quite smitten with our girl, I must say.”

“It wasn’t mutual,” she told the table. Gorgeous hunk or not, his words about looking the part of a lady still stung, but she wasn’t going to explain what had happened to this meddling group around her.

Clapping her hands together, Putney almost giggled. “I knew ya would like the dear boy. He’s handsome and smart as they come. He spent the last few years in the big cities until the death of his da brought him back. Sure and I’ll bet he’s sown his wild oats and is ready to settle down.”

“Woman, don’t go shoving the wee lass into just any pair of arms you take a liking to. She’s old enough to find a
jo
on her own, she is.” Robbie slapped his hand on the table top, cutting her off. “
Whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye!
”

Rogue popped up from the vibration of the table. “Thank ye, dear Robbie. At least someone has sense in this group. These foolish hens will marry me off tomorrow if they have their way. Do I look like I’m desperate to say ‘I do’?”

“Hey, no fair, translate, please. What did Robbie just say? Was that Gaelic? Remember, there’s an American at the table.”

Putney sniffed and looked away from Robbie. “It means what’s meant to happen will happen.”

“Robbie, that works for most things, but we’re talking young love. Sometimes you have to push them into the deep end of the pool. You have to admit, she hasn’t batted an eyelash at any of the celebrities or young, single men passing through here, and there have been some jaw-dropping ones. Maybe not the brightest lightbulbs in the package, but some were grand.” Baillie stared at Rogue. “You’re polite to the male population, but your heart is entrenched in the stable. It’s all about the wild beast, Dougal.”

“And ya’ll not find yourself warm at night with just that creature to snuggle with.” The women were getting warmed up on the subject.

“I think this is where I’ll say goodnight and lock myself in my room until you all come to your senses.” Rogue shoved her chair away from the table. “Don’t be wagging your tongues about me after I’m gone, either. I am quite happy in my life without a man.” She smiled and kissed her aunt’s cheek. “G’nite.” She swished around the table and wrapped her arms around Putney’s neck. “I ken ya heart’s in the right place. He is rather good looking, I’ll give ya that. Maybe I won’t close and lock the barn door yet.”

• • •

Putney picked up the empty cup and saucer in front of her. “Guess these dishes can wait until morning. I think I’ll follow the lass’s idea and turn in myself.”

Baillie helped her take the tea things to the counter. “We’ve got one more breakfast for the guests and then nothing on the books, so no rushing around needed except the tours, and we’ll continue selling tickets until the writers’ group comes in at the end of May.”

Robbie scratched his head, taking his time getting up from the chair. “How are we doing with those new maps we had printed?”

Baillie turned back to the craggy little man. “Actually, it would be good to bring up another box to the office, Robbie. Well, goodnight, both of you. Thank you again for an excellent job getting this wedding successfully completed. This small but insanely expensive event will do our budget well this year, especially since we’ll be closed to the public during the weeks before and after the solstice. We’ll hopefully get a few referrals from this last event to soothe the insanity we endured.”

Baillie reached for a heavy crocheted shawl hanging on a post near the doorway into the castle and wrapped it around her shoulders before stepping out of the warmth of the kitchen. The chill of May had seeped through the hallways and larger rooms during the night. She loved the stillness while everyone slept, when only the sound of her skirt rustling against the stone floor as she walked could be heard.

Lord Kai materialized next to her and put his cool, strong arm around her waist. “I saw our niece flouncing her way toward her room barefooted. Can’t keep that lassie in shoes for more than a few hours of the day.”

“She is a child of more natural things; comfort she finds in boots rather than heels.” Baillie looked up at the face above her. It was such a delight to see his intense gaze and wavy auburn hair next to her, an honor to be the only one in the castle able to see and hear the ghostly laird. “We did give her highness a tough time tonight about meeting that young man, Bruce MacKenzie. Putney believes they would be a perfect couple.”

“The lass is well on in age; she should be thinking of a suitor.”

“Kai, she’s just twenty-four.”

“An old maid in my time she’d be.”

Baillie chuckled. “Thank goodness it’s no longer the seventeenth century. I wouldn’t be here, nor would she, you know. I just want the girl to be happy, and I know how easy it is to immerse yourself in your career or life and think you need no one else. It took a 300-year-old ghost to prove to me otherwise. I’d like it if she were to find someone as noble and infuriating as yourself to add to her life.”

Kai growled and lifted her into his strong arms, planting a rough kiss on her lips. “Infuriating, you say?” His eyes lit with an inner twinkle of mischief.

She shook her head and kissed him on his cheek. “Kai, we still have guests, love. Put me down before we scare the daylights out of someone.”

“And what of our upcoming wedding, my Annie Rose?” Lord Kai, with his long-sleeved white shirt neatly tucked into his Baillie kilt of blue and green, looked as dashing and dramatic as the first night she’d met him, but then, a seventeenth-century ghost never aged. “Are ye ready to be Missus William Andrew Kai Robert Baillie, the fourth, my love?”

He wrapped muscled, ruddy arms around her, nuzzling his face against her neck, the delicious slight chill of his cool, supernatural touch making her knees weak. “I, meself, canna wait to stand in a handfast ceremony with ye, Catharine Anne Baillie, my own sweet Annie Rose, and make ye mine forever.”

“Kai, as good as it feels in your arms, we need to be inside a room for this.” Baillie sighed, her eyes twinkling at his closeness. “Behind closed doors, my love.” She leaned into his cool, rather transparent embrace, giving herself a delicious moment of pleasure. No ordinary romance for them, more like the mortal Heathcliff living happily ever after with that other C-named ghostly girl who died in his arms in
Wuthering Heights
. She’d practically memorized the 1939 movie. The heart knew what the heart wanted, and hers was a kilted ghost.

“And a wee niece to nurture or nudge into love,” Kai whispered in her ear. “Shouldn’t she be as happy as the two of us?”

Baillie laughed and headed toward the stairs. “Not at the rate she’s going. She practically tackled that poor boy to the ground. Here I thought grace came from our Baillie side. Must be her Bruce genes are more like NFL linebackers. Not a very romantic introduction to Putney’s choice of beaux for Rogue.”

Rogue watched Aunt Baillie stretch her arms over her head, hooking boughs of silk ivy threaded with white lights across a curtain rod in the library, when the older woman stepped on the edge of her dress and lost her balance off the six-foot ladder. A split-second “
That is really going to hurt
,” thought ran through Rogue’s mind during what seemed like a slow-motion tumble from some movie.

In a sudden stop barely a foot from the carpet, her aunt hung suspended, arms flailing. She blinked frantically, her mouth gaping open, as her body slowly righted and set down.

“I be grateful, Uncle Kai. Dinna ken Auntie’s decorations were a wee bit dangerous.” Rogue put her hands on her hips.