Must Love Scotland (10 page)

“Come with me,” Niall said, looping an arm across her shoulders. “Let’s catch our breath.”

“Pikers, the pair of you. I’m ready for a challenge,” Declan said. “Morag looks to be spoiling for a fight. What’s a good
ceilidh
without Morag hurling a few thunderbolts, eh?”

“Have you made out your own will, then, MacPherson?” Niall asked.

A commotion by the door interrupted whatever retort Declan would have made—the witty retort was something of a vernacular art form with him—and the crowd parted.

“Get out.” Julie whispered the words as they screamed through her mind.

There, before the musicians’ dais, stood Derek. Blond, blue-eyed, smiling, his Burberry trench coat, and bespoke suit about as out of place as Julie would have been dancing in a judge’s robes.

“D’ye know him?” Declan asked, taking a sip of somebody’s beer. “Looks like he stepped out of a bloody toothpaste commercial.”

“She knows him,” Niall said quietly.

“Julie!” Derek called. “Julie, I’ve found you.”

Not even a glance, more a flaring of instinct, passed between Niall and Declan. Niall positioned himself in front of Julie, Declan stepped to her side.

“I’m Niall Cromarty,” Niall said to Derek. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”

Niall extended a hand toward this blond, smiling insult to an otherwise fine evening. “Perhaps you’d care to introduce yourself?”

“Derek Hendershot,” came the reply, along with a cool handshake. “If you’ll excuse me, I haven’t seen my wife for some time, and she’ll want to hear what I have to say.”

She’s not your wife.
Niall would have liked to have backhanded that truth across Hendershot’s toothy smile, but Hendershot had let pure gold slip through his pale fingers.

He was to be pitied, up to a point.

“Let’s get you a beer, Mr. Hendershot,” Niall said. “That’s how we do things at a
ceilidh
. Whatever you have to say, it can wait five minutes while you tolerate some Scottish hospitality.”

Five minutes, while Julie marshaled her wits and decided how she wanted to deal with this ambush. Five minutes while Morag, Jeannie, and Donald closed ranks around her, and Hamish and the other musicians figured out where to stash their instruments in case a melee broke out.

Five minutes for Declan to finish his beer. A good man in a fight, was Declan. Niall had forgotten that.

“Now, what brings you to Scotland?” Niall asked as they waited for Hamish to pull a pint.

Pete and Gregor were tuning up for another set, somebody was rearranging yet more tables. Declan was hovering by Julie, his hands empty.

Julie was calm, too calm for a woman whose worst nightmare had just crashed the party.

“I’m here to spend time with my wife,” Hendershot said. “Is Jules renting that little cottage from you? She’ll probably be cutting her vacation short, but don’t worry about her reservations. I’ll take care of whatever she owes.”

Hendershot was confident that what he had to say would destroy any forward momentum Julie had gathered on her way out of the marriage, and out of the country. She’d gone pale before Niall’s eyes when she’d caught sight of Hendershot. Wilted, from the inside out.

He cheated,
Julie had said
.
Cheating was apparently one of Mr. Hendershot’s nasty habits.

Jeannie and Morag were now sitting with Julie, Declan standing at Julie’s shoulder. Donald was working his way across the room, murmuring in this ear, responding to that curious smile.

Alas for the cheating Mr. Hendershot, the rules were about to be enforced.

“Your beer,” Niall said, passing along a mug with a perfect head. “Let’s join the ladies, shall we?”

“This is very hospitable of you, Mr. Cromark, but Julie will want to go someplace quiet with me, where we can talk. I’m staying at a quaint little B&B about seven miles from here, and the sooner we can grab her luggage and be on our way, the happier she’ll—”

“Have a seat,” Niall said, gesturing to the only empty chair at the table. When Hendershot had settled in—across the table from Julie—Niall appropriated another chair and wedged it in beside Hendershot’s.

“Julie,” Hendershot said, his smile faltering. “Honey, you look a little tired and travel weary, but I’m so glad to see you. The food here must agree with you, and that’s certainly a different hairstyle.”

Morag studied her nails. Morag was not a great fan of damning a woman with faint praise. Wee Henry made a wild swing from over his mother’s shoulder and nearly clipped Hendershot on the ear.

Hendershot reached across the table, as if to pat Julie’s hand, but she picked up her mug and sat back.

“What are you doing here, Derek?” Julie asked. She addressed the question to her beer.

Niall touched his mug to Julie’s, and in the instant she met his gaze, he winked at her.

You have this one, Julie Leonard.

You have allies.

You have more sets to dance with me here, and elsewhere.

Niall saw those truths land on her side of the table, saw her sit up straighter, flip the remains of her braid over her shoulder.

“Sweetie, I came all this way because,”—Hendershot glanced around, as if perhaps Julie hadn’t noticed the crowd of Scots at the table—“somebody needs to tell you the good news. Let’s step outside, shall we?”

“We’re always glad to share good news with our friends,” Niall said. A chorus of “Aye,” and “Of course,” rose from his family. Declan saluted with Morag’s beer.

“Derek, anything you have to say can be said right here,” Julie replied, “among my friends, and said now. I don’t want to miss the next set.”

Oh, she’d inspired the rat to pouting with that little—

“The next—?” Hendershot sat back and shot his cuffs. “Julie, sweetie, how much have you had to drink? I’ve been worried about you, you know.”

Nasty bugger. Niall nudged Julie’s foot under the table, and saw a ghost of a smile flicker through her eyes.

“Feel free to leave, Derek,” she said. “Or tell me what you think is so important, makes no difference to me. Niall, are you up for another dance?”

“If Cromarty isn’t, I’m up for another go,” Declan said.

“I’m not too old to turn a pretty lady down the room,” Donald chimed in, followed by half the pipe band that had come to lounge around the window, the hearth, and the adjoining tables.

Hendershot leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Julie, Judge Davidson is leaving the bench. You need to get home on the earliest possible flight, see and be seen at the courthouse, patch things up with your devoted husband, and get your campaign together. Dad thinks he can get you the interim appointment, but not if you thumb your nose at the bench by kicking up your heels here for the next two weeks.”

Julie studied her beer, while Niall studied the lady whose return flight took off in mere days. He didn’t have a clue how Maryland’s court system worked, but Hendershot spoke as if a judgeship was on offer now, not twenty years and endless golf tournaments away.

And yet, this news wasn’t making Julie happy, wasn’t putting the light of ambition and dreams coming true in her eyes.

Niall took a pretzel from the basket in the middle of the table. “Sounds like the sort of thing a man might put in an e-mail, if it’s true.”

Hendershot didn’t so much as glance at Niall. His earnest-damned-gaze stayed locked on Julie. Bastard was slick.

Also desperate. His grip on his beer mug was white-knuckled, his left knee bounced beneath the table, and up close he smelled faintly of fear. He would not have lasted two holes on the tour, poor sod.

“Davidson hasn’t announced his retirement,” Hendershot said, his smile smug. “This is very sensitive information, and whoever has it has a tremendous advantage when it comes to filling the vacancy on the bench.”

Julie’s foot was wedged against Niall’s under the table. “So how do you know this, Derek?” she asked. “How do you know a sitting judge’s plans before anybody else does?”

Hendershot sat back. “His Honor is coming to work for Hendershot Developers. Davidson knows his real estate law, he’s connected to half the money in the state, and Dad can use him for the projects we’re considering along I-70. You’re the first to know, Julie. Now, what will you do with the information I’ve traveled halfway around the world to give you?”

Niall leaned over to whisper to Donald, who sidled off toward the musicians like a man whose back was up to tossing a few cabers.

Julie did not want to leave with this buffoon, but her every wish, hope, and aspiration was being dangled before her. She deserved that black robe, if that’s what she wanted, but Niall was damned if he’d make it easy for Hendershot.

“I was hoping we could show Nancy MacPherson’s will to you, Julie,” Niall said.

Declan blinked once, but held his peace. This was a bluff, of course. Declan must have realized that.

“Hamish told us about the will,” Jeannie said. “Sounds interesting, if it’s authentic.”

“It’s not authentic,” Morag said, sliding her beer away from Declan. “We just need somebody knowledgeable to convince MacPherson that he’s wrong. Again.”

Declan blew Morag a kiss, and the concertina began a lilting triple-meter introduction.

“This is your judgeship, Jules,” Hendershot said, tipping his chair back on two legs. “I can have us on a flight out of here tomorrow morning. You’ll be back in the office on Monday, and we can start making the rounds in Annapolis next week. You’ve got this, baby. I can feel it.”

Julie was wavering. In her quiet, in her stillness, Niall sensed her wavering.

She shouldn’t waver—
this was her dream coming true
—but she shouldn’t trust the bastard who’d cheated on her either.

Niall had little to offer her, nothing but his conviction that she deserved to be happy on her own terms. He could give her time to think, though, time to figure out what her terms were.

“Julie, the musicians are warming up for a waltz,” Niall said. “Will you dance with me?”

Declan rolled his eyes, took Morag by the hand, and led her off to the dance floor.

Hendershot let his seat tip forward, so the chair legs hit the floor with a hard thump.

“Jules, I moved heaven and earth to make this happen for you. This is me, saying I’m sorry, I was wrong, and I want you back. If I fly home alone tomorrow, don’t expect me to be receptive to any reconciliation overtures. We’re either a team, or we’re not.
I did this.
I pointed out to Dad what a good fit Davidson would be for the company, made sure the offer to Davidson was one he couldn’t refuse. I did this for us, because nothing else I’ve said or done has gotten through your pride and stubbornness.”

Self-respect was not pride and stubbornness.

Niall held the basket of pretzels out to Julie, willing to her look at him. She took a broken piece and considered it, considered Niall for a moment, then set the pretzel down without taking a bite.

“You cheated on me, Derek,” she said, “and we’re divorced. That has
gotten through
to me.”

“We’re divorced for now, sweetie,” Hendershot retorted.

He didn’t deny the cheating, and he was up to something. Niall knew not what, but the stink of it was thick in the air and curling the edges of Hendershot’s smile.

“Niall, I’d like to dance,” Julie said, rising. “Derek, you should not have come all this way. I’ll consider applying for the interim judgeship, but I’ve waited five years for this vacation, and I needed it more than I knew. I’m staying in Scotland for now. I’ll wish you a safe journey home.”

Julie accepted Niall’s outstretched hand and snuggled right up against him as the violin joined the concertina.

“So that’s how a prosecutor says, ‘Let me think about it’?” Niall asked.

Or was that how a woman announced a change of dreams?

“The problem is, I feel safe here,” Julie said, taking a sip of her water. The waltz with Niall had been perfect, a simple, tactile means of restoring equilibrium shot all to hell by Derek’s ambush.

Had Niall not been here, not given her the quiet, calm support that steadied her rioting nerves, the encounter with Derek could have gone very differently.

“Safe in what way?” Niall asked, patting Henry’s back.

The baby had fallen asleep, despite the noise and the crowd, and his mother was on the dance floor with a piper. Niall held Henry against his shoulder, and the infant looked so right there, Julie wanted to cuddle in with them.

“It’s hard to explain what I mean by safe,” she said, brushing pretzel crumbs onto the floor. “I was bushwhacked, seeing Derek here. I wasn’t expecting to have to think in self-defense mode, to get my deflector shields up against his I’ve-missed-you-sweetie/ you’ve-put-on-weight schtick. Back home, the very sight of him became a cue to duck emotionally, though it took me years to see that. My reflexes were slow here.”

“He was counting on the advantage of surprise,” Niall said. “You didn’t give him an inch, though.”

She hadn’t. She’d given Derek a fair hearing, which was what judges were supposed to do even when the evidence seemed damning.

“Derek is lying,” Julie said, and for once, Derek’s baloney hadn’t left her feeling sad, stupid, and bewildered. “He probably had one oblique conversation with Davidson over a drink at the clubhouse, mentioned something about it to his father in passing, and then got the bright idea that he could dazzle me blind with the possibilities. He’d be amazing, if he were for real, but if Davidson hasn’t announced his retirement, then there’s no reason to rush home.”

Julie had figured that out in the instant she’d peered at Niall over the basket of pretzels. Simply by looking at her, Niall had inspired her to stop, think, and consider. To use her head, and treat Derek like the lying, manipulative opposing counsel he was.

“Hendershot’s amazing, all right,” Niall said as the violin and concertina whirled along in a minor key. “You’re more amazing. He held your heart’s desire in the palm of his hand, to hear him tell it.”

Derek held smoke, nothing more. He’d never offered Julie anything more substantial than smoke. Julie had given his version of marriage five years of her life, enough time to learn the difference between self-interested charm and love.