The Sweetest Hours (Harlequin Superromance) (14 page)

She laid her head back on the seat and grinned at him. “When is the last time you had an adventure like this?”

He thought for a moment. “Burns Night.”

Her cheeks grew pink. “Well...we should get going. It will be good to get some rest if we’re going to find McGunnert Castle once the rain stops.”

“Kristin...what if there is no McGunnert Castle?”

“Malcolm, I saw a listing for it on the internet. After Burns Night, I checked.”

Oh, and everything on the internet is true, isn’t it?
But he bit his tongue.

“Are you doubting me?” she asked.

“If all you found is the one mention, then, yes, Kristy, I am.”

“In that case, tomorrow morning I’ll go on without you. Maybe the garage can arrange for a rental car for you, and I’ll keep mine for myself.” She took the wet end of the umbrella, but he kept his grip on the dry end.

“Kristy, be reasonable.”

She glared, exasperated with him. “This time, I’m choosing to trust in my gut. And my gut tells me that my castle is
there.
No, I don’t have a lot of supporting information right now.

“But I will find McGunnert Castle before I leave Scotland. And if you don’t want to come with me or believe in me, that’s perfectly fine.”

She leaned over and withdrew the key from the ignition. Tugged her umbrella firmly until he released it. Then, she went out her door, stomped through the driving rain, opened the hatchback and yanked out her suitcase. All without giving him so much as a second glance.

He closed his eyes. The woman drove him daft. And when it did come to pass that there was no mythical, shining castle for her at the end of the rainbow—because
all
castles in Scotland were well documented, everyone knew that—then he would need to be there to pick up the pieces for her. It was the story of his life, and he did not want to do it with her. He’d wanted her to be different.

Who was he kidding, she
was
different. Smart, capable, resilient. At heart, he’d seen that in her. Maybe this crazy trip was his fault—he’d betrayed her, after all, and maybe the shock over that had affected her. Everybody had their way of living, their way of coping with the world. He supposed hers was changing.

But this...flight of fancy...would not end well. He could see it happening, unfolding as if in slow motion, as he saw most disasters, and he was powerless to stop it.

Plus, practically speaking, after it was all over, she’d need to get back to Edinburgh, and he was her ride. Yes, if nothing else, he was dedicated to being her chauffeur for this expedition, whether he approved of her motivations or not. And he wouldn’t abandon her—or anyone else in such a situation, for that matter.

Damn it.

He got out, slammed the door behind him. In the space of a breath, he was soaking wet. He had no suitcase, no spare clothing. His shoes squished in the mud, his hair matted to his head.

He retraced his steps to the bed-and-breakfast, and with his long strides, he quickly caught up to Kristin. He fell in step beside her. At the front door to the whitewashed croft, the landlady “tsked” him when she saw their sorry state.

That’s when he recalled not having been entirely nice to the landlady earlier; maybe he had snapped at her a bit when she’d said she only had the one room available instead of two, and then again when she’d wanted cash, not credit card.

He just was on edge. His patience stretched to the limit.

He stayed behind with the landlady, smoothing her ruffled feathers and inquiring about getting his clothing cleaned and finding a toothbrush. He’d left Edinburgh with none of this planned ahead; normally he would have stopped at his flat to at least have changed into jeans. What was Kristin
doing
to him?

He went into the front parlor, where Kristin sat on a settee beside a stout man with weathered, red skin, who—judging from his work boots and attire—appeared to be a dairy farmer, maybe the husband of the owner. He and Kristin had their heads buried together inside a large, colorful research book titled
Highland Clans.

Malcolm groaned.

It was clear he needed a new strategy for changing the way he dealt with Kristin.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“N
IVER
GAE
TAE
bed angry, lass.”

Kristin sat at a small table in the kitchen of the quaint, homey bed-and-breakfast. Alistair—the B&B owner’s husband—had enthusiastically shared a library of his wife’s—Eileen’s—research books.

Presently, Eileen was helping Kristin to “tea,” as she called it, but which really was just a light supper that didn’t involve tea of any sort.

Kristin munched happily from a packet of “crisps”—potato chips, to her—and tried to decipher what Eileen was saying. “Could you repeat that, please?” Kristin asked.

“Niver gae tae bed angry.”

Kristin smiled and nodded. She still didn’t have a clue, but Eileen’s accent was so interesting, it should be called a different language altogether. Kristin’s brain needed to slow down and back up just to catch what Eileen what saying.

“Oh, my gosh,” she finally realized. “‘Never go to bed angry.’ You think George Smith and I are
together?
”

“Aye, lass.”

At last she and Eileen understood one another. “No, you see, George Smith and I are not romantic partners. We’re just...work acquaintances who got caught in the rain with car trouble.”

“’Tis spring,” Eileen insisted. “Maybe a romance will blossom.”

“No.” Kristin emphatically shook her head. “It won’t. In fact, if you can make sure that our two rooms are as far apart as possible from one another, that would be best.”

“No, there’s just the one bed, lass.”

“One bed.” Kristin put down her bag of crisps. “Do you mean, as in one room?”

“Aye.” The landlady smiled and leaned in closer. “And I wouldn’t toss him from my bed, were I you. He is a handsome braw one, ken what I mean?” She winked.

Kristin’s mind was swimming; she didn’t understand the last bit of what Eileen had just said.
“Ken what I mean?”
she repeated helplessly. “What’s that...?”

“She’s saying, ‘Do you know what I mean?’” Malcolm said, walking up behind her.

Kristin jerked her head up. Great, he’d overheard them discussing her sleeping with him. She felt the blush creeping over her face.

Malcolm smirked at her, the maddening man. He passed her a bottle of water and half a sandwich from his plate, then leaned his backside against the counter, casually crossing his feet as if he enjoyed this conversation immensely. “Go on. Don’t stop your talk on my account.”

“George and I will
not
be sharing a bed tonight,” Kristin announced. “Is that understood by all?”

“Well, that’s me.” Eileen pushed herself up from the table and winked at them both.

“That means she’s finished and is leaving,” Malcolm explained to Kristin before she got a chance to ask.

“Oh,” Kristin said. “Good night, Eileen.”

“Good night, Kristy. Good night, George.” Eileen motioned to the sandwiches on Malcolm’s plate. “Put the wrappers in the bin when you are done.”

“Aye,” Malcolm agreed.

“And watch the wee beasties,” Eileen said.

“Right-o,” Malcolm said. “Er...don’t forget what we discussed earlier, Eileen.”

“Oh, aye, give me a wee bit.” Eileen waved her hand back at him and shuffled from the kitchen.

“What was all that about?” Kristin demanded to him.

“Nice lady.” Malcolm sat down at the table. “She said to give her a bit of time.” He nodded. “Yes, I think I smoothed everything over very well with her.”

“What exactly are wee beasties?”

He gave Kristin a “Don’t ask” look, then just shrugged. “Ants. Mites. A couple of silly little dogs. Could be anything. Could be nothing. Next time, I’ll get you a room in the Four Seasons.”

“
Next
time?”

“Oh, and thank you for using the George Smith name. I know it must burn a hole in you to have to say it aloud again.”

She sighed at him. “I’m fine,
George.
”

“Aye, that you are. You’re a princess among women.”

“Never mind your flattery, I meant what I said about the bed,” she insisted.

He gave her a smile. “I checked the satellite imagery software and the 3D maps on my smartphone. I found something very interesting. Did you know that no castles whatsoever are showing up on your
x
-marks-the-spot map?”

She saw what he was doing. “Then your technology is wrong,” she retorted. “Because Alistair found me a research book that clearly lists McGunnert Castle as located in the very village where I said it would be.”

“Maybe his book is wrong.”

“Maybe your smartphone is wrong.”

He raised a brow at her. The man was maddening. And sexy. But at least they weren’t raising their voices at each other anymore.

“Do you know what, George?” she said sweetly. “I think I’ve been understanding about you and your security name. Now, I think it’s your turn to be understanding of me—I don’t want my goals and my dreams stomped on anymore.” Her hand went up like a stop sign. “No more stomping on me. I won’t tolerate it. Do you get it?”

“Okay,” he said, quickly enough to make her suspicious. “I get it.”

She crossed her arms. “You do? Really?”

“Sure.” He gave her a charming, lopsided smile. “Believe it or not, you make sense to me, Kristy. Now I know why you were so happy to have the Burns Night celebration. You love Scotland. It’s obvious—it’s in your blood. And I also know why you—and not one of your managers—were alone in the factory on that Saturday to begin with.”

“And why is that?”

“Simple,” he said, his face the picture of innocence. “People take advantage of you, and you let them—or at least you used to. You don’t want that kind of life for yourself anymore. No more people telling you what to do, how you should live, what you should say or not say. I think you’ve had enough of your old life, and that’s one of the reasons why you’re here in Scotland, whether you realize it or not.”

It was all true. “Okay...” So he sort of understood her—she still wasn’t sharing a bed with him.

He pushed his cell phone across the table to her. “Go ahead and use my phone to call Arlene about your delay in getting back to Edinburgh. I don’t mind.”

She sat there, holding his phone while he gathered up the rubbish from their make-do meal and then dumped it all in the trash receptacle.

He glanced at her. “Is everything fine with you, lass?”

“I’m...trying to decide whether I’m being trampled or not.”

“Oh, Kristy.” He gave her a look. “You’ll
know.
”

She shivered. There was an undercurrent that was just...drawing her to him again. And making her very nervous at the same time.

His gaze met hers and held it. “Do you know what my next big job is, Kristy?” he said in a murmur.

“Why...don’t you tell me?”

He smiled slightly. “It’s getting you back to Edinburgh safely so we can have that meeting and evaluate our next steps together. And I do promise to accomplish it without trampling you. Is that an agreement, then?”

Her heart pounding, she nodded.

For a long moment, they just stood there, looking at one another, eye to eye.

At last she took a breath. “Thank you for letting me borrow your phone.”

“Aye.” His voice was still very low. Then he added, “Tell Arlene that George Smith says hello.”

He walked away and left her alone in the kitchen.

* * *

M
ALCOLM
GAVE
K
RISTIN
time to settle in and then headed up the stairs with a tray Eileen had given him, holding two tumblers each containing a finger of apricot-flavored brandy. An interesting choice, but he’d been grateful to Eileen for the hospitality.

He balanced the tray on one side and knocked on the door.

“I’m decent,” Kristin called from inside.

Too bad. He would rather enjoy seeing her indecent. But he turned the door handle, whistling, determined to stay on course. He’d said he would believe in her—a tall order, for someone naturally skeptical. Then, he’d promised not to “trample” her. Though frankly, he considered himself the one person who would never do anything of the sort.

Immediately, he noticed that the air in the room was damp and warm, and smelled like a pine and birch forest. Must be the potions she’d showered with. Nice.

Kristin gazed up at him from her position sitting up in the only bed, which took up most of the small room. Her hair was wet and combed back. Pillows were propped behind her against the headboard, and she was burrowed under the covers, with the sheets pulled up over her breasts. One of those research books Alistair had given her was open in her lap.

No, he wasn’t going to get sidetracked into a discussion about castles right now.

He placed the tray on the bedside table. What he really felt like doing was climbing into bed and burrowing under the sheets with her, but from the way she eyed him, the answer was a definite no. And her attire communicated the same message. She had on a flannel, long-sleeved, high-necked nightgown, like somebody’s granny might wear—not a hot young woman who rocked a short skirt and a tight sweater as she did.

He took the measure of the bed with one glance. Large and comfortable-looking, with plenty of room for both of them. But Kristin had established herself in the center, staking out her turf, and her turf appeared to include the entire property.

He sprawled on the lone, ancient chair in the room instead, and immediately sank low into the cushions. No possibility of getting a good night’s rest there.

She went back to her research book and ignored him. He untied his laces, dropped one wet shoe, which landed with a loud plunk, and then the other.

Slowly, she turned a page. “Did you ask Eileen for a blanket for yourself?”

“No, lassie, but ’tis good of you to worry about me.”

She smirked at him.

He took a taste from the snifter and immediately bared his teeth. Eileen’s homemade brandy was stronger than it smelled. A bit sweet, but not too much. “Would you like a wee dram?”

“No, Malcolm.” She said “no” like “nae” and turned another page. “There’s a couch in the sitting room that should accommodate your big, Highlander body pretty well. Do ye ken what I mean?” she said in her Scottish voice.

He “kenned” that she’d noticed his body. He smiled to himself. “For someone who is busting out and declaring her freedom, you’re playing it awfully safe tonight, love.”

She turned another page of her book. “Nothing is going to happen between us, Malcolm. Don’t even try.”

“You think I sleep with strange women I barely know? The nerve.” Little did she know, but he didn’t sleep with women he actually
did
know. He was a monk in service to his family. “Which brings me back to you. I thought
you
were the adventurous one, and
I
was the careful person. And yet, look how cautious you are tonight. Granny-neck gown and all.”

She crossed her arms. “It’s how I stay warm. Scotland is cold in spring. And Alistair hasn’t exactly turned up the heat very high, has he?”

Malcolm didn’t want to talk about Alistair. He wanted to talk about her. “I’ll bet your mother wears granny-necks.”

“She does.”

“Your sister-in-law. Your niece.”

Kristin pursed her lips. “Yup.” She smiled brightly at him. “Must be a Vermont thing.”

He leaned forward. “I don’t think so. I think it’s a Hart-family thing.”

“And your point is?”

“Did your grandmother wear granny-necks?”

Kristin frowned. “I don’t remember that. She died when I was small.”

“And yet, you’ve idolized her into a role model.”

Slowly, Kristin shut her book. “Okay, I don’t see what this—”

“Allow me.” He leaned forward, offering her a snifter one last time, but she declined. “Love, I’ve met your family. And if I may remind you, they thought I was just grand.”

“Easily fooled, I suppose,” she said breezily.

“You’re not like them. Your parents are safe and cautious. I would imagine that they never really encouraged you or your brothers to venture out into the world or go very far,” he said. “So there you all are, still living steps from the house you grew up in.”

“Malcolm—”

“That night, when I said to find your castle, I meant it figuratively. Not like this.” He laughed dryly. “Anybody could tell that you long for freedom, and yet, this is your first time away from home, isn’t it? You didn’t even own a passport.”

She gathered her wet hair in one hand, then let it go. “Actually, you’re wrong about that. I lived in New York City for a while.”

He blinked but did not let on that he was surprised. “And?”

“And, I got a better job at Aura.” She pursed her lips at him. “I liked Aura, very much.” She reached over to the bedside table on the other side, and unzippered a kit. Opened a pot of something-or-other, honey-scented, and rubbed it on her hands. “It made me feel healed, working there. The bees healed me.”

“Healed you from what?”

One shoulder lifted, then dropped. “I don’t know. Maybe it was hard being the only girl in the middle of all those boys growing up,” she said.

He laced his hands behind his head and leaned back, letting her continue.

“I
like
to have fun.” She rubbed that hand cream in vigorously. “I wasn’t always so serious in my life, you know.”

He thought of her dancing the Highland Fling with her niece. She’d seemed like a different person in that moment. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing happened, Malcolm. Just drop it.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Anyway, I’m not here so you can analyze me, or dig deeper into my psyche. I’m here in Scotland because your business put my company
out of
business. I’m here to save my factory and my town. My main purpose on this trip is to convince you of the legitimacy of my proposal—which we
will
discuss tomorrow. For tonight, though, you can walk away from me at any time. I’m not holding you here in this bedroom.”

“No,” he said quietly. “You are not.”

He leaned his head back again. They both knew he was lying. There was just something about her, something maddening to him.