The Sweetest Hours (Harlequin Superromance) (19 page)

“Aye.”

That, and the fact that Malcolm was pledging to review the contracts, meant that he was taking her idea seriously. She kicked off her boots, wiggled her toes and stretched out her legs. “That sounds excellent to me.”

“Thought you would like that,” he said wryly. But he leaned back on his elbows and stretched out his legs, too. He pulled out a whisky flask from his jacket pocket. “You must think I’m a lush. I’m not. It just seems appropriate at the moment.”

He tipped back the flask and downed a sip. “Cheers.” He passed it to her.

She drank a tiny amount, feeling herself getting used to the comfortable, peaty warmth that the real Scottish whisky gave her. “Cheers,” she agreed. And to think that she’d thought she hadn’t liked Scotch. Now, visiting the northern country with all its dampness, she understood the appeal of the blood-warming fire.

She passed his flask back, and noticed that the skin on his hands was rough...
hmm.
Feeling daring, she found the small pot of hand cream she kept in her pocket and unscrewed the lid. “May I?” she asked him, motioning to his hands. “It’s made from shea butter and honey, mostly, with some essential oils mixed in. Smell it.” She held it up to his nose.

He breathed in. “Nice.”

“Do you mind if I rub it on your hands?”

His brow furrowed, but he held out his hands to her, palms down.

She took one of his hands. She had meant to begin gently teaching him about Born in Vermont, one small step at a time, but she’d miscalculated. Holding Malcolm’s hand in hers and rubbing in the rich, sensuous cream was much more intimate than she’d expected.

His eyes hooded, he watched her. She could barely breathe. His hands were so much larger than hers. Rough. Those long fingers with short nails, bitten to the quick.

She swallowed and tried to think of Laura. Mimic the way that Laura spoke—the professional, enthusiastic cadence she employed.

“This...is my favorite healing cure.” Kristin’s voice sounded high; she was failing, utterly, getting distracted by the feel of his skin. She took Malcolm’s other hand. “I know you don’t want to talk about it,” she said in a rush, “but at home in the plant, when I’d be having a bad day, the smell of the bees’ products always made me feel better.”

He put his hand to his nose. “I smell like you now.”

“Pardon?”

“This cream, Kristy.” He looked at her with those direct, clear blue eyes. “It reminds me of you.”

“Oh.” She was embarrassed. She put her palms to her cheeks; they felt warm.

Sighing, he leaned all the way back on the plaid wool blanket. Crossed his arms beneath his head and stared at the sky.

“The sweetest hours I ever spent,” he murmured.

“That’s from the Robert Burns poem, isn’t it?”

He turned his head and looked at her. It reminded her of his body position just before the kiss they’d shared earlier, and for a moment, her mouth went dry.

But he did not move toward her; he stayed where he was, his hands behind his head, smiling slightly, his thoughts seeming far away. “This was my favorite spot when I was a lad.”

“It seems like a great place to grow up.”

He turned his head and looked back at the clouds. “Aye.”

She rolled onto her stomach and picked a small purple flower blooming just beyond their blanket fringe. “Cousin Gerry is lucky to be getting married here.”

Malcolm closed his eyes and smiled. “Gerry is an
idjit.
”

She laughed. “How many cousins do you have?”

“On my mother’s side?” He opened his eyes and appeared to be counting silently. “Dunno. Ten, maybe. Twelve?” He closed his eyes again. “My Uncle John is the only bachelor of all the siblings. He’s the only one who didn’t have any kids.”

She rolled the purple flower between her fingers. “So...are you the heir apparent to John Sage’s empire?”

He grunted. “You know how to ruin a Saturday evening, lass.”

“I’m just trying to understand you.”

He opened one eye. “Very possibly, but none of us knows for sure who will inherit it. One of my cousins is studying international finance in New York City. Much more ambitious than I am.”

“Is he after your position as heir apparent?”

“
She.
She is.”

“Who’s winning, you or she?”

“I don’t know. Does it really matter anyway? We’re all in this together, Kristy. We live together as a family, or we die alone.” He sat up and took a sip of whisky.

Was that bitterness or matter-of-factness, she wondered. She couldn’t help asking him the question that was most on her mind. “Were you kidnapped and held for ransom because you are John Sage’s nephew?” she asked bluntly.

He looked at her, his face stony. “Aye.”

She hugged herself, arms around her knees. “What happened, Malcolm?”

He shook his head, laughing slightly. “I forgot you didn’t know. I’m not used to that.”

“Why not?”

He snorted. “They made a bloody television drama about it. Made every softhearted woman in the U.K. cry. They used a wee, pathetic boy actor. Changed the names and the order of things, of course, because it wasn’t supposed to be me. The lawyers got involved, but still, everybody knew who it was based on.”

“So...is that why you went to boarding school and college in the U.S.?”

“Yes. What choice did they have but to send me away? Safety reasons.”

“Were you...hurt?”

He nodded. Took a drink from his flask. Didn’t look at her.

“Rhiannon must have been devastated,” she said.

Again, no response. Just a tightening of his jaw.

Poor Rhiannon. She must have been worried sick. No wonder she was sensitive to Malcolm’s troubles.

“Did your uncle...pay the ransom?” she asked gently.

Malcolm focused his efforts on screwing the cap back on to the flask. “The family didn’t have all that much money back then,” he said carefully. “But now, we do, Kristy.” He gazed at her. “And we will continue to, as long as I have breath in my body.”

No money-losing deals,
that’s what he was telling her.

She put her forehead to her knees. There was a message in there for her. And suddenly, she understood him so much better.

She shivered, wiping the dampness in her eyes onto her jeans, hiding it from him.
Poor Malcolm. So young...
She hoped he didn’t take it wrong, her showing him the Born in Vermont cream. She’d meant no disrespect.

There were so many more questions she could ask him, but it was just...sad. What good was it dwelling on past pain—and from his face just now, there’d been more than he wanted to tell her about. She should just cheer him up and be grateful for the “sweetest hours” on a rare, not too cold, sunny spring day in the Highlands.

It wasn’t until they were walking back to the castle that, out of nowhere, what Malcolm had said hit her.

John Sage had not paid his nephew’s ransom.

That meant that Malcolm had been with the kidnappers longer than he should have been.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

O
N
M
ONDAY
MORNING
, Malcolm picked through his nearly empty closet—a futile attempt. He didn’t have many clothes up here at the castle, and he would just have to stop at his Edinburgh flat and fill up a suitcase before he and Kristin returned to Inverness this afternoon.

Malcolm groaned and tossed a jacket and trousers onto the bed. He was just so damned exhausted. Not even a hot shower had been able to wake him up. He stood in his dimly lit bedroom rubbing his face. How to solve the problem of Kristin’s presence in his life?

Outside, it was dark; the sun hadn’t risen. He and Kristin had a three-hour drive ahead of them, and though Malcolm had traveled the route often, it wasn’t something he was looking forward to repeating again tomorrow. Yet for as long as Kristin stayed in the castle with him, he would be pleased, so he would have to speak with his uncle today about working remotely from his parents’ home, just to make life easier.

On one level, the weekend with Kristin had been the best weekend Malcolm had spent in ages. Saturday night, they’d gone out to a small, intimate Italian restaurant by the river in Inverness for dinner, then to a local pub that friends of his parents owned, to listen to live music. Sunday had been bright and unseasonably warm, so they’d taken a long walk in the hills with Rhiannon.

Simply put, Kristin had a way of lightening his burdens. She made Rhiannon smile, too, more than he’d seen in quite a while. Malcolm should be happier about it.

On the surface, everything was great, and it even seemed that Kristin and Rhiannon had much in common. The only problem was that it was marred by the nagging feeling that he needed to be more vigilant about letting Kristin get too close to them—part of the ongoing damage control over his decision to bring Kristin into the castle in the first place.

Ironic. The real problem was that he couldn’t protect both Kristin
and
Rhiannon. At some point, Kristin would ask more questions about Rhiannon, and then something would have to give. Between the two women, Kristin was the stronger, and Rhiannon was by far the more vulnerable. His sister had rarely left their parents’ property in twenty-some years. He could tell Kristin why, of course, but...

He wanted to. He wanted to be able to trust her completely.

That was the crux of the matter: how could he trust someone who might just up and fly out of their lives at any minute?

Malcolm knew the only reason Kristin was still with him—he didn’t fool himself into thinking it was for his wit or his fine looks. No, it was for her Born in Vermont scheme.

When and if Kristin got the go-ahead from him, she would be gone from Scotland in a heartbeat. And he really was getting worried about himself—he was caring for her so rapidly that if she were inclined, she could use that power to charm him into a different recommendation toward Born in Vermont than was best for his family’s business.

He could not let that happen. It was time for him to make plans to push harder with her.

Malcolm tossed his wet towel on the tiled bathroom floor and quickly got dressed. First, he needed to scope out the situation with Born in Vermont and figure out a plan before his uncle caught wind of it. There were schemes of his own he was still working on, and once in the office today, he could hopefully finalize them and work out a resolution that would be best for all of them.

* * *

W
HEN
K
RISTIN
ARRIVED
downstairs in the castle breakfast room, Rhiannon was sitting with Paul in chairs facing the window. Both were sipping tea and watching a family of birds outside, though dawn had barely broken.

Rhiannon turned when she heard Kristin’s footsteps. “Good morning.” Rhiannon patted the chair beside her. “What would you like for breakfast, Kristy?”

“Just a quick bowl of cereal for me, please.” Kristin set her purse and her work notebook on the table beside Malcolm’s sister. Without asking, Paul reached over and poured her a cup of coffee and added a tiny bit of milk to the top. He had remembered her tastes perfectly. Wouldn’t she love to bring him back with her to Vermont when her trip was over?

Kristin poured some cornflakes into an empty bowl. “Would you like to drive with Malcolm and me to Edinburgh this morning?” she asked Rhiannon.

“No, thank you.” Rhiannon sipped from her tea and went back to gazing at the yellow finches outdoors.

Kristin waited, but Rhiannon didn’t add anything more.

“Your Uncle John is joining us for lunch,” Kristin remarked. “Why don’t you come with us to the office? It could be fun.”

“That sounds lovely,” Rhiannon murmured. “But no, thank you.”

Kristin drank her coffee, sighing happily as the much-needed caffeine seeped into her bloodstream. “Would you like me to pick you up anything in Edinburgh?”

Rhiannon shook her head. “I have a painting I want to finish today. My business manager is coming up from London tomorrow, and I’m making a final push before he arrives.”

“That sounds exciting.”

Rhiannon looked away from the window and smiled at Kristin. “Kristin, would you bring me back some photos from Edinburgh?” she asked. “I do love to see photos.”

“Of course.” Kristin nodded and dug into her cereal. She glanced up just as Malcolm strode into the room. Immediately, her heart drummed a bit faster.

He looked handsome, as always. Stern and serious, especially in his business clothes, but she was getting used to that in him. And when he saw her, his face brightened, and he broke out into that broad smile that just dazzled her.

She put down her spoon. Her hand unconsciously fluttered to her chest.

Malcolm winked covertly at her, but he bent over and kissed Rhiannon on the cheek. “Good morning, ladies.” He waved away Paul’s offer of breakfast, and instead, grabbed a pastry and filled a ceramic travel mug with black coffee.

“Are you ready, Kristin?” he asked, in that deep Scottish burr that always seemed to echo so deeply in her bones.

Her head dropped back, and she gazed into his eyes, sparkling more than they had a right to so early in the morning.

“I’m ready,” she squeaked.

His knowing stare tugged at something inside her. He was freshly shaven, and a damp lock of hair fell over his brow. “Let’s go, then. If we’re to beat Edinburgh rush-hour traffic, then we’re late already.”

“Of course.” She stood abruptly, reaching for her things. When she glanced back, she caught Rhiannon observing them, a secret smile on her face.

“Go on ahead,” Kristin said to Malcolm. He had tucked the pastry in his mouth as he used one hand to rummage through a board on the wall containing hooks that held sets of keys. His other hand gripped the mug of coffee. “I’ll be right behind you in a moment,” she said to him.

She turned to Rhiannon and whispered, “Will you be okay here today?” There was something about Rhiannon that drew Kristin into wanting to befriend her. In the two days she’d known Malcolm’s sister, Kristin had sensed a gentleness and serenity in her that was greatly appealing.

“Oh, yes,” Rhiannon murmured. “As long as the rain holds off, I’ll do some walking, then I’ll shower and settle in to paint.”

That sounded like heaven, actually. Kristin sifted through her purse and pulled out a small plastic bottle. “This is shampoo that a lady from home made for me. If you decide to try it, I’m interested in hearing what you think. But don’t tell Malcolm, because he thinks I’m trying to talk him into doing something that he doesn’t want to do. And that’s not my intent at all.”

With a questioning look, Rhiannon opened the bottle and held it to her nose. A smile came over her face. “It’s lovely.”

Kristin nodded. “A dear friend of mine formulated it. It’s all organic and hypoallergenic. Oh, and here—there’s a conditioner that goes with it, too.”

“Your friend is very talented.”

“I know. She was. She passed away last autumn. I miss her so much.”

“I’m sorry.” Rhiannon’s eyes, so like Malcolm’s, gazed hauntingly at Kristin. “Are you asking Malcolm to invest in her company? Is that why you’re here?”

“No,” Kristin said firmly. “But I am asking him for his help in figuring out a way to keep my hometown plant open. That’s what our mission today is, actually.”

“And then you’ll return home once everything is settled?”

“Yes, I suppose that’s the plan. I live in Vermont, after all—it’s my home.” Kristin looked out at the birds. “Like this is your home.”

“Of course.” Rhiannon nodded. “I understand.”

But Rhiannon’s gaze followed Kristin as she waved at her and then dashed outside toward the driveway.

A damp, bone-chilling wind curled around her, and Kristin pulled the cashmere McGunnert shawl tighter around the shoulders and collar of her coat.

She didn’t know why she’d just shared that confession with Rhiannon back in the house, except, somehow, she didn’t want to lie to Rhiannon, or for her to get the wrong impression of Kristin’s motivations with her brother. Besides, she’d promised Malcolm she’d be clear with his sister. She would not mislead her, or him.

And lately, Malcolm had been making it easier for Kristin to trust his intentions, too....

A gleaming silver sedan pulled up before her, the tires crunching over the gravel. Kristin jerked awake. This vehicle was much nicer than her rental, which Malcolm had wanted to have returned to Edinburgh, but she wasn’t willing to give up her wheels—though she definitely wouldn’t argue about riding in this car today. The engine idling, Malcolm leaned over and opened the door for her.

She jumped in, feeling bubbly and excited. She loved long drives. She had high hopes for their meeting with Malcolm’s uncle and was anxious to discover if Sage owned the rights to Born in Vermont. If they did, that meant more time with Malcolm. More time to come up with a presentation to convince his uncle that the new venture was worthwhile for Sage.

The car smelled new. It was beautiful inside, spacious and roomy with leather seats and a polished wood dashboard. Her bottom felt warm, and she realized there was an electric seat warmer. She sighed, and sank deeper into the comfort.

“
This
is more like it,” Malcolm said. “Are you ready to road-trip in style?”

“Aye,” she agreed. “Floor it, driver.”

* * *

T
HE
DRIVE
FROM
Inverness to Edinburgh went relatively quickly—nothing like Friday’s slow crawl through mountains and narrow, twisting lanes. In comparison to what Kristin was used to, this journey felt similar to the scenic ride from rural mountains in New Hampshire down to a sparkling, flatlander city on the coast. Portsmouth, say, or maybe even Boston.

She made the mistake of mentioning that to Malcolm.

“So,” he said, as they waited at a roundabout’s traffic light inside the Edinburgh city limits, “you do take trips away from home? You’re not a recluse to your hometown?”

“Of course not,” she said, wondering if she should feel insulted. “Why would you say that?”

He gave her a lazy grin, one hand on the top of the steering wheel, his thumb tapping to music on the satellite radio. “No reason.”

“Do you think I’m like Rhiannon that way?”

A frown crossed his handsome face. “No.” He glanced at her. “I was just noticing that your world in Vermont is safe for you. And yet, you crave adventure. It oozes from you. You can’t hide it.”

She laughed. “Maybe so, but...” She watched a white seabird fly past. Like a New Hampshire seagull, but smaller. “Well, maybe I am having a good time here despite everything else,” she mused.

“That’s good.” The grin split his face. “Kristy, I would love to spend the morning with you—I would even invite you into the office with me, but it’s illegal for me to break the nondisclosures. I know you want to be there, but...can you understand, and trust me with this step in the process?”

“Trust you?” she repeated dumbly.

“I need to meet with our lawyers first, but when I called them this morning, they reminded me that it’s confidential. No one from outside the original agreements can be there while we review the contracts. I’m sorry, but I’ll have more news for you at lunch.”

“But didn’t your uncle say that I should meet with you today?”

“He did. But he wants me to look into this first. And I will invite him to lunch with us.”

Disappointment settling over her, she tried to think it through. What Malcolm said did have merit. “All right,” she said grudgingly. “I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. But I warn you, I’d better meet you and your uncle at noon.”

“You will.” He gave her a relieved smile. “Until then I’ll drop you off as close to Edinburgh Castle as I can get. Then we’ll meet at lunch.” He leaned over and opened the glove box, pulling out a cell phone. “I almost forgot. I got this for you. My number is programmed inside, as is my parents’ number.”

She took it from him, their fingers brushing, and held it to her heart, genuinely touched.

“Thank you, Malcolm.” Maybe she could trust him to give Born in Vermont a fair consideration without her there to observe. “And thank you for looking into the Born in Vermont legalities for me. I do appreciate it.”

His sad smile stayed with her. “I’ll do what I can for you, Kristy. And you’ll promise to keep an open mind with me. Aye?”

“Aye,” she whispered.

The tenderness of his endearment for her stayed with Kristin for the next three hours. Three hours of a sunny, blue-sky morning at Edinburgh Castle, the great stone fortress on the rock that towered over the city.

Built on top of an extinct volcano, Kristin learned, the castle was filled with history. She spent the morning climbing battlements, peering inside chapels, visiting Queen Mary’s bedroom and gawking at the crown jewels of Scotland.

But at the appointed time she was more than ready to meet Malcolm. She headed down the cobblestone, pedestrian-only street on the hillside—the famous Royal Mile—and into the doors of the pub that Malcolm had chosen for their lunch meeting.