His Lass Wears Tartan (3 page)

Baillie gulped in precious air. “Your uncle says you’re welcome, my dear.” Her aunt wiggled her toes and hands before looking up into the air. “It’s these long skirts of your era that are the danger zone.” The older woman pointed into the nothingness in front of her. “I’m used to decorating in jeans or sweatpants.”

“Could’na wait for Uncle’s help, Auntie? I donna think the guests are expecting a blooming garden inside the castle.”

Baillie wrapped her arms upward in a circle and kissed nothing Rogue could see.

“I willna ask if ya need a bit of time alone, you two,” she said with a giggle. “We’ve too much to do.” Rogue loved the shades of flush on her aunt’s cheeks. “Uncle Kai, may I burden ya to help her hang the lights then bring in the boxes of floral arrangements so we may finish this room more safely?”

Baillie moved the ladder, and a strand of thick greenery rose toward the curtain rod, making short work of completing the higher decorations. Once Baillie stepped off the ladder, boxes floated into the room, a few setting down in various areas.

“I thank ye, Uncle.” Rogue made a silly curtsy, she hoped in the ghost’s direction. “A bit frustrating never seeing at least a glimpse of ya once in a while.”

“Sometimes I wish you could as well, Rogue. He’s such a fine-looking, uh, uncle.”

Her aunt’s arms again angled upward, leaning her body into nothing. Rogue made a snort and turned her back on the lovebirds.

An hour or so later, Rogue wiped her hands on the edges of her apron as she stacked empty boxes to be returned to storage. She circled the room, enjoying the festive lights and various pastel and brilliant colors in bloom. Never in her wildest dreams as an orphan did spring twinkle and sparkle like this. Spring was barely acknowledged when she was growing up, and now her aunt’s creative magic brought the castle to life as the dark nights grew shorter.

She plopped down on an overstuffed chair, letting the glittering white lights brighten her heart. The stack of empty boxes glided across the room next to her aunt as she carried on a one-way conversation with Uncle Kai. In a moment, they disappeared through the door.

Tucking her feet under her skirts, Rogue noticed a delicious waft of sugar and cinnamon in the air before a stuttered clink of china announced someone bringing a tea tray toward her. Good lord. It was Bruce. She straightened herself suddenly, undecided on where to put her hands. Of all the sneaky tricks Putney could pull, sending the hot delivery guy in with tea was a bit much. Hiding a smile behind her hand, she watched the young man strain to keep everything balanced. A twinge of pain in her side from masking the laughter sobered her. She took a deep breath.

“A wee different from carrying a box of groceries?” Rogue patted the carved wooden table in front of her. “I’m sure a lady would have no trouble handling a tea tray herself now, would she?”

Stray blond strands hung down over his emerald eyes as he focused on getting the tray to the table without spilling, but Rogue noticed a tension in his lips. Served him right, being all chauvinist before.

“I see Putney has been playing matchmaker again.” Her voice clipped sharply on the last word. “Thank you for coddling the old woman’s visions.”

His face flushed; he squinted his eyes and had difficulty swallowing.

An impulsively wicked thought of touching the bulging arms now so near ran through her mind.
What is this feisty feeling all of a sudden?
Minutely shaking her head, she dropped her feet to the floor and tried not staring at his muscled arms. He seemed as if he held a child’s china tea set in his hands.

“Hmm, and I see she’s added two cups to the tray. Ya must have been forced to take time out of your busy day to share a cup,” Rogue said bending her head over the tea tray, hiding her smile.

Bruce sat on the couch next to her. “A man needs to take a break once in a while, Putney tells me, shoving the full tray in my hands, she did, and pushes me out from the kitchen. Ya gotta love her spirit.”

“Hmm, yes, a rather pushy spirit, it seems.”

He cleared his throat. “She reminds me of my
seanmhair
.”

She held up the creamer and a small plate of lemon slices. Bruce pointed to the cream, and she poured a splash in each cup. “I never knew my grandparents.”

“Now that’s sad. Every child should grow up with grandparents to be spoiling ya such. My da’s mam always met me at the door when we’d visit with her arms wide and her eyes shining. The woman was solid as bricks, wrapping me in a hug, cutting off my breathing. I thought the woman would never let go.” The more he talked, the more animated his face became.

She sipped at the fragrant tea, listening to him tell a story of an unsuccessful adventure in cooking lessons with his grandmother. A tear formed in the corner of her eye, and before she could stop herself, she said, “Aye, for some of us, it’s a luxury we dinna have.” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

Bruce’s cup dropped to the saucer with a clank. “Ah, MacKenzie, you’re all bum and parsley, a bloody twit going on with tales and nonsense about yer grandmother.
Haud yer wheesht!
”  

An awkward silence grew between them.

“I dinna mean to hurt ya.” Rubbing the back of his neck, Bruce blurted out, “I, I like what ya’ve done with the room. Expecting the wee folk to visit?”

She broke into quick, high-pitched laughter, breaking the tension. Why was she nervous, like an empty feeling in her stomach? He was just a mere boy’s flirtatious attitude in a working man’s body. Nothing more, nothing to write about in a journal, if she had one. “I canna take no credit for this fairyland look. It’s all my aunt Baillie. She’s bewitched with the ideas of nymphs and the wee folk, I swear.” The laughter broke the spell of sadness around her heart, and she dabbed at her eyes with a napkin from the tray. Nothing like weeping and wailing in front of a guy to get the wrong notice.

She had zero talents in entertaining a male guest. First time one sat down next to her, personal like, and she ended up a puddle. She blinked hard and flashed him a pasted-on smile. “We have a creative group coming in for a week’s conference. They’re writers, this bunch, from America, coming to learn from some big shot. Auntie goes out of her way because she loves making things special for the guests.”

He finished his tea. “The whole town’s abuzz with the knowledge Mr. Leatherton will be here. Ya should see the signs and posters in the bookshop window around copies of his books.”

“My, I didn’t ken. I havena been to town in a while.” Rogue smiled at Bruce’s animated face. It didn’t seem to take much to entertain this guy. At least they had moved beyond her leaky waterworks demonstration.

Leaning close, he took a quick look over his shoulder and then winked at her. “How do ya handle the rumors I hear from the town folk, this being a haunted castle?”

“Rumors, ya say? ’Tis true.” She couldn’t stop herself from getting puffed up and snorting like a wet hen in a downpour. What was it about this guy that seemed to bring out the worst in her?
He’s not judging you. He asked a question.
“We have our own lord ghost here at Baillie Castle. My great, great, great-something uncle lives with us.” She flipped her hand in the air, another gesture Gillian and the girls had taught her during one of their visits. She felt more confident, relaxed sitting near him; the girls’ advice worked. “The castle tours are filled almost daily during the summer with tourists hoping to see something move or hear a wail in the walls.” She made a silly noise, pretending to be a spirit, in a moment of foolish fun. “Doesn’t every Scottish castle have a ghost?”

“Probably, I guess. Can’t say I’ve ever known anyone who owned a castle.”

His lips set in a straight line, and a dullness dropped over his eyes. What had she said that caused such a transformation? Her mind rushed through the conversation, and nothing popped out. But his slamming an emotional cold iron gate marked the end of their visit.

Setting his cup and saucer back on the tray, Bruce stood. “I best be going; thank you for the tea. I can let myself out through the kitchen and say bye to Putney.”

Rogue smiled up at the exquisite view, momentarily forgetting his abruptness. But if she didn’t know why he’d shut down, she didn’t know how to make him stay or smile again. “I, I appreciate your company, a break for both of us. I have much to do for a tour this afternoon. Our calendar is quite full this spring.”

“When you’re busy,” his voice was monotone, “I’m busy, and I thank you for the daily orders.”

She watched him walk out of the room. He held himself stiff, more withdrawn than when he came in. She played their conversations over and over. She’d probably never know where it had turned sour.

• • •

With his fists clenched and thoughts of kicking himself hard in the backside, he made his way back to the kitchen. What a mistake, hurting her feelings with his gruffness at the end. What was an idiot working man thinking, having tea with an heiress? The only thing they had in common was being orphans, and he’d jammed his foot into that jelly pot, boasting about his grandmother. Turning a hallway corner too sharply, he slammed his shoulder into the stone. Angry at himself, he kept walking. He’d read the papers; the woman had lost her parents as a wee
bairn
. He’d practically insulted her by rambling on about his family—a luxury she called it.

He stopped, leaning against the cool wall, forcing himself to breathe. His revenue for last year couldn’t afford a crumb of the opulent lifestyle of the castle. His apartment floor plan over his shop could fit inside one room of this blooming place.
She has no interest in myself, just being a good sport with the likes of Putney poking her nose between us.
The old woman obviously believed in fairy tales,
The Princess and the Frog
in particular, but he’d not turn into a bloody prince because of a simple kiss.

He found Putney in the kitchen, stirring at the stove. He had a feeling she was bursting to ask him how the tea surprise had gone. “Uh, well, I guess I better be getting back to the shop. I thank ya kindly for the tea and opportunity to set a moment, Putney.”

Her shoulders drooped, and a light sigh escaped her lips. “Did she not welcome your visit, Bruce?”

“Aye, she did at that. She poured the tea, and we talked a bit.” He didn’t know what else to say. How could he explain to Putney what a fool he’d been, thinking he could court someone in her class? He pulled his gloves from his back pocket and slipped them on before picking up the empty crate on the counter.

Putney snorted. “I’ll not give up on ya, lad. I expect to see you bright and early tomorrow morning with my delivery.”

“That you shall.” He pulled on the heavy oak door and slipped out into the afternoon.

• • •

Carrying the tea tray into the kitchen at a fast clip, Rogue banged the set on the counter, mumbling under her breath as Baillie stepped into the room. Putney caught her eye and raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“That’s no way to treat the dishes, lassie. They havena done nothing wrong, in their defense,” Putney said.

Realizing she had a teacup clutched in her tight hands, Rogue stuck out her tongue and blew raspberries at Putney.

Baillie burst into laughter. “What in the world’s gotten into you?” she asked as Rogue slowly placed the cup on the counter.

“Ask Putney,” came the short answer. The rest of the dishes safely made it into the sink.

“Seriously?” Putney’s face flushed a bright red.

“And what am I walking into the middle of between you two?” Baillie pulled out a chair at the table and patted the one next to her. “Both of you, over here, now. Sit.”

Her hands wadding up a towel into a mashed ball, Putney took a seat, avoiding looking at anyone. “I just thought an afternoon tea might break the ice between the two young ones, so to speak.”

Baillie nodded. “And this afternoon tea is what put the dishes into a flight plan of destruction. Rogue, is that right?”

Yanking a chair from the table, Rogue dropped heavily into it and bit her lip, muffling a scream. She’d finally found herself relaxing while they were together, and Bruce stormed off without any notice. Frustrated, she blinked her eyes as a single tear trickled down her cheek. She scrubbed a hand across her face. Great, now the handsome jerk had her crying. What was wrong with her?

Putney straightened her back and threw the towel on the table. “This is nonsense. I invited Bruce to tea with Miss Prickly Pear and sent him in to see her with a full tray. He leaves with his chin dragging across the floor, and a few minutes later, she rolls in mad as a hatter.”

“Bruce? He was here just now?” Baillie looked back and forth between the two and received two nodding heads. “Okay, we have tea and we have Bruce. Our Alice has herself buried somewhere in Wonderland.”

 A second tear began to fall without Rogue’s permission. She watched Baillie and Putney signal over the table with raised eyebrows and short hand movements before Putney eased herself out of the chair and slipped away from the kitchen.

“Hey, it can’t be all that bad, now can it?” Baillie started. “How rotten can a tea party be?” She pushed the kitchen towel over, and Rogue covered her face in the soft, worn material.

“I made a fool of myself, Auntie. I’m no good talking to anyone but my horse. Dougal doesn’t care what I say.” Blowing her nose, Rogue caught her breath and mopped her wet face.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I donna ken for certain; that is part of the problem.” Rogue stared at her with red, damp eyes. She relayed Bruce’s story of his grandmother and the sense of loss it brought back unexpectedly. “But then we were teasing about your decorations in the room, and I’m thinking we’re doing okay, when he stands up all serious and brooding, stomping out of the room. What did I do to make him hate me so?” A fresh wave of tears fell, and she hid her face in the towel.

“Wait, I’m confused, back up a minute. What were you last talking about?”

Sniffling, she answered, “I donna remember rightly. I keep running the conversation through my head, and it doesn’t make any sense. He asked something about rumors the castle was haunted. I got a little pissy about Uncle Kai not being a rumor, and he threw a remark at me about not knowing anyone or having any experience with castle owners and then practically walked out from there. I’m defective and dense at being social. I canna do this no matter what you and Putney think.”