Authors: Janice Maynard
“You’re making that up,” she said.
“I’m not, honestly. Look at page one eleven. We say ‘tying the knot’ back in Georgia, too, but I never knew the expression came from Scotland.”
Abby read the section I had marked. “It was probably based on some old superstition. We’re drowning in them here. No mixing red and white flowers without other colors in amongst them. No getting married in May.”
“I’ve never been the superstitious type.”
“Nor me. But sometimes it’s hard to overlook the things we’ve heard our whole lives. Mine was a May wedding,” she said softly. “There were times I wondered if…well, you know what I mean.”
I wanted to comfort her, but I was hardly an expert on how to rise above superstitious nonsense. I’d been known to step over the cracks in a concrete sidewalk, even if I felt foolish while doing it.
Abby put the book aside. “What time do we need to pick up your dress in the morning?”
“Mrs. Duff said anytime after ten.”
“Let’s have lunch in town then. Maybe Bryce will join us. He could use a break.”
An instinctive protest hovered on my lips, but I couldn’t think of a believable reason why I didn’t want Bryce to come along. Maybe he would tell his sister no. I could only hope.
I slept poorly. Everything in my Scottish adventure was coming to a head. I grappled with a mixture of anticipation and dread. When morning came, I had no interest in going into Inverness, but my party dress required one last fitting.
Skipping breakfast was cowardly. The prospect of being closed up in a car with Bryce had me sweating. I certainly didn’t want to add an uneasy meal to the mix.
Abigail and I had agreed to meet downstairs at 9:45. When I made it to the front foyer, both of my hosts were already present. Bryce looked handsome in dark slacks and an oxford-cloth dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Luckily for the success of the upcoming party, the weather had turned balmy and warm, one last homage to summer.
Bryce gave me an inscrutable look and then focused his attention on his phone. Abby hugged me. “Let’s do this,” she said.
Outside, I made a beeline for the car. I wanted to climb into the backseat and eliminate any possibility of having to sit beside Bryce. Fortunately, Abby chatted nonstop on the way into the city. I probably should have figured out the bus system and escaped on my own. Too late now.
At Mrs. Duff’s home, I assumed Bryce would drop off his sister and me and go take care of whatever errands had drawn him into Inverness. Instead, he parked the car in front of the neat, modest house and got out. Inside, it was soon evident that Mrs. Duff had known the MacBrae family for some time. She chatted amiably with Bryce and Abigail as she sent me into a bedroom to put on my dress.
I’d brought my party shoes with me to check one last time that the hem of the new gown was the correct length. Stripping off my clothes in a stranger’s bedroom was an odd experience. Shimmying my way into the red dress took some acrobatics, but I managed. I didn’t want to ask for help. I was hoping that everyone in the outer room had forgotten about me.
Once I was ready, I looked in the mirror. The woman staring back was wide-eyed. And there was something else that amazed me: she was beautiful. Though I felt like a little girl playing dress-up, even I could see that Mrs. Duff had been spot on. The vibrant red hue lent a glow to my complexion.
I tugged at the bodice. Surely it wasn’t cut this low before. Turning slowly, I looked over my shoulder at the back.
Gulp
. My tall, thin frame was transformed by the graceful drape of the fabric. Instead of a gangly giraffe, Mrs. Duff had transformed me into a swan.
As I began removing the swirl of red silk, my seamstress knocked at the door and entered. Her brows drew together in a frown. “Ye’re taking it off, lass? It’s not right?”
“Oh, no. It’s perfect,” I said hastily.
“Then why aren’t you modeling it for the laird and Miss Abigail?”
“There’s no need,” I said desperately. “They’ll see it tomorrow night.”
“Nonsense. Hold still and let me have a look at you.”
She tugged and smoothed and clucked her tongue until she was satisfied. “They’ll not get the full effect without jewelry, but you look bonny, if I do say so m’self. A film star couldna’ wear that dress any better. Good bones. Come along then.”
When she took me by the hand, I had no choice but to trail after her into the living room. Abigail spotted me first. Her eyes widened.
She must have made some sound, because Bryce had been standing by the door checking his phone, but he turned around sharply.
As long as I lived, I would never forget the look on his face. It was as if someone had punched him in the stomach. His eyes blazed, even as the color drained from his face.
Abby jumped up and hugged me carefully. “Oh, Willow. It’s perfect. You’re a genius, Mrs. Duff.”
The dressmaker preened. “Aye. But it helped that the young lass has the body of a model. She’ll turn heads at the ball.”
Abby smiled happily. “She won’t be lacking in dance partners, that’s for sure.”
Still, Bryce hadn’t said a word. I felt his hot gaze searing my skin, but I couldn’t look at him. Not again. Not when I had seen such naked hunger on his face. I felt wobbly and too warm. “I’ll change,” I said. “So we can go on to lunch.”
No one stopped me. I fled to the bedroom and carefully shut the door, leaning against it and closing my eyes. Shaken and startled, I pondered the truth. Bryce wanted me as much or more than ever. Naively, I had assumed that my awkward end to our physical relationship had convinced him to wash his hands of me. After all, we had barely spoken in days.
Clearly, I was wrong. What was I going to do about it?
Mrs. Duff zipped my beautiful dress into a garment bag, and then we were on our way. Abby had promised me fish and chips, but Bryce overruled her. Instead, we ended up at a small, elegant bistro tucked away on a side street. A tourist would probably pass it by. From the outside, it looked like nothing at all. But inside, the furnishings were elegant.
A string quartet played quietly on a small balcony overlooking the main floor. The hostess led us to small leather-covered booth. Abby touched my arm. “You sit with Bryce. I’ll put the dress bag beside me.” Though her smile was guileless, I had a feeling she was manipulating me.
Bryce didn’t seem any happier about the seating arrangement than I was, but he didn’t say anything. I sat down and scooted toward the wall as far as I could go. Even so, I ended up thigh to thigh with Laird MacBrae. He was a big man.
I decided I could ignore him. If I tried really hard. But he smelled so good. My determination wavered. All I had to do was put my hand on his leg, and I was pretty sure I could provoke a reaction.
Fortunately for my willpower, the server arrived to take our order. I didn’t care what we ate. I was close to Bryce again, physically close. I didn’t know whether to thank Abigail or smack her.
I must have ordered coherently. Thirty minutes later I was eating venison stew, though I’m sure I’d never chosen such a dish in my life. Fortunately, it was very tasty.
Abigail and Bryce chatted about last minute details for their charity event. They were down to the wire. I listened with half an ear, content to enjoy my food along with the wonderful sensation of sitting in a pseudo-romantic position with the man who had stolen my heart without even trying.
What was he thinking?
The dessert was simple, fresh brandied pears and cream. Bryce ordered a bottle of champagne to accompany our last course. “What’s the occasion?” I asked.
My seatmate poured three glasses and replied without even looking at me. “You’re leaving soon. I thought we should toast to your successful vacation.”
Oh. My. God.
The man was taunting me! Though Abigail might not pick up on his sarcasm, given what had transpired between Bryce and me, I was under no illusions.
Abby’s face fell. “I don’t want to toast to that, Bryce. I don’t want her to go.”
His smile was bland. “She has a life back in the States. Dunvarstone was never anything more than a passing fancy to her.”
This time, the cynicism and irony were fully unveiled.
Abby stood up abruptly. “I need to go to the loo.”
I turned sideways in my seat and glared at Bryce. “Are you happy now? You’ve upset your sister.”
He mimicked my pose and rested his arm along the back of the booth, effectively boxing me in. “Did I say anything that wasn’t true?”
“You’re angry,” I said, only then picking up on the fact that he actually bristled with fury. “Why?”
“Because I want you, damn it.” Those beautiful blue eyes blazed sapphire fire.
“I didn’t think it mattered that much to you. It was only sex.”
His expression softened. “Was it, Willow?”
Suddenly, my throat was tight. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. But you barely know me.”
“I know enough,” he muttered. With his free hand, he winnowed his fingers through my hair and brushed his thumb across my cheek. “Let me come to you tonight, Willow. The sands in the clock are running out. Don’t deny us this. It may be temporary, but it’s special. You know it, too.”
It was difficult to look him in the eye, but I found the courage to do it. The truth stared me in the face. He was going to break my heart. He already had. But some things in life are worth any cost.
So what if Bryce wasn’t mine? I had him for the next five days. Did I really want to give that up?
I nodded slowly, knowing I had lost the will to protect myself. “Yes. It’s special,” I whispered. “Yes, Bryce. I want whatever time we have left.”
Abigail came back from the ladies’ room and stood beside us. “So have you two hard-headed people kissed and made up?”
Her timing sucked.
Bryce cursed under his breath. “I
haven’t
kissed her. Somebody is in my way.”
She punched his arm. “I invited
you
out today, not the other way around. So get off your high horse, Mr. MacBrae. Come on, Willow. We have our mani-pedi appointments in fifteen minutes.”
Bryce gaped. “Seriously?”
“You said you had things to do,” Abby reminded him.
When he looked at me, I shrugged. “We have to look good for the party. She’s right.”
“Bloody hell.”
The disgust in those two words made me want to laugh, but I suspected this was not the time. I put my hand on his thigh. “Let me out, Bryce.”
It was touch and go for a moment. I almost believed he was going to drag me down and have his wicked way with me right there in the booth. I can’t say that I would have minded. But Abigail waited patiently.
Bryce stood up and raked his hands through his hair. “Meet back at the car at four?”
I scooted out of the booth as well. Abby nodded and went up on her tiptoes to kiss her brother on the cheek. “Don’t forget to pick up the gift.”
“I won’t. You lasses enjoy yourselves.”
As we exited the charming restaurant, Bryce strode off in one direction, Abigail and I the other.
“What gift?” I asked.
“During dinner at the gala, Bryce will present a silver chalice to the man or woman or couple who has made the largest donation.”
“And how do you decide which charity you’ll support?”
“Bryce has a list of applicants. We usually select three—one that involves children, another for medical research, and the last one something that has to do with conservation and care of the Highlands.”
I fell silent, realizing anew how far removed my life was from the world Bryce and Abigail moved in. This event at Dunvarstone tomorrow night was no bake sale on the church lawn. The MacBraes’ friends were influential Scots, who had deep pockets and a heart for philanthropy. The effort was admirable. I felt like the poor relation at the dinner table.
Once Abigail and I were at the nail salon, I told myself to relax. Even back home I seldom took the time to pamper myself. It was fun to have a girls’ afternoon.
As Abby and I chatted during the appointment, it was clear to me that though she might be understandably nervous about the ball, she was also excited. I hoped her friends would welcome her with open arms and let her know how glad they were that she was doing well. It wouldn’t be a bad thing if fate brought a decent young man into Abigail’s orbit.
“Has Bryce ever had a serious girlfriend?” I blurted out.
Abby nodded. “Of course. He’s thirty-seven years old. Actually, he was engaged when I was in grad school, but when Mom and Dad decided to abscond to Italy, Bryce’s fiancée broke it off.”
I frowned. “Why? I’d think a castle would be in the plus column when it comes to an eligible bachelor.”
“You think that because you’re an American. Truthfully, keeping up an estate like Dunvarstone demands a lot from its owner. Bryce has had a couple more lady friends along the way, ones I thought might go the distance. But they were more interested in weekend trips to Paris and clothes shopping in L.A. The prospect of settling down in the country and helping care for an old man and an even older castle wasn’t appealing.”
Even though the laird was gorgeous and sexy as hell?
I didn’t say that last bit out loud. But I had to question the intelligence of Scottish women everywhere. Bryce MacBrae was thirty-seven years old, heterosexual, and still unattached. Something was wrong with that picture.
After our beauty blitz, we did some window-shopping. I stopped in front of an establishment that rented out kilts for formal occasions. It was a safe bet that most of the guests at tomorrow night’s event would have their own. We had watched one of the deleted scenes from
Outlander
in which the hero, Jamie, had folded and belted the yards of fabric into his kilt. Modern kilts were different, though.
“Tell me about all the pieces, Abby.”
“You’ll see all patterns and different little touches, but the basics are the same. The kilt itself has sewn pleats now, so a man doesna’ have to worry about all that folding business.”
“Okay.”
“The pleats go in the back, the smooth overlap in the front.”