Some Like It Scot (22 page)

He was no longer worried about waking dreams and traveling to distant places. In fact, it never even crossed his mind. The only thing he knew, the only thing in his world that mattered at that moment, was Katie curled up in his arms, and her mouth—her sweet mouth—so perfectly on his.

He let her guide the kiss, didn't try to take it over. Oddly, given the level of arousal holding her was doing to him, he wasn't particularly driven to steer that ship. It was wondrous, to discover what she wanted to bring to him, give to him, take from him.

His body raged forth, fully aroused, demanding what it wanted, urging him to take what was so willingly being offered. The demand was strong enough to cloud judgment and defer all rational thought. But there was more going on than the mere slaking of physical need. And that was what he was interested in learning, in experiencing.

So he did.

She explored his mouth slowly, not so much leisurely, but more taking the time to learn each and every nuance of him. He kissed her back when she grew more demanding, followed her lead and took her mouth, let her taste him fully, as she was seeking him out, tasting him. Their kiss was intoxicating in its restraint, and all the more erotic for neither of them giving in to their bodies' demands that they escalate things.

It was only when she grew too breathless to continue that she finally broke off the kiss. He followed after her mouth as she slowly tucked her head under his chin, but checked himself when she slid one hand along his ribs, and under his arm, pulling him a bit closer as she nestled her cheek just against his heart.

He pressed a kiss on the top of her head, and shifted so their bodies aligned fittingly, tucking her legs between his, and sliding his arm around her, his palm up her spine, until he could weave his hand beneath all those curls, and keep her head tucked just as it was.

He let his eyes drift shut, thinking to use the quiet moment to figure out what he should be doing, versus what he wanted to be doing. He'd told her he wasn't taking her to Kinloch, that he'd resolve his problem his own way, and release her from any commitment she might have been willing to make. He needed to think through what he was going to do for her, to help provide a way, for her to begin her new journey, to give her a recourse other than to go back to what she'd struggled so long to leave.

But he wasn't given the chance to do any of those things. Katie sighed, and relaxed fully into him, her fingers, once tensely holding him to her, slackened as sleep finally, mercifully claimed her. No longer forced to sleep upright, to grab winks of sleep while awkwardly leaning from her seat to his shoulder, they could finally stretch out, curl up, and sleep without any motion, noise, or sudden stops and starts.

Those were his final thoughts before he, too, found himself drifting to that same, blessedly blissful place. No sudden shifts in time or space, no crazy insane things happening that defied all explanation. Just the two of them, exhausted, but comforted by the warmth and solid presence of the other, falling blissfully and quite naturally asleep.

W
hen Graham next opened his eyes, the sun was barely up, but enough to fill the room with a soft glow. He stretched and flexed his arms, legs, and back, rejoicing in the renewal he felt after a few hours' sleep. It took a few moments for the rest of the story to filter back into his brain. His eyes flew open, his body jerked upright. Katie. The bed was empty except for him, so his gaze darted to each corner. No Katie.

She wouldn't have left. Would she? Wouldn't have gone and not said her good-byes to him. Surely not until they'd discussed how to get her back to the States, or onward to wherever else she wanted to go. It was the very least he could provide given what he'd put her through. Surely she'd have at least accepted that much as payment for the lengths she'd gone to, to even consider his proposal.

“Katie,” he called out. Barked. A panic was beginning to swell but he couldn't allow himself to retreat back. It was only forward, for him. She would leave, and he would return to Kinloch alone. Whatever confusing waking dreams they'd shared would also come to an end. Surely they'd put that to its final rest, considering what had happened after they'd checked in, and later, in how they'd managed to sleep the night in each other's arms without any kind of repeat performance, either through their dream state alternate selves, or in that bed.

He slid off the bed and strode to the door, intent on finding Mrs. Ardingall if necessary to find out what she might know of Katie's whereabouts. She could just be getting their morning meal. Except…

His gaze tracked back to where her bag had been propped against the wall, left unused last night, given the course of events. Then his head jerked up, and toward the bathroom door. That was it. He sighed, feeling foolish. She'd taken her bag and herself into the bathroom to finally indulge in a good hot shower and a clean change of clothes. Lord knew he was quite looking forward to both of those things himself.

But there was no sound of running water. A short rap on the door brought no response. Anger began to replace the panic. He tugged the door open with a short jerk and stepped into the small washroom. It was empty. As he'd known it would be.

She was gone.

He walked back out, then sank into the chair beside the small table where they'd shared their stew, which was also gone. If it wasn't for the fact that the sun was barely high enough past the horizon to be streaming a soft glow beyond the sill of the window, he'd have worried he had slept the day away and that she'd left out of sheer impatience, waiting for him to awaken.

He thumped his fist on the table. Then again, with more feeling, causing the carved claw and ball feet to chatter a few inches across the wood floor.

Impatient, he shoved to a stand and, after a quick look about—no note that he could see—he grabbed the room key, intending to let himself out the door. He paused and looked back at the bed, then with a quick shake of his head and swearing beneath his breath, he exited the room, locking the door behind him. He wouldn't be coming back.

Downstairs, he found Mrs. Ardingall behind the narrow registration desk at the rear of the foyer entrance.

“Good morning, Mr. MacLeod,” she greeted him warmly. No hint whatsoever that she was aware his roommate had already left the premises.

He debated bringing it up, his nature not being one of involving strangers in his personal matters. He almost barked a laugh. He'd done nothing but involve strangers in his personal matters for the past several days.

He strode to the desk and slid the room key. “Thank you for the meal last night.”

“Everything was to your liking?”

“It was all fine.” He pulled his wallet from his sporran, but the innkeeper lifted her hand to stop him.

“That willnae be necessary. She took care of the room bill when she came down earlier.”

Graham checked his wallet, but everything seemed in order. “But how—”

Mrs. Ardingall's smile remained steady and serene, but her cheeks took on the faintest hint of pink. “I dinnae wish to interfere,” she said quietly, then leaned slightly forward and lowered her voice again—not that there was anyone in the foyer but them. “I believe she cashed in an airline ticket with Alastair at the excursion office first thing this morning.”

“First thing—'tis too early for—” He looked over his shoulder then, through the mullioned glass on either side of the front door. His heart sank when he realized the reason for the pale light. It wasn't due to its being daybreak. It was due to the steady drizzle and overcast skies. He belatedly recalled the weather that had been heading in as they were crossing in the ferry last night.

“What time is it?” he asked. His mobile being dead, he had no idea.

“Quarter past eleven.”

“Eleven!”

Her smile ever steady, she nodded. “I believe she was trying to book passage on the ferry. With the weather, it's no' scheduled to leave today until half past noon. Ye've plenty of time.”

Graham's heart leapt, which he immediately quelled. “What time does the ferry back to Oban leave?”

“Was to be at ten, but the weather delayed her as well. Should be loading right now. I thought ye were heading onward, to Kinloch.”

“I am. Her luggage—”

“She had me contact Barnaby and he came and helped collect her things.”

“Barnaby—”

“The gentleman who brought you in last eve.”

“Right.” Graham had been so distracted by everything that had happened at the slip dock, he hadn't realized he'd never even asked their driver's name. That was unlike him. But hell, what wasn't at the moment?

“Thank you for everything, Mrs. Ardingall.”

“Always a pleasure,” she said, her smile widening as he sketched a quick bow, before turning on his heels and heading out into the dreary morning.

Bloody hell
. He had, in fact, slept half the day away. He wondered when Katie had decided to leave. And why she hadn't at least left him a note. Dammit, he should have asked the innkeeper. But then, surely she'd have passed on anything Katie had told her to tell or give him.

The rain wasn't more than a light patter, but it brought an unseasonal chill to the morning air. He hunched his shoulders, and ignored the grumble in his stomach as he passed by the local pastry, which smelled heavenly. His only goal was getting to the dock before that ferry departed. She might have been fine with concluding their business together in the manner she had, but he wasn't. He hadn't the vaguest of clues what he intended to say to her, but he knew he simply wasn't done with her yet.

Cashed in her honeymoon tickets, had she? He wasn't aware that could be done. Surely she hadn't gotten much for them. And she'd paid for their room, from what little she'd gotten. He already knew her pride would be stung if he tried to pay her back for that, but dammit, she was already facing a significant enough uphill climb. Unless, of course, she'd contacted her family. His grumbling stomach clutched at the thought, though he couldn't have said why. It was her life, her decision to make. What she did or didn't do with herself had absolutely no bearing on him. So why he was remotely concerned was beyond him.

Except that knot in his gut was telling him exactly why it bothered him. He could tell himself until he was blue in the face that she didn't matter—couldn't matter—to him, given how they'd come to know each other, and why he'd initially wanted her. They couldn't turn things around and pretend it was otherwise. Or she couldn't. And he could hardly blame her.

He could tell himself that. But he would know it was a lie. If he were being honest, it was exactly what he wanted, and he was angry, mad as hell, in fact, that she hadn't been willing to look beyond their ridiculous initial agreement, to see if there was something worthwhile waiting to be discovered between them. Something real, and honest, and true, that had absolutely nothing to do with signed agreements and getting time away to figure out the future.

While he was being honest, he might as well also admit the knot in his gut was more like the squeezing fist of an ache a wee bit more highly centered.

All the more reason to cut his losses before he was played for any more of a fool, book passage to Kinloch, then find a phone. He hadn't communicated with anyone on Kinloch, and they'd have no idea when he was arriving. He thought about that, as he hunched his shoulders a bit more as the misting rain increased to a slight drizzle. Perhaps it was best not to let anyone know of his imminent arrival. He still needed time to think over how best to approach the next step he'd have to take—getting that damned law abolished—before Iain up and married himself off.

He heard the horn of the CalMac and picked up his pace. He should have gotten Mrs. Ardingall to help him with a lift to the docks. It was a bit farther of a trot than he'd remembered from the night before. Of course, all he'd remembered from their trip in was watching Katie as she chatted with Barnaby, and trying like hell to distance himself from the vision he'd had on the dock. If only he'd known just how far into such a vision he would go later on.

He was almost full out running by the time he rounded the lane that headed down to the water. The inn they'd stayed in had faced the waterfront, but winding down to the water's edge and the slip dock itself, was more a circuitous route.

He was too late.

The ferry had debarked as he sprinted the final few meters until the dock came fully into view.

He stopped, bent at the waist, and drew in breath, along with the morning mist, as he watched the ferry chug out into the harbor. He straightened and scanned the rear of the boat, trying to see if she might be at the rail, and if so, would she see that he was there. That he'd run to catch her before she left him. For good.

A healthy dose of hurt mixed in with the anger. She hadn't struck him as the sort to pull such a stunt. But then, given the rather unique complexity of their relationship thus far, perhaps she'd been the wise one to leave as she did. They'd been telling each other they'd keep it business from the moment they'd met, and neither one had been able to hold true to that for more than a five-second span, or so it seemed. Maybe she was the wise one, cutting her losses, before things got any further out of their control. Before they risked any further adventures into whatever that otherworld might still hold in store for them.

Yet…he remained annoyed. After all they'd been and done for each other in the intensely focused time they'd spent together, he wouldn't have left her. Regardless of the risks involved. He simply wouldn't have.

He turned then, and headed farther along the waterfront to the other slip. A much, much smaller affair, but then it only had to be functional for the much smaller ferry—compared to the CalMac anyway—that ran across the sound to Kinloch. He knew the schedule fluctuated with the tides and the weather, and that, in the more moderately temperate months, two runs a day was typically the maximum. In the harsher weather, the ferry could go as long as a week or more before making the trip across.

Kinloch wasn't situated that far off, just to the west and south of the smaller Vatarsay, which was connected to Barra by a small causeway. Kinloch was just beyond the sound, but there was a wide enough swath of open sea between them that the least bit of hard weather, combined with the smaller ferry, could make the journey quite treacherous.

He'd long since gotten used to the capricious and unstable nature of their tenuous connection to Barra and the rest of the Outer Hebridean chain, along with the mainland beyond that. Barra did boast an airstrip, Traigh Mhor, which was actually a beach, but in times of emergency, they could make a water landing off Kinloch if someone needed immediate transport for something such as a medical issue. Otherwise, they were dependant on the ferry system not only to ship in any mainland supplies the islanders needed, but also to ship out their baskets.

At the moment, he was just hoping to get himself home.

It was quarter till twelve when he walked inside the small office perched to the side of the smaller slip dock to get his ticket, and also for a bit of respite from the steadily falling rain. He shook his arms and scraped his hair from his face, and offered the man behind the desk a brief smile. “Hullo, Malvy. I need to book passage home.”

“Short trip. How'd it go?” Malvy Fraser owned and operated the small, independent ferry that serviced Kinloch and a few of the smaller islands. Though he no longer piloted the boat, having a bad leg and a worse back due to a fishing boat accident a half dozen years back, he could always be found in the office or around the dock.

Malvy had been the one manning the desk when Graham had come through on his way to the U.S., switching ferries to Oban when Roan had been unsuccessful getting him a flight from Traigh Mhor to Glasgow. The flight would have saved him significant time, and allowed him the chance to check in to the small boardinghouse Shay had found in Annapolis, before heading to the chapel. Of course, given how things had all worked out, it was just as well it hadn't happened that way. Although, playing that back through his mind made him realize he'd never called and canceled the room. Bollocks. He'd follow up on that when he dealt with the rental car.

“It went,” he told the older man. No one outside Roan and Shay had known about his reasons for leaving the island, though speculation was running hot and heavy by the time he'd boarded the ferry east. Graham had done nothing to thwart the speculation, mainly because, for the most part, they were on the right track. They could do the math in their heads. They knew there were no available McAuley women on the island that he could marry. That, and Iain showing up, had painted a pretty explicit picture. But that was all anyone knew.

Except Malvy. Possibly the only soul living anywhere in the entire Hebridean chain who didn't gossip. Graham had often joked with him, back when Malvy had been the one guiding the ferry into port twice daily on Kinloch, that he'd missed his calling and should have been either a priest or a bartender. Malvy had just laughed and claimed he was a bit of both, and if Graham ever needed spiritual guidance, Malvy could soothe the savage soul…providing Graham was pouring the whisky, of course.