Some Like It Scot (3 page)

“Oh, but it 'tis,” Roan said, his single dimple deepening with obvious glee. “Just happens it's the mainland of America.”

“Now you truly have gone off your daft.” Graham turned to Shay. “I'm not heading across the pond to chase this”—he shook the paper as fury, along with a good amount of fear, knotted the words in his throat. “This is the most outrageous, preposterous—” He stormed to one end of the office, then back to face them. He had to make them see, make them understand. “We simply have to gain support for abolishing the law. That's all there is to it.”

A light tap sounded on the door directly behind Graham. He'd barely moved out of the way when it swung open to reveal the stout form of Eliza McAuley. “Ye've a visitor, just in off the ferry.”

“Eliza, it will have to wait,” Graham said. “We're in the middle of a very important discussion. We—”

“I've two perfectly good ears, Graham MacLeod. I can hear quite well what's going on in here, and let me tell you,” she said, stepping up to him with a fiery light sparking her faded blue eyes to life, “Roan is correct. You'll find little support for your abolishment scheme amongst the elders on this island. Don't think we'll stand by while you attempt to undermine what our ancestors set about creating. We're still here four hundred years later largely due to their foresight.” Then she pinched his cheek, as she'd done since he was a wee lad. “Don't think we dinnae love you, because we surely do, spoil you, we do. Doted on ye since ye were but a wee lad, traipsing along after your grandfather. And we're proud of you now, we are. Fiercely so. We raised ye to be the man ye are, have no doubt of it. And are quite content with how you turned out. But you need to be sensitive to balancing your new ways with our auld ones.”

“Eliza,” he said, working his jaw slightly when she released his face. The pinch wasn't any more enjoyable now than it had been in his youth. “Do you mean to say that you honestly believe it's in our best interests for me to bind myself to what amounts to a complete stranger?”

Eliza's smile was wide and confident. “Darling lad, weren't ye listening to Shay? We've been arranging marriages for quite a long time. I'm no' thinking your argument there will hold much weight.”

Had the auld woman had her ear to the door the entire time? “But—”

“But perhaps I should introduce the young man waiting patiently in the outer office. He might be the one to change your mind.”

“We don't have time right now to—”

“Oh, but ye'll make the time for this.” Eliza had already shifted back and a moment later a tall, blond-haired, nattily dressed, rather dashing-looking fellow entered the room in such a way as to say that he was quite used to making an entrance, and equally confident that folks would react favorably when he did.

“I say,” he said, skimming his gaze past each of theirs, then sticking his hand out. “Which of you is Graham MacLeod?”

“That would be me,” Graham said, stepping forward. “What can I do for you, Mr….”

The man chuckled, displaying a marquee poster set of teeth a blinding shade of white not often seen on that side of the pond, and extended his hand for a brisk, firm shake. “Iain. Iain McAuley, and I've come to claim my island. And my bride.” His grin widened, revealing two perfectly formed dimples. “I daresay, not in that particular order.”

Forty-eight hours later

G
raham shifted gears with his right hand as he jerked the steering wheel with his left, guiding his vehicle wildly back to the right side of the road. Which was the wrong side of the road, as far as he was concerned. It had been tricky enough getting the hang of shifting gears wrong-handed, while operating the pedals correctly, sitting on the wrong side of the car, and driving at high speeds on the wrong side of the road. Not a single roundabout to be found, either. The Yanks had been there several hundred years, and still had no idea how to manage traffic in an orderly fashion.

Of course, the traffic he was generally used to navigating through had four stubby legs and a rather sturdy bleat for a horn.

He crossed over a stone and white fence bridge and drove into the historic, older section of Annapolis, Maryland. Though delighted to finally enter a roundabout, with what appeared to be cobblestone streets extending out in key points around it, he counted wrong and exited down Main instead of Duke of Gloucester. He found himself at the waterfront moments later.

As a village, Annapolis was picturesque, and he certainly appreciated the view of the bay. It didn't make him feel entirely at home, what with all the gleaming yachts and soaring schooners moored about. Kinloch didn't favor too many of those. None, actually. But Annapolis was a seafaring village nonetheless and both the layout and the buildings reminded him of home. Certainly the only time he'd been reminded of it since landing at the chaotic airport in Baltimore earlier. So Graham tried to embrace what good there was to be found.

It was a sincerely positive way to look at things, considering his chances of embracing anything—or anyone—else in the near future, were unlikely in the extreme. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortably warm and not a little itchy in his formal wear. Given the lack of planning time, he hadn't many flight options and had known the window for making it to the church before the ceremony would be brief. Hence the quick change in the airport bathroom and the unfortunate substitution of a small, standard transmission economy rental over the larger utility vehicle Roan had promised he'd reserved. There'd been no time to argue, however, so he'd crammed his broad frame into the tiny piece of tin and barreled off.

He'd arrived, mercifully if not surprisingly, still in one piece after the harrowing journey along the highway. The likelihood of a successful mission seemed even more far-fetched than it had when he'd boarded the ferry in Kinloch. He was there to convince a complete stranger to not only leave with him and go to Scotland, but to bind herself to him in matrimony. What sane person would do that?

What had he been thinking, allowing Roan and Shay to convince him to do this?

Iain McAuley's smug, impossibly perfect visage swam through his mind. Again. Graham renewed his efforts. He had to do his best to find a workable solution. Everyone was counting on him and he couldn't let them down. He definitely couldn't return home to face that imposter who would call himself a clan laird as anything other than the rightful successor himself.

And, to do that…he needed a bride.

Bloody hell.

He miraculously discovered a connecting street that put him back on the right path, and there, looming straight ahead, was the tall spire of St. Agnes parish, accurately resembling the one in the picture Roan had printed off the Internet. There were only two other like-size churches in the historic section and he'd passed them both going through the roundabout and getting lost on the waterfront. So it had to be the one. The massive, redbrick building butted right up against the road, leaving no room for parking, although he did spy a sleek black town car, idling at the curb at the far end of the building. He assumed, given the flowers and ribbons tied to the back, that it was the car the newly wedded couple would get in upon exiting the chapel, and though he was tempted to park in front of it in order to get inside the church as quickly as possible, he couldn't risk coming out later to find his car had been towed away.

There wasn't a soul outside the church, which meant the ceremony had probably already started. If he stationed himself in one of the rear pews, he would have a good opportunity to scan all the guests as they filed out behind the bride and groom, and hopefully gain the attention of Miss Katie McAuley.

He turned into a small alleyway just before the church, hoping to find parking, and, to his relief, there was a car park just beyond the stonewalled prayer garden situated at the rear of the church. He managed to make the turn without careening into anything, although an older woman walking a very small bundle of fluff had looked quite alarmed for a moment. She'd all but yanked her little lap rat clear across the road when he'd turned a bit wildly at the last moment. He would have waved an apology, but he was using all his available appendages to maneuver the vehicle safely through the narrow alley and into the car park. He crawled through each and every row of the sizable lot looking for the first available space—which wasn't to be found.

“Who's marrying here, royalty?” he muttered, then finally spied a wee area at a vee in the rows. Grateful for the size of his car for the first time, he managed to nudge the tin can into the narrow slot and exit without doing any further damage to himself or the cars on either side.

He winced a little as he straightened out his limbs and spine, and adjusted what needed adjusting. He patted his
sporran
, which contained his wallet, passport, and the picture of Miss McAuley, then locked the thing up before heading across the paved lot at a fast lope.

He thought about slipping in through a rear door, but not being familiar with the church, with his luck he'd pop in right at the pulpit, or something equally unfortunate. So, after a glimpse up the path that led into the beautifully sculpted prayer garden, he opted to take a fast jog along the cobblestone walkway that led around to the front entrance of the main chapel. But his plan faltered before he could take off—when he heard the swearing.

It was coming from…the prayer garden? He took several steps along the hand-laid stone pathway. Weeping he could understand in such a place…but swearing? An argument perhaps? Either with God himself or someone mortal, he didn't know. Either way, it wasn't his concern, but he didn't turn back right away. The voice grew louder. Just one. A woman. A very unhappy woman from the sound of it.

He'd never been one to turn his back on another person's troubles. If there was a broken-down car along the lane, he stopped to help get it back up and running. If a visitor to the island got lost out on one of the trails, or…anywhere, really, he guided them back to the familiar. Of course, given the entire loop around the island was just shy of ten kilometers, perhaps that wouldn't exactly earn him sainthood, but ignoring a plea for help went against his grain. Only…the woman in question wasn't pleading so much as…ranting. In fact, he couldn't recall ever hearing a member of the opposite sex use such an…inventive string of invectives such as was being issued forth.

He definitely had no business intruding, and no real desire to confront a distraught woman, but found himself pausing another second longer when there was a break in the rant.
Probably to regain her breath,
he thought, somewhat uncharitably, but waited to see if there was another party as equally invested in the…conversation…as she was. How the other party would respond to such an outpouring, he had no idea, but he doubted it would be received all that well—which meant he'd be put in the position of deciding whether or not the woman could use a little…what did the Yanks call it? Backup?

But there was no second voice. And the woman didn't start up again. He let out a little sigh of relief. He needed to get inside the church without further delay. But before he could change direction, a vivid swirl of white satin and lace whipped out past the end of one of the tall, manicured hedgerows. Quite an abundance of it, actually. It disappeared swiftly, as if snatched away.

He was truly torn. If he wasn't mistaken, the ranting woman was the bride. An exceedingly unhappy bride, from the sound of it, which, again, was not his concern. His job was clear and quite tightly focused. Find Katie McAuley, convince her he wasn't a madman, but a man with a problem only she could help him solve. On the interminably long flight over, he'd decided his best bet was to follow Shay's advice and put the entire thing forward to her as a business agreement. In fact, he had the preliminary documents Shay had drawn up, in the car with him.

He was planning to use them only as talking points, a guideline of what he expected, but if she agreed to help him, pretty much everything was open to negotiation. He'd make sure she was adequately compensated. If there was such compensation for legally wedding a complete stranger to keep him from losing his land and his people.

Now Graham was the one swearing, albeit under his breath. There had to be some other way to thwart Iain McAuley's threat. Of course, right that very second, the smarmy horse's arse was quite likely using that genetically blessed visage of his to court any number of available MacLeod lasses. The MacLeods had been quite prolific in their ability to procreate members of the opposite sex…unlike the past generation of McAuleys. And while Graham liked to think he had the loyalty of his people locked up tight, it would only take one lass whose head could be turned by that pretty face of Iain's to ruin it all. Given the challenges the young people of Kinloch had finding someone on the island to date, much less marry—someone who wasn't already a relative—aye, but he couldn't imagine it would be all that hard a task for the newly transplanted McAuley.

To Graham the idea that his fate and the future of his homeland lay in the hands of a complete stranger and a young, vulnerable woman was disturbing to say the least.

He purposely didn't contrast and compare how equally disturbing his specific mission was. After all, his goal was nothing if not purely motivated. He had no idea what Iain McAuley's goals or motives were—something Shay and Roan were supposed to be digging into during his absence.

So, the very last thing he should be concerning himself with, was the trials and tribulations of the woman presently stalking about the prayer garden. Except if she was indeed the bride, then the ceremony certainly wasn't taking place at that particular moment, which bought him time to find Katie. Though it was doubtful he could have any meaningful conversation with her regarding his mission—not while crammed into a pew, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, with other complete strangers—he could possibly secure a moment of her time once the ceremony was completed.

Which it wouldn't be…as long as the bride was out there muttering and swearing. So, he could either go and take advantage of the time stall…or offer whatever assistance he could. Those were his options, which were rendered moot a moment later when he heard the first sniffle, followed by a stifled sob.

Bollocks
.

Crying women were near the top of the list of things he would rather not deal with. But only a complete cad would leave a bride sobbing behind her own wedding chapel—even if he didn't know her, or a single member of the wedding party personally. Or course, that didn't mean he had to be happy about it. Muttering under his breath about the utter ridiculousness of stupid clan laws, wild goose chases, not to mention crashing the wedding of complete strangers, he strode deliberately up the garden path. At the very least, he could find out what was going to happen next. Perhaps the wedding was to be called off. Then he'd have to find Katie and get her to listen to his proposition while possible chaos reigned supreme inside the church.

That would be so…fitting…given how ludicrous the whole excursion had been thus far.

He slowed as he came to the hedge where he'd seen the fluff of bridal gown. Exactly what he thought he was going to say, he had no earthly idea, but so what else was new? As it happened, a steadying breath and a straightening of the shoulders was as far as he got in figuring it out. As he stepped around the corner of the hedge, intent on announcing his presence and inquiring if he could be of any assistance, the bride came barreling around the opposite corner…and plowed directly into his chest.

“Ooph!” she grunted as she went wheeling back again.

Graham instinctively reached for her to keep her from going over backwards as she tripped over the long train of her dress. He got a fistful of veil and satin, along with her slender arms, but managed to steady her without crushing the garment—or her—completely. She was a wee thing. Though, compared with his somewhat overly tall and broad frame, most women were. Perhaps it was the voluminous dress and veil, but she was virtually lost amidst the yards of satin and tulle.

As soon as he felt she was steadied, he gently released her. “I'm very sorry, I only meant to inquire—”

“Wh-who are you?” she stuttered, her voice raw and thick with tears. He couldn't get a good look at her face, covered as it was by waves of netting. A sparkle of blue and a slash of red lipstick were the only things he could determine. Being quite a bit shorter than he was, he had to crouch a bit to peer through the netting to get to her face. He couldn't see her hair, pinned up as it was beneath the cap of the veil. It looked as if the thing were about to swallow her whole.

“Graham,” he responded automatically. “Graham MacLeod. I—are you okay?” Stupid question since she was clearly not okay, but as an invitation to offer assistance, it was all he knew to say.

“Are you a friend of Blaine's?” She looked him up and down, somewhat bewildered. “No, I know everyone Blaine knows. Did he…hire you? Or something?” She looked past him.

“Hire? For what?” he asked, looking behind him as well, truly baffled, but seeing nothing but the empty garden path.