The Great Scot (19 page)

“And now?”

Again, she looked into his eyes. “Now I'm more confused than anything.”

“About?”

“You. Me. What it is about me that draws you. Honestly, I'm not typically a real man magnet. Thus the lack of general concern about having a private life, I guess. I've never really been tempted to worry about anything going long term. It's always seemed to sort itself out on its own.”

“Because you sort it out, or because it's sorted out for you?”

“Both. Maybe, usually the latter. But possibly because I push it that way. Or my job does it for me.” She shook her head and tried to pull away from him, but he was having none of it. “I guess I just choose not to think about it and, to be honest, no one has ever made me want to.”

His bravado deserted him then. Which was precisely when he knew he was in way over his head. But before he could find the nerve to ask the question he most wanted an answer to, she took the pressure off him.

“I hardly know you, Dylan. Do you shake me up?” she went on. “Yes. In more ways than I'd like to admit. It would be great to just give in to it, but…” Now she trailed off, but quickly rebounded, almost blurting out the rest. “I'm not sure I can keep it in perspective. Okay? There, I said it.”

“Ye know me better than most. Perhaps because you only see me as who I am today, and no' the sum of who I've been my whole life.” Her lips quirked at that, and he was curious. “What's so amusing? I couldna be more sincere.”

“It's just…I've thought the same of myself where you're concerned. Not that anybody really looks at me as the sum of my past, not the way they do you. But I guess I carry my past like a chip on my shoulder in my own mind, more than I think I do. And you…you knocked it off without even knowing it was there. Scares the bejesus out of me, actually.”

He barked a laugh at that. “Join the club, then.”

She looked honestly surprised at that. “Me? Scare you?”

He took her face in his palms again, smoothed his thumbs over the corners of her mouth, her cheeks. “Aye, lass. Right down to my toes.”

Her breath caught. “Then why not walk away while you had the chance? Why invite me here?”

“Because it's been too long since I let myself feel anything. Something so strong, even fear, seemed worth exploring. Something tepid would be easy to dismiss and perhaps should be. There's nothing tepid about this.”

Her eyes widened a bit at that declaration, then she smiled, softly this time, perhaps almost wistfully. It wasn't an expression he'd have equated with her until that moment. “I don't know what can come of it,” she said, almost hesitantly, as if not wanting to admit that truth to herself or him. “My life isn't here.”

“It is right now.”

“But—”

“Ask yourself this. It's what I asked myself before finally sending that note tonight. Which would you rather go through life knowing…that you followed your desires, or that you ran from them?”

She sighed a little at that. “I learned at a very early age that desiring something can be a dangerous thing. Not to mention brutal and cruel when the thing you desire most is the one thing denied you. I'm a realist first and foremost.”

More layers
, he thought,
so much more still to explore
. “Life has taught me much the same. And though I'm no' complainin' on where it's gotten me, at the same time, I'm not so sure I'm willing to define my life that way any longer. Too much of it has been spent fulfilling one obligation or another, however misguided at times. But I know something of regret now. Enough to know to avoid having regret when I can.” He held her gaze intently. “And I know I'd regret not doing whatever I could to know more of you, for the time you're here.”

D
ylan stepped back before she could say anything, and took her hand. “Come on. Let me show you why I brought you here.”

Erin let him lead her away from the car and down the gravel path, grateful for the chance to get her thoughts in order. She wasn't sure what she would have said if he'd pressured her. Her judgment was cloudy at best at the moment. Lost in a fog of hormones and confusion.

If he'd demanded an answer right then and there, she was afraid she might very well have tossed caution to the wind and told him exactly what she wanted for herself. Which was to take whatever Dylan wanted to offer her. Because the one thing she did know was that she wanted him. But while she often got what she wanted when it came to business, it wasn't often Erin had the chance to get what she wanted when it was personal. Mostly because she didn't spend much time wanting anything just for herself.

But Erin hadn't made it this far by going for what she wanted at the expense of going for what was best. And she wasn't at all certain that what she wanted, in this case, was what was best for her. In fact, she was afraid it was exactly the opposite. She'd been brutally frank when she admitted that she might not be cut out to handle the repercussions of letting herself get emotionally involved with him.

And at the moment, those emotions were running far too high. The danger wasn't so much in trusting him, the real danger lay in trusting herself. Usually Erin managed to do what was best for her by avoiding temptation entirely. In the end, it made things a lot easier.

But then, she'd never been tempted quite like this.

They rounded the bend, past the stand of tall pines, and Dylan drew her to a stop. Caught up in her thoughts, she bumped up against him, then stopped dead when she finally looked up and caught sight of what lay before her. “Whoa.” Not exactly the most scintillating or sophisticated response, but accurate in its simplicity. She could only stand there and stare at the stark sprawl of ancient castle ruins laid out before her like so many mammoth building blocks. With jutting walls and crumbling towers, the sheer immensity of it was quite overwhelming. Bathed in the otherworldly glow of the full moon, she felt as if she'd been transported to another time.

“It's…there's so much of it. I can't even imagine what it must have looked like when it was whole.” It dwarfed Glenshire. They hadn't climbed that far into the hills, but she could see where the position of the main tower would give a pretty good view of the valley they'd just traversed. Or would if the whole tower still stood. She walked along the side of one wall that was little more than rubble now, so she could get a view of what lay beyond. “It just goes on and on.”

“Aye, the wall was more an enclosure of sorts. The tower was connected to the main house, but there were many outbuildings housing the kitchens, the stables, the farrier, the weapons, the guard, and more.”

“Almost like a village in and of itself.”

“Very much so.”

She turned to look at him. “Is this part of your heritage, too?”

He shook his head. “No' directly, no. It was the Fenton stronghold. They were a valued ally and sept of the Chisholm clan for several hundred years.” Dylan said, his low, melodic voice carrying easily over the warm night air. “Until they were forced to abandon any hope of keeping it in the family.”

“How long ago did they have to give it up?”

“Turn of the last century.”

Erin knew that many of the historic properties that were still standing in Scotland and in England couldn't be maintained by the families and were often sold to a trust formed by the British government specifically to help maintain them. The most viable or important were at least partially restored and often opened to the public for tours and such. Many were left to slowly decay. “Who owns it now?”

“We do.”

She looked at Dylan in surprise. “But with all you already have to maintain—”

“There's not much to it, in this case, I'm afraid. It's well beyond maintaining. We own the property, we pay the taxes, and my brother, Tristan, and I take turns making certain it's no' vandalized or housing anything or anyone it shouldn't. But beyond that there's not much more to do for it now, I'm afraid.”

“Why not sell it to the government then?”

“Because my great-grandfather promised we wouldn't. He was instrumental in its purchase. In addition to being centuries old allies to the Chisholms, the Fentons' last clan chief was a close friend of his. My great-grandfather wanted to save him the final indignity of turning it over to the government and at least keep it in clan lines. It was quite humbling, to say the least, to have to give up direct ownership after more than three centuries.”

“I can only imagine,” she said, looking back at the ruins. “Actually, that's not true. I really can't imagine. I can't imagine having anything like this to deal with. And that pales in comparison to what you and your brothers had to take on.” Not that she hadn't been awed by his responsibilities before, but standing here now, for whatever reason, the enormity of it all struck home. “And here I used to think how much easier my life would have been if only I had family. Maybe I should be careful what I wish for, hm?” She glanced at him, but quickly glanced away when she found his gaze intently on her.

“You said something about not knowing your heritage, or having no heritage to trace, that first morning we met. Where is your family?”

She could sidestep it, or brush it off casually, as she usually did if and when the subject came up. Thankfully those occasions were quite rare. But at that moment, looking at the immensity of the burden that another family had willingly taken on, fought for, likely died for, for hundreds of years…it seemed rather disingenuous to pretend that her own circumstances had been difficult in comparison. “I don't have one,” she said simply.

“Everyone has family. Historically speaking, anyway.”

“In that respect, I suppose I do, but I wouldn't know them if I read about them in a history book or bumped into them on the street. I'm an orphan. I was raised in a state funded home in northern California, outside of San Francisco. My family was whoever happened to be in charge and on staff at the time. There were a few steady faces that would last a few years at a stretch, but, frankly, it was a pretty sucky job. Overworked, underpaid, dealing with a system that was far from perfect and quite often downright depressing. Not to mention kids who were a real handful. I couldn't blame them for leaving. Lord knows I did, the moment I could.”

Dylan stepped over a tumble of small rocks, catching up to her, falling into step beside her. She hadn't realized how far they'd wandered along the main wall. The moonlight cast shadows and she had to pick her way carefully.

“How long were you there?” he asked.

She kept her gaze on the rock-strewn path as they continued to walk. “From about four months on. It wasn't all that bad a place, for what it was, but it wasn't all that great, either. I figured out pretty early on that an education was the only chance I had to get out of there and make something of myself. I worked hard, got a sports scholarship to a small college, earned a marketing degree. Never looked back.” She paused and looked up at the ruins. “Maybe I should have. But it didn't seem like a history worth preserving, if you know what I mean.”

Dylan didn't say anything, just stood beside her. She wondered what he was thinking. A man so overwhelmed by his own history that he'd run off to escape it only to finally grow up, embrace it wholly, and make it his own. She didn't know what he'd think of someone like her, with nothing to lay claim to, nothing to live up—or down—to, nothing to pass along.

“What sport?” he asked, startling her.

She smiled at the unexpected question. “Field hockey.”

He glanced at her then and she turned enough to catch his own slight smile. “The one with the wooden clubs?”

“Don't mock me, now,” she warned him with a smile. “I was quite good with mine.”

“Warning taken,” he said, amusement clear in his tone.

He took her hand and continued on down the path. They fell back into an easy silence, both of them keeping their gaze on the rutted moonlit path, neither seemingly in any hurry. His touch alone made her nerve endings tingle with awareness, but at the same time, she felt quite peaceful and relaxed. She liked his silent strength and felt somehow buffeted by it. Funny, as she hadn't realized there was anything in her life she needed to be buffeted from.

Several minutes passed, then he squeezed her hand. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly.

She didn't have to ask what he meant. “Thanks,” she said. “I like my freedom and my independence just fine, and I think I turned out okay. But I won't lie and say I don't occasionally wonder what it would have been like to have parents, siblings.”

“All that time, never adopted?”

She shook her head. “At first I tried. Maybe too hard. Okay, definitely too hard.”

His chuckle was low, soothing. “A wee bit intense, were ye? Intimidating at age four. I can well imagine.”

She intentionally bumped her arm against his, but didn't so much as knock him off stride. Solid, steady. That was Dylan. “I like to think I was merely precocious.”

“Mmm hmm,” he hummed. “So what happened?”

“You get passed over enough times, you learn to stop getting your hopes up. Eventually I realized that I was setting myself up for too much disappointment, and life was hard enough, you know? Plus, the older I got, the more clout I had right where I was. I started to realize that maybe it was to my advantage to stay. So, then I made sure I wasn't adopted.”

He laughed. “Och, I can only imagine yer methods.”

She grinned, feeling a warmth steal through her at his affectionate teasing. “Well, it's possible I might have been one of those kids I called a handful. Of course, that was open to interpretation. I like to think I was merely headstrong.”

He pulled their joined hands to his lips and brushed a kiss along her knuckles.

“What was that for?” she asked, surprised at the tightness the sweet gesture brought to her throat.

“No particular reason.” He let their joined hands drop back between them, and kept their easy pace. A minute might have passed, when he added, “Or maybe I just enjoy the idea that, for the moment anyway, you're my headstrong handful.”

Her fingers tightened in his for the briefest of moments, the reaction instinctive rather than planned. He squeezed back, but said nothing as they continued their stroll, turning at the end of one wall and heading down the length of another. She noticed, each time silence fell between them, it grew more companionable.

It was odd, considering his touch had her on edge, her body almost hyper aware of his, not to mention the topic under discussion was hardly one she usually enjoyed. And yet, there she was, strolling along, feeling, if not entirely at ease, certainly far less defensive than she usually did when talking about her childhood. Normally she glossed over it with a few dry, self deprecating comments, then quickly changed the subject. It wasn't that she was ashamed of how she'd grown up, far from it. It was what it was. But she'd learned that most people found her personal history fascinating in the same way people couldn't help but rubberneck at the scene of a train wreck. Not the most lovely of situations to put oneself in when one was the train. So she did her best not to.

Only this time, as aware of him as she was sexually, feeling achy and needy and confused…at the same time, there was a kind of…serenity between them. She couldn't think of another word to describe it. She felt safe with him. No topic seemed off limits. She knew he wouldn't judge her, much less make her feel like some kind of freak spectacle. Maybe it was his own past, the tough decisions he'd had to make, both in leaving the home of his ancestors…and in returning to it. She wasn't entirely sure. All she knew was that he riled her up and managed to somehow be a calming presence all at the same time. And there she was, hand in hand with him. Making no effort to disentangle herself.

From the discussion…or from him.

“Did you ever try and trace your history?” he asked. “Do you know anything about your ancestry at all? MacGregor is a common enough name in this part of the world, but perhaps I could help, do some digging on this side of the pond.”

She shook her head, though she was touched by the offer. “MacGregor was the name of the apple orchard stamped on the cardboard box I was left in. My first name was scrawled in indelible marker on the tag inside the sleeper I was wearing. For all I know whoever put me in it got it at a garage sale. It wasn't in the best of conditions, so I was told. I guess whoever found me thought they sounded good together.”

“Surely there was an effort made to find who had abandoned you?”

“There was the standard investigation, but nothing ever came of it. And yes, I had all kinds of fantasies about who my parents were, what impossibly tragic and ultimately forgivable reason they must have had for leaving me on Crestview's doorstep.” She shrugged a little. “Eventually those fantasies gave way to the harsh reality of how the world really worked and I gave them up. I figured my life was what it was and I should be thankful whoever it was at least left me where someone would care for me. I understood how Crestview worked and I was more comfortable and steady dealing with the known, than flinging myself into the unknown. Crestview was all the history I needed.”