The Sweetest Hours (Harlequin Superromance) (13 page)

Her head on the back of the seat cushion, she gazed sleepily at Malcolm, still smiling. The castle on the hill outside didn’t seem to interest her at all.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and asked her a question he should’ve clarified before they’d left Edinburgh. “
Why
do you want to go so far north, Kristy? What’s so special about
this
castle we’re going to see?”

She was silent for a moment. He glanced at her. That dreamy smile had been erased from her face. “You’ll see when we get there.”

He gripped the steering wheel tighter. “I don’t like surprises, Kristy.”

“I know. So consider this good for you.”

This was not reassuring to him. He liked to be in control.

He frowned and focused on the road ahead. The engine protested and whined as he pressed harder on the accelerator; they were climbing up, into the mountains.

But the road suddenly curved, dipping down, and Malcolm eased his foot off the gas pedal. He was getting better at balancing the gas with the clutch, and with his left hand, he shifted into a lower gear. He couldn’t see around the outcropping farther on. Probably just more sheep, possibly a Highland cow.

It was actually kind of funny, if he thought about how his day had turned out. When he’d left for work this morning, he’d no idea he would end up with Kristin Hart on an expedition to the Highlands. Not a bad bargain for him overall, though it was becoming more and more apparent that this was a woman who was meant to march to her own drummer.

Constantly, she surprised him.

As they turned the corner, he slowed. He heard a distinctive noise.

Bagpipes.

Kristin sat up in her seat, excitement lighting her face like fireworks. “Do you hear that? Pull over, Malcolm!”

He steered the wee midget car across to the other side of the road, to a front-row position to watch the piper, decked out in his full kit: kilt, sporran, formal Bonnie Prince Charlie jacket, and of course, his caterwauling bagpipes. Not a chance was Malcolm rolling down his window to amplify the volume.

“It’s a sign,” she breathed.

“Not really. They do this sometimes, for the tourists. There must be an attraction close by.”

Kristin turned and looked past him, squeezing his biceps in the process. He liked the warm feel of her hand on his body.

“Which clan tartan is he wearing?” she asked, oblivious to her effect on him, her face alighted as she watched over his shoulder.

“I...”
Have no idea.

Realizing what she was doing at last, she drew her hand back from him as if she’d been touching fire.

“Er, I have a kilt,” he said, solely to impress her. “Did I tell you that?”

Her expression perked up. But she sat carefully on top of her hands. “Which clan? MacDowall?”

“Hmm? Yes.” He was staring at her legs. Her skirt had inched up over her knees. She had very bonnie legs.

“I suppose I’m entitled to wear the McGunnert clan for my mother’s side,” she said, “and also, I believe, Ross and Stewart on my father’s side. McDonald is in there somewhere, too.”

“The Lords of the Isles,” he remarked.

“Who, McDonald?”

“Aye.”

“I’d like to see these Lords of the Isles. Is that far to—”

“No, we cannot drive to the Hebrides, Kristin. There are ferries involved. That would require a few more days, not mere hours.”

“Of course.” She nodded.

Interesting. He was beginning to see that appealing to her sense of adventure was key to interesting Kristin in anything.

“Since you’ve the blood of the ancient Highlands in you,” he hinted, “you should tell your tour guide to show you the Culloden Battlefield.”

She frowned. “Unfortunately, the tour group will be spending most of their time in England.”

“That’s sacrilege,” he said.

She turned to him. “What other clans’ plaids are you entitled to wear? Do you own kilts representing all the families in your bloodline?”

“No, lass. You choose only one. You must be loyal, you see.”

“In that case, I choose McGunnert. It’s rare, but...I actually knew one of them.”

“Your grandmother?” he asked. He glanced to her shawl. “Is that the McGunnert plaid?”

She nodded. “It is. I bought it in Edinburgh.”

Most likely after she’d run from his office. “Ah, Kristy,” he murmured.

But she didn’t let on that she knew what he referred to. Defiant, she turned to the bagpiper outside the car and sighed at his music. “Can you feel it in you, Malcolm? The sound of the bagpipes just...does something to me.”

He thought of a saying his father sometimes proclaimed: “If the call of the pipes doesn’t stir your blood, then you can’t be Scottish.”

She smiled at him.

The bagpiper abruptly stopped playing. He strode over to the car and tapped on Malcolm’s window. Malcolm rolled it down.

“Are you looking for a bed-and-breakfast?” the piper asked.

“Er...no.”

“Because there’s a guesthouse over yonder.” The piper pointed toward a road that forked off to the right. “It’s new.”

“Are we far from McGunnert Castle?” Kristin asked him.

The piper scratched his head. “Never heard of it, lass.”

Wait a minute.

The piper left them and Malcolm stared at Kristin. “McGunnert Castle? Is
that
where we’re going?”

She lifted her chin. “It certainly is.”

“I thought your family said there is no such thing?”

“That’s what they said, but it doesn’t mean it’s true. Look at my shawl, for example. They also said that the McGunnert plaid didn’t exist. But it does, and I found it.”

“So...bottom line, you’re directing us to a castle that doesn’t exist?”

She looked hurt. “Be fair, Malcolm. I’ve done a lot of research since Burns Night, and I’m now certain there’s something to the story.”

He groaned. He should have guessed this was what she’d had up her sleeve. “Kristy,” he began.

“Why is this sounding like you don’t believe in me?”

“I do believe in you. But I also believe in being practical.”

And just then, the skies opened up. Literally. The rain started slowly, in fat, loud drops on the windshield, which, within a minute, had turned into a steady pattering.

“Shall we continue on to my castle?” she said brightly.

Malcolm sighed, but he turned on the engine and then flicked on the windshield wipers.

Except nothing happened with the wipers.

He tried again. Lifted the lever up. Pushed the lever down. Tried to wiggle it side to side, even.

Still, the wipers refused to move.

Maybe he was doing it wrong. “Kristy, could you check in the glove box for an instruction book?”

She opened the lid and peered inside. “There is nothing here.”

He dipped his head. Studied the instrument panel. Yes, he’d been pushing the proper lever. And the wipers were present, too, on the outside of the car window. They just weren’t
working.

“And in bloody Scotland,” he muttered. “Where it rains more often than it
doesn’t
rain.”

“So, what are you saying?” Blinking, she bit her lip.

He didn’t want to transfer his concerns to her, but she deserved to be told the truth. He gestured to the front window, sheeted with the heavy rainfall. It was impossible to see a thing in front of them, and they weren’t even moving yet.

“Bottom line, Kristy, we’re stuck here, at least until the rain passes.”

“How long do you guess that will be?” she asked nervously.

“In Scotland?” he deadpanned. “It could be until June.”

* * *

A
N
HOUR
LATER
they were still sitting in the car. Malcolm had called for
roadside assistance, but the operator told him that they were beyond the zone of service. He and Kristin had no choice but to wait for the heaviest part of the rain to pass.

They waited. And they waited.

And they waited some more.

Kristin had turned silent now, which made it worse for him, because he’d always loved her free spirit and free chatter. Maybe she was piqued about his lack of faith in the mythical McGunnert Castle, but on this matter, he definitely sided with her family.

Real castle owners did not send scam letters abroad, searching for heirs. Neither did every clan name possess a functioning castle.

But rather than push the matter, he’d backed off. He didn’t want to argue with her. Besides, she seemed exhausted.

With the rain drumming on the car’s roof, she drifted to sleep. Malcolm pulled out his phone and GPS and attempted to figure out exactly where they were and what services were nearby.

Like the piper had said, Malcolm found a listing for a bed-and-breakfast located just over the glen. Besides that, he saw nothing else. The bed-and-breakfast was so small—and perhaps, new—that there weren’t any ratings or reviews Malcolm could check; no website or photos he could find. It was a mystery as to what could turn up there, and Malcolm detested mysteries. He was a man who needed data points.

But, the temperature was fast dropping and Kristin was shivering, so he took his jacket and tucked it around her to keep her warm. When his hand accidentally brushed her waist, she blinked her eyes open. He paused, leaning over her body. When she saw his coat covering her, her green eyes softened.

He waited, her acceptance of his jacket—of him—meaning more than was probably good for him.

“You’re tired,” he said.

“Just a bit jet-lagged.” She sat up. “We should check out that B&B.”

“I never sleep in strange places. It could be dirty...dangerous.”

“Then maybe this is an opportunity to bring you out from your shell a bit.”

This
whole
day had been about her bringing him out from his “shell.” “At least let me check it out first, will you?” he asked.

“Certainly, Mr. Safety Conscious. I’ll rest here while you do.” She turned aside, her lips curving upward. Sighing with what he hoped was contentment, she curled the collar of his coat inside her fingers and pulled it to her nose. Her eyelids drifted shut. Her lashes were long against her cheek.

She just...did something to him. Being with her put him in heaven, and in hell, too. She was so unconcerned with their predicament, and that was maddening to him. He should not want to help her or take care of her so badly.

And yet there was more to it—much more to it—than just keeping her safe. She
intrigued
him. She drew him to her and fascinated him to the point that he’d be content to be with her for hours, just to see what she would do next. He knew he was more interested in her than was wise. If she had her way, she’d be leaving for home soon, he suspected—once he evaluated the proposal that he assumed to be as unfeasible as Aura had been, without Laura at the helm.

Still, he couldn’t tell Kristin that. He did not want to discuss her plan, not yet. Rather, he should work on getting her acclimated to him and to the country. Only then might he get her to consider staying on in Scotland.

But the Scottish weather was not cooperating. It kept getting worse: the rain drummed harder instead of letting up. Malcolm called his road services account again, but they couldn’t promise service tonight. He phoned the car rental place—a veritable junk shop—and only ended up losing his patience and shouting at them.

Not good. He scanned the web browser again for a garage close by, but the closest one wasn’t picking up their phone. He and Kristin were in the country, and he was mainly a city person. He was out of his comfort zone, and he didn’t know what to do.

He glanced at Kristin, still sleeping. Part of him should be happy. She was with him, and they were in this together. He was glad he’d driven her—if she’d been alone, then she would have been facing this problem alone. Yes, she was capable, but it was better to have him with her than not with her.

Find a safe place for us to stay.
He opened the door and rushed into the rain, matting his shirt to his skin before he was able to huddle again under the open hatchback. A portable umbrella poked out of the sleeve of Kristin’s suitcase, so he borrowed that and opened it.

They weren’t going anywhere tonight, was his guess. He might as well inquire if the bed-and-breakfast had two rooms open. Malcolm at least wanted to find Kristin a place to sleep comfortably while they waited out the storm.

First, he made sure the vehicle’s doors were all locked. He’d pulled the car far enough off of the road that it was out of danger of being hit by another car, or even being seen, for that matter. He gently closed the hatchback, and, facing into the sting of the biting rain, he followed the direction the piper had taken up the hill, heading straight toward what appeared to be a small Highland croft house, rural in character. Completely out of Malcolm’s element.

He rang the bell, and a plump landlady answered, informing him in a heavy Highland accent that, yes, this was a bed-and-breakfast, and, no, the local garage wasn’t presently open and wouldn’t be until morning. She offered to place a call for him, and he accepted her offer, waiting while she left a message. In the meantime, she informed him that she had one room available. In exchange for cash—no credit accepted—she gave him a key.

Kristin was not going to be happy with one room. But at least she could stretch out and rest more comfortably than sitting in that cramped, cold passenger seat.

He opened the wet umbrella he’d left in the entry, then dodged the mud patches as he made his way back to the car.

When he unlocked the door, Kristin woke with a start.

“I checked it out,” he said, jumping inside, out of the drenching rain. The drum of it was loud on the metal roof, and he needed to raise his voice to be heard over it. “It seems safe enough. Follow me. Take the umbrella, and I’ll carry your suitcase.”

“Thank you, Malcolm. I know how hard this is for you.”

“If it’s still raining in the morning,” he said, “then the bed-and-breakfast people will drive me to a garage when it opens.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

“Right.” He nodded. “Brilliant.”