Sizzle All Day, Bad Luck Wedding #4 (Bad Luck Abroad) Page 13

  Jake attempted to squeeze into the footwear, but the fit was simply too tight. "Don't worry about it," he said as Gillian clicked her tongue in concern. "I'll wear my boots."

  At that, she hung her head and sighed. "No. That will not do at all." After a moment's thought, she continued, "Agnes Armstrong might have some to fit. Her man Ronald wore the feileadh mor in a theatrical production a few summers ago, and he and you are of a size. The arrangements have all been made for the churching and baptism in the morning, and all is ready for Lord Harrington's arrival tomorrow afternoon. A trip across the loch today will be most welcome."

  "Across the loch?" Jake asked. "How? Will you sail? Who will take you?"

  "I shall take myself, but I will row. It is a relatively short trip, and I am better with oars than sails."

  "I'll go with you, then. Maybe we can steal an hour or two to fish. I have a couple of Castaway Bait Company fishing lures I've been wanting to try out in your Scottish lakes. Think you can rustle up a pair of poles to take along with us?"

  She frowned. "You want to fish? With me?"

  "It's a decent substitute. Besides, fishing is a good activity to share with a friend. What do you say, friend? Wanna go fishing?"

  Friends. Simply friends. Gillian licked her lips. What would it hurt to spend a little time with a friend? Slowly, she nodded. "On the way back to Rowanclere. First we must find you shoes."

  "It's a deal. When do you want to go? Right away?"

  "I need to see Robyn settled into her lessons. Plan to meet me down by the water in, say, half an hour?"

  "All right. It may take me that long to get out of this dress and back into my pants."

  She rolled her eyes at his choice of words, then turned to leave. At the doorway, she paused. "You might want to stop and ask Mrs. Ferguson for scraps to use for bait in case you have little luck with your artificial lures."

  "I reckon I could." Jake dragged a hand along his jawline. "Though I doubt I'll use anything else. I've a feeling the ice cold waters of Loch Rowanclere is just the place to drown my Throbbing Bob."

  * * *

  Jake wore two pairs of socks inside his boots and his wool coat as he rowed the small boat out onto the loch. They weren't fifty yards offshore before he stripped off the coat. A hundred yards out, he'd lost the extra pair of socks, too.

  He tried to tell himself the exercise warded off the chill he had expected. He knew he was lying to himself. He knew responsibility for his unaccustomed warmth could be laid at his fishing buddy's deliriously bare feet.

  He'd groaned aloud, then blamed it on the rowboat's hard seat when she took off her shoes and stockings. If she'd been trying to be seductive, he might have had an easier time resisting her appeal. But Gillian was all innocent delight in the "warm" summer afternoon and the attraction of a new-to-her pastime—fishing with artificial bait.

  She was giving Jake's Musky Wriggler a workout.

  "It's been months and months since I fished," she told him. "Uncle Angus used to take us out often, but his puir joints pain him too much now to get in and out of the boat. I have forgotten how much fun fishing can be."

  "It's fun because I'm being a good sport about taking your catch off the hook for you."

  "Hah. You would rather do it yourself because you are afraid I will lose your lure."

  What he wished was that she would lose her allure. Instead, with every giggle or wriggle or flex of her toes, she reeled him in a little more. What an idiot he'd been to think he could look at her as only a friend.

  The hours they'd spent together since leaving Rowanclere had made the situation worse instead of better. Sure they had laughed and talked as friends do, but learning about one another served to increase the air of intimacy between them rather than erecting a wall like he had hoped. When she dangled a toe over the side of the boat, testing the temperature of the water, he found himself fantasizing licking it dry.

  Desperate, he searched for a distraction. He offered her an apple from the picnic lunch they'd brought with them, and took another for himself. Sinking his teeth into the sweet, crisp fruit, he chewed thoughtfully for a moment before asking, "So, why do you want to sell your home?"

  "I don't want to sell it. I love Rowanclere."

  Jake changed lures from the Castaway Bait Company's Texas Doodle Spring Hook to their Scalloped Spoon. "If you love it, why sell it?"

  "Because it's Uncle Angus's decision, and he is too stubborn to know when to come in out of the cold. He thinks this is the right thing for me and Robyn."

  It was a mistake to give her the juicy apple. Every time she licked her lips, Jake wanted to howl. He cleared his throat. "Why would it be good for you and the squirt? Y'all seem happy here."

  "We are happy." Gillian lowered her half-eaten apple and scowled. "Actually, Uncle Angus is doing this more on my account than for Robyn. He fears if he doesn't sell the castle, I will someday find myself in a situation like David's. It's his way of preparing to gae doon the brae."

  Jake deduced that "gae doon the brae" meant to die, but the rest of what she said remained a puzzle. Who the hell was David, what was his situation, and why did she have a bite in her voice when she said his name? "You've lost me."

  Gillian set her apple aside, then flicked her wrist sharply and sent her fishing line sailing. "You've been up to my grand-uncle's room in the past few days, have you not?"

  "Yes. He showed me the Declaration. What does this have to do with this David person?"

  The sadness in her smile caught him by surprise. "It's all part of the tale. Now, when you visited Uncle Angus's chamber, did you not wonder why he sleeps in a drafty old room built on top of the castle wall?"

  Jake didn't care about Angus Brodie's sleeping arrangements, but he tempered down his impatience. If telling her story in her own time would get rid of the melancholy air that had suddenly enveloped them like a fog, then he'd sit here all day. "Lots of things in this country of yours seem strange to me. Men in skirts, for instance."

  She threw her apple at him. Jake grinned and added, "That Crow's Nest room is a curiosity, Tell me about it, princess."

  She nodded regally. "My maternal great-grandfather had three children: John Brodie, my grandmother Margaret, and Angus Brodie, who is our Uncle Angus. Angus and John hated one another. The trouble started when they were little more than boys. It was over a girl."

  "Isn't it always?"

  She rolled her eyes at that bit of truth. "John Brodie's first sweetheart was a fickle wench, and for some reason, she set her sights on Angus. Of course she made it look as if Angus had stolen her away from John, even though it was truly her fault."

  "That hussy," Jake said, distracted by the way sunlight glistened in her golden hair.

  "Aye. She turned brother against brother. John nursed his animosity toward Angus for years until he saw the chance to retaliate. After their father died and he inherited Rowanclere, John convinced Uncle Angus's one true love to marry him rather than Angus."

  Jake's gaze drifted to the thick, curling lashes that framed eyes of brilliant blue. "An eye for an eye."

  Gillian wrinkled her nose. "She was a weak woman, allowing John's money and tide to sway her."

  "Happens all the time."

  "Uncle Angus was better off without her."

  "Maybe so." Jake released the top two buttons on his shirt. He was getting hot. "Is that why he went to Texas?"

  "It's part of the reason. He says he might have remained here just to cause them trouble, but John became stingy with the purse strings. He had control over Uncle Angus's trust, you see."

  Jake didn't see, but he didn't interrupt. He wanted her to get to the David part and besides, when she was talking, she didn't wiggle her toes nearly as often as she did when she was quiet.

  "They had a horrible fight—from what I am told, it is a wonder no one was killed. That's when Uncle Angus swore he would never spend another night beneath the roof of Rowanclere Castle. He soon left Scotland and eventually settled i
n Texas."

  "Ah," said Jake. New the story made a little more sense. "So when John Brodie died, your uncle inherited Rowanclere and—"

  "He kept his vow. He built the Crow's Nest." She scowled at the Musky Wriggler on the end of her line. "It was fine at first, but once the rheums took hold of him, getting up and down all the stairs became pure misery. He's a stubborn old Scot and won't give in. As a result, he seldom comes downstairs anymore."

  She set down her fishing pole accompanied by a sigh. "It's not a good way to live, Jake. It's always drafty, and in winter when bitter winds howl around the walls... well, ye can imagine the effect it can have on an elderly man's lungs. It's dangerous. If he stays here one more winter, I fear he'll either catch an ague or suffer a bad fall. Either could kill him."

  Jake grabbed for her line and removed the lure, switching out the Wriggler with a spinner bait. "I see your point. Why doesn't he just build another structure on the ground and connect it to the main part of the castle with a hallway? That wouldn't break his vow."

  "You are right, and he had agreed to do exactly that, then David's father died and everything changed." Gillian shifted in her seat, calling Jake's attention to her toes once again. "Uncle Angus realized the precariousness of my position and decided to put Rowanclere up for sale."

  Requiring a little help in maintaining the friendship parameter, he reached out and grabbed the hem of her skirt, rearranging it to cover her feet. "I'm confused again."

  "Our coffers are empty, Jake," she replied. "John Brodie beggared the estate, mainly out of spite because Uncle Angus was to inherit. We've managed to get by, but once Uncle Angus passes on, death taxes will take what is left. He doesn't want me to be forced to marry for money."

  "Hmm... that's something else that happens all the time. What about this brother I've heard mentioned? Why isn't he here helping out? Aren't you his responsibility?"

  "I am responsible for myself, thank you."

  Damn, but she was pretty when her eyes flashed like that. Jake held up his hands, palms out. "Sorry, didn't mean to pull your trigger. It's just that I have a little sister, too, and I know how I feel when she's in trouble."

  "I'm not in trouble and besides, as far as we know, Nicholas knows nothing about what has happened here in the years that he has been gone. He doesn't know about our parents' accident, or that the Rosses were cruel to me and my sisters, and that Uncle Angus rescued us."

  "Why is that? Are you not in touch?"

  She shrugged. "He went exploring and we have not heard from him since the year Robyn was born. He sent Flora and me a gift for our birthday. Hair ribbons all the way from your state, Jake. From Dallas, Texas. Every month Uncle Angus sends out inquiries about his whereabouts, but nothing has come of them. In all honesty, I fear he is...."

  Dead, Jake silently finished.

  Gillian closed her eyes, lifted her face toward the sun, and wistfully said, "It is one of my most heartfelt wishes that he return home someday."

  Jake decided right then and there to send a letter to Cole Morgan in Texas asking him to make some inquiries into the matter of one Nicholas Ross, "So, back to this situation you mentioned earlier. Who is this David person?"

  Gillian yanked her fishing pole and the line came sailing from the water. The spinner missed hooking Jake's ear by less than two inches. "What the—?"

  "Apardon." She laid her pole in the bottom of the rowboat. "I think we should go now. I am certain I have much to do."

  Jake stowed his own pole, then grabbed the oars. We're not going anywhere just yet, not after a reaction like that. "Gillian, who is David?"

  She frowned as if she'd tasted something bitter. "David Maclean."

  Jake waited, then finally asked, "And David Maclean is...?"

  "We were to be married. He was my betrothed. But David broke his promise."

  * * *

  Her betrothed.

  Her love.

  He broke his promise and her heart.

  Though she'd sworn never to cry over him again, today the memory of David Maclean brought the sting of tears to Gillian's eyes. She could feel the Texan's questioning stare upon her, then he asked a few too-personal questions. Gillian refused to address them. She refused to even look at him, in fact, keeping her gaze turned stoically toward the shore.

  Jake finally dipped the oars into the water and rowed toward land. He asked her no more questions, and she was thankful for his silence. Her thoughts were a whirlpool of confusion and she needed quiet to sort them.

  Why had she brought up David's name? Why had she talked of him now and with Jake Delaney, of all people?

  You wanted him to know.

  Gillian frowned and watched the white cap of a wave break upon the deep blue surface of the loch. She wanted him to know what? That she had been loved? That in times past another man had told her she was his sun and sky and moon and stars? That she had given him her heart?

  And he had broken it.

  Gillian sucked in a breath. No, she knew no urge to lay her pride at Jake's feet. Previous experience with David had taught her that road led only to humiliation.

  Questions swirled around and around in her mind. David and Jake. Jake and David.

  He wants nothing more than friendship. He told you. Believe him.

  Don't let history repeat itself.

  Back at Rowanclere, she thanked Jake for his time and assistance, then fled, leaving him to stow the boat. She avoided the Texan for the rest of the day. She could not, however, ignore him in her sleep.

  Old ghaists and new emotions haunted Gillian's dreams that night, and she awoke early the next morning filled with a blue spirit. Seeking a remedy, she made her way to Flora's room and knocked softly on the door.

  "Aye? Come in," said her sister.

  Gillian found the new mother sitting up in bed nursing one of the boys. The second infant lay in his cradle, awake and sucking his thumb. "Where is Alasdair?"

  Flora rolled her eyes. "The silly mail was up before dawn, pacing the floor. He is fashing himself ill over the boys, but for now it is Reverend Gregor's problem, not mine."

  Lips twitching, Gillian asked, "What has he done now?"

  "He's afeared the reverend will forget the baptism. He rode into the village to make certain he doesn't go somewhere else this morning."

  "But that's—"

  "I know. He is anxious to see the babes named before something happens amiss."

  "Your Alasdair has a difficult time leaving the old ways behind, doesn't he?"

  "Aye." Flora smiled down at the son in her arms. "Although we are not much different. Are you not the person who first placed the silver coins in my sons' cradles?"

  "And are you not the mama who made certain the first time the bairns left your room they were carried up the stairs for good luck, instead of downstairs and risk the bad?"

  "Your Jake thought I was crazy."

  "He is not my Jake." Gillian sniffed. "And why Alasdair trusted the Texan to carry one of his boys is beyond me. I thought he might faint when you placed the bairn in his arms."

  The babe in the cradle squirmed and began to whimper. At Flora's nod, Gillian gathered up the child and sat in the rocking chair beside Flora's bed.

  Peace stole over her like a new dawn as she rocked the bairn. For a time, the sisters did not speak, content to share the quiet. Minutes passed and the unsettlement that lingered from her dreams gradually faded. What was it about holding a wee one in your arms that made everything right with the world?

  "It is a lie, you know," she observed, breaking the silence.

  "What is a lie?"

  "The true purpose of rocking a bairn is not to soothe the child, but the adult. I shall miss this when you leave. I know it is best you return to Laichmoray today, but I shall miss you dreadfully."

  "If you need us to stay...."

  "Nae. I heard that Alasdair's mother has returned from Edinburgh. I know she must be anxious to see the bairns."

  Flora nodded. "Her note
arrived last night. She said she will see our bairns today if she must walk to Rowanclere."

  "We can't have that," Gillian said with a small laugh. "Not while Lord Harrington is here. Your mother-in-law is a dear, but she's a puir teller of tales and would surely give the game away." She nuzzled the baby in her arms, pressing little kisses against his downy cheek. Her sigh floated on the air like a bedraggled ribbon.

  Gently, Flora asked, "I think it is more than our leaving here that has you upset. What is wrong, Gilly?"

  "Nothing." Then, after a moment's pause, "Everything."

  "You are nervous about the earl's visit?"

  "Most definitely."

  "When does the haunting begin?"

  "Jake has a series of incidents planned for tonight,"

  Gillian sighed, "But you are right, it is more than simply the fact I will miss you dreadfully. It is more than just the haunting, Flora."

  When she didn't continue, her twin prodded, "Yes?"

  "I dreamed of David. And I kissed Jake Delaney."

  Flora pursed her lips in thought as she switched the nursing infant from one breast to the other, "That is very interesting news, sister. And did the dreaming and kissing occur concurrently? Did you think about that man—and I will not say his name aloud because it might cause my milk to curdle—while you kissed the Texan?"

  "Oh, no. My mind would not work at all while I was kissing Jake."

  Flora's expression lit with interest. "No?"

  "He made me as fuzzy as a lamb."

  A smile blossomed. "My, my, my. So what is the problem? What does that-man-whose-name-I-will-not-say have to do with Jake Delaney?"

  Gillian smiled down into Flora's squirming son's face, then lifted him to her shoulder. Rubbing circles on his tiny back, she said, "I am bothered by the nature of the dream, Flora. It was a warning."

  "In what way?"

  "I think , .." Gillian's teeth tugged at her bottom lip. "I dreamed of the day I received word of David's marriage. I relived all that hurt and anger and grief once again. I think I dreamed of that day because Jake Delaney poses a similar risk."

  "He does? Tell me."

  Gillian didn't ken quite how to explain. "Jake Delaney makes me... yearn. Like David did, but different. More."