Some Like It Scot. Donna Kauffman

one that saves my clan from possible economic ruin, which is the same as the ruination of Kinloch. Ye’re our angel of mercy. I’ve no intent on treating you ill. As I said in the garden, I will offer an agreement that will be as good an advantage for ye as I can make it. On that you have my word. And while ye havnae come to know it yet, my word actually means something to me.”

      Her folded arms loosened a bit and her shoulders lost some of their stiffness as he continued to hold her gaze quite directly.

      “I—thank you,” she said, somewhat stiltedly, as if she was suddenly the one at a loss for the right words to say. “I didn’t mean to insult you. It’s just…you have to understand, coming from the life I had, the family I’m part of, most men I meet—it was one of the main reasons, I think, that Blaine and I stuck together like we did. There were a lot of things he could never be to me, but the one thing I know, as deep in my heart as I could ever know, is that I can trust him.” Her words were filled with the same sadness and deep affection he’d heard in her voice before. It was hard not to be moved by it.

      “You love him,” Graham stated, not as a question, for it was clear on her face, and in every word she spoke.

      “I do.”

      “So why no’ marry him?”

      She looked down at her hands as she twisted her fingers together. “He’s family to me. In many ways, the only real family I have, if you’re talking about the loving, supportive kind. And I am that for him. We grew up together, more like puppies from the same litter. It was always assumed, for as long as I can recall, that we’d end up together. Our families openly wanted that and acted accordingly.”

      “And you and Blaine?”

      “We went along, at least at first. It was a grand game as children, then a trusted bond as adolescents.”

      “And as teenagers?”

      She ducked her head again. “That’s when it became something of a challenge. But we’d agreed for so long, allowed them to mold us, push us, for so long, mostly because it was just easier that way. We always thought we’d each meet someone, and take our stand when it finally mattered. Only we never did. Or I never did. Blaine didn’t want to push it, and so we never said anything, never told them…”

      “What? That you were more siblings than romantic partners in your feelings for each other?”

      “Oh, they knew that. Anyone with eyes in their head could see we had no romantic interest in each other.”

      “Yet they continued to presume—”

      “Oh, you have no idea how presumptuous they can be. My parents as well as Blaine’s, are both in marriages that are and always have been far more advantageous business arrangements than love matches. They see that kind of dispassionate union as powerful, because you’re not compromising any part of yourself, while acknowledging that the whole is stronger than the sum of its parts—particularly as it applies to the company bottom line. When it comes to McAuley-Sheffield, it’s always about the bottom line. So it wouldn’t have mattered if we’d hated each other on sight at birth, the outcome would have been all the same. In fact, I’m sure they saw our tight bond as a detriment, only because that kind of thing clouds good judgment.”

      She recited that last part as if she’d heard it quoted to her on a frequent basis. Given her rather chilling description of her family, he wouldn’t doubt that she had. He could also see why she’d clung to her childhood friend for so long. He’d been the one source of unconditional love she’d had.

      “It does sound quite dispassionate, aye, but then my country’s history is rife with far more arranged marriages than no’. On my very own island, our own history is much the same. Though I’m fortunate enough to have been raised by parents, at least early on, and grand and great grandparents, each of whom made a fully committed love match, that just also happened to fulfill clan laws.”

      “But not you?”

      “Well, I wasna exactly focused on looking. My efforts and energies have been focused elsewhere for a long time, in service to my clan, and to our future.”

      “Even when you knew it was coming? Or did your turn as…what is it called? Island leader?”

      “Clan chief. Laird.”

      “Right. That. Did that come suddenly?”

      “No’ entirely, no. But everyone knows my heart is fully dedicated to seeing us through, to better times.”

      “If this other person, Iain, did you say? If he hadn’t shown up, do you think you’d still be stuck with fulfilling the law?”

      “I had thoughts on how to get past it.”

      “How?”

      “The law is outdated, kept more out of sentiment than need. I thought to get them to vote it out of existence.”

      “Would they have?”

      He lifted a shoulder. “I canno’ say, but the vote had to be unanimous, so it would have taken some doing with the elders on the island.”

      “But that would have bought you time, either way.”

      “Aye.”

      “And then this guy shows up. Do you know what he wants with the island?”

      “None, other than he has no qualms over fulfilling the requirements.”

      “Surely, if your island is so small and closeknit, no one would agree to marry—”

      “There are far more MacLeod lasses on Kinloch, than McAuleys of the same sex and age. Luck of birth. Our Mr. Iain McAuley, most recently of Edinburgh, appears quite able to offer a life far different than our humble island home provides, to the lucky lass whose eye he catches. So nay, I canno’ trust that they’ll no’ agree to his proposition.”

      “If you could get them to repeal the law before he finds someone to marry him, would that solve the problem?”

      “Likely, aye, but as I said, ’tis a gamble, and no’ one I’m certain it would be wise to take. Just like our culture still embraces the Gaelic language of our ancestors, along with many of the traditions and methods, I’ve been made to realize, despite the challenges that face us as an island dwelling clan, as a whole, we’re no’ so progressive as all that. It matters no’ to them if Iain beats me to the altar. He’ll be the clan laird in name and deed, and, saddened or no’, they’ll honor that.” He lifted his gaze to find hers on him. He found her remarkably easy to be candid with. In fact, he couldn’t recall a time when he had been such a chatty fellow. “I suppose that is the final irony.”

      “What is?”

      “I do take the vows of marriage quite seriously. I didn’t want the law repealed because I didn’t believe in the union, or what the true strength of such a bond could provide, both for me personally, and for the clan, on numerous levels. I just wanted the freedom to—”

      “Choose your own mate, on your own schedule, your own way,” she finished, then sighed. “I understand. Fully.”

      “Aye,” he said, quietly. “I imagine you do.”

      Silence fell again, only this time it was easier. When she reached out and covered his hand with hers, he couldn’t help but think that the irony was still not complete. Her hand in his. As it would be, in marriage. How the both of them, only wanting that true bond of love and marriage…and look where they sat. He became quite specifically aware of how her skin felt beneath his fingers as he turned his hand and slid his through hers. Odd, he thought, how such slender fingers, almost fragile in appearance, belonged to a woman with such grit and determination.

      He wondered if she knew, given how long it had taken her to speak up for herself, and her childhood mate, how strong she truly was. But he’d heard it, in her tone. Seen it, in her eyes, the set of her jaw. She might have taken awhile to leave the cocoon, but he was witnessing the birth