“I’m surprised to hear you have one,” I muttered sotto voce but loud enough for Iain to hear. He grinned at me.
“If I could have just a moment more of your time, darling,” Bridget put a hand on Iain’s arm. My teeth started grinding again at the way she caressed his biceps with her thumb. “My car is making the most obnoxious noise, all ticking and rattling. Would you look at it for me?”
Oh, sure it was. What a flimsy excuse to get Iain into her wicked little grasp for a few minutes! I gave her a look that let her know I was on to her game. She arched her brows in return.
Iain grimaced and swore under his breath, but being the gentleman he is, agreed, and followed out the door after her. I gazed at the window that ran parallel to the drive and wondered if I scooted over to the wall next to the window whether I could see Bridget’s car.
“That was an earful,” Mrs. Harris said, looking at me sourly. I didn’t say anything but nudged my bucket over toward the wall.
“No doubt you’re expecting to eat here with MacLaren?” I had really taken about as much as I could in one day. I could see by her expression that I was in for more of the same from her, so I thought I’d put an end to it before she could rip a strip off me.
“Why, yes, Iain did offer to feed me now and again, just so I don’t keel over and leave him explaining to the police how he came about having the body of a dead American on the premises.” I eased my foot out of the water and hauled the bucket over to a chair closer to the window. I could see the back end of Bridget’s car, but not the front.
“Teh. Much he cares if he makes more work for me. Well, I don’t suppose there’s anything I can do about it if he wants to flaunt his sinful conduct in the face of the Lord.”
“Not a bloody thing,” I answered cheerfully, and scooted over to another chair.
If I leaned way back and turned my head just so, I could see Bridget’s arm.
“Ought to know better at his age,” she muttered, and rattled around in a broom closet until she emerged with a battered tin bucket and a mop. “A man of his standing bringing a woman into his bed… it’s shameful, that’s what it is.”
I moved over to the last chair and pressed my back against the window. If I craned my head I could see Iain bent over the engine of Bridget’s car, tinkering with something. She stood close by him, her hand resting on his back. “Look at it this way, Mrs. Harris. It could be worse. Much worse. It could be a sheep he’s living in sin with.”
I thought she’d drop her teeth right there. She gaped at me in horror for a moment, then snapped her mouth closed and didn’t say another word to me the rest of the afternoon.
We take our victories where we can.
Chapter Six
The following day I was bored. I had spent the entire day on the couch, resting the ankle I had wrenched, my laptop before me as I caught up on my e-mail.
Mrs. Harris, who was cleaning and cooking that day, gave me several nasty looks, but didn’t say anything.
I can’t believe I’m bored, I e-mailed my friend Cait. This is ridiculous, I’m in Scotland, romantic Scotland, and I’m bored. Iain’s been out all day, only coming in for a half hour to scarf down his lunch, and then he had to go out again. Evidently there’s something wrong with a fence or dyke or whatever they call it here. All I know is I’m stuck here on the couch with a slightly swollen ankle and I’m bored .
Cait promptly e-mailed me back. Petulant, eh? Sounds like the honeymoon is over.
That went quick. But then, you didn’t really expect that this little romantic episode would last, did you ? I mean, get real, Kathie! You jumped this guy’s bones a few days ago and you’re talking like someone who’s lived with him for months! I don’t understand what’s going on in your head. This isn’t like you at all .
Welcome to my confusion, I replied, men turned me laptop off and spent me rest of the afternoon reading, waiting for Iain. He came in shortly before dark, kissed me, then sat on me couch and massaged my ankle.
“How are the sheep? They’re all OK, aren’t they?”
He gave me a worried look, absently rubbing farther up my leg than my ankle.
Was I about to point out me mistake?
No sir, I was not! “They’re fine, love. Stop feeling guilty about your fall.”
“Yes, well, I made a right bourach of the whole day.” Iain’s lovely lips curled in amusement. “Where would you be hearing that, now?”
“Bourach? From Mark, when he was trying to bring back the sheep that were scared off when I fell down the hill. He said quite a few other things as well, and I’d like you to explain them if you would.”
“What was it he said?”
I told him. He started coughing and immediately changed the subject, but he didn’t fool me. I knew his cough originated as a laugh. I mentally filed away the words in my “of a dubious origin” folder, and returned my attention to Iain as he continued to rub my leg.
“Ah, well, it’s good of you to bring up what happened yesterday. I don’t want you coming out with me tomorrow, love. Now, hear me out!” My lower lip threatened to commence immediate pouting. Didn’t want me out on the fields with him, did he? One little unavoidable accident and I was unfairly banned for life, eh? Thought he would leave me in the house alone with Mrs. Harris, huh? Well, I wasn’t about to let him get away with that. “Ha!
You can just think again, buster!”
“You can’t be walking about in the muck with naught but your skirts and baffles. Until you’re kitted out properly, I want you to stay here where you won’t be running into trouble.”
By process of elimination I narrowed the word baffles down to mean some sort of footwear. “And if I had wellies that fit? You’d let me accompany you on your rounds?”
“Aye, if you’ve a mind to.”
“Oh. Well.” That was a different situation altogether. I would, after all, have to get pants and boots if I intended on remaining for a while, and since that is exactly what I intended, it made sense that I should outfit myself appropriately as soon as possible.
It was time to do some shopping! Unfortunately, convincing Iain my ankle was well enough to hit the shops was something else. He made me stay put for another day while my ankle recovered to his satisfaction, but I managed to pass muster the following day. Even then I almost didn’t make it out shopping, because Iain had work to do on the farm and couldn’t take me.
“What?” I asked him the following morning, appalled that I would have to spend another day sitting in the house by myself. “You can’t go with me?”
“No, love, I have to shore up the dyke on the south park. The ground underneath softened, and part of the wall has fallen.”
“Well, hell,” I pouted, and was working myself up to a nice hissy fit when Iain stopped me.
“If it’s just an outing you need, you can take my car and go into town yourself.
I’ll give you directions.”
“By myself?” I asked, simultaneously intrigued and horrified by such a thought.
He nodded. “You know how to drive, don’t you?”
“Oh, sure, just… not your car, your new car, the car you just bought at great cost
, after years and years of saving and scrimping.”
“It’s not hard to drive, love. You’ll be fine.”
“And not on the wrong side of the road.”
“You’ll be fine,” he repeated. “It just takes a bit of practice. By the time you reach the town, you’ll be used to driving on the left.”
“Mmm.” I had my doubts, and almost backed out of the plan in order to wait for him, but the thought of staying indoors (it was raining again, quelle surprise) with no one to talk to but Mrs. Harris was enough to give me backbone.
Iain handed me his keys, and made sure I had the directions on how to get to town and where I would find a car park convenient to the shops. He didn’t look worried in the least over the idea of me driving off in his car, whereas I felt like I was going to ralph big-ti
me. After a few false starts— such as me sideswiping a gate (no damage to the car, thank god)—I got the feel for driving the “wrong” side of the car on the “wrong” side of the road, and soon I was zooming along, singing aloud to Moray Firth Radio, planning my shopping list.
I needed pants, several pairs. As far as I could see, pants were de rigueur for life on the farm. I would save my stylish suits and dresses for wear in the house, when they would be sure to dazzle Iain and/or any uninvited females who happened to drop by in order to bait me and seduce him.
Boots were another must-have item. Both wellies, and something with a bit more style. Sweaters were also high on my list. My blouses weren’t going to cut it in this weather, and it was only going to get worse. Although Iain’s house had central heating, it had chilly spots, and a sweater or two would be a definite plus. Especially if I wanted to stay the winter. And I very much wanted that .
I wracked my brain on the drive to town trying to think of something I could buy Iain as a thank-you gift for having me stay with him, but I was at a loss as to what he’d like. Books were always a good choice, but I hadn’t made a detailed list of who his favorite authors were, or books in particular that he wanted. I noted the location of the local bookstore as I passed it, however, and made a mental note to drop in and browse for an hour or four.
Katherine’s Kloset was my first planned stop, and armed with Iain’s excellent directions, I made it there with only three false turnings and one major “I’m lost, where the hell am I?” panic attack. Katherine wasn’t present when I visited, but her two sales assistants, Penny and Pamela, were.
“You can call us P and P,” one of them, the shorter one, said with a giggle that seemed to infect her cohort.
“Ah,” I said brightly, and set off to look around the shop. P&P followed—
together—which led me to the conclusion that they were sympathetic Siamese Twins. Never once during the entire two hours I was in the shop did I see them separate. They didn’t look like each other in me least—Pamela was a slight girl with mousy brown hair and glasses, while Penny stood taller than me and had coal black hair and beautiful sapphire eyes—but they seemed to share some sort of symbiotic relationship. One of them didn’t nod; the pair nodded. If one giggled, the other was sure to be giggling with her. They even finished each other’s sentences.
“We have all sorts of clothes here,” Penny answered my question of what they stocked. “Separates, dresses—”
“—outerwear, casual and formal—” Pamela broke in.
“—and fashionable country wear,” Penny finished triumphantly.
“Ah, good. Sounds like I’ll find everything I need here.” I smiled. They nodded with perfect synchronization. “Yes, well, the first thing on my list are pants. I desperately need pants.”
They looked a little startled, but both nodded again. I told them my size, and asked what styles were popular in the area.
“Of pants?” they asked together.
“Yes,” I replied, wondering why a simple request was meeting with such puzzlement. I could see a couple of racks of pants along a side wall, but I wanted to find out if there were any locally made ones that were better over continental imports. Buy British, and all that.
Pamela looked at Penny. Penny looked back at Pamela. They both looked at me. “Well, I guess the most common are Y-fronts,” Penny said. Pamela nodded. “That’s what my dad wears.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m not looking for pants for a man, I’m looking for them for myself.”
They smiled at each other in relief. “Oh, you want knickers. They’re on the table in the far corner. Was there something in particular you wanted? We have some lovely red lace—”
Knickers I knew. “No, I’m not interested in knickers,” I interrupted Pamela.
“It’s pants I want. Just pants. And sweaters… er… oh, what do you call them…
jumpers. If you could show me some jumpers that would go well with the pants, I’d be grateful. Local wool jumpers would be marvelous if you have them.”
They looked at each other out of the corners of their eyes and both edged slightly nearer the corner of the counter that held the cash register and the telephone.
“You want to wear the jumpers—”
“—with the pants?”
Now they had me concerned. Maybe I was breaching some little known Highland pants-sweater protocol. “Er… shouldn’t I?”
“Noooo,” Penny said thoughtfully. “I suppose there’s no real reason you couldn’t wear them together. But you might find the knickers more comfortable.”
“Yes, ever so much more comfortable. Our red lace silk—” Pamela started to join in, but I interrupted her before she could finish singing the praises of the red lace undies.
“I don’t need any knickers. I have knickers aplenty. I’ve got more knickers than I know what to do with,” I argued. “I just want a couple of pairs of pants.
Look, those right there. They look like they’re made out of natural fibers. Why don’t I try on a pair of them?”
Their heads followed my finger to where I was pointing to a rack of pants.
“The… trousers?” Pamela asked carefully. “You want to try on the—”
“—trousers?” Penny finished in an equally wary tone.
“That’s what I’ve been saying. I want to try on some pants. Trousers. Those ones there, the brown ones. And maybe those navy ones, too. I’ll need several pairs. Do you have any in black?”
Comprehension dawned in Penny’s beautiful eyes as she started giggling again.
Pamela joined in immediately. “You wanted to wear… pants…”
“—with a jumper.”
“Pants,” guffawed Penny.
“Tightie-whities,” whooped Pamela.
I couldn’t help but wonder if Katherine knew her Kloset was inhabited by a pair of loonies. It took another five minutes before they could speak without setting each other off, but once the explanation was made that pants , to the British, means men’s underwear, aka Y-fronts, we got along swimmingly.
I just hoped Iain would never hear the tale of how I wanted to wear men’s underpants with my sweater.
* * *
Right about the time I was modeling my new trousers and wellies for Iain, my mother received the letter I had mailed a week before, telling her about this marvelous Scot I had met at Murder in Manchester. My mother was not online, but she occasionally used my sister’s account to send e-mails to friends who were traveling. As soon as she received my letter, her Mother Radar went off big-time and she whipped over to my sister’s house to leave me a worried e-mail.
Dear Kathie,
How is England? Are you having a good time? Everyone here is fine, including Rob and Laura Petrie, although I think Laura has laid another clutch of eggs. Do zebra finches ever quiet down? These two always seem to be talking and it’s a bit distracting. I’m thinking of moving them to the front room until you come home.
What sort of man is this Iain that you met? How much older is “older than you”?
Did you have a nice dinner with‘ him? I suppose you know enough to tell if a man is really divorced, or if he’s just saying he’s divorced…
It was standard mom stuff until I got to the end. I almost missed the zinger because it was the last line of the e-mail, and by that point she’d gone off into typical “Don’t walk around by yourself at night” and “Be sure to keep your money and passport in your money belt” type of statements.
I don’t suppose I need to tell you this, but be sure you use protection. Love, Mom.
Protection? Protection ? Even my mother, half a world away and out of contact with me for almost two weeks, knew Iain and I were having a bit of how’s-yer-father? Did everyone in the world know? Was it on the BBC? Had the United Nations made a statement about it? How on earth could my mother read between the lines like that?
Maybe it was the drool marks on the stationery that gave me away.
/> I don’t care how old I’ll live to be, there was just something embarrassing about talking to my mother about my sex life. Or hers, for that matter. A case of too much information, if you will. I mentioned my dilemma to Iain about how I should answer her e-mail, how I should deal with the Big S issue.
Iain looked confused, and put down the book he was reading. “What issue?”
“The issue of us being together.” I was lying on the couch with my head in his lap, my own book at hand. It was a position I found particularly comfortable and pleasing, especially since I had talked him into letting the dogs he on the floor next to the fire. Iain had quite a few things to say about me bringing his dogs in, but after a few initial grumbles and pointed remarks about how they were used to sleeping in the barn, he let it go and we curled up for a cozy evening of reading before the fire.
“There’s an issue with us being together?” he asked, sneaking sidelong glances at his book. I figured I had his attention for two, maybe three more minutes before I lost him to the lure of Peter Guttridge.
“The issue of us being together. You know. Us. Together .” Criminy, I sounded like a teenager who couldn’t bring herself to mention the word. Unbidden, a blush started heating up my cheeks.
“Ah, that ‘together.’ Is it a problem with your mother, then, or are you just afraid to tell her you’ve been lusting after my manly parts?” I slipped a hand under his jumper and prepared to tickle. “Really, Iain, it’s no laughing matter. You could show a little more sympathy for me. It’s not like you have a parent telling you to be sure to use protection . Of all the indignities!” He smiled and picked his book back up. “Mothers are like that, love. It’s just as well you’ve the matter in hand and can set her mind to rest; I’d hate to have your entire family after my blood.”
I agreed and snuggled down, preparing to read my own book. Suddenly, what he had said made two synapses sit up and spark.
I put my book down. “What did you say?”
“Mmmm?” He didn’t look up.
I pulled his book down and frowned up at him. “What did you say about putting my mother’s mind to rest?”