Title: HIS KILT DROPPED HERE: A MAGICAL REALISM SCOTTISH ROMANCE
Rogue Bruce enjoys running a Scottish castle turned bed-and-breakfast with her Aunt Baillie from America. They specialize in hosting romantic Elizabethan-themed weddings, complete with resident ghost, Lord Kai. But love is something Rogue is not the least bit interested in. Content with her work, she requires no male accompaniment for happiness.
A new delivery service brings Bruce MacKenzie, a Thor look-alike in plaid and denim, fetching more than the usual number of groceries from town, while Jonathan Olson, a snobbish, dark, Rhett Butler type, arrives at the castle to administer a writing seminar for aspiring authors. With two men after the heart she’d thought safely locked away, Rogue is flattered and confused. But when things start to take a sinister turn, danger befalls Rogue and those dear to her. The musical soundtrack of Rogue’s life flares from complacent, to dizzyingly romantic, to heart-thumping scary in this sizzling triangle.
Chapter One
“Who created these torture devices for women?” Rogue Bruce
muttered as the high-heeled ankle boots her glittery Seattle friend, Rafael,
had picked out for her squeezed her toes. Her steps made soft clicks on the
temporary polished flooring as she dashed around the white-silk-draped chairs
inside the reception tent set up on the castle grounds. She lifted her floor-length
emerald skirt of fluff and ribbons and screamed internally about her aching
feet. “Spike heels make my legs look better, she tells me. Heels? Seriously? Buried
under twenty yards of bloody material, who will even notice? I swear, and this
dress weighs a ton.”
And why must my
bloody underwear be authentic if no one knows or sees it? Seriously, another
full day of endless agony in this restrictive Elizabethan costume of layered
torture is maddening. You know an evil
man must have created the corset. No woman would have designed something so
miserable and called it fashionable. How many times had she pleaded with Aunt Baillie
to let her wear something soft, something comfortable like pants and a jacket
during these events? Her aunt’s normally sweet face would transform into a
stony glare, forcing Rogue to relent and don one of the many costumes made
specifically for her as owner of the Scottish estate.
“The Baillie Castle Bed and Breakfast promises a fairy-tale
environment for couples in love and bridal parties creating a stop-time fantasy
for families and guests,” Rogue mimicked her American aunt and business partner.
“Remember, these expensive weddings pay the taxes and daily upkeep of your renovated
castle.”
Rogue could barely breathe in the tightly wrapped bodice as
she rounded out of the heated white tent, her eyes on the temporary stone path placed
in the soggy Scottish mud. Plowing into something solid, Rogue cursed and
frantically reached out, wobbling on the spiked heels. Grabbing at anything, her
fingers found soft, crushable flannel before warm, strong hands wrapped around
her wrists. Staring at the manly fingers holding her steady, Rogue’s eyes
traveled up the long, chiseled arms of a young man to his concerned face,
locking eyes with her.
“Ya be all right, miss?”
His baritone voice tickled her ears, causing the breath to
catch in her throat as the heat from his grasp flushed in a wave across her
face. All she could handle was a weak nod. Staring at his serious face framed
with shaggy blond hair, a chill breeze lifted the bangs from his ruddy forehead.
His oddly green eyes blinked above a well-freckled nose and broke the spell.
Rogue stiffened her body and checked her balance before pulling
her arms away. “Of course, I am. Just dinna expect anyone to be in the reception
area this time of the afternoon.” Rogue brushed her trembling fingers against the
flounce of her skirt. “It’s the middle of May, and the paying guests are
huddled by the fireplaces inside as if it were bloody January, wondering why
the wedding isn’t in some tropical place like Hawaii.” Trying to control her
nervousness but having trouble drawing breath in front of such a gorgeous male creature,
she asked, “Who are you?”
“Aye, sorry, “My name is Bruce, Miss Rogue, Bruce MacKenzie,
delivery service from the village.” The man pulled gloves from a back pocket. “I
was checking with Putney one last time to be sure she has all she needs for
today before I leave.”
“Ya seemed a wee bit familiar, but we’ve a crowd of local security
today on the grounds. Ya could have been one of the guards. You’ve the size and
all.”
“Aye, I’ve had to show credentials a few times today.” The
edge of his full lips pulled into a crooked grin. “I’ve been delivering
vegetables, breads, and such to Putney from town over the last nine months since
my da passed away. I’ve seen you now an’ again in the stable door, I have, with
your hands full of currycombs or muckrakes during my times here. Nice to see
there’s a lady side of ya.”
Rogue steeled herself not to bark something rude at his personal
remark. Who admitted to watching someone without her knowing? And what did he
mean about her lady side? Wearing some historical costume had nothing to do
with who she was inside. The man had the manners of a goat. She took a slow,
deep breath, forcing something polite. “Putney has mentioned good things about
ya and, uh, ya service.” She bowed her head, clenching her teeth.
Keeping her head down, willing her pounding heart to return
to normal, Rogue clutched her skirts. “Well, I, uh, I have much to do before
the wedding. I best be going.”
Bruce tugged on his gloves, shuffling his feet. “I hear
everyone has to clear the premises before the ceremony. Is some big movie star taking
vows this time? I dinna bring near the crates of caviar or champagne Putney
usually orders for the fancy events ya hold here. Seemed a bit odd.”
“Aye, this inna our typical wedding booked at the Baillie
Castle, but the oldest daughter of some actor trying to dodge mass publicity if
ya must know. The family requested utmost privacy for their ceremony, a simpler
affair.” Her voice dropped to a loud whisper despite herself. “I’m thinking
she’s in a family way and alcohol will be limited.”
Nodding his head, Bruce wiped a gloved hand under his nose.
“I need to get back to the shop. Tell Putney to call me if she needs
something.” He scuffed the toe of his worn boot against one of the stepping
stones. “See ya, Miss Rogue.”
The sight of his retreating backside in tight jeans sent a
warmth of fiery hormones cloaking her against the dampness of perspiration. Rogue’s
mind blanked; with no idea what she was originally going to do before the sudden
run in with the delicious jerk of a delivery guy, she picked up her skirts with
a swish and headed toward the castle’s kitchen.
She had never felt such an intense frustration and intrigue
talking to a strange man, let alone a local one. With the castle being a
romantic spot for weddings and celebrations, she had met gorgeous, rich men
from around the world. Yet the flash of his green eyes while he held her hands,
sent irritating bolts inside her thumping heart. Blowing her cheeks out, she
wrinkled her nose. “‘Nice to see there’s a lady side of ya’ he has the nerve to
say.” She pounced across the moat’s wooden bridge, ignoring the dancing caps of
windblown onyx water below, and into the kitchen. The heavy oak door closed
against the outside coolness as aromas of spices and sweet bakery smells
wrapped her in a warm, soothing hug.
“Child, you’ll be snapping the heels right off those shoes,
clunking that way. Dinna Miss T-Cup and Rafael show you better than that?”
Putney looked over her thick shoulder, her plump cheeks red from the heat of
the oven, a strand of damp, gray hair dangling from her tight bun. “Did ya learn
nothing ladylike from those glitzy drag queen friends of yours and them
spending so much time trying to coach ya?”
Rogue blinked at the feisty cook, a natural foundation of
castle life since the first day she’d arrived years ago. “Ah, Putney, donna I wish
the girls were here this very minute.” She pinched a broken piece of scone and
popped it in her mouth. How she would love to pick Rafael and T-Cup’s glittered
brains right now about a certain delivery guy she’d run into, literally. Why
would he think clothes made a difference, a lady? What was wrong with the jeans
and boots she typically lived in? Local chauvinist.
“Ya had your way, they’d live here full time. Poor wee
things would wither away if stuck out here in the wilds as they say of the hielands, from sheer boredom if nothing
else.” Chuckling, she smacked her hip. “They exhaust me during their visits
from America. And donna get me started on the smooth-talking Mr. Gillian Nation
and his plume-waving ways. He’ll get no mocha, whatcha, latte crazy coffee from
me just for his bit of flirting.”
Rogue gave a single nod, staring beyond the cook’s shoulder,
her motionless hands still holding a scone. The delivery guy had seen her often
during his trips to the castle? Why had she not noticed this local hottie
before? Why hadn’t Putney said anything? She nearly slapped her hand against
her forehead. Putney had done nothing but talk about Bruce MacKenzie. The old
woman had given speeches and passionate soliloquies all winter long about the new
single businessman Rogue should be concentrating on, as she wasn’t getting any
younger. She’d pretty much ignored the cook’s deluge. Good-looking single men
came in and out of the bed and breakfast, but that didn’t mean she needed to
introduce herself to each one. She was quite content between her work here at
the castle and taking care of her horses.
“Girl, the bloody sky’s falling.” The cook kept her voice
even, not changing her tone. “The moon will be full and purple with stripes tonight,
I hear.”
Another vacant nod to whatever Putney was rambling about
would tide her over. Rogue popped a bite of scone in her mouth. He must get those muscles from lifting and carrying
such heavy bags of flour and sugar for all the baking going on around town
every week. And who knows how many other deliveries he makes in a day? An independent
man at least, inheriting his work
much like I did.
Rogue stared at the cook without focus, watching the older woman
turn back to the pastries and silver platters, running a work-reddened hand across
her damp forehead.
An ancient looking man with angel-white hair shuffled into
the room, wearing fancy black suspenders against the crisp white shirt his
wife, Putney, forced him to wear on these occasions. Before speaking a word, his
eyes caught Putney’s, and Rogue caught the cook tilting her head back toward
her on the other side of the room.
Robbie twisted to peek around the vision of his hefty bride
of forty-five years, then shrugged, and moved to grab a biscuit. The noise of
her slapping his hand away with a snort broke Rogue’s concentration, and she let
out a long sigh.
“Sounds like the weight of the world is nestled on those young
shoulders,” he said in her direction. “Ya havena looked so begotten since them flouncy
diva women ya make such a fuss over left last summer.” He rubbed his weathered
cheek. “But they’ll be back in a few weeks, aye?”
Rogue cleared her throat; had she sent up red flags of
concern? She didn’t want the old couple nosing around in her direction. She
gave the couple a brilliant smile, as if she’d just entered the room. “Yes,
you’re most right, Robbie. It’s but a blink of the eye before they return in
all their splendor and glamour.” She snapped her fingers in a z-motion like
T-Cup had shown her. “And we got a wedding today.” She marched out of the room,
her floor-length skirt rustling, and heard Putney whisper as she left.
“Lost, I tell ya, mooning like a she-wolf in heat she was.”
Baillie glanced over the final lists and papers for the
celebrity wedding taking place in a few hours. She’d found a quiet spot in the
library to concentrate on the last-minute details when her cell phone vibrated.
The caller id noted Olympia, Washington, and she snatched it by the second
muted ring.
“Sally,” she said with a smile. “Happy Valentine’s Day to
my best long-distance assistant.”
Sally laughed. “Your only assistant over here. How’s the
special V-Day celebration going?”
“So far, so good. Just another over-the-top extravaganza,
my dear. But the security on this one is nearly strangling the staff.” Both
women chuckled. “How’s your divorce going?”
“George has been amicable about everything, I guess,” Sally
sighed. “I can’t imagine what I would have done without you letting Casie and I
move into your apartment upstairs at Pen and Pages. It’s been a godsend,
Baillie. I will never be able to repay your generosity.” Baillie heard
sniffling. “Casie even gets to stay in her school district and catches the bus
right in front of the shop. I can’t tell you how much this means to me as a new
single mom.”
Baillie closed her eyes and conjured her beloved bookstore
nestled in firs and maple trees in her mind. She knew Sally was taking good care
of her business. The woman was a Godsend.
“And, of course, your cat, Sebastian, is being spoiled
something awful. I swear he knows what time the bus arrives and greets her at
the shop door after school. He’s like her own Lassie.”
Baillie looked out the library windows patterned in black
iron, the rectangles of leaded glass showing the glint of obsidian movement in
the dark moat below as Sally continued talking. Mesmerized by a single ray of light
breaking through the quilt of soft gray across the sky, Baillie moved closer to
the window. A siren’s call from the water filled her heart with familiar song,
a soothing contentment to her excited soul.
Outside she watched the wind ripple the white monstrosity’s
roof panels in a gentle rhythm, the reception area for tonight, a few of the white-draped
chairs barely visible. A smile played on her lips as she watched her inherited niece,
Rogue, smack right into that gorgeous local delivery kid Putney always raved
about. She let out a sharp noise, hoping the girl didn’t fall on her rear in
the mud from the bodily impact.
“What was that? Are you listening to me? Have you heard
anything I’ve said?” Sally’s voice increased in volume over the phone’s
speaker. “What did that ghost of a Highlander do now? Lord Kai can’t hog all of
you just because it’s Valentine Day. I deserve some too, you know. This is not
a favorite day of mine right now.”
A quick tingle down her spine at the mention of Kai’s name
pulled her away from the activity beyond the window, and she concentrated on
Sally. “No, no Kai around, truly, just Rogue blindsiding the cute delivery boy
down below. Putney swears they would be the perfect couple, but I don’t think
this is quite the romantic introduction Putney was hoping for, though pretty
memorable, I guess, as first meetings go.”
“Seriously?”
“She plowed right into the guy coming out of the reception
tent. Rogue’s not the most graceful thing in heels though Gillian and his girls
keep working on her every chance they get.” She peeked out the window again,
the two were talking, always a good sign and no stains or tears on her dress. “See,
my distraction was all about Rogue, no mushy stuff from Kai this time.”
Baillie stifled a laugh at her vision of Sally settling her
ruffled feathers on the other side of the world. “Sweetie, I have to finish
these lists and get out there or it will be off with my head by the bride’s
father. The fee from this one event is more than we made last year. Some people
and their bottomless checkbooks are a nice reward, especially after the hard work
and obnoxious secrecy this one has caused.”
“Must be nice hobnobbing with the rich and famous while I slave
away at the old bookstore.”
Baillie snapped a group of the papers into a clipboard
while rolling her eyes. “I hear the world’s tiniest violins in the background,
dear.” Both women giggled. “You’ll be out here before you know it for my
wedding.” She heard the tinkling of bells from the shop’s door in the
background. “See? You have a customer, go make us some money and I’ll talk to you
soon. Tell Miss Casie hi for me.” She tapped the screen disconnecting her call.
Bruce stopped his Ford delivery truck at the empty crossroads
a mile before town, looking left and right for clearance, when his vision
blurred into the tantalizing image of the local celebrity Rogue Baillie Bruce
in a dress. Not any style of dress you’d see in church or a fancy restaurant on
the girls in town, but like she’d stepped out of an epic movie about ancient
times. Like royalty, with her hair done up off her shoulders with ribbons—a
bewitching style, he noted.
The temperature inside the truck cab increased as he replayed
their brief conversation, her nearness as he steadied her from falling. After
the months of seeing her out by the stables in boots and jeans, his heart had pounded
at the view of her plowing into him. The tight top half of the dress hugged her
slight figure, showing her cream-colored neck and cleavage; her russet-brown
hair pulled into fancy curls atop her head made her more beautiful than he could
have imagined. He’d wanted nothing more than to pull her closer and caress the
smooth curve of her exposed neck with his lips, like a knight of old claiming
the princess after a joust, a crazy split-second notion of make-believe.
Bruce snorted. Like he had a chance in the world of dating
the richest woman in the county. Word in town, as well as stories from Putney
herself during his deliveries, confirmed that Rogue and some American relative
of hers had made the haunted castle into a popular bed and breakfast concept. Their
business had practically put their town on the international map. And he’d also
heard the vineyards next door belonged to Ms. Bruce; after all, she’d started
her own wine label, so it made sense.
Yet time and again, Putney cooed about the young woman,
filling his head and dreams with romantic notions like some matchmaker witch,
she did. None of them exaggerations, mind you. The woman was everything and
more Putney had described her as. But why in the world would a bloody wealthy,
gorgeous heiress be interested in the likes of him?
Though she hadn’t run away from him today, hadn’t bit his head
off to let her go, the look on her face seemed to say otherwise. That was something,
aye?
“Da,” he whispered aloud, “I met the most incredible woman today.
I think she’s the one, I do, like you told me as a boy how I’d ken when I found
her, a woman like Ma.” His hands gripped the steering wheel making the dry, rugged
lines of his fingers almost white. “A woman of grit and softness, she is, in
one fair package. As Ma took your breath away, aye, so does Rogue do mine, Da.”
A montage of images over the last months rolled through his
mind: her stepping out of the barn holding a leather harness of the four-legged
black beast Putney called Dougal while he crossed the bridge with a case of
groceries in his arms. The cook told him stories of the indelible bond between
the monster of a black stallion and Rogue, raising a heat of ire in his heart,
almost a jealousy of their friendship.
“She’ll no bother with a lowly businessman, though. She’s
the closest thing our town has to a princess, with her name and photo showing
up in the daily papers. Da, what am I gonna do? The beautiful enchantress has
stolen my heart.”
The blast of a horn behind him knocked Bruce from his
heavenly conversation. Stomping the gas pedal, he bolted back toward the
village, leaving his fantasy for bland reality once again.
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Kathleen Shaputis, author/ghostwriter, lives in the glorious Pacific Northwest with her husband, Bob, a clowder of cats, two pompously protective Pomeranians with little social aptitude, Brugh and Miss Jazzy, and an overgrown adolescent blue tick coon hound, Juno.
If not writing during her lifestyle in an acre of forest, she keeps busy reading from her never-ending, to-be-read pile and watching romantic comedies. Her hygge in the woods.
WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:
Website: http://www.kathleenshaputis.com
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