The Sweetest Hours. Cathryn Parry
of castles in Scotland. Malcolm had often met people who, just because of a last name indicating a few drops of Scottish blood, somehow felt they were related to Scottish royalty. It was part of the romance of the Scottish diaspora, he supposed.
“A long time ago, Nanny got a letter from a man in Scotland, and, and, and...” Lily threw up her hands. With a straight face, the little girl said to Malcolm, “My great-nanny owned a castle. In Scotland. Really.”
“Is that so?” Malcolm murmured.
“It’s a family story,” Kristin explained, her face flushed. “Before I was born, my grandmother received word from Scotland, informing her that she was heiress to a castle.”
“Probably a scam,” her father—Rich—remarked.
“Certainly a scam,” Evelyn agreed. “They were looking for money.”
Kristin’s countenance fell.
Malcolm wished he could make her feel better. “Do you have the letter?” Malcolm asked gently.
“My mother-in-law tore it up,” Rich said. “She was a practical one.”
Kristin shook her head. “My family tends to be...skeptical,” she said to Malcolm.
Malcolm completely understood.
“Still,” Kristin said, glancing across the table at them. “The story remains.”
“It’s like those spam emails the Nigerian princes send, looking for bank account numbers,” her brother—PJ—remarked. He looked plaintively at his wife. “Honey, I thought I smelled hamburger in the kitchen. Aren’t we going to eat?”
Malcolm had news for him—that smell was haggis. Not one person present was going to be pleased once they tasted it. If this crowd heaped scorn and poked fun on a “castle heiress,” then the presentation of the haggis would really kick off a round of derision.
Kristin stared at her empty plate. There was a resigned sadness to her face. Malcolm suspected she had experience with the futility of arguing with skeptics. Why did she stick around in the same hometown she’d grown up in if she had to deal with this on a daily basis? She was an adult—why not move away like he had?
As far as her career was concerned, she’d told him she liked the products at Aura Botanicals and the variety of the work in a small company. He understood that. But why subject herself to such restriction when she obviously craved adventure? That was her true personality—he’d watched her in action all afternoon. He’d only known her this one day, and it was obvious to him.
He frowned. He shouldn’t long to cheer Kristin up or to look out for her. He shouldn’t be moved enough to care about anything she did.
Leaning back, he ran his tongue over his chipped tooth.
“I believe in the fairy castle,” a small voice whispered in his right ear.
He turned his head slightly. The urchin was standing in her chair again. She was staring at him as if she expected an answer.
“Do you now?” he murmured.
“Don’t you?” she whispered back.
But it was a loud whisper. He glanced at Kristin, who was gazing at him expectantly, as if she’d heard their entire conversation and was immensely interested in what he thought on the matter.
Malcolm didn’t believe in fantasies of castles and lost letters. But he did believe in Kristin. The woman was eminently capable. So he smiled in encouragement at her.
“I do,” he said.
She bit her lip and looked down at her hands in her lap. When she glanced up again, she was blushing.
“Mom, when are we going to play the music?” the urchin shouted to her mother in the kitchen.
Malcolm flinched again. Kristin covered her mouth, laughing. She was beautiful when she laughed. Bewitching.
Damn.
“Hold your horses!” Stephanie clomped into the room holding a white note card. She passed it to Kristin, whose face brightened further upon receiving it.
Clapping, Stephanie said, “Attention! The Burns Supper is now commenced! Kristin Hart will please read the opening grace.” Then Stephanie spoke behind her hand in a stage whisper to him. “I copied it from the internet. Let’s see how Kristin does with the accent.”
Oh, lord. It must be the Selkirk Grace. Would Kristin read it in English, or would she go for the vernacular?
Inside, he felt tense. If Kristin were going to give away his secret to her family, then now was her chance.
He waited, breath held...
Kristin cleared her throat, and with a flourish, she read:
“Some hae meat and canna eat,
And some wad eat that want it.
But we hae meat, and we can eat,
And sae let the Lord be thankit.”
Yes, she gave the language a thorough butchering. And then she raised her head and smiled at all assembled, exquisitely pleased.
“I’d like some meat,” her father said plaintively.
“Doesn’t everything sound better with a Scottish accent?” Kristin sighed to no one in particular, ignoring her father. “God, I miss Nanny.”
“What did that poem say, Aunty?” her niece asked her. “It sounded funny.”
“I’m not exactly sure,” Kristin answered. “But Robert Burns was a witty poet in his day. I’ll research it later and explain it to you once I figure it all out.”
But Kristin didn’t look at Malcolm. She hadn’t given away her suspicions regarding him, either. She could have pointed out that he had admitted to her that he’d lived in the country and that he knew damned well who the national poet of Scotland was. She could have shared with the group that she’d overheard Malcolm speaking in a similar, heavily accented vernacular this morning. She could have offered him up to the laughter and the skepticism and the jocular infighting, all things he was so familiar with from his own large brood of cousins. But she had not.
She was keeping their secret.
He glanced down at his hands in his lap, feeling sick for what he had to do. At some point soon, he would have to betray her.
He felt thoroughly ashamed.
“Now?” the urchin shouted to her mom. “Can I dance now?”
“No!” her mother answered. “Not yet.” Then she marched into the kitchen and returned carrying a platter filled with hamburgers, each containing lettuce, tomato, cucumbers and, instead of a commercial bun, assembled with that same bread that he had eaten at lunch.
He nudged Kristin. “This looks familiar,” he murmured.
She nodded, smiling. “Our sandwiches today came from Stephanie’s diner. She runs Cookie’s Place.”
“Who is Cookie?”
“The lady who owned the restaurant before Stephanie. When she passed away, Stephanie bought it. First thing she did was choose a new name, and everyone in town got mad and refused to patronize the diner, so Stephanie switched the sign back. The diner is, and shall remain for all time, Cookie’s Place.”
“People just do not like change,” her father said. “It’s a fact.”
“Attention!” Stephanie announced. “I’m offering a substitution for those of you who are not adventurous with the new food that will be forthcoming.”
She waggled her finger at Malcolm, indicating he restrain himself and wait for the joy of the pending haggis.
Everyone except for him,