Mad About Plaid
Chapter 1
She was lost.
And from the look of things, stuck
on the shoulder of a single-track road deep in the Scottish countryside, it was
doubtful another soul would be passing by soon. Unless sheep counted. There
were plenty of those to go around, dotting the green hillside like hundreds of
fluffy marshmallows under an ominous gray sky.
Lucy's stomach clenched into a
hungry knot, a bag of marshmallows sounding pretty good right about then.
With a wistful sigh, she returned her attention to the map. The last town was
nearly five miles back.
Five. Long. Miles.
Perfect.
Once again, she'd allowed Riley to
talk her into another wild scheme, and this time it had been covering for her
cousin at work. What did Lucy know about travel writing? She'd never been
beyond the Eastern seaboard—a failure in and of itself seeing as how she'd once
planned to see the world.
"Damn it, Riley," she
muttered, wondering how many times she'd said those words in relation to her
cousin? Thousands probably.
She knew it was wrong, but part of
her hoped Riley was having a craptastic day too. It was the least she deserved.
And while Lucy was at it, she might
as well add the woman who'd met her at the airport to the growing list of
offenders. The lovely Grace Lindsay who'd bought her lunch, taken her shopping
for real Scottish clothes, and had rented Lucy her very own
mini car for the trek to Balmorie Estate & Guest House.
"I put together the Lindsay
and MacLaren Tartans," Grace had said beyond the changing room door during
their shopping detour. "We'd be honored if you wear them."
Hurting someone's feelings and
country pride was the last thing Lucy had wanted to do her first day in
Scotland, so she walked out of the shop in blue and green checkered slacks
criss-crossed in black, yellow, and red, paired with a green, red, and blue
sweater.
Grace Lindsay, with her cool
Scottish accent, bright red hair, freckles, and faulty directions was the
reason Lucy was currently dressed like Willy Wonka out for a day of golfing. In
the case of the matching plaid cap with the fuzzy red pompom on the top, which
Grace had also bought for her, Lucy had shoved it into her backpack vowing
silently that hell would freeze over before she'd wear it.
Could be worse.
It could always be
worse. In fact, Lucy and 'could be worse' were intimately acquainted. Yet
another often-used phrase in her life.
Resigned to the fact she'd have to
leave her gas-deprived rental—whose gas gauge was obviously shot since it still
indicated a full tank—and walk back to the last town, she grabbed her backpack
off the passenger seat, praying that the remainder of her vacation would be
just as she'd envisioned; peaceful and inspiring—the total opposite of the
adventure Grammy Lin and her cousins envisioned with a string of hunky
Scotsmen. It had been over a year since her last relationship. If there was a perfect
time for a wild, irresponsible fling, it was now, or so they'd claimed, even
going so far as to tuck several condoms into her carry-on bag.
Lucy didn't even want to think
about the look on Reverend Atwater's face, the friendly missionary who sat next
to her on the plane, when she'd pulled out a shiny foil-wrapped Mammoth
Man while looking for her eye drops to which he'd asked hopefully,
"Ooh, is that chocolate?"
Having to explain it wasn't exactly
chocolate, she'd quietly searched her carry-on for more surprises, vowing to
strangle both Gram, Kate, and Riley when she returned home. A fitting
punishment, she decided, after discovering a handful of the shiny foil chocolates in
her carry-on.
And not a single Median Man or Mini
Man.
Mammoth Mans were a joke.
If they were that desperate for her to find a man, they could have at least
been realistic.
Lucy was surprised Kate hadn't
tucked their treasured copy of Grammy Lin's Highlander's Harlot into
her bag. Lucy still remembered the day they'd found 'Double H' on Gram's front
porch swing and read it in the bedroom fort they'd made upstairs. And oh boy
had it ever been enlightening. Scandalous, hysterical, amazing. She, Riley, and
Kate had laughed so hard. They'd gone wide-eyed and quiet. Embarrassed and confused.
Heartsick and hopeful for Alastair and Fiona.
Their love of heroes and all things
Scottish had begun that day thanks to Gram's love of highland romances.
As she smiled at the memory, a
splat of rain hit the tip of her nose.
No. No way.
Lucy tipped her head back, and eyed
the dark clouds gathering above her. Another raindrop smacked her forehead.
This was not happening.
An ominous moment went by before
the water-laden clouds gave way. In seconds she was drenched, her hair
flattened against her head. Freaking perfect. A sharp laugh escaped her wet
lips. Luck had never seen her through before. Why should it start now? The
awful cap with the red pompom on top was still secure in her backpack. With a
defeated sigh and a glare at the heavens, Lucy shoved it on her head and
continued walking—no, slopping—down the now muddy track.
Hell had officially frozen over.
Should her bad luck continue, at
least the bright red beacon on her head would visible from the rescue plane.
Despite it being May, the rain was
cold and it coated her clothes and skin until she felt like a walking icicle.
Not a single car had come by. Or a tractor. Or a person. Not even a
marshmallow.
Her gut clenched again with hunger.
The thought of a warm meal, hot shower, and a soft bed was the only thing that
kept one foot in front of the other. Just make it back to town. That's all she
had to do. Five miles. Easy right?
After two steep hills Lucy started
having second thoughts about it being easy.
As she crested a third
breath-stealing hill, a deer leapt across the road. She stopped and watched its
retreat, letting out a surprised oath at what she saw in the distance.
Talk about picture perfect.
Not too big, not too small. A small
L-shaped castle, with what looked like a Victorian-era addition complete with
high peaks and Gothic windows, sat in the nicest spot tucked between the base
of low hill and a long, thin loch. Tidy outbuildings surrounded the place and a
well-tended lawn curved down to a tiny pebble beach.
Now this was what
she'd come for.
A slow smile spread across her
face. Scotland. Castles. Lochs. Yeah, life was definitely looking up. There
were two cars in the driveway and a few dim lights in the windows. It looked to
be a half-mile away or so. If she left the muddy track, made a shortcut over
the pasture, through the woods, she figured she'd be there in no time. And it
sure as hell was closer than five miles back to town...
_________________________________________
A Scot Like You
(MacLarens of Balmorie, Book 2)
Chapter 1
Don't freak out. Act normal.
Easy to say. But
way harder to do. As soon as Kate looked out the window and saw the land 10,000
feet below her, the song from Braveheart wafted through her
brain like a summer breeze over heather-covered hills, and she wanted to scream
like a groupie at an all boy band concert.
A huge grin
split her face, and she bounced a few times—discreetly, of course—in her seat.
Never in her
wildest dreams had she imagined she'd be here. And she sure as hell never
thought her cousin's trip to Scotland three months ago would result in an
engagement with a half Scot, ex-marine, Innkeeper.
Kate sighed.
Inevitably, her
thoughts turned to the last few months and the utter wreck her life had become.
Funny how things worked out. Lucy's life had risen to joyous highs as Kate's
had crumbled to dust.
Just . . .
crumbled.
Needing a
distraction, Kate turned to Mrs. Fitz-Grant-Williams. But the elderly woman
kept her attention fixed solidly forward. Which might have been Kate's fault.
When she'd sat
down next to Mrs. Fitz-Grant-Williams seven or so hours prior, Kate had struck
up a mostly one way conversation. Mrs. F.G.W. had learned all about Lucy's
whirlwind romance, Kate's itinerary for the next two weeks, followed by her
reasons for the trip, and her break up with He Who shall Not Be Named (one
Holden Morten who had earned himself the name Holdenmort for good reason).
After that, she might have revealed the origins of her love
affair with Scotland—the discovery of Grammy Lin's cache of lusty romances and
her well-loved edition of Highlander's Harlot.
After that Ms.
Fitz-Grant-Williams avoided her altogether.
Which was okay
because Kate brought said book with her to pass the time.
Bringing that
old paperback felt like a rite of passage. She wasn't really sure why she'd
brought it. She'd been angry when she grabbed it, angry at Holden. Angry at
love. Angry at the book for making her believe in heroes and happily ever
afters.
Her cousin,
Riley had swiped Highlander's Harlot (affectionately dubbed,
Double H) from Gram's porch swing at the age of thirteen and read it out loud
to Kate and Lucy under the covers of their make-shift fort. Ever since, Kate
dreamt of her own extremely hot, alpha Highlander with a voice potent enough to
conquer worlds, and a body to rock them all.
She sighed.
Screw
Holdenmort. Evil jerk.
Not that he ever
rocked her world or loved her in that way.
But trust was
trust. Friendship could be as deep and true as any other kind of love.
Kate forced away
the negativity. This was going to be the best vacation of her life, damn it. It
had to be because she wasn't going to settle for anything less.
Scotland and
Kate, she mused, together at last.
The lovely
brogue that came over the speaker to announce their landing nearly did her in.
Kate sighed again and settled back.
Fasten your
seat belts, lairds and laddies, she thought with a smile, Katherine
Lee Walker is about to land.
