Page 21 of Scotlander

Awesome. Just what she wanted. An assured place in the Top Ten Idiot Americans list.

‘Should we put honey or something on the wound?’ asked the young woman sporting some amazing rainbow-coloured hair. ‘I think that’s what Claire would’ve done.’

‘Claire?’ Willa asked, rather than ‘honey?’ Which would have been the more pertinent question.

‘You know. Claire of Jamie and Claire in Outlander?’ prompted Jennifer.

She caught Finlay giving her another one of those, are-you-sure-there’s-a-brain-in-your-head looks.

Asshole.

‘I’m in training to become a white witch,’ said rainbow-hair girl, then stuck out her hand. ‘Jules.’

Willa, one hand very ably holding the blood-soaked handkerchief to Gabe’s forehead, took her proffered hand and shook it. Were they really were going to take this particular moment to play What Would Claire Do? Before she could ask, Jules looked up and said, ‘Oh cool! Paramedics.’

By the time the ambulance crew left, the sun had set, Gabe had regained consciousness, the cut on his forehead had been stitched and they’d all been given a sombre lecture on how to identify signs of a concussion.

Willa had also had time for her blood to heat up to boiling point. How could she have missed Finn’s very obvious I’m better than you aura? Jetlag. Clearly. Nothing to do with the fact he was so good-looking her entire reproductive system had been liquified into hot sauce.

Because she was obviously a deeply mature woman above engaging in petty squabbles, she used her lifelong love of Grey’s Anatomy to ask the paramedics some additional, I already know this but I’m asking for the benefit of the group type questions about subdural haematomas so that Finn knew she was well aware of the gravity of the situation and also to make it clear her vocabulary was polysyllabic even under duress, thank you very much.

‘Alright, everyone.’ Finn made a follow-me gesture, meeting everyone’s eyes apart from hers. ‘Now that you’ve all enjoyed the delights of Glasgow International, let’s get you up the road to Balcraigie, shall we?’

Exhaustion overtook her as the group trooped like jolly little ducklings behind Finlay’s broad stretch of shoulders towards the car park. The only thing that kept her from turning round and running back to the terminal, demanding entry on to the plane she’d just disembarked, was her promise to her bestie.

That, and the lure of Balcraigie Castle. Which, Finn informed them, was pronounced Bal-creg-ie.

When they checked in, she was going to order room service, take an insanely long bubble bath with whatever lush amenities were there and try her best to wash Finn out of her hair. Since he was the driver, they’d most likely never see him again and that suited her to a tee. Then, with any luck, everyone would develop a full-blown case of amnesia, and she and Gabe could start tomorrow afresh. Including Jennifer, who gratefully accepted her shawl back after Willa unearthed her new coat from her suitcase. Gabe had been right. It was cold here.

After passing a number of executive-style minivans with blacked-out windows, Finn stopped in front of a very battered-looking, moss green Land Rover Discovery with . . . oh dear god . . . a canvas-covered back that was going to be no protection against the increasingly chilly weather.

He held his hand out. ‘Here we are, then.’

Willa tugged her new winter coat round her and shivered.

It was the kind of vehicle that, had it been in better condition, would have been used to drive the queen around her Scottish estate when she went hunting. In its current state, she doubted a sheep would see it as a cosy alternative to standing, say, unprotected on a barren moor in the middle of a blizzard.

When he opened up the back, a tumble of orange twine, straw and other mystery items fell out. Suffice it to say, nothing about this vehicle screamed Property of the Laird. Then again, if they were being truly immersive, she supposed, Finn would’ve shown up on a horse.

To her surprise, everyone else in the group thought the vehicle was absolutely wonderful.

Beneath the cheery cries of ‘So authentic,’ and ‘I feel like I’m in another country,’ and a giggled, ‘You are in another country,’ Finn got to work.

‘Right!’ he said, his tongue sexily running over his Rs and landing on his Ts like they were popping candy. ‘If you hand me your luggage, I’ll just pop everyone’s bags on to the roof rack, okay?’

His eyes skidded across the group, giving everyone an encouraging smile until they landed on Willa, at which point his rather beautiful mouth turned in on itself and he looked away.

McBastard.

‘Wow!’ said Jeff, still glowing from his extensive photoshoot with the Japanese tourists who, it turned out, were also booked on an Outlander tour. ‘This old jalopy looks like she’s been through a few generations.’

Willa caught a look of surprise in Finlay’s eyes and a softening in his voice as he ran his hand along the side of it with a soft, ‘Yes. Well. A couple. It was my father’s.’

The group ooo-ed and ahhh-ed and, using Finlay’s big hand as a ballast, climbed into the back. Finlay said nothing more about it, but Willa was certain she’d heard what no one else had. He didn’t have his father any more and more than anything, he desperately wished he did.

She closed the fissure of warmth trying to creep through her Ice Queen act. The last thing she wanted was a legitimate reason to empathise with Mr McTall Dark and Handsome.

Three hours into the drive, Willa learnt that the six strangers she was jammed together with made up the entire group. She also learnt more about them than she knew about people she had worked with for years (excluding Finn, who was silently and fastidiously focusing on his driving. Gabe, also in the front, was oblivious to it all. He was sleeping like a baby beneath a tartan picnic blanket with Jeff’s neck pillow as buffering against any further bumps to his head).