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Chapter 6
Most of my reservations melted away. “Thank you, Mr. Doune,” I said. That means a lot.” I turned back to Finley who once again leaned indolently against the bar. “I’d kill for a bed,” I said, being entirely honest. “May we go now?”
Finley straightened slowly. Here in Hamish’s restaurant, I was seeing my rescuer properly for the first time. His broad forehead, classically handsome nose, and strong jaw created a face that was stunning masculine and completely unforgettable.
I think his eyes were my weak spot. Coal-black lashes framed blue irises the shade of pure sapphires. A woman could be hypnotized by those eyes if she weren’t on her guard.
Perhaps he was fair-skinned at birth, but he had clearly spent a lot of time in the sun, as his skin was golden brown. Around those remarkable eyes were tiny white crinkle lines, which told me not only was he outdoors a lot, but that he laughed. Often. Somehow, I found that hard to believe. With me, Finley Craig had been intense and moody and more like judge and jury than friend.
His hair was thick and shiny black, like a raven’s wing. It was too long to be short, but not long enough to make a statement. Like the man, his hair was an enigma.
Hamish took pity on me. “Ye sure you don’t want one more drink? Jet lag can be a real pisser. You’re dead on your feet, lass. Another shot will send you off to dreamland for sure.”
I stood up carefully, feeling the unaccustomed alcohol swirl in my stomach. “Thank you for the drink, Mr. Doune. But I’ll pass. I didn’t have the chance to tell you earlier. The seafood this evening was amazing.”
“I thought I recognized you. Ye had the table in the corner, right? And Lara waited on you?”
“Right on both counts. How do you remember all that?”
“It’s my restaurant…my livelihood. I make it my business to take note of who comes and goes. Ye’d be surprised at who drops in now and again thanks to our Finley.”
“Hamish…”
I sensed a clear note of warning in Finley’s voice, though I had no idea why. “It was lovely to meet you,” I said, shaking the big man’s hand. Then I turned to Finley. “I’m exhausted. Do you mind if we go?”
He shook his head. “Not at all. This stop was for your peace of mind.”
The two men thumped each other on the back in a quick semblance of a hug—the way men do—and then we were on our way.
It was all I could do to make it back up the steps to where the motorcycle was parked. If I hadn’t lingered in Inverness, if I had driven straight to Skye, I would have found out about the cottage many hours before now and might possibly even have snagged the last of the available rooms at the hotel.
If ifsand buts were candy and nuts…
It was too late now. My adventure was starting out inauspiciously, but things would look better in the morning. Fortunately, Finley’s house was not far away.
We cut through an alleyway onto a narrow road that accessed the hill behind the restaurant. The view overlooking the water would be spectacular in the daylight, but it was well and truly dark by now. Nestled in a small copse of trees sat a house that looked as if it had emerged straight out of a fairytale.
Perhaps at one time it had been two separate dwellings. The current home crept up the hill as if the builder had not known where to stop. The old whitewashed structure had glass panes that were off kilter and window boxes filled with pansies.
I fell in love with it on sight.
Finley gave me no time to linger. He ushered me inside and immediately went to light the small pile of wood and kindling that had already been laid in the hearth. Soon, the fire flickered and popped, giving off an unmistakable scent that took me back to winter evenings in Switzerland.
My parents would never have tolerated anything so messy as real burning logs, even if such a thing had been practical in Atlanta or Manhattan. But on ski trips, I remember sitting around the fire and drowsily listening to the grownups talk about the day’s runs.
“Are you hungry?”
Finley’s words startled me. I’d been lost in thought, far away from this small Scottish gem of a town.
I nodded. “I could eat. Nothing much. Maybe some milk to offset that whiskey.”
He led me through a narrow hallway into a kitchen that looked as if it belonged in one of the dormitories at Hogwarts. Finley put a hand on my shoulder. “Sit.”
While he prepared our snack of popcorn and hot chocolate, I rested my head on my arms. The surface of the rough-hewn table was hard but smooth, as if generations of schoolchildren had breakfasted in this very same spot.
I managed to eat half of my popcorn and drink all of the warm beverage. My eyes were so heavy I could barely hold them open.
Finley took pity on me. “I’ll save the tour for the morning,” he said. “Let’s get you to bed before you fall over.”
