Kaitlyn and the Highlander Page 3

  My mother said, “I didn't know you'd still be here, Katie.”

  “I wanted to make sure Magnus and Lady Mairead didn't need a ride to—”

  My mother said, “Oh dear, no, I'll take them. I need to give them the keys and show them the amenities anyway.”

  She headed toward the parking lot, with a follow me gesture, but before he left Magnus stood in front of me to speak. “Thank ye, Mistress Sheffield, most heartily for the food and the care this morning. I hope tae meet ye again someday.” He offered Lady Mairead his arm and they swept into the bright heat of a Florida day.

  Three

  I spent a lot of time the next three days with Hayley. She had a long weekend, so we went out every night. Michael was always a part of the plan and James came too. It was a lot like dating, and Hayley made a huge deal about us all being besties and having so much fun together, but James was not doing it for me. That image kept flashing in my mind where he looked just like his dad, and it reminded me how I felt five years ago when I learned he was not exclusively mine, not even close. Because despite his khaki I'm-a-contractor-so-I'm-a-safe-choice pants, he was not a safe choice.

  I had left high school broken over him, devastated because he hadn't been serious about me, always looking around the room. A man's man. A player. The kind of guy who went out on the weekend with “the boys” and “got in trouble” because “that's what men do.” James's buddies would never ever breathe a word about it to anyone and definitely not to me, the girlfriend — there was a code.

  But I had found out. I had found out he had hooked up with a young woman who was visiting from University of Florida for almost a week. There was no way he could talk his way out of it. He had said it wasn't a big deal, but he had been wrong, and so I left for college a free woman, albeit broken-hearted. And that had sucked for a long time.

  And it still bothered me that it took so long to find out, because on this island everyone knew everything. If someone was as clueless as me, there had to be a conspiracy of silence. It was that conspiracy that made me leave and want to put three thousand miles between me and home.

  And then I met Braden, quit school, moved with him to Los Angeles, and the rest, as they say, was history. Like the sucky kind of history, the kind that is right up there with war, pestilence, and godammed political overthrow.

  Even Hayley had known about James. She explained it away at the time, saying she stood up for me, that he promised to be a better person.

  But she knew. Long before I knew.

  When I found out I told her she had seriously broken the Girl Code, and I was never ever going to speak to her again. But I had grown up with her, she was my bestie, and once I was planning my marriage to Braden I was so over James it seemed I could forgive her. Because life goes on.

  Now here I was, living in my old home, best-friending with Hayley, and 'dating' James again.

  I was faced with questions: Did I trust Hayley? Did I trust James? And if not, why the hell was I meeting him at bars, drinking with him, and considering going home with him every night?

  These were not good choices. But here I was, instigating shit with him, again. I tried to tell myself I could just have a fling with James, but the entire world seemed to think he was marriage material. Also, the entire world had watched my YouTube breakdown and believed I desperately needed a man. Finally, everyone figured it was very kind of James Cook to still have an interest in Katie the Wreck. Because I was damaged goods, no other way of looking at it. Nine million viewers had watched, commented on, and shared my video. They all agreed I was a wreck. Maybe I needed to take the kindnesses offered and just accept James as my destiny.

  Four

  On Monday I woke up bored. Everyone I knew had to work. I was tempted to go by and see what Magnus was doing, because he was new to the island after all. I could be a tour guide. But also, why? I had given them a ride; how creepy would that be?

  But boredom won out. I decided to use the beach access closest to their new house to look for shark teeth. That way if I saw Magnus or Lady Mairead I could pretend to be 'just walking by.'

  I took a baggie for collecting shark teeth and shells and parked my Prius on the shoulder of the road. I walked out on the beach and checked out the house.

  It was different from the classic beach houses that used to line the shore here. Those had been built up on stilts in case of floodwater. With thin legs, wind-pummeled wood, and low slung roofs, they had seemed a part of the landscape. The stilts gave them lift, as if the wind could carry them if it wanted to, it just had to decide to.

  This one was newer, different, huge. Built. Like it was daring the wind to try to carry it away, just try.

  After Mom had unloaded her biggest house on them, we celebrated that night at dinner, with Mom and Dad congratulatory toasting and clinking their wineglasses. I found it troubling. There was nothing wrong with leasing a mansion to the rich foreigner, but there was something about Magnus that made me think he deserved better. His manners? Maybe it was because I'd never been involved in my mother's business deals before. I had heard her described as a shark, and I didn't believe the term to be unfair.

  The beach was beautiful, warm, full sun, a bit cooler than last Thursday, by degrees. It was still a June summer in Florida of course, ninety-two degrees, instead of soaring over a hundred.

  The sand was so pretty, white and glistening. The tide was heading low revealing bounteous beautiful unbroken shells. I crouched in the wet sand at the edge of the warm, gently lapping waves, searching, occasionally scooping — there! A shark tooth. Small, but perfect, and I had found it within the first three minutes. After the first one they would be easy to find, because my brain could focus.

  I felt so happy to be home suddenly, in this beautiful place. Where better to walk and think through what went wrong? And my role in the whole debacle? I hadn't done that much.

  Instead I had regressed into my past self: daughter, party girl, bestie. I supposed that was common, after a world-wide embarrassment, regressing. What did celebrities do — check into rehab? Go to a spa? Or in the case of minor celebrities, like me, less famous, more viral, especially now I had bared my teeth and drunkenly slashed across my fiancé's face on live video — go to their parents's beach town and hide away.

  I approached the boardwalk entrance of Magnus's house. It didn't look like anyone was — wait, the entire front of the house was glass and someone was sitting in the top left window.

  This was awkward.

  Could I make myself look casual and not weird at all? I stepped on the stairs, then took my foot back to the sand, changing my mind. But Magnus turned and peered through the window.

  I was seen.

  He gestured for me to come to the house, then met me at the sliding door, but didn't open it. He pushed awkwardly, a little desperately, at the handle, then shrugged.

  I peered in through the glass for the lock. Every one of these door handles was different, but this one was basic. I mimed pushing the lever up. Then pointed at the top of the door where there would be a second lock and pantomimed how to unlock it as well.

  I slid the door wide with a smile. “How are you Magnus Campbell?”

  “Nae good, Mistress Sheffield. I daena feel well, and Lady Mairead is verra ill.” He was agitated and sweaty. No wonder, the place was stifling hot. “Will ye see her? I haena been tae hunt yet. I canna leave her side these many days.”

  “Oh, oh no, Magnus, yes, where is she?”

  He rushed up the steps, with me a second behind. He pushed open the door of a bedroom, and I rushed to the edge of the bed. “Lady Mairead?”

  She moaned. Her face was red hot, her breathing labored.

  Magnus said, “I dinna ken what tae do. She needs food...”

  “You don't have any food?”

  He looked at his feet. “I dinna dare leave her.”

  “Oh.” A full sweat dripped down my face. Was the AC broken? I checked her forehead. It was very hot, definitely feverish.
She convulsed with a scary sounding cough.

  “She hae been coughin' for two days past.”

  “We need to get her to the hospital.”

  “A physician?”

  “Yes.” My heart raced as I dialed 911 on my phone and explained to the dispatcher that I needed an ambulance. I didn't know the address, so I guessed at the street number, the road name, and the description of the front of the house. I told them I would meet them outside.

  I hung up, my hands shaking.

  He hung his head. “I must go with her. I hae sworn tae protect her.”

  “You can, but wait here now. I'll go downstairs and wait for the ambulance. Then we can all ride to the hospital together.”

  He nodded gratefully and returned to the chair pulled alongside the bed. I raced down the stairs.

  The house was huge, modern, very, very white, stark glass and metal, with accents of colored modernist plastic. The furniture was spare. Giant dried starfish hung on the tall living room wall. I wondered how the Scottish man in traditional Scottish clothes felt about his new castle? I located the AC controls near the laundry room door off the kitchen. It was a sleek box, mostly hidden, with digital controls. I punched quite a few numbers before the central air conditioning purred to life, thank god. I lifted my shirt and fanned my belly. How long had they been sweltering in here? I glanced around the kitchen and yanked open the refrigerator. It was off. Empty.

  I was going to kill my mom.

  The ambulance arrived about fifteen minutes later and bundled Lady Mairead into the back. Magnus and I followed in my Prius and arrived just behind it. I wanted to handle the paperwork, but knew nothing past her name. I asked Magnus for their passports, but at his confused expression invented a back story: “They were robbed when they left the airport. His new passport hasn't arrived yet, but he's a UK citizen. He's leasing a beachfront — you know, here — call my father. He'll vouch for him.” I gave them my dad's private phone number, then my mom's.

  Magnus and I sat in the hallway, side by side. He looked very worried and haggard.

  “She'll be okay. They'll treat her for infection, help her rest, then she can go home.”

  He nodded quietly. Then dropped his head back to the wall. “I am verra much starv'd.”

  “Oh, right, stay here in case they need to speak to you. I'll run and get you something.” I hustled down to the cafeteria and bought Magnus a club sandwich, chips, and a soda. Also a water.

  I handed him the food, but then took it again, twisted the cap off the cola, and opened the packaging on his sandwich, because he looked at everything as if seeing if for the first time.

  After he devoured the food, I asked, “Do you need me to stay?”

  “Aye, Mistress Sheffield. If you could remain while I wait, I would be verra indebted.”

  “You know, you can call me Kaitlyn, thanking Mistress Sheffield sounds too formal.”

  “Aye, Mistress Kaitlyn, then. I thank ye for your kindness both formally and informally.” The edge of his mouth went up a bit in a smile.

  It was about five o'clock, when the doctor finally spoke with us about her case. He looked Magnus up and down, much the way everyone looked him up and down because of that freaking kilt. I had urged him to wrap his sword in his cloak, but the large bundle was there, beside him. His boots were leather, wrapped with more leather. Even the bottoms were not formed so much as molded to his foot, much like baby shoes.

  Yet, even with these ancient trappings, he was tall and attractive, so people seemed to quickly move past his oddities. Case in point: I was helping him. Though in my defense he had a way of speaking, low and intense, plus a way of looking kind of lost that made me keep on—

  “We have stabilized her and are treating the viral infection and the dehydration. She has what amounts to the flu, and her immune system is very weak.” He squinted his eyes. “It doesn't say on her records what her age is, this is your wife?”

  “Nae, the Lady Delapointe is my mother.”

  “Ah. She must be at least forty-five then? Can you explain the scars on her cheeks?”

  “Her husband has done it.”

  I added, “That's why they're here, I think.”

  The doctor asked, “You're Katie Sheffield, your father is John Sheffield at the bank?”

  “That's me, I grew up here. This is my friend.” Then to give him some information that might make sense, I added, “I've been living in LA.”

  He said, “Oh, right. That makes sense. All right then, Madame Delapointe needs to stay overnight—”

  Magnus interrupted, “She canna, I need tae—”

  I put a staying hand on his arm. “It's all right Magnus, she's protected here.” I turned to the doctor. “Will she sleep all night?”

  “Yes, until morning. You can return tomorrow during visiting hours, and if she's better she may go home tomorrow evening.”

  Magnus turned to me, his face drawn and worried. “There are many windows, a road just beyond the walls. Would it be possible for him tae station guards?”

  The doctor looked from me to Magnus. “No, but I can have someone close the curtains.”

  “It will be okay, Magnus. I can drive you home, and you'll be back tomorrow when she wakes up.”

  He stared at the door of the room. “How far away would I be then?”

  “About ten minutes.”

  He looked like he was calculating the distance. “Aye, twould be an acceptable distance. I shall return tae my house.”

  The doctor said, “Good, visiting hours begin at nine o'clock.” He strolled away.

  Magnus watched him go. I thought his mind was worried, but he said, “Pray, Mistress Kaitlyn, where would I forage for more food? My middle is achin', and I'm afeared my tartan is loosenin' so it may fall tae my knees. It dinna cease with these — what did ye say they are called?”

  I smirked. “Pre-packaged, institutional, vending machine junk food. Yes, we can get better.”

  The heat hit like a wall when we stepped out of the hospital. I half expected it to be night, but it was only six pm, a summery six. It dawned on me we might go out and eat at a restaurant, but also his mother was in the hospital. And he hadn't even turned on his AC at home yet, so I figured the nicest thing would be to take him to a grocery store. As my grandmother would have said, “Help that man get his feet under him. So you can climb him like a tree.”

  I tried to hide my amusement as I held the Prius's passenger door open, because Magnus seemed confused by the handles, the doors, the seats. As I started the car he flicked the vents on the air conditioning up and down. He pushed a button and startled when his window slid open and closed. As soon as I pulled onto the road, he clamped his eyes tight, and held the dashboard.

  I tried to think of reasons why he was so weird about my car. The door handle might be explained because he usually rode with a chauffeur. The AC — maybe it was always cold in Scotland? The windows — Scottish cars must be very different. He mentioned horses, right? Maybe he was a farmer. Probably old-timey, like the Amish.

  I turned on the radio, one of my favorite old songs. I watched him peripherally, his eyes closed tight, his head lolling loosely as I drove onto 12th Street and sped to thirty-five miles per hour.

  At the grocery store I parked under a blaring street lamp. “This is an American grocery store. Ever been in one?”

  He peered up at the giant sign and quickly at the cars and people and shook his head slowly. “I hae never even seen one.”

  “You are in for a treat. What is your favorite thing to eat?”

  He didn't think at all. “I verra much like leg of lamb, though I am famished enough for the whole sheep.”

  “Hmmm, that might not be available in the deli department. I was hoping we could get an assortment of readymade food and take it to your house. I'm a good cook, but maybe not leg-of-lamb good.”

  We entered through the front doors and were hit in the face by a blast of cold air. Also the collective gasp of the store's
entire customer base. Everyone stared at Magnus and then glanced warily at me. He was indifferent, going back out through the door and coming in again, looking around at the signs, up at the electric mechanism, up at the drop-tile ceiling, and dazedly around at the whole store. Which made everyone stare even harder.

  I couldn't blame them — he had that unexplainable darkness, shadowy and mysterious — the cloak, the sword, the leather shoes. Plus he smelled like that combination of incense, dust, and old church. And Kilt. And Big. And Hot, like really, really hot.

  I led him to the deli and began ordering: roasted chicken, fried chicken, pulled pork, a couple of baked potatoes, a tub of macaroni and cheese. He reached for a dark pumpernickel bread, a kind that did not look appetizing to me at all, watching me for cues, then placed it in our cart too.

  I picked some spreadable cheeses and another loaf of bread, French. “More my style.” I scooped a tub of olives into the cart. Then, after all of that asked, “Do you like ice cream?”

  He blinked and thought for a moment. When he was considering information he wasn't sure about, he squinted. “Aye?”

  “Good answer.” I pushed the cart, leading him toward the frozen food section, noticing that he jingled under his cloak. There must have been a buckle near his sword, adding to his oddness, causing people to step out of his way and point.

  I chose a gallon of salted caramel ice cream, a gallon of chocolate-chocolate brownie surprise, and two gallons of plain vanilla because that seemed like it would be his style, though he didn't seem to know what any of it was.

  I led him down an aisle past the paper products, grabbing toilet paper, soap, and paper towels while he stood idly by, to the alcohol section. “Beer, ale, wine.”

  His eyes went wide. “Ah, this I recognize.” He eagerly looked up and down the coolers.