Scotland For Christmas Part 8

"I'll be at the inn tomorrow," he said. He had to be. If he was caught outside the security perimeter, he might never catch Sage.

From here on in he was present only to meet John Sage. That was his reason.

Maybe he'd veered a bit, tangled in Isabel's spell. But it had been a tactical mistake, because here he was at the destination, with no solid footwork completed yet as to his real agenda.

"Right, then." She licked her lips. "I'll go check us in." She opened the door, and in the dome light, he saw that her face had flushed. "Two rooms," she specified. Needlessly, in his opinion.

"I'll bring in the suitcases," he said quietly.

She nodded, and with her bottom lip between her teeth, paused in the doorway. Her jeans hugged her hips in a way that made his groin ache. Her sweater clung to her stomach, to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Her warm breath seemed to puff and then hang in the air, as if there was a question...something else that hung in the air between them, too.

If he spoke, if he moved with the spell, he could take charge and continue this...physical attraction, or whatever it was, upstairs, in a room with a bed and a door. He could play the music she liked all night with her. She was barely breathing now, her breath coming in a whisper. Her eyes bright. Her lips slightly parted.

He was half-transfixed himself.

But then, that would be too much, too far, on the first night they'd known each other. It would be the wine stain ruining a beautiful tablecloth. And furthermore, once she woke from her dream tomorrow-if they made it that far-she would roll over in bed and look at him and instantly regret everything. Whatever gold they might have found would be turned to ashes. There was alchemy to love and relationships, and whatever that was, Jacob didn't know the answer. He was just a guy with a badge and a gun and a mission to take bullets for diplomats.

He shook his head. "Good night, Isabel." Formal words that covered all manner of sins. But she was polished and put together and great at recovery. In the end, she just nodded pleasantly at him as if nothing had happened, as if he hadn't just turned her down and they'd really only been exchanging pleasantries.

"Go check in to your room," Jacob said. "I'll be behind you checking in to mine."

WITH JACOB NO longer beside her, Isabel felt as if something was missing. By now she was used to him, the way he walked beside her, but slightly behind. The way he shined his torch on the path in front of her. Looked all around them with sharp eagle eyes as if he were searching for snipers.

Her intense, ever-vigilant protector was gone. She felt as if she needed to put her own cloak back on, her demeanor of poise and invulnerability and great care.

Centering herself, she turned to touch her fingers lightly to the polished wooden counter.

Inside the lobby, the air was warm and bright. She collected her room key, listening with politeness to the innkeeper's standard spiel about breakfast hours and the location of the ice machine. He was all smiles and chatter, like a professional marketing manager. Everybody was professional these days. If she'd expected a cold, taciturn New England atmosphere, she wasn't getting it. It would have to be enough to enjoy the green Vermont hills and the fresh air and the cows.... Oh, the cows. She'd noticed them on the drive up, spotted and white, with short horns. Nothing like her long-horned, hairy Highland cows.

A very bold idea was occurring to her. Something she had never done before. The idea, like a secret, was lighting a flame within her.

In the bustling great room across the lobby, a huge, roaring fire blazed in a stone fireplace. All her many boisterous cousins were surrounding it. Drinking wine. Joking with one another. Catching up. She wasn't part of that-not truly, not like this. She was usually set apart and above, but set apart and above with Alex, who was customarily bored by the whole thing in his lawyerly way.

What would it be like to dance with her earthy cousins, dance the reels with Jacob, letting herself cut loose? She'd seen his hands tap on the steering wheel when she'd played her music. She'd sensed he wanted to cut loose, too. Yes, it was necessary to have a certain decorum around her family just because of the role she aspired to, the leader of their clan of sorts, but something else was awakening inside her.

She wanted to dance. She wanted to loosen up. She wanted to chase away the rawness that Alex's breakup had left inside her.

It wasn't a matter of healing-of going back to the way she'd been before Alex had called today. In some respects, she would never be the same again, nor did she want to be.

She gathered her keys. Sidestepped her family by hiding for a moment beside a rack of tourism brochures. All the various sightseeing venues: Jay Peak! Skiing in Canada! Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream!

When the way was clear, she hastened back outside to Jacob, still inside his SUV, securing his weapon, it looked like. Rubbing her cold arms, she waited, her breath dancing in a jerky pattern, so unlike her usual manner.

She had never asked a man to go out with her before. But why not? Straightening her shoulders, she rapped on the cold gla.s.s lightly with her knuckles.

Jacob pressed the b.u.t.ton to lower the window. His face was blank except for those two lines on his forehead, concentrating intently.

He wasn't going to help her along or make it easy for her. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Er...I was wondering. Would you like to go to the wedding with me tomorrow?"

He stared at her. "As your bodyguard?"

"No, Jacob. As my date."

JACOB HADN'T EXPECTED this at all. She was giving him an opportunity on a golden platter, and she didn't even know it.

But he just stared at her shuffling from foot to foot in the empty parking lot. Why? he wanted to ask her.

"In the morning I have the Sage Family quarterly meeting." She seemed to be babbling, making up for his silence. "Then the wedding is at four o'clock, with the reception immediately afterward."

He continued to stare. She was offering him the perfect way to access John Sage. And yet...

"We wouldn't owe each other anything," she said. "I just...enjoyed your company today. I thought we could continue that. And I really don't want to be alone tomorrow...."

"What will you tell your family about me?" he asked quietly.

"Why...of course I need to tell them that Alex and I broke up." Her smile seemed to falter. "But as for you and I, I'll tell them that you're my friend." She tilted her head, looking worried. "Are you my friend, Jacob?"

What did that even mean-her friend? "And your uncle," Jacob said carefully, "what about him?"

"I'll...introduce you to him, of course. I know you prefer to be alone, but you're the one who encouraged me to be strong and start anew." She sighed. "Please, Jacob. Do me this favor."

The way she said it touched him. Dammit. He'd never wanted to attend a wedding again, not for anybody.

But he couldn't say no to her, either. He didn't have the heart to see her rejected again.

He nodded gruffly, then opened the door and got out. "Yes, I'll go."

"Oh, thank you." She seemed so relieved. "Great," she said quickly, helping him as he removed their two suitcases from the back of the vehicle and placed them on the black asphalt. "So we'll meet at half past three, in front of the fireplace?" She lifted her finger. "Oh, and would you like to wear a kilt? I mean, we're all Scots. The men wear kilts at weddings. I'm told that even the Americans-Malcolm's bride's family-have arranged to wear them. It's a theme," she finished helplessly.

"You want me to wear a kilt?"

"Yes." She licked her lips nervously. "Actually, I would like you to, if you want to. I know you're American and not Scottish, but since your last name is Ross, I'll look for that tartan."

He just stared at her. She had no idea what she was saying.

"Let me make some calls, and if I can reach a kilt hire, then I'll arrange it for you. Have you ever worn a kilt, Jacob?"

He dug his nails into his palms. Clenched and unclenched his fists.

"It really isn't that big a deal," she murmured.

It was a huge deal to him. The only photo he'd ever seen of his real father had been his wedding photo with Jacob's mother. And in that photo, Jacob's father had been wearing a kilt.

The photo was gone now. After he'd found it, tucked away in a box in their New York City apartment, it had disappeared.

Isabel mistook his anger for something else. "It won't be that bad," she consoled him. "Is your name originally Ross? I ask because I've learned that the name Ross is sometimes a shortened version of Rossi. Are you of Scottish descent?"

Again, she had no idea. He nodded abruptly.

She smiled brilliantly. "I knew it. Then wearing a kilt should come naturally to you."

If Jacob didn't wear the d.a.m.n thing, then he'd not only stand out like a sore thumb, but he might seem insulting, too. Just...dammit.

"Are you okay with that, Jacob?"

"Fine."

"Good, then." She nodded.

He watched her walk away. But after about five steps she stopped, then abruptly turned back to him. "It will be okay," she said. "I'll help you through it."

It was as if she knew what he was thinking. But she didn't. "I'm fine."

"I know," she said simply. "I am, too."

CHAPTER FIVE.

ISABEL SANK INTO a chair at an empty luncheon table in the corner and took a deep, cleansing breath. The quarterly Sage family meeting was over. Even though she'd been disappointed that Malcolm had been asked to run it, she'd survived with composure intact.

That had been Jacob's influence. Just knowing he was at the inn with her had gotten her through the morning.

For the past three hours she'd put on a good front. She'd answered every agenda question that had been directed at her. She'd been "on"-smiling so hard her cheeks and lips were stiff from the effort.

She'd made sure to greet each cousin, laugh at their jokes, play with their children, hug their wives, air-kiss their husbands-but not too close. Some, she'd had to dance on her feet to back away from. Some had been tippling since breakfast.

She sat facing her own "wee dram." This wasn't a habit for her but a special occasion. A drop to raise her desperately flagging spirits.

From the corner of her eye she saw her mother floating over, already dressed in her wedding frock. Mum had been one of the crew sipping since breakfast, a habit Isabel had never noticed before. Not since Dad had pa.s.sed on.

"Isabel, why so glum?" Mum said, pulling out the chair and settling in beside her.

Glum? Isabel looked glum? She sat up straighter and smiled harder again. Back on, just like that. "I was resting, Mum."

"You're almost done with New York and coming home again, aren't you?" Her mum moved the box that Isabel had set on the table. "I'll be happy when you're back in Edinburgh."

"So will I, Mum," Isabel said. She couldn't help smiling as one of her nephews-her brother Archie's youngest-hopped onto his gram's lap and ran his finger through the blackberry jam that Isabel had left on her bread plate. He smeared his chubby finger into his mouth and gazed at her angelically. She really had missed her family.

Across the dining room, her other brother, Hugh, caught her eye and strode over to greet her. She'd seen him earlier at the meeting, but hadn't had the opportunity to say h.e.l.lo. Isabel felt herself grin, and he caught her up in a bear hug.

"You did beautifully in there," Hugh murmured. "Dad would have been proud of you."

Tears p.r.i.c.kled Isabel's eyes. Hugh knew how much that meant to her. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Of all of us, you were the one he pinned his hopes on," Hugh said, taking the seat on her other side. "Dad would be happy to see you bringing forward his dream."

Isabel nodded, her eyes downcast. Her father had been the chemist and entrepreneur who'd created the first formulations for Sage Family Products. His creations-shampoos, body creams and bath salts-were still distributed in stores all over Europe.

Her mum spoke up. "It didn't sit right with your father that he never received proper credit for his inventions."

"A great wrong was done him," Hugh agreed. "I'm sure the stress of that contributed to his death."

Isabel twisted her hands. Their dad-Dougal Sage-had been too young, only sixty, when he'd pa.s.sed. That day had been the worst of her life. Her dad had been her biggest champion and the person who most believed in her.

She glanced at Hugh. He'd been in the hospital room with her that day, too. He'd heard the promise she'd made to their dad. Hugh knew how hard she was working to someday become the CEO of Sage Family Products.

"I'll still be CEO," she murmured to Hugh. "That hasn't changed for me."

Hugh nodded as their brother, Archie, joined them, along with his wife, Ava. Each had plates filled from the buffet line. Isabel was struck anew by how much both Archie and Hugh looked like their dad-round-faced and scholarly, wearing similar gla.s.ses. They both worked as university professors-Hugh in the chemistry department and Archie in biology.

Hugh leaned toward Isabel. "It's a good thing you're coming home," he said in a low voice. "There's talk that Uncle John is getting ready to name a successor sooner than we'd thought."

Her hands stilled in her lap. "Why, what's happened?"

"He's not getting any younger. And sometimes I wonder if he isn't ill. When you see him this afternoon, tell me if you think he looks drawn."

Her heartbeat picked up. "I'm sorry to hear this." She didn't want anyone to be unwell.

"Isabel, you really need to step up your agenda," he continued. "Everyone knows it will be either you or Malcolm chosen. You're the only two Sages who are even working for the company at a serious level."

This was true. And not everyone in their extended family worked or earned a paycheck. Some preferred to live on the funds that came to them through their trusts set up by the family corporation. But Dougal Sage would never have accepted that from his children. Everyone was expected to be productive. He'd never understood why those who didn't work should share in the profits.

"I'm doing everything I can," she said, as patiently as she could.

"Have you talked with Uncle John lately?" Archie asked from across the table. "Because it looks like Malcolm has the better of you. Uncle John's preference for him is obvious."

Isabel dipped her head. She didn't need her brothers to fan the old resentment she felt for her cousin. During the meeting it had flared anew, especially when she'd realized that while she'd been tied down in New York with work and responsibility, Malcolm had been allowed to flit between Vermont and Scotland whenever he pleased. These past few months he'd been nurturing the company that he'd developed separately for himself in Vermont and putting his happiness above everyone else's, in Isabel's opinion.

"How can I compete with him?" she asked quietly. "Is there anything I can give Uncle that Malcolm can't?"

"From what I've observed," Hugh said, "Uncle John cares most about business ac.u.men and loyalty. In the loyalty department, you have the advantage."

Yes, since I jump through hoops and do everything he says without question, she thought wryly.

"And my business skills? How do those appear to you?" she asked her brother.

Archie speared some salad with his fork. "Well, you've worked at the company longer, in more varying aspects than Malcolm has. You have the range and depth of experience, and the connections with the family members, as well. Malcolm spent too many years at boarding school in America. He doesn't have the relationships you have. He's also confined himself to finance and acquisitions. I don't think he's ever worked so much as an internship in the marketing or sales groups."