Chapter 18
Patrick
handed over an exorbitant amount of money to the cashier, collected his tickets and his guide book, and followed Madelyn across the bridge to the Tower of London.
He’d been here a time or two before, thankfully never as a prisoner, and always found himself surprised by the press of modern humanity in such an old place.
Or maybe it was the contradiction of so many humans wandering about with older, otherworldly beings.
Talk about ghosts.
Madelyn looked at the brochure. “Wow, the Crown Jewels,” she said enthusiastically. “Cool. Let’s go.”
Patrick refrained from comment. He’d seen the Crown Jewels before and found himself quite appalled by the sight.
Elizabeth was most certainly not his queen and that she should have so many useless rocks loitering even more uselessly in glass cases when his country was drowning in poverty irritated him to no end.
“Aye, brilliant,” he agreed darkly.
Madelyn only laughed at him. “Now you’ll tell me you wish that Robert the Bruce had not only freed Scotland but taken over England as well.”
“I most certainly will not,” he said archly. “England can keep itself. I just want my country to be free from the tyranny—”
“Please, Patrick,” she beseeched, “don’t get us tossed out of here, too. At least not until I’ve seen a few things. The Crown Jewels. The dungeon. The place where Henry had Anne Boleyn’s head chopped off.”
He sighed. “I’ll do my best.”
“You do that,” she said. She took his hand and pulled him along. “Come on. The day’s a-wastin’.”
He wondered if he should balk more often. There was something unwholesomely pleasant about having her drag him along after her. He’d almost grown accustomed to the feeling of her hand in his, which probably should have unnerved him.
That it didn’t should have scared the hell out of him.
It didn’t and that was even worse.
Maybe it was just another in a long list of actions he’d taken that he just couldn’t explain. Take that morning, for instance.
Whilst she’d been dealing with her paperwork at the embassy, he’d been arranging an open return ticket for her. That in itself wasn’t noteworthy. That he had in fact plunked out a substantial amount of sterling for that privilege likely was.
Let her think the airline was being altruistic, he didn’t care.
He just wasn’t ready for her to go home yet.
Too many things still to see, he told himself quickly. And his working for a pair of days would take time away from her vacation. And far be it from him to be anything less than the most gallant of hosts possible. It was right that she go home with a good feeling about her time spent in Scotland.
Aye, that was it.
Besides, she would have enough to think about when she returned and had to see to the remains of her life.
He knew this because his list of questions had been answered during their wait at the embassy. He supposed he’d asked the boring things, where she was born, how old she was, how many siblings she had.
He’d learned all about her parents, her summers spent in a different country each year, her sister with the house that looked a great deal like Moraig’s.
But what he hadn’t asked her were the things he was most curious about.
When had she first been kissed, did she want children, was she the sort of girl to sleep with him, then leave him and break his heart?
That she hadn’t seemed inclined to save him the expense of a second room gave him pause.
He’d rarely brought anyone to London with him, but on the occasion or two he had, he’d certainly foregone that expense.
Odd, but now he wished he hadn’t.
“Are you daydreaming?”
He looked down into the lovely face of the woman who had seriously worked her way into his heart and wished that he hadn’t done several things in his past.
“What is it?” she asked, a small smile on her face. “Thinking traitorous thoughts?”
“Nay,” he said with a half laugh. “Thoughts about abstinence, actually.”
She stopped still. “Where in the world did that come from? Henry the Eighth?”
“Something like that.” He shook his head. “I’m just wondering if it’s even possible.”
“Difficult, but possible. Now, come on. The line into the keep is almost nonexistent.”
“Wait,” he said, trying to stop her, “what are you saying, ‘difficult’? How would you know?”
“How do you think I would know? Come on, Patrick. I’m seeing steps.”
“You can’t be serious.”
She looked at him.
She was serious.
Patrick went along with her, because he couldn’t seem to do anything else.
Obviously this should have been one of his questions. Then again what purpose would that have served? To stun him into silence?
He trailed along after Madelyn thoughtfully. He remained thoughtful through the Tower itself, through a frightening display of torture implements, and through the obligatory, and quite annoying, look at the Crown Jewels.
“You’re muttering,” Madelyn said with an elbow in his ribs as they moved along in the queue full of gaping spectators.
“It’s the best I can do,” he said.
“It’s a good thing your Stone of Scone isn’t at Westminster anymore,” she said dryly. “I hate to think of what you would have done.”
“I would have admired it from a distance,” he said virtuously.
“Right,” she said with a snort. “Wasn’t it yours originally?”
“Aye, it was.”
“And didn’t England swipe it, stick it under a seat, and subsequently crown all their kings and queens on it?”
“So the tale goes.”
They were, mercifully, through looking at the Crown Jewels at that point. He stepped out into the humid air of October’s beginning and took a deep breath. Ah, freedom.
“You seem awfully calm,” she said suspiciously. “Doesn’t it bug you that they absconded with an important rock of yours?”
He smiled down at her. “How readily you use they. When you begin to use we just as easily, I’ll think you a proper Scot.”
“As a matter of fact, my great-grandmother was a Mackenzie, so I am part Scot, and you’re changing the subject. What about that rock of ours?”
“It is back in Scotland where it belongs,” he said smugly.
“How easily you say that now.”
“Believe me, I didn’t say it easily when it was captive in Westminster Abbey,” he admitted with a grin. “Come, let us be off to Westminster just the same. I’ll make disgruntled noises there just to please you.”
She laughed as she took his hand and walked with him to the abbey.
He looked at graves with Madelyn, marveled at the famous souls buried there, then paused before the former resting place of the Stone of Scone.
They kept their thoughts to themselves, but Patrick shared a meaningful look with Madelyn. And for the first time in years—or maybe it had been longer than that—he felt as if he had a friend. Not a brother, not a cousin, not a lover, but a friend.
Of course, the lover bit of it wasn’t far from his mind, but she was apparently a virgin and he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk her out of that condition, even if he flattered himself that he might be able to.
They left with straight faces. Madelyn laughed as they walked out onto the grass in front of the abbey. “You think too loudly.”
“I do not.”
She smiled up at him. “You’re a purist.”
“I’m a Scot. We’re fond of our national treasures.”
“Then we should count you as one of them. I’m faintly surprised all these tourist attractions are still standing after the national pride you radiate. Are you hungry yet?”
“Famished. Let’s go to Harrods and have something to eat. Then I’ll leave you to shop whilst I take care of a bit of business.”
“Shop?” she echoed. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
“We have theater tickets tonight. Are you going to wear jeans?”
She scowled at him. “Patrick, you just can’t up and buy me clothes every time you feel like it. You’re racking up an incredible tab it’s going to take me months to pay off.”
“You’re not going to repay me. Think of it as choosing to decorate you instead of my house.”
“I need clothes less than you need furniture.”
“But ’tis far more rewarding to spend my money on you. I’ve set up an account for you. Just buy what pleases you.”
“Ha,” she said with a snort. “You have no idea how much I could spend in an afternoon.”
“And you have no idea what I have in the bank. You cannot outspend that.”
“Have you been to Harrods lately?”
“Have you?”
She looked at him, then laughed suddenly. “No, but I’ve heard rumors. Patrick, I can’t just go spend your money like this.”
“Then I’ll spend it for you.”
She sighed. “All right, I give in. I’ll spend less than you will. Let’s go. I’m imagining you’ll have to get something for tonight as well.”
“’Tis already done. I’ll pick up my suit when I come back for you.”
She shook her head. “You and the phone have a relationship I don’t understand.”
“Neither does Conal, because London’s the only place I ever answer my mobile. He’s forever trying to reach me at home.” He took her hand. “Let’s find a taxi. I think I need something strengthening.”
Three hours later he walked into the most touristy shopping in London with a goodly bit accomplished. Of course, none of it had been related to his work, but he would never admit that.
He’d found a violin, a good one if the word of a well-known violin maker could be trusted, purchased it, and had it sent to the hotel.
He’d talked to Conal, worked out the details of flying Madelyn back to Scotland, then returning to London for his brief bit of nannying before he himself could go home for a fortnight.