Chapter Eleven
Gretchen
"Oh, Kirk. That's awful." I reach out to touch his arm, but he pulls away just enough to keep me from doing that.
"Even I could figure out that Dougal is a dirtbag like no other who belongs in his own special corner of hell.
But you can't just do whatever he says. Don't you have cops here in Scotland? In Loch Fairbairn?"
"Aye, but---"
"No buts, no excuses. Let's go to the police station now."
He fists his hands on the tabletop, and his jaw grinds. "I cannae do that. I told you why. So, please, go back to America and forget you ever set foot in Scotland."
"I won't do that I can't. You'll have to tie me up with duct tape---hands, legs, and mouth---if you intend to stop me from staying in this country."
"Gretchen---"
"No, I won't leave."
He slams his palms onto the table, rattling my coffee mug so violently that a few drops slosh out and glisten in the morning sun.
People at neighboring tables stop mid-bite to gawk.
"Dammit, Gretchen, ye dinnae understand.
If I rat him out, Dougal will destroy everything---and everyone---I care about.
This isn't an American movie where the villain always gets carted off in handcuffs and the heroes go home unharmed. "
I won't mention that in American movies, the hero also gets the girl and rides off on a motorcycle into the sunset. Instead I say, more gently, "So you'd rather play Dougal's game than risk...what, exactly, Kirk? Your pride? Your family? Or something else?"
"Aye, my family." He spit the words out through clenched teeth. "My brothers. My mam and Da. If anything happens to me, Dougal will ruin them simply to make a point."
I open my mouth but get no chance to speak.
Kirk shuts me down with one finger pointed in my direction. "You'll do as you're told. Pack your bags. Leave before he turns on you."
"Not happening." I lean in, narrowing my eyes the way he likes to do. "You picked the wrong American to scare off, Kirk. My family? We stick together and are always there for each other. If you think you're protecting me, you're not. You'll just be letting that bastard win."
He gives me a look that seems like part horror, part grudging admiration, like I've sprouted an extra head and threatened to run for Highland council. "Bloody hell, Gretchen."
My voice drops to a stage whisper. "Have you considered booby-trapping his car? Or, you know, faking your own death? It's worked for, like, hundreds of unsavory people. Why not for you too?"
"This is not a joke."
But it is a joke, and if Kirk doesn't know by now that an American woman uses gallows humor as a shield, he's obviously never read a single article about Millennials.
It's the only way I can handle the fact that he's caught in a showdown with a crook whose teeth, I swear, are sharper now in my memory than last night in the dark.
I glare at Kirk, at his fists balled tight enough to strangle a fork, at the way his throat contracts as he tries to swallow the rage down.
He must see something in my expression---pity, determination, the fact that I am definitely not getting on a plane anytime soon---because he turns his face away from me to stare at the craggy, cloud-wreathed mountaintop on the horizon.
"You don't know what he'll do, Gretchen. Not just to me. To everyone."
I try for a sassy smile, though it seems wrong somehow. "Luckily, you've got me. And I will not leave your side." The defiance in my words feels almost reckless, but I mean it. Kirk Balfour is not getting rid of me so easily, not even with his entire arsenal of grim Scottish threats.
He stops blinking, hopefully because I caught him off-guard with my stubbornness.
Did he seriously expect me to bow out gracefully and ride off into the sunset?
No, I don't give a hoot that I just used mixed metaphors.
I clutch my mug, letting the heat burn my palms because it feels real and alive, even if the rest of me cold inside.
"Is Scotland always this..." I search for the right word. "Dramatic? Because, no offense, but every time we try to have a normal conversation, someone either threatens us, or you seduce me, or somebody throws down a blood feud on a mountain top."
He lets out a dry, bitter bark of laughter. "You dinnae ken the half of it." He's smiling at me, but it's mostly with his eyes. They're a shade of deep blue that makes me want to drag him onto the table and screw him right here on the patio. Don't care how many people might see us.
But no, I won't do that. Not this morning, at least.
A waitress wanders by, asking if Kirk wants a cup of tea or coffee. He shakes his head.
"You don't know me," he asserts once the waitress has gone. "We are virtual strangers, and I cannae drag you into my problems."
"But I want to know you." I clasp his hand under the table. "If you'll let me. Besides, you promised to show me the sights."
His expression goes completely still, almost serene, then hardens again. Kirk Balfour is a slab of granite. I bet he's spent a lifetime pretending he's impervious.
"Ye dinnae ken what you're asking, lass," he informs me. "My problems are not for the faint of heart. I'm dealing with men who think nothing of slicing a man's throat. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you."
"Okay, but hear me out," I tell him, soldiering past the fear that runs down my backbone like melting ice. "Maybe what Dougal really wants is for you to stay scared. Maybe if you stop playing his game, he'll lose all his advantages."
The stuntman rolls his eyes, but I can he thinks the logic is, at minimum, irritatingly plausible. "Did ye not hear the part about people dying, Gretchen?"
"Oh, baloney. You're only trying to scare me away, but it won't work.
" I give him my best seductive smile. "If you really wanted me gone, Kirk, you'd have tossed me onto the next flight out before breakfast. Or better yet, you'd have never started chasing me around Loch Fairbairn to begin with.
You want me to stay, even if you're too Scottish and emotionally stunted to admit it. "
He flinches, which should make me feel guilty.
But frankly, I am fresh out of remorse. I'm no delicate hothouse flower, and I'm tougher than even I thought I could be.
That untapped reserve of strength has just been tapped.
But I decide not to push my luck any further and just sit with him, side by side, soaking up the Highland sun and pretending that we're not being hunted by a small-town sociopath with a grudge.
For the next ten minutes, we admire the scenery and it's almost peaceful. I keep hold of his hand. If anyone asks, I'd say we make a damn fine couple, if you can ignore the doomsday cloud of Dougal and impending violence.
Kirk is the first to break the silence. "You don't even like Scotland, do ye? You're only here because you needed a break from your dull job and lacked any better options."
I snort so loud a tourist two tables down gives me a dirty look.
"I came here because I was bored out of my mind.
I thought it would be a scenic escape, maybe a chance to ride a hairy cow and drink brown liquor that tastes like someone set it on fire.
I did not expect to be in endangered because a lunatic threatened to sell me on the international bride market. "
His lips quirk faintly, the expression reluctant, but present. "I'd never let that happen."
It's more than I expected him to say. But after that bizarre midnight sojourn into the Scottish mountains, I don't know if I want to even stay in this country.
I hardly know the man beside me. Hearing about Kirk's dangerous dilemma, maybe I should hightail it to the nearest airport and go home.
But I can't do that. He has awakened my heart and my soul in ways I never knew were possible. Could I run away from him? No, never.
"What are ye thinking, lass?"
Kirk's voice drags me out of my tangled thoughts.
I meet his gaze head-on and let the words tumble out.
"I'm thinking that you're an idiot if you believe your only worth to me is as a walking cautionary tale.
You're the first person I've met in years who makes me want to risk something, even if it's only my dignity or a sprained ankle.
" I lower my voice to a near whisper. "And never will I bail on you unless you physically carry me to the American embassy and leave my unconscious body on their doorstep. "
He stares down at our joined hands, then squeezes gently. "You're angry with me, aren't you?"
"This is not anger." I suck in a deep breath and exhale gradually. "Maybe I am ticked off, but you are not the villain in your own story, Kirk. Dougal wears that crown, and neither he nor you will chase me away. Only I can choose whether to do that."
Am I crazy? Possibly. But I meant what I told him. I am here for the duration of whatever comes next.