Chapter Two
Rafe
I gaze at the bars of my tiny cell and contemplate my situation. Have I done something wrong? Should I apologize to that woman? The longer I sit here, drumming my fingers on my knees, the less charitable I feel. Maybe I had begun to wonder if my assumptions had been invalid. The study of human nature has never been my forte. People, particularly women, have often confounded me. Even science can leave me baffled. No matter how deeply I study all the journals and papers written about my chosen field, I know I will never fully understand it. No one will. Nature is a fickle mistress.
Perhaps I do deserve to be incarcerated. That's what most everyone who knows me might say.
I lean back on my narrow cot and hook one knee over my opposite leg as I stare up at the ceiling. I have a window, but it's so bloody tiny that I suspect it was designed for squirrels or perhaps cats. No full-grown man could possibly escape through that small rectangle even if such a gent could break the glass. The bars make that almost impossible. I might have halfheartedly studied the nooks and crannies of my cell while waiting for someone to tell me what they mean to do with me.
Yes, I can admit that I've been an arse of the first order. But Iona Buchanan needs to explain her behavior. I will gladly rot in a Scottish jail cell for as long as it takes to get the truth out of her. Of course, if I'm in jail I can't get the truth out of anyone.
My plan has a number of flaws.
I decide to lie down on my cot and attempt to squeeze my entire body onto the narrow space I've been given. Only an elf could sleep on this flimsy so-called bed. I shift about several times, but I still can't get comfortable. I imagine only a drunken sailor could manage to sleep under these conditions. Finally, I settle down and lock my hands under my head as a sort of pillow.
Ah, yes, this is the life.
What did you expect, you sodding arse? Harassment is a crime in Scotland---I assume. So, I can't explain what I expected would happen when I pounded my fist on Iona Buchanan's front door.
"Wake up, Mr. Knight. You have a visitor."
The voice of the constable---Fergus, I believe is his name---rouses me from my musings. I yawn and stretch. Only then do I turn my attention to the two people standing just beyond the bars of my cell.
And I spring up into a sitting position, dropping my feet onto the floor.
Iona Buchanan gazes at me dispassionately.
The constable touches Iona's arm. "Will ye be all right alone with him? I could cuff him to be sure."
"No, that's unnecessary. But thank you, Fergus."
The constable shuffles out of the cell block, which consists of one other cell just as minuscule as mine. Fergus has left, and the door clicks shut behind him.
Iona Buchanan steps forward, almost touching the bars.
And I suddenly notice her clothing. She's wearing a different outfit than the last time I saw her. The ensemble consists of a frilly, pale-blue dress that conforms to her bust and has thin, frilly straps too. The hemline stops above her knees. Bloody hell . She has the most perfect knees I've ever seen. I'd love to kiss them.
No, I don't want that. This woman is my enemy.
I clear my throat. "What do you want? Unless you're going to assure me you'll never shag my son again---"
"Haud yer wheesht."
"And that means what? Sounds like gibberish."
"I said shut your mouth, Mr. Knight."
My brows lift. "My surname doesn't sound anything like any of those words you spoke. And I demand you---"
"Shut up, Mr. Knight." Iona puckers her lips. "I have never shagged any laddies who are half my age. Whatever your son told you, it was pure rubbish."
"My son doesn't lie to me."
Iona rolls her eyes. "Oh, aye, no child ever lies to their parents. What does your wife think of you running off to the Highlands to harass me?"
My jaw tenses, and my nostrils flare. This always happens when someone brings up the topic of my ex-wife. "My family is none of your concern."
"If you want to be left alone, I recommend you stop banging on strange women's doors."
Before I can spew more vitriol at her, a constable opens the door just far enough to reveal his face. Fergus looks at Iona. "Does he want a solicitor?"
"You should be asking me that question," I snarl. "I am the prisoner, after all."
"Aye. So, do ye want a solicitor, Mr. Knight?"
Iona turns round to face Fergus.
And I get a bloody fantastic view of her back. That dress has no back at all, only a slender strap of blue fabric tied three-fourths of the way down her spine. And what a lovely spine she has.
"Why don't we let Mr. Knight think about that," Iona says. "He might be released without needing legal assistance."
I stalk over to the bars and grasp them in both hands. "I have my own solicitor. Don't need a ruddy Scottish lawyer who probably makes his arguments in Gaelic."
The bloody woman sighs as if I'm the one being ridiculous. "You can go now, Fergus."
As soon as the constable departs, Iona whirls around to scowl at me. She sets her hands on her hips. "You are the most obnoxious man I have ever met, and I've met a fair lot of your kind."
"What group are you claiming I belong to?"
"The erseholes of the world."
I laugh with no small measure of derision. "You've met every bastard on the face of the planet? My, my, you do get around, don't you?"
She inches closer to the bars. "Maybe I should find your son and have a poke with him, strictly so I can watch your head explode."
When did I move closer? My body is crushed to the bars. When I speak, I can manage only a hushed yet rough tone. "I'd wager you aren't married, Ms. Buchanan. What man could possibly put up with your holier-than-thou attitude."
"Don't blame religion for your atrocious behavior."
I push my face between the bars, and my gaze flicks down to her cleavage. Blimey. The slopes of those breasts are driving me mad. That's only because I haven't been with a woman in such a long time. My growing lust has nothing to do with Iona Buchanan.
She glances down at my groin and licks her lips. Then she swerves her attention back to my face. "Maybe I should tell Fergus that you need to be locked up overnight."
I thrust a hand between the bars to grasp her chin. That results in our lips grazing each other.
The beautiful but evil woman stares directly into my eyes.
Fuck . I'm getting harder by the second. That might explain what I do next.
I crush my mouth to hers. For a few seconds, she remains perfectly still with her eyes wide open. I'm staring into her eyes too. Our irises are the same shade of deep blue. Her tits brush against my chest. Then our eyes shut at the same instant, and she moans just as I flick my tongue between her lips.
Iona Buchanan relaxes her jaw, inviting me to devour her mouth.
When she hooks two fingers inside my waistband and tugs me closer, I ravage her mouth like I've just come home from a ten-year tour on an interstellar spaceship where the entire crew was male. She gives as good as she gets, lashing her tongue around mine while my cock grows harder every second.
Just when I'm ready to do my damnedest to fuck her through the cell bars, Iona jerks away from me. She stumbles backward several paces. For a moment, she simply stands there gawping at me.
Then she stalks up to me and smacks my face.
"Bloody hell," I snap. "That hurt."
"You deserve the pain." She flounces over to the door but pauses with one hand on the knob. "You are the most vile, despicable, arrogant, odious cretin I've ever met. You will never see me again, Mr. Knight."
Iona flings the door open and races out of the jail. Just as the door begins to swing shut, I hear her shout, "Set him free, Fergus. Send him back to England in a cargo crate, if possible."
That bloody woman . A crate? If she wanted to set me free, she wouldn't have suggested such an idea. Then again, she might not have meant it.
Why am I giving her the benefit of the doubt?
My favorite copper pushes the door open, holding it there with one foot wedged against it. "Ready to go home, Mr. Knight?"
"I'm ready to leave this lovely little cell, if that's what you mean."
"Aye, that's what I meant." Fergus holds a set of keys in his hand, and now he twirls them repeatedly---probably in an attempt to unsettle me. It does not work. "All right, you're free to go."
"Not until you unlock the cell door."
Fergus ambles up to the bars and smirks. "Oh, aye, I almost forgot to do that, eh?"
"At least you've remembered now." I can't help the disgust in my voice. Perhaps I deserve this treatment, but I have good cause for the way I've behaved.
The constable unlocks my cell and swings the door open. He leads me out of the jail area, down the hallway I'd been perp-walked down earlier, and finally takes me out into the main room where desks and all sorts of equipment fill the space.
My new best mate guides me over to the main doors, pushing one open. "There you are, Mr, Knight. If you're on holiday here in Scotland, try not to annoy any more women. We take harassment seriously."
"And 'annoying' females is considered to be harassment, is it? I gather persecuted men don't get the same treatment."
Fergus gives me a long-suffering look. "Best get that chip off your shoulder, or you'll get yourself into more trouble. I'd rather not have to slap cuffs around your wrists again."
I understand his meaning. The Loch Fairbairn Police Station will drag me in again if I annoy Iona Buchanan.
Why on earth did I kiss her? She's a harpy. But her lips were soft and warm, and she tasted like strawberries. I hadn't kissed a woman in a very long time---until today. I despise Iona Buchanan, but I wouldn't mind shagging her once or twice.
If I can tape her mouth shut during sex.
Fergus hands me a set of car keys. My keys. "Thane and Ramsay brought your vehicle to the station for you. Wasn't that neighborly of them?"
"My gratitude is voluminous." If they didn't put a bag of rotting rubbish in my car, I'll be shocked. But I behave like an adult and shake the constable's hand. "I appreciate your kindness under these bizarre circumstances, Constable...What is your surname? Sorry, I'm being rude again."
"Not at all. MacRae is my name, and my partner is Sorley MacKechnie."
"I hope you won't take this the wrong way, but I pray I never see either of you again. I'd say 'unless it's outside of work,' but I doubt you'd want to see me at all."
Fergus MacRae slaps my arm. "Dinnae fash. We don't hold grudges. Do we, Sorley?"
"No, never," Constable MacKechnie says from across the room. "We're neutral on flaming erseholes, but completely biased when it comes to Iona Buchanan. She's done more for this village than most anyone else has done in ages."
"In what way?"
"Ye haven't earned the right to know."
I want to ask what he means by that statement, but I decide my curiosity is liable to get me into more trouble. Instead, I shake Fergus's hand and wave goodbye to Sorley. But as I'm walking out the door, I stop and turn back. "By the way, could you point me to a hotel or bed-and-breakfast? I'm too knackered to drive anywhere."
Fergus snatches a piece of paper off a bulletin board and hands it to me. "This is the only place in the village. It's good, though. Dinnae worry about that."
I accept the flyer. "Thank you. I'll be on my way now."
"Ah, one moment," Sorley calls out. He snatches up a sheet of paper and rushes over to me, offering another flyer. "The hotel doesn't provide meals. You'll need to visit the café for that."
"You've both been exceedingly kind. Thank you."
My charitable attitude lasts only until I climb into my car, which I drove here all the way from England. As soon as I've climbed in and shut the door, I notice a folded sheet of paper lying on top of the dashboard. What, is this a parking ticket? That would figure.
I unfold the sheet---and groan. It says, "Upset our sister again, and we'll do more than give you a wee gift. We will well and truly batter you." It's signed with the names Ramsay and Thane.
What did they mean about a "wee gift"?
The meaning becomes clear once I've driven down the road for a few blocks. Then the stench reaches my nostrils. I slam on the brakes and twist round to search for the reason why the car smells like rotting rubbish. That's because it is rotting rubbish. Thane and Ramsay Buchanan left me a small bag full of it.
Even that won't stop me from getting to the truth about Iona and my son.