13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Sgt. Pepper
Lachlan detoured to his cellar before heading into the lounge. Violet seemed to appreciate Cailleach whisky. The least he could do was be a good host. He brought up a bottle of one of his favourites for her to taste. She seemed to have a discerning pallet. He’d be curious to get her take on one of Cailleach’s finest drams. Lachlan felt lighter and more in control as he strode down the hall.
Coming through the double doors of the lounge, he did not anticipate the sight that greeted him. Violet had found his old record player. Music filled the room, and there she was, cardigan discarded, dancing and singing, unabashed and carefree. In his entire thirty years, Lachlan could say with certainty that he’d never been spellbound—until now. She sang along to “Jolene” by Dolly Parton, belting out the chorus like a weekend festival goer, high on life. And God help him, he couldn’t stop his eyes from dropping to the thin white blouse that glided and tugged over her perfectly peaked breasts.
A loud pop from wood burning in the fireplace, swiftly brought Lachlan back to his senses. He drew in a breath, reminding himself of his resolve. Violet glanced up, noticing him in the doorway. Her singing trailed off, and she stopped dancing. Her cheeks turned pink as she took in his presence.
“I’m sorry. I totally got carried away,” she said, chin tilted down shyly in complete juxtaposition to the bold, carefree woman he'd just witnessed.
"Please dinnae let me stop ye."
But the song ended, and she picked up her cardigan from the back of the settee, slipping it back on. “My parents had a record player when I was growing up. I haven't actually listened to a real record since I was probably twelve years old,” she said wistfully. “I'm sorry. I just found it irresistible.”
She was irresistible. He quelled the unbidden thought and smiled. “Now I ken ye must be Canadian. Ye've apologized twice in less than a minute.”
Her eyes twinkled, and she let out a throaty chuckle.
"Those old records dinnae get played near enough." He was far too aware of her as he strode past her to the record console that once belonged to his nan. He carefully picked up the single forty-five from the player, put it back in its yellowing paper sleeve, slid it alongside the other stack of forty-fives in the cabinet, and scanned the twelve-inch LPs until he found the one he wanted. Setting the record on the turntable, the needle landed, and there was a nostalgic crackle and pop before it found the groove, and “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” began to play.
“Ooh, I love The Beatles!" She crooned as she rhythmically began to sway her slender hips with her arms bending as she let the music move her.
Lachlan pulled his gaze away and absently flipped through the records. It surprised him that she had put on music and danced so freely in his home. He wasn't used to anyone being quite so at ease with him—or with themselves. The people in his life tended to be rather proper and overly polite if not careful around him. He wasn't sure what to make of the lass before him. As if sensing his thoughts, she leaned in close to him.
“I'm sorry. I should have asked if it was okay to snoop through your records.”
He stiffened slightly at her nearness. Practically hearing the smile playing her lips, her breath tickled his ear.
"And I just said sorry. Again. God, it really is a Canadian thing." She chuckled that throaty melodic sound, oblivious to its effect on him as she plopped herself onto his settee.
“I willnae hold it against ye,” he teased back, stepping to the fireplace to add some logs. The flames crackled and spat as they caught fire. It was mid-March, and the evenings could still get rather cool, especially in this room full of windows.
“God, that felt good.” She sighed contentedly.
“Aye, far cry from being held up in a hospital bed,” Lachlan said poking the logs in the grate and reminding himself why she was in his home in the first place.
“I think between my extra-long nap and that scrumptious dinner, my energy is making a comeback.”
“And the whisky,” he teased.
“And the whisky.” She raised her glass. “It feels a bit overkill, me being here,” she said quietly.
Lachlan was glad the lass didn’t seem to have any repercussions from her ordeal, but it seemed prudent to err on the side of caution. “Better to be safe than sorry. And it was the doctor’s orders,” he reminded her.
“I guess so,” she sounded reluctant. “Well, if I haven’t said it already, I’m grateful you agreed to take me in.”
“I’m happy to have you here,” he reassured her, and he meant it. He couldn’t remember the last time he enjoyed anyone’s company more.
Fire adequately roaring again, he stood up and almost went to sit beside her on the settee when he thought better of it and sat on the one safely across from her instead.
“I brought up one of my favourite whiskys from the cellar. Would ye like a wee dram?” he offered.
“Ooh yes, please, I’d love to try it. I can’t imagine it could be as good as this one.” She smiled slyly.
Avoiding looking too long into her playful bright eyes, he pulled the cork and poured some amber liquid into her empty glass and poured one for himself as well. “ Slainte Mhath ,” he said, clinking glasses with her.
“Cheers.” She grinned up at him before taking a sip.
And he couldn’t help but study her pretty face, knowing the flavours were drizzling over her tongue.
Her eyes widened delightedly as she looked up at him, swallowing, “Mm, oh. Oh, my,” she gushed.
“I thought ye might like it.” He smiled, feeling pleased.
“It’s stronger. It has more depth to it than the last one. I wouldn’t have thought that possible,” she said sipping it again. Her pretty golden brow furrowed in concentration.
“It’s so rich and rugged. It’s like I can taste dark chocolate and sea salt, but with a hint of sweet tangy cherry and vanilla and, like, tobacco.” She sipped again as if trying to figure out the puzzle in her mouth.
“Aye, yer right.” Lachlan felt equally surprised and impressed at just how accurate her description was. She was picking up on notes that professional whisky tasters missed.
“This dram,” he said, holding it up to the light admiringly, “has aged in a variety of casks—oak, bourbon, and sherry. That’s part of what adds to the complexity and depth.”
“Wow,” she breathed. “I’ve never tasted scotch this good. It’s like each sip brings out even more flavours. It’s amazing.”
Her proclamation had Lachlan's chest puffing with something akin to pride. Perhaps he’d take her down and show her his cellar. Better yet, he should arrange to give her a tour of the distillery. Lachlan took a sip, feeling himself relax as he began to enjoy the easy company of Violet Munro.
She studied him over the rim of her glass like she had something she wanted to say.
“What’s on yer mind, lass?” He asked.
“I’m wondering about today," she admitted. “I know you said it was a long story, but what happened at Craggy’s?” She sat back and tucked her legs up on his settee.
“Ugh, right.” Lachlan sighed reluctantly. He didn’t know how to talk about it. It was such a long, heavy story, and with the evening being so pleasant, why go down that path? "Must we discuss this, Miss Munro?”
She raised her brows. "So formal. You did save my life, remember. I think you can call me by my first name."
He smirked. "Aye, of course, Violet." He couldn't help but notice how beautiful she was sitting across from him. The firelight played on her features. "I dinnae think I saved yer life though."
"I beg to differ, and you are avoiding my question." She looked at him pointedly.
He almost laughed at her directness. What a lethal combination, sweet and direct. "I am avoiding yer question."
“Oh, come on. Our bellies are full, we’re enjoying exceptional scotch, and the fire is roaring. It’s the perfect time to spill your guts. Your secrets are safe with me.” She grinned conspiratorially.
His lips quirked. The lass had a very disarming manner, and he found himself mightily tempted. The problem was he didn’t know how to open up about it. Lachlan was never good at speaking about his family matters, especially when it came to his younger brother, Drew. He hadn’t even told Anna the full extent of his relationship with Drew. She only knew that they hadn’t spoken for over two years.
“It’s okay, Lachlan,” Violet said softly, seeming to recognize his struggle to find the words. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but maybe tell me about today. What happened?”
He raked a hand through his hair and exhaled heavily, reluctant.
“I heard raised voices when I was in the ladies’ room, and then when I came out, I saw you hit some guy,” she began for him.
Shite . Lachlan didn’t think she’d seen that. Christ, what she must think of him? “Violet, I need ye to ken that is no’ me. I’m no’ some brute, I dinnae go around punching people.” He stood up and walked back toward the fireplace with tension winding through his shoulders as his thoughts weighed heavily on his mind.
“If I thought you were dangerous in any way, I certainly wouldn't have gotten into your car,” she stated.
When his eyes met hers, he felt almost overwhelmed by the warmth in them. Perhaps she didn’t think the worst of him, though, he wouldn’t blame her if she did. He supposed that he could at least try and explain. He owed her that.
“Tell me,” she encouraged. Those moss-green eyes were so disarming.
Lachlan cleared his throat. “Ye saw the table of lads beside us, aye?"
She nodded.
"I overheard them talking about ye when ye went to the ladies, and I dinnae like what they were saying.” Lachlan felt the tick in his jaw as it tightened, recalling their crude words.
“Oh,” Violet said softly.
Looking up at her, he continued, “It wasnae right, so I told them to mind their manners.”
Her eyes widened.
Lachlan cupped his hand to the back of his neck, tension pulling tightly on it. “And that’s when I noticed one of the men was my brother. Drew.”
“Your brother?”
He didn't miss the shock in her voice.
“Aye. I huvnae seen Drew in a long time and—” he paused. “We dinnae see eye to eye on things.” Lachlan shook his head. “I shouldnae huv let him goad me this morning. I dinnae normally react like that, but things are complicated with my brother.” He was stumbling to explain it.
“So I take it he deserved a good punch to the kisser,” Violet summed it up.
Lachlan almost laughed as a bit of tension eased. “Aye, he deserved it. It’s been a long time in coming.” Lachlan stared blankly as memories flooded his mind.
“He deserved it, but you still feel bad?” she asked.
“Aye, something like that.”
“Why did he call you ‘Saint Lachlan?’”
“Och, lass, ye ask hard questions.” He was silent as he considered the question. “Our parents raised us with strong morals and values. It might sound old-fashioned, but I consider myself to be a gentleman.” It was true, despite his wayward thoughts since meeting Violet. He was a man of morals. Talking about his convictions with her was a good reminder.
“I’ve noticed.” She smiled lightly. “It’s not old-fashioned. It’s refreshing. I think you’re a rare breed.”
He didn’t necessarily agree with her assessment, but he appreciated the sentiment. It made him wonder about the men in her life. Were they not gentlemen? The thought bothered him.
He cleared his throat and attempted to explain things further. “Drew was always a cad.” Lachlan was struggling to find the words. “He always had a lass on each arm. I huv never been like that." He shook his head, feeling awkward. "I had plenty of women friends, but it wasnae like Drew.” He looked up at Violet to judge her reaction, and fortunately, she was still looking at him warmly. “Dinnae get me wrong, I’m into women,” he paused, realizing he was making a right mess of trying to explain himself. "I just… I’m not…”
“A womanizer,” she finished for him, summing it up perfectly.
“Aye, exactly. Anyway, Drew gave me a hard time. I had women friends, but I wasnae one to…" He paused, awkwardness creeping back in. "Unlike my younger brother, I didnae huv the need to sleep with every woman who came into my sphere.”
“That doesn’t sound like a bad thing,” she quipped.
“It’s no’. But it is where ‘Saint Lachlan’ came from, I suppose.”
“You have had girlfriends, though?”
Her curious tone made it sound like she feared he lived the life of a monk, and he had a very masculine, primal need to dispel her of the notion. He was vaguely aware that now would be a good time to mention that he had a girlfriend.
But the words didn’t come out, and instead, he found himself saying, “Och aye. I’m no' really a saint.”
“You’re sure?” Violet teased, her eyes twinkling mischievously.
He liked it far too much.
“Do ye want me to prove it to ye, lass?” His voice dropped an octave, and the second the words were out of his mouth, he wondered what in the hell he was doing. But God help him, at the same time, perversely, he needed to know he wasn’t the only one feeling whatever the hell it was he was feeling.
Those green eyes widened, giving away her surprise. But her teeth caught her bottom lip, causing his chest muscles to tighten and bunch, and an odd flutter banged in his lower abdomen.
Christ, the woman was pure temptation. Never had a lass tempted him like this. Lachlan cleared his throat, aware that the door he’d just cracked open needed to be slammed closed and locked.
“I’m sorry, lass. I shouldnae huv said that.” He tore his gaze away from her and took a hearty sip of his whisky.
He could feel her eyes on him, but thankfully, she didn’t say another word about it. Instead, she changed the subject as if the air hadn’t grown thick with sexual tension, and he felt like he'd barely just dodged a bullet—one that would have killed Saint Lachlan with a single shot.