Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Scottie
As Michael disappeared beyond the edge of the lights, she almost followed. But she’d seen the pain on his face as he’d watched his grandparents dance together and decided to let him be.
The anniversary atmosphere made her homesick for Dad, Shug, Fritz, and the entire O’Shay team. She’d never been away this long—with six weeks to go.
Even more unsettling was the romantic air under the dance tent. She told herself the love of a good man didn’t matter, yet she secretly longed for it.
The kind she’d witnessed with her grandparents and now between Michael’s—his granny’s cool reception toward her aside.
A cheer erupted on the dance floor as the band and singer belted out Kool and the Gang’s “Celebration.” Michael’s granny started the bump with his granddad and sent the younger set into a frenzy.
Suddenly, Scottie was pulled from her chair by a group of beautiful young women, their hair in updos, gowns glittering under the lights, and into a dance circle, shouting that the world should “celebrate good times.”
Phones came out. Videos rolled. Selfies snapped. Scottie leaned into every photo. For those moments, she wasn’t Lady Royal or the Scottie O’Shay; she was that freshman college girl again, singing in the dorm hallway with her friends.
When Little Eva’s “Loco-Motion” hit the air, someone grabbed Scottie to lead the conga line right behind Granny Pratt. As she danced, perfecting her John Travolta moves, she spotted Hamish Fickle watching, smirking. She nodded his way.
“Let there be peace between us,” she murmured.
By the time she bump, bump, bumped to “Sweet Caroline,” she was perspiring and parched, her toes pinched by her designer shoes. Kicking them off, she dangled them from her fingertips and wandered to the tea tent, where she retrieved two bottles of cold, dripping water, and scanned for Michael.
She spied him facing the arching lights rising from the streets and homes of Port Fressa, hands in his pockets, tie undone and flapping loose about his neck. Scottie pressed against the cool, sharp wind climbing over the cliffs and joined him.
“I’m going to be all over social media tomorrow,” she said, handing him a bottle before drinking from her own. “Your cousins dragged me onto the dance floor. I felt like myself. Like I was back at school.”
“They’re a fun lot and hopefully people will be discreet regarding socials.”
“Hamish Fickle kept his eye on me. Maybe he thinks I’m good for the House of Blue.”
“I wouldn’t count on it, Scottie.” Michael took a long drink. “I’ll give him this, though—he recognizes beauty when he sees it.”
“If you’re referring to me, that’s the second or third time tonight you’ve called me beautiful.”
“Then I’ll be sure to check myself in the future.”
“Good” She turned away, facing the breeze. “We shan’t cross any professional lines.”
Shan’t? Scottie laughed. She never said shan’t. And the lines had already blurred, but only for fun. She’d be gone soon.
Michael glanced over. “You make yourself available to people. At the Garden Party, here, at this party. People love you for it, especially my cousins. You do that, you know—invite people into your world. They gather round you before you even ask.”
“I inherited something intangible from Kate and her mum, Queen Rosemunde.”
“We want you to love it here, Scottie. More people than not support you.”
We? Did he include himself in that plural pronoun, or was he merely employing the royal we?
“Possibly not Hamish Fickle,” she said.
“He’s a flash in the pan. Forget him,” Michael said.
“I doubt it,” Scottie said.
“You’re probably right.” Michael sighed “I forget how peaceful it is here. Nothing but crags covered in endless wild grasses and the lights of the city.”
“What happened back there?” Scottie asked. “Why’d you walk off?”
“Just a memory.”
“Purnell?” Again, she took advantage of the dark to ask the vulnerable question.
“We’d have been married a year by now. We wanted kids right away, so…” He gulped down half the water.
“You hoped to announce another great-grandchild at this celebration.”
“Or hand one to Granddad to hold.” The wind whistled past, stealing away the rest of his words.
“Now you know the real reason why I didn’t want to come.
Plus, Mum always bears down on me with her Pratt Printing plans.
Sometimes I think it’s more about beating my father than actually finding me fit for the business. ”
“I’ve wondered that a time or two myself.
Am I the Creative Director because I’m good or because I bear the name?
It took me forever to learn to draw. My gift is for colors and fabrics.
Marketing.” She laughed softly. “A couple years ago, I started experimenting with smart materials. How technology could improve our clothes. Then I learned my mother, the queen, took the lead in Lauchtenland technology.”
“Careful, you might just conclude you belong here.”
Scottie shook her head, gulping sea air. “Nah. O’Shay, men’s fashion, Hearts Bend, Tennessee—they’re in my veins. They hold me together.”
“How’d you meet your chap, Cap?”
“At the big Fourth of July celebration on the Scott farm, which the Castle family owns now, but everyone still calls it the Scott farm. Cap had retired from the Army Rangers and took over the family farm outside town.”
“Love at first sight?”
“Ha. No. But we saw something worth exploring in each other. What about you and Purnell? Was it love at first sight?”
“Yes. She knocked my boots off—and believe me, I never thought I could feel that way about anyone. After my parents’ divorce, I tossed true love into the rubbish bin. It was a myth curated by poets and songwriters.”
“Yet Purnell made you believe and that can never be taken away, Michael Cross. Even in death. Love’s an enduring gift.”
Michael studied her through the haze of light in a way that made her look away.
After a long moment, he said, “Finn had invited me to one of his school programs. Purnell was his teacher. When I clapped eyes on her, my heart started pounding, my palms went clammy. I’ve had less nerves and weakness facing terrorists. ”
He turned at a sound from the dance tent. A group of men had gathered, cigars lit, port in hand.
“Uncle Mick!” Finn ran toward them, kicking a football. “Will you show us the scissor kick? Please?”
“Ah, buddy, it’s late and I’m in my fancy togs.”
“Please,” said the handsome kid with the cowlick, big blue eyes, and perfect smile, the grass stains on his white shirt, proof he’d already been playing. “You promised. We’re all in our dress togs too.”
Michael clapped him on the shoulder and sighed, pausing for a final excuse. “All right, but pay attention, because I’m only going to show you once. After that, you’re on your own. Remember that practice is key to every man’s success.”
He peeled off his jacket and tie, handing them to Scottie as if it were the most natural thing. She followed him toward the makeshift pitch, folding the jacket over her arm and neatly tucking the tie into the breast pocket.
“First rule?” she heard Michael say. “Relax. It won’t feel natural at first. Second? Eyes on the ball.”
Yes, Scottie, eyes on the ball. Don’t get caught up in the magic and wonder of Lauchtenland, of the castle, of the people…and Michael.
Tonight she saw the man behind the protection officer, and when their eyes met, or when his hand brushed hers, the feelings he stirred were the most honest she’d felt in years. Maybe ever.
On the pitch, Finn crossed the ball to Michael, and as it sailed overhead in a perfect arc, Michael hopped on his nearest leg, whipped his other across his body, and sent the ball flying through a goal made of chairs and a tablecloth.
The boys erupted in cheers, clamoring for more, each desperate for his own try.
Michael grinned back at her as she settled under the savories tent, where skewers of roasted beef, lamb, and chicken continued to dwindle. There was a new energy about him as he unbuttoned his collar and rolled his sleeves.
“All right, lads, pay attention.”
“Have you watched him play?” Jeanette pulled a chair forward and sat beside her. “He’s brilliant.”
“He’s certainly mastered the scissor kick.”
“The Port Fressa Capitals scouted him for years, then called him up during his uni days. But his father, and the Cross duty, won out.” Jeanette slipped a cigarette from a pearl-studded clutch. “Do you mind?”
Scottie shook her head.
“The football, the fame, the real money—lost to almighty Cross and Crown.”
Jeanette drew on her cigarette, then blew the smoke aside. She was captivating in her gold-sequined gown with its V-neck and gathered waist, blonde hair in an intricate updo, her complexion flawless in the party lights.
“I don’t smoke as a rule,” she said, stamping it out after a few puffs. “Just sometimes.” She laughed softly. “Probably to irritate my mother. Isn’t that a sad tale for a sixty-something woman?”
“We’re always our parents’ children. My dad still says, ‘Don’t tell Shug.’”
“Shug is your grandmother? I just love your southern endearments.” She cheered as one of the boys attempted the scissor kick, landing awkwardly on his back only to pop up, grinning, ready to go again.
“Michael’s probably told you he and I don’t get along.
” Scottie looked over but without reply. “I have my regrets—”
A shout from the pitch drew their attention. Scottie welcomed the diversion, half expecting Jeanette’s next question to be “How’s it going with your mother?”
“Well done, Finn,” Jeanette said, rising to applaud as her grandson performed a near-flawless scissor kick. She looked down at Scottie. “Thanks for indulging me. If you’d like a ride to Perrigwynn, let me know. I’ve a feeling Mick isn’t heading home anytime soon.”
“We’re heading back to Hadsby Castle tonight. But thank you.”