Chapter 4

Grant kept his hands folded and pressed down atop his sporran to keep his hardened cock from liftin’ his kilt out like a flag. The kiss before the ride to the park had nearly undone him. If not for the gaggle of old women about to descend upon them, he would’ve swept Joanna up into the tour bus and christened the day proper.

Joanna stood beside him at the back of the herbal shop, gaze locked forward, and close enough so that he easily breathed in her delicious scent over that of the dried lavender and rosemary bundles hanging from the exposed hand-hewn oak beams overhead. Every time he caught her stealing a covert glance at him, she gifted him with a smile and made his hard-on even worse.

“…and this can be infused into a massaging oil that’s quite helpful for stiffness.”

Joanna’s group of bawdy old women, scattered among the other tourists seated in a semicircle before an oak-planked counter at the far end of the wide herbal shop, snickered and tittered in their seats, then turned and looked back at Grant and Joanna.

“Minds in the gutter. Every damn one of them. Worse than a bunch of teenage boys.” Joanna gave a sharp shake of her head at her group and made a “turn back around and pay attention” motion with one hand. “I don’t know where Lucia managed to find these ladies, but I’m gonna choke her if she ever does this to me again.”

“Aye, well…” Grant shifted in place, spread his feet wider apart, and readjusted his sporran for the nth time. For sure and for certain he was proud of his man parts, but his damn cock was a ravenous beast right now that refused to be ignored. He needed relief. Soon. “Perhaps Mistress Lucia is too distracted with MacClendon’s attentions t’be aware of much else.” He understood Joanna’s friend’s folly completely. Since he himself had decided to concentrate on properly wooing Joanna, he’d had little time or desire t’do anything else.

“You mean Taggart?”

“Aye. Taggart MacClendon, chieftain to Clan MacClendon.”

“Really? Him and Lucia?”

“Aye.” Grant faced Joanna, searching her face for a clue to her sudden tone. “Why d’ye sound so surprised?”

Joanna shrugged. “I know he seems to be around all the time, but he’s so quiet and Lucia’s never said anything about…well…them. Are you sure?”

“The man is bein’ careful. Takin’ his time and givin’ Mistress Lucia time t’properly mourn the loss of her husband.” Grant took in a deep breath, then slowly blew it out. Might as well add a bit about me own tactics t’see what she says. “He doesna wish t’rush her and make her feel as though he doesna respect the pain she’s going through. Choosing the proper moment t’woo a woman and make her yer own can take quite some time. It takes a great deal of plannin’, as well. Wooing is much like wagin’ a war or liftin’ cattle.” He gave Joanna a decisive nod. “To rush into such things is foolhardy.”

Joanna looked up at him. Slowly, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Her cheeks grew rosier by the minute and moisture gathered in her eyes.

“Have I upset you, lass?” Grant glanced back at his mother behind the counter, barely shook his head, and shrugged. Máthair made a furious scowl at him and launched into what he knew was an exaggerated narrative on the use of some herbals and oils in love potions to keep her audience detained a bit longer.

Joanna pressed her fisted hand against her mouth and coughed, her shoulders trembling as she turned away.

It suddenly dawned on Grant that the woman was doing her damnedest t’keep from laughing out loud. “What the hell d’ye find so amusing?”

Clearing her throat, then swallowing hard, Joanna quickly shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

“Ye lie, Joanna. I’ll thank ye t’tell me right now.”

“Oh…come on,” Joanna playfully backhanded his arm. “Don’t get your kilt in a knot. I just found it amusing that you compared romancing, or ‘wooing’ as you called it, to waging war or ‘lifting’ cattle—which, by the way, makes no sense. Do you pick up cows for fun in Scotland? They call it cow-tipping in the United States, but I don’t think that’s real. Sounds more like a joke somebody made up to fool city dwellers.”

A loud snort escaped Grant before he could help it. Now it was his turn to laugh. “Liftin’ cattle means stealin’ them. Clans oft take one another’s cattle—sometimes for sport, sometimes for profit.”

She gave him a confused, wide-eyed look, then held up one hand to pause Grant’s explanation of the age-old custom of cattle lifting. “Anyway…cattle lifting aside…you’re sure Taggart is interested in Lucia?”

“Aye.”

Joanna started to say something else but cut herself off and nodded toward the other side of the room. “Looks like class is over. I wasn’t planning on taking them to ride the Shires. Those horses are way too tall for these ladies and I don’t think they were interested in riding anyway. Where should we take them next: the sheep shearing shed or the border collies so they can see how the dogs work the herds?”

“I want to make some haggis,” Georgetta interrupted as the group of ladies joined Grant and Joanna.

Joanna visibly gagged and turned to Grant. “I’ll give you fifty bucks if you’ll take them to the medieval kitchens and help them make haggis and render lard to make soap.” She shuddered and made a face. “The place reeks and I have to hold my breath the entire time I’m in there to keep from puking.” She shuddered, and the freckles dusted across her pert nose visibly paled. “Hell, I’ll pay you a hundred.”

“I’ve a better idea of how ye might pay me.” Grant scooped up her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles.

Frances, Georgetta, and Annamae hooted and howled like teenage girls at their first concert.

“That is entirely enough, ladies,” Hazel boomed out loud and clear with a sharp clap of her large hands. Then she turned to Grant and politely smiled. “If you’d lead us to the kitchens, Mr. MacDara, we’d appreciate it.”

“I’ve a better idea.” Grant motioned to his mother. “I’m sure Máthair wouldna mind takin’ you fine ladies o’er to the kitchens. Would ye, Máthair?” he asked as Sarinda MacDara joined their group.

“Would I what, son?”

“Would ye be so good as t’give these ladies a more thorough experience of the medieval kitchens—one they would nay receive on a regular tour?” If Máthair would take the feisty old women off Joanna’s hands, he would have the sweet lass all to himself until it was time to return to the bed-and-breakfast.

Joanna stepped in, hands lifted as though fending off an attack. “No…Grant, no. I shouldn’t have…” She blew out a frustrated huff and gave him a narrow-eyed look before turning to Sarinda with an apologetic shake of her head. “I wouldn’t feel right about that, Mrs. MacDara.”

“Well, we want to go with Mrs. MacDara,” Georgetta announced, with a chorus of “yeses” sounding out from the rest of the ladies. “We’ve invested a lot of hard-earned retirement money on this trip and we want the best we can get.”

“Thanks a lot,” Joanna retorted.

Ahh…hell. This doesna bode well for wooing if she’s got a case of the red arse for the rest of the day. Grant took hold of Joanna’s elbow and gently pulled, easing them both toward the exit of the herbal shop. “Come, Joanna. We’ve a new colt at the stables. Born just last night. We’ll leave the ladies to their haggis, lard, and candles. Come.”

“Aye, lass,” Sarinda chimed in. “I’ll bring the ladies ’round to the bus parking area late this evening once we’ve finished all our tasks. I’ll have them page ye over the park intercom. You just rest easy and enjoy a lovely day here at the park, because the women and I’ll be about our duties the rest of the day. Ye’ll no’ see them again ’til time t’take them to their beds, I’ll grant ye that. They’ll be cookin’ their own suppers the old way.” She turned to the smiling women and motioned toward the “employees only” door at the back of the shop. “Come, m’lassies. We’ll take the shortcut to the kitchens. Off to our adventures!”

Anticipation surging through him, Grant gently tugged on Joanna’s arm again. “Come, lass. We’ll visit the wee colt, then I’ll treat ye to some clootie puddin’ at Mistress Gordon’s sweet shop. I’ll even get ye a cup of yer nasty muckwater t’drink with it, aye?”

Joanna didn’t move, just stood scowling at the back door to the shop as it slowly closed after the last of her charges waddled through it. Finally, she shook her head, pulled her arm free of Grant’s grip, and stomped out the shop door. “Unbelievable. I never learn.”

His anticipation of what the day could bring evaporated like morning mist. What the hell had gone wrong? Grant hurried to catch up with Joanna. “What’s wrong, lass? What ails ye?”

Joanna stopped with a jerk, whirled about, and jabbed his shoulder. “I’m stupid. Stupid as I ever was. That’s what’s wrong. I should never have asked you to take over a part of the tour just because I don’t particularly like it. It was unprofessional of me, and now your mother and the group think I’m a lazy, whiny bitch.”

“The hell they do. I dinna see how ye could feel so.” Grant grabbed hold of Joanna’s shoulders and locked her in place. “Yer no’ a lazy, whiny bitch and none of those women, includin’ me mother, would e’er think such a thing, and I guarantee ye that me mother would ne’er say that about a woman who’s done nothin’ but work her fine arse off ever since she moved to this town nearly two years ago.” He chucked a finger beneath her chin and forced her to look him in the eye. “Ye ken as well as I do that the main thing those old busybodies wish t’see during their trip is us properly matched, aye?”

Joanna didn’t say a word, but her scowling gaze spoke volumes.

“Aye?” he repeated in the tone he reserved for scolding his younger siblings.

“I guess so,” Joanna finally grumbled under her breath.

“Nay. Not ‘I guess so.’ ” Grant pecked a quick kiss to the end of her nose. “Look at me, Joanna. The correct answer is ‘aye’—ye ken?”

Joanna’s green eyes narrowed into tighter glinting slits. “Aye,” she replied through gritted teeth. “Now can we get the hell out of the middle of the street? I don’t particularly care to be one of the park’s newest attractions.”

Sweets calm the wee beastie nearly every time. With his married brother’s sage advice echoing in his mind, Grant released his hold on Joanna’s shoulders and smiled. “What say ye we save the visit to the new colt for another day. I promised ye clootie puddin’. Shall we get one t’share and sit in the gardens beside the gristmill? I distinctly remember overhearin’ ye tell one of yer groups how soothing ye found the sound of the water wheel t’be.”

“Tour guide rhetoric,” Joanna said as she turned and left him standing in the middle of the lane and headed down the cobblestone path leading to all the eateries of Highland Life and Legends. “And coffee!” she shouted back over her shoulder. “You promised me coffee too.”

“Aye, lass. Coffee too.” He’d promise her even more if she’d but let him.