Page 46 of Wild Scottish Beauty

“How much fabric is used to make a kilt?”

“Typically eight yards of fabric, but some are double length. In the olden days, the kilts were more than just something to wear. They’d also be used as protection against the rain or a blanket to bed down on in the wild.”

“Ah, I get it now,” I said, making a tsking noise with my lips. “Lazy men. You just rolled out of bed and wrapped your blanket around you, didn’t you?”

Ramsay’s mouth dropped open, amusement lighting his eyes for the first time since I’d seen him, though he pretended to glower.

“Och, I’d watch yourself, lass. That’s my ancestors you’re insulting. The kilt is a fine part of our history, worn for battles and trudging through bogs.”

“Mm-hmm, sounds to me like you didn’t want to leave home without your blankie.”

“That’s it, I knew this was coming.” Ramsay shocked me by hauling me out of my chair and dragging me toward the front door. I laughed, seeing the smile he was trying to hide, and dug my heels in as he threw the front door to the shop open. Rain pelted the pavement out front.

“Noooo, Ramsay, stop. I take it back.” I squealed as the first drops of rain hit my head.

“Bloody blasphemy,” Ramsay growled, nudging me farther out into the rain. I twisted in his arms, pushing my butt against him, trying to leverage myself back inside the shop.

A motion on the surface of the water caught my eye.

“Wait. Ramsay. Oh my God. Look!” I straightened, no longer caring about the rain, and pointed at the water. “No, we have to help it.”

“What is it, lass?” Ramsay’s hands were at my shoulders, pulling me into his chest, instantly protecting me against whatever I’d seen.

“It’s a kitten, I think. And it’s drowning!”

A clap of thunder shook the skies, drowning out the soft mews for help I could now hear.

Ramsay took off at a run.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Willow

Isprinted after Ramsay, butdamn, the man was fast. He was already waist deep in the water by the time I reached the shoreline, icy rain deluging us.

“Ramsay! Over there!” I shouted, pointing to where two little ears poked above the surface of waves that had kicked up with the storm. I wondered if the kitten had fallen from the embankment wall or from a boat or something. Either way, its desperate mewls for help were causing panic to rise in my throat. Another clap of thunder rattled the sky, and I hunched my shoulders against the rain that slapped my back.

I stumbled along the rocky shoreline, keeping my eyes on the kitten at all times, my arm pointed to where it was, determined not to lose sight of the little guy. It was one of the rules of boating we’d been taught—if anyone was everstruggling in the water, one person always kept eyes on them and directed the boat to help. Now, I did my best to be shore support as Ramsay pressed through the water.

“You’re almost there!”

The kitten, hearing my cries, turned and spied Ramsay. Gratefully, the little guy seemed to understand help was on its way, and both Ramsay and the kitten closed the remaining distance quickly. Catching the kitten close to his chest, Ramsay hunched his shoulders, protecting it from the rain, and trudged toward where I stood, shivering and near tears on the shore.

Something shifted in the water behind Ramsay.

My heart skipped a beat.

“Ramsay.”

It came out as a whisper, and I stood, frozen, as water horses began to take shape among the sheets of rain that pounded Loch Mirren. They were far out, merely silhouettes shifting among the water in the distance, but I knew.

I knew.

“Ramsay,run.” This time it came out as a shout, as the shadows grew larger, the shapes taking more definition, lightning rippling along the mutinous storm clouds. A shriek split the air—the sound what nightmares were made of—and I stumbled as I ran toward the shore, needing to get Ramsay out of the water. Not that I had any idea of what to do about the Kelpies that careened across the stormy loch. I’d barely been in the Order of Caledonia for a day. I hadn’t been given the rundown on what to do if a Kelpie attacked. Which, you know, might have been a helpful thing to know if attacks were happening on a regular basis.

Ramsay caught me as I slipped on the rocks, heaving me into his arms before I hit the ground, and I scrambled in his arms, hooking my arm around his shoulders as he carried me to safety. I peeked over his shoulder, my eyes widening as the Kelpies loomed closer, their heads tossed back and rage on their face.

“By the Order of Caledonia, I order you back!”

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