Page 41 of Some Like It Scot
Everyone, except me, looked immaculate in their Edwardian attire as we gathered in the drawing room for Lady Lennox’s next instruction. Well, everyone’sclotheslooked immaculate. Mark’s smugness failed to look anything but annoying. And poor Mr. Logan’s nose was bandaged, and a purple hue shone at the bridge with additional swelling and discoloration over each eye.
His linen suit was nice though. Brought out the blue... at the bridge of his nose.
“We’ve had a change of plans this morning.” Mrs. Lennox’s gaze swept the room. “Since the weather is expected to be very nice, I thought we could learn about the importance of daily exercise during the Edwardian era as we walk to the nearby village of Glenkirk. The fresh summer air is excellent for your constitution, and the village will allow you to do some shopping, as the clerks are well aware of our visit.”
Well, giving the folks of Glenkirk a front row seat to this little Edwardian parade of personalities should be fun! And despite the fact that I inwardly shivered a little at the idea of Mirren’s gaze delving back into my psyche, her warmth and genuine interest fed something in my heart I didn’t fully understand.
I scanned the group again to gauge everyone’s reactions, and my gaze caught on Ana. Of course no outfit rivaled hers. Her hat alone was big enough to land a plane, and her soft-pink gown was fitted to perfection over her ample curves. Ana was much more than a cello. More like a double bass.
Miss Dupont showcased a day dress with a skirt much less fitted than mine, and I fought envy at the freedom of her stride as I hobbled along like the burrito I was, grateful for my parasol to balance my steps between the mummy-skirt and the platter-hat.
Our little entourage took the longer (and less steep) path to Glenkirk, creating a spectacle for a few passing sheep, a lone cow, and a poor farmer who dropped his pipe right out of his mouth. As Mark kept with Mrs. Lennox and Miss Dupont at the front of the group, I happily stayed in the back, taking in the absolutely gorgeous day.
The floral scents wafted on the warm breeze with such vibrancy I could almost taste them. Buttercups, daffodils, and some beautiful blue flowers of the same delicate makeup. A few irises perfumed the air, and the world took on gorgeous hues of gold and green and blue and white. Bright. Happy. I soaked them in. Embraced them all.
On a distant hill, a stark rush of purple slipped in between the golds.
My smile spread. Heather. Just as Grandpa described it. And he’d told a story about the flower too, but I couldn’t summon it. How could a memory connect me to a place like this?
Mark had shifted farther back in the group as the walk continued, thankfully oblivious to my placement in line since he was clearly speaking to someone via Bluetooth.
Way to get into the spirit of the Edwardian era!
Mrs. Lennox remarked on some historical features of Glenkirk with its excellent location on the longest loch in Mull. Fishing. Commerce. A little piracy and some clan battles. Oh, this world held so many stories. They whispered in the breeze to me, nudging me to linger.
Linger.
For some reason, the word took on extra strength, seizing my breath, and it wasn’t just because my mummifying gown squeezed any excess out of my lungs. Scotland called for exploration, yes. But one of my grandpa’s favorite words rolled around in my head.
Tarry.
Scotland called me to tarry... and the idea pressed in on my heart with the same mixture of terror and excitement as falling in love. The external marvel, the internal memories, and the inexplicable longing.
An attack on all fronts, and I wasn’t equipped for the battle. Because everything kept calling me toward introspection, as if all of those things promised to help ease an ache I’d never even been able to touch.
With my slow pace, I brought up the rear of the group, Mark just ahead of me, still talking on his phone. Mrs. Lennox brought us to a stop at the entrance of the village near the edge of Loch na Keal to provide a little history lesson about the types of boats used in fishing villages during the Edwardian era. Then folks began to disperse to their shops of choice.
I glanced out over the glimmering loch, attempting to ignore Mark’s conversation nearby, when a familiar jingling bell met my ears.
My face went cold. I knew that sound.
The jingling bells came again, followed by the distinct call, “Get out of the way.”
I turned to see Kirsty barreling toward us, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
Definitely a pixie!
And Mark had no idea!
“Mark!”
He didn’t so much as turn.
I tried to take a step, but my skirt caught my attempt, so I hopped the four steps over to him. “Mark!”
I grabbed his arm.
He flinched and looked over at me, frown deepening as he plucked out his earpiece in time for me to point toward crazy Kirsty. “Watch out!”
