Page 9 of Not Quite a Scot

I lifted my chin, hoping he didn’t see my unease. “Would you answer a few questions for me?”

“For you, Duchess, sure. Fire away.”

“Why do you call me Duchess?”

“It’s a nickname, that’s all.”

Evasion pure and simple, but I moved on. “Are you married?”

“No.”

“Any children?”

“No.”

“Have you ever been convicted of a felony?”

Long silence. “No.”

My ruse was nothing more than a stall tactic. Finley might be lying to me with a straight face. Even so, I had to pretend to myself that I wasn’t about to do something utterly reckless. “How do you know all the B&Bs are full?”

He shrugged. “There are a limited number of rooms to let on the island. You’d be surprised how often tourists make a spontaneous trip to Skye thinking they’ll land wherever the wind blows them. Unfortunately, those same wanderers often find themselves out in the cold. Literally.”

I knew he was telling the truth about that. A friend of mine had warned me not to take lodging for granted. At her admonition, I had made sure to have all my plans in place before I ever left home. Unfortunately, the confirmation letter in my purse was little comfort in this situation.

“Very well,” I said, my stomach doing odd flips. “I appreciate your kind invitation. Yes. I’ll stay with you tonight.”

---