Page 15 of A Time & Place for Every Laird (A Laird for All Time #2)

Claire punched the four-digit code into the garage door opener mounted on the wooden frame of the door and was rewarded by the whine of the small engine as the door began to rise. Rushing back to the car, she pulled Goose into the empty bay next to her Uncle Robert’s bulky Chevy Tahoe before turning off the engine.

“Well, here it is. Our hideaway until we can figure out how to get away.”

“Again, I cannot thank ye enough, Sorcha,”

Hugh said solemnly.

“You can thank me by hauling in the groceries,”

Claire said cheerfully, determined to keep the atmosphere as light as possible following Hugh’s heart-rending confessions aboard the ferry. That sudden vulnerability had torn at her heart and she had nearly given in to the impulse to hug him, to soothe away his fears. For the remainder of the trip, they had stood side by side at the rail with their backs to the city skyline while Hugh had ruminated on his troubles. All Claire had been able to do was absorb the warmth of his blazer and fight the urge to bury her face in the collar, breathe in the manly scent, and bask in the warmth in his eyes.

Now, she got out of the car and went to the interior door, hitting the button to lower the garage door, effectively hiding the car from plain sight. “I’ll go turn on some lights and then, before you even need to ask, I’ll cook you some dinner.”

Hugh’s dazzling smile flashed in the dim light provided by the garage door opener. “It pleases me that we are getting tae know one another so well.”

Claire shook her head with a chuckle, glad that he was retaining his sense of humor through all this. “I hate to disappoint you, but you’re really not that much of a mystery, Hugh.”

The Scot merely grunted humorously at that and went to the back of the Prius to retrieve their meager luggage and the groceries they had stopped to buy at a market not far from the ferry depot before Claire had guided her car through the winding, wooded roads that led to the north end of Bainbridge Island.

‘Uncle Robert’s’ home was just north of Fay Bainbridge State Park, looking out over Puget Sound to the east and Port Madison to the north. The style of the house itself was a little modern meets Capetown chic. The exterior that wasn’t covered in plate glass was sided with cedar shakes. That was about as traditional as it got.

The inside was pure modern luxury, with an expansive kitchen of dark walnut, granite, and stainless steel that would make any chef weep with joy. It had all the best toys, from the 60”

Wolf range and 72”

Sub-Zero refrigerator to the built-in cappuccino maker. Claire fanned her fingers over the cool granite of the enormous center island and looked out the huge bank of plate glass windows that faced Puget Sound. The windows were black against the night beyond, with not a streetlight to pierce the darkness, but they did reflect her image as clearly as a mirror and Claire stared at herself in wonder.

She was alone in the veritable wilderness with a man she had met—she used the term loosely—just thirty-six hours before, a hugely powerful, yet oddly gentle Scotsman from another time. She had basically ordered Robert to make sure no one else knew about it and was entirely comfortable with that.

Wowzah, how her life had changed.

“Are ye well, Sorcha?”

Hugh asked as he dropped the grocery bags on the counter.

“Fine. Fine. I’m fine,”

she intoned, waving her hands, moving around the island to put the perishable groceries into the fridge and simply arranging the others off to the side. She didn’t want to infringe on Aunt Sue’s kitchen more than necessary. “Just tired, I guess. It was a long drive.”

“If ye’d care tae instruct me, I could assume that duty in the future,”

he offered.

“Ha! Don’t hold your breath,”

she sallied as she searched for a cutting board and knives to start slicing the zucchini and squash she planned to grill along with some mushrooms and cherry tomatoes. “I imagine you have a hell of a speed demon buried deep in you. There’s a wine fridge over there,”

she said, pointing with her knife. “Why don’t you pick us out something? I know I could use a drink.”

She’d have to remember to reimburse Robert later, Claire thought, making a mental reminder. “Or there might be some beer in the fridge in the garage.”

Hugh shook his head. “Yer beer tastes like piss.”

Claire choked on a bubble of laughter. “Don’t hold back, tell me how you really feel.”

With a broad grin, Hugh turned as directed toward the wine bar but paused and asked with blatant curiosity, “What is this?”

The question was so common between them by that point that Claire barely looked up. “It’s a jigsaw puzzle. Uncle Robert loves them and always keeps one out on the table to work on. He usually picks the hardest ones and never finishes them. I think he bronzed the only one he ever completed as some kind of trophy.”

Silence prevailed, drawing Claire’s attention more fully than the question, and she looked up to find Hugh thoughtfully studying the puzzle before he picked up a piece, setting it neatly—and accurately—in place. Claire’s brows rose, but her jaw sagged when he immediately placed another. “Are you kidding me?”

she said, then snapped her mouth shut. “How the hell are you doing that?”

Hugh just shrugged. “I’ve always been good wi’ puzzles of all sorts. Wi’ seeing patterns in things.”

He picked up another and then another, putting them in place.

“Remind me after dinner to have you watch a little movie called Rain Man. Somehow I think it’s right up your alley.”

“It troubles ye, this skill?”

he asked, tilting his head inquiringly at her tone.

“Nope, it just puzzles me,”

Claire quipped, then smiled at her own pun before turning to flip on the infrared grill at the center of the Wolf cooktop. She tossed the vegetables in olive oil and sprinkled them with salt and pepper before dumping them on the grill.

Hugh returned to the kitchen with a bottle of wine and a relaxed grin, searching the drawers in companionable silence for a corkscrew, and the cupboards for glasses. Moments later he was handing her a glass. “It says it’s an Oregon Pinot Noir. I’ve ne’er heard of the region so I thought tae be adventurous and try something new.”

Claire clinked her glass to his and raised a teasing brow. “Trying something new? How shocking! I’m sure you’ve never before had a chance to do that!”

“Nae, ne’er,”

he rejoined with equally playful facetiousness as they drank.

Claire felt those smiles, his and her own, all the way down to her soul. The banter was nice, lighthearted. Enjoyable. Hugh Urquhart, for all fate had dealt him, was turning out to be a pretty likeable guy. There was nothing like a road trip for a bonding experience, and Claire felt that somewhere between the KitKat and the Whatchamacallit, she and Hugh Urquhart had become friends. The tension born of wariness and uncertainty was definitely gone, even if another sort of tension had taken its place. Claire decided that continued denial in that area would serve her well. “Give me five minutes for your steak and we’ll be ready to eat.”

Hugh nodded and looked around the room before opening one of the glass-paned French doors and stepping out onto the huge deck that ran the length of the house. Puget Sound was just feet away, however though the moon reflected of the smooth waters, it was too dark to have much to look at. A moment later he returned. “’Tis a charming cottage, quite—what was the word ye used? High-tech?”

“Uncle Robert does like his toys,”

Claire said by way of agreement. “Feel free to look around. There’s a pretty nice library past the living room. Robert and Sue are both big readers.”

Hugh nodded and wandered that way, looking this way and that as Claire poked a meat thermometer into the filet mignon she’d put on the grill with the veggies. The steak had been expensive and certainly they wouldn’t be eating this way every night, but she was sure that Hugh would appreciate some red meat.

A short while later, she heard him call from the other room, “I found one of Arouet’s books! I can scarcely credit it, though it is a work I’m nae familiar wi’. How can I tell when was it written?”

“The date should be behind the title page,”

she called from the kitchen. She flipped the big steak with the tongs and tested the top of it with her finger for doneness. Satisfied, she filled two plates with the grilled vegetables and turned to retrieve the steak. “Come and get it!

Hugh emerged from the library with the book open in his hands. “It wasnae written until after I left Europe. Many years after, in fact.”

“I’m more surprised there is even a book in there by this Arouet guy. What is it called?”

Hugh snapped the book shut and held it out to her, but Claire didn’t need to take it from him. The tongs holding his steak were forgotten in her hand as she stared agog at the title clearly visible on the cover. “That’s Candide,”

she said in disbelief. “I thought you said your friend’s name was Francois something.”

“Aye, Francois-Marie Arouet,”

Hugh nodded, flipping the book open once again. “He wrote some of his work under the nom de plume Voltaire. I confess I ne’er thought it would last.”

“You knew Voltaire?”

Claire asked dumbly, punctuating the words with a wave of the steak.

“Aye, I met him in Frederick’s court in Berlin and stayed wi’ him at Chateau de Cirey for many months, though his mistress dinnae appreciate my presence,”

Hugh said offhandedly as he perused the first several pages of the book. “They had a wondrous library of over twenty thousand books.”

“You knew Voltaire?”

“Aye, Sorcha, did I nae just say so?”

Hugh raised a brow, cautiously eyeing the meat she was waving around. “Perhaps ye should put that down while it is still edible. Voltaire, as ye call him, had some interesting notions on politics and religion as well. I always thought it would be interesting tae witness an exchange between him and Hume on the subject. I daresay that would hae been quite a remarkable debate.”

Claire groaned, finally laying the steak to rest on the plate. “Not David Hume?”

“Aye, we went tae University in Edinburgh together. Hae ye heard of him?”

Hugh asked, still engrossed in the book. “I know many of his first writings were nae met wi’ success.”

Claire carried the plates and silverware to table and set them on the end opposite the half-done puzzle. Retrieving her wine glass, she took a long, fortifying sip as she slipped into the chair Hugh was holding out for her. “I might have heard of him once or twice,”

Claire said by way of understatement.

Hugh knew David Hume. More than anything she had been subjected to over the past couple of days that blew her mind so completely Claire could only poke absently at a piece of zucchini with her fork. She’d had a fascination with religious philosophy as an undergraduate, filling her electives hours with Hume and Kant.

“Are ye nae going tae hae any meat?”

he asked, nodding at her plate of vegetables as he sat and began to cut into his filet.

“No, I can’t eat that,”

she responded absently, still awed over his revelation. “Seriously, why …”

“Cannae eat it? Why ever nae?”

“I’m a vegetarian,”

she told him, and when he looked blankly at her, added, “Basically, it means I don’t eat meat.”

“Ye dinnae eat meat,”

he repeated slowly, watching her as he chewed. “Ye dinnae eat meat?”

Claire released her breath with a laugh. “That just doesn’t compute for you, does it?”

“Why would ye nae eat meat?”

“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew Voltaire?”

“I dinnae think it of import.”

“There you go,”

Claire nodded practically, pointing her fork at him. “But what is of importance is who else did you know?”

Hugh shrugged at the question. “How am I tae ken who would hae been important? We were simply men sharing ideas, challenging one another to deeper thought. What puzzles me is that ye find it strange that a man might travel in his youth, or take a Grand Tour. How else is a man tae learn of the world if he does nae see it wi’ his own eyes?”

Hugh took another bite of his steak, chewing thoughtfully. “I am also puzzled by what benefit could come from avoiding meat.”

“We can have that talk later,”

Claire said dismissively. “Seriously, tell me about your life, and no more avoiding the subject. Now I just have to know. Tell me about your family, your parents.”

“I had two,”

he said unhelpfully. “A mother and a father.”

Claire rolled her eyes. “Hugh!”

“Verra well,”

Hugh sighed, raising his glass. “Since it is inescapably clear that ye willnae let the matter rest, I will tell ye. I hae three sisters, all older than I. We were raised by our uncle, who was mother’s brother, as my parents are both deceased.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “I dinnae remember them. I was verra young when they died.”

“Was your uncle famous, too?”

“He is the Earl of Cairn.”

“Of course,”

Claire nodded, remembering that he had mentioned the name before and thinking just how greatly she had underestimated Hugh Urquhart. “Did he live at Rosebraugh as well?”

“Nae, he had estates of his own west of Dingwall but he schooled me in my responsibilities wi’ his own sons. I was fostered tae the MacDonnell at Glengarry when I was eight, and at fourteen attended the University of Edinburgh, as was expected in our family. Afterwards, my grandmother insisted that I hae a Grand Tour in the tradition of her family. She was English,”

he added at Claire’s inquiring glance.

Fostered at eight, Claire thought in surprise. Grand tour? “I thought you hated the English.”

“Nae the English so much as their politics and their incessant need tae dominate all around them,”

he amended. “Surely as a descendant of the colonists, ye ken that.”

Maybe not the Americans of today, but surely the founding fathers had. “I suppose I do. So what was this Grand Tour?”

“An extended journey tae the Continent … tae Europe,”

he clarified, still eating heartily. “I traveled wi’ my cousin, Keir, though he was far more interested in the ladies than in anything else. Your Voltaire was a fine source of that sort of knowledge as well. He had an eye tae be sure. As I said, we traveled to Venice, Austria, and Paris. We returned home tae assume our responsibilities. I ran my estates and saw my sisters well wed, but after some years, the lure of further knowledge drew me back tae Paris, where I joined the Academy of Science. In recent years, I spent time in France and Berlin, where I was invited tae Frederick’s court. The king was an interesting man. Eminently knowledgeable on many subjects, though ye might know as much. Did ye know he composed hundreds of pieces for the flute? Or that he wrote nearly as much as Arouet? There were some trifling rumors of his sexual preferences, as he neglected women, including his wife. Some say his lifelong friend, Hans Hermann von Katte, was actually his lover, but many at court argued that the king merely had greater things tae contemplate than women.”

“From there I returned home at my uncle’s insistence tae take up arms in support of the Jacobites,”

Hugh ended, dropping his knife and fork on the plate and leaning back with a satisfied sigh. “Thank ye for the meal, Sorcha. It was most delightful.”

Claire nodded, swirling her wine around in her glass. She had finished her own small portion some time ago, and had just sat in wonder as he told his tale. Frederick was none other than Frederick the Great. And not only had he known Voltaire and David Hume, he had met Johann Sebastian Bach as well. She felt mortified for ever having thought him little more than a country bumpkin, and told him so.

Hugh only laughed her apology away. “I accept yer apology and wi’ it will grant ye this one wee concession: I wasnae inclined tae say so before but yer impression of my people as a whole was nae far from the truth. The circumstances and education of men of my ranking are far removed from those of the average man. There are many—too many—of my countrymen who lack education of any sort. There are some who would like to mandate schooling for all, but who is tae say tae a father that he maun lose his strong sons at harvest time tae a schoolroom?”

“What about the girls?”

Claire asked.

“What of them?”

he challenged provocatively, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Don’t you think they should have been educated, too?”

“A highly provocative question, which I shall abstain from answering,”

he said with a mischievous grin.

“Come on!”

she dared. “Tell me what you really think.”

“I believe my thoughts and philosophies are obviously better suited tae another era, and that is all I will offer on the subject.”

Hugh pushed away from the island and stood. “Now shall I assist wi’ the washing?”

“That’s a rather cowardly change of subject, Hugh,”

Claire said, expecting him to bristle as he always did when his manhood was challenged, but Hugh surprised her with a wink and a broad smile that deepened his dimples as he gathered the plates and carried them to the sink.

“If there is one thing I hae learned in all my life that I adhere tae more than any other, it is that one should ne’er argue wi’ a lass in a righteous temper.”

“Humph! Where did you learn that?”

“From my grandmother.”

They laughed comfortably together as Claire joined him at the sink. “Smart woman,”

she quipped, laughing up at him, and Hugh glanced down at her, his smile slowly slipping away.

Only then did Claire realize how close she stood to him, how she could feel the heat of his body warming her arm. How wonderfully handsome he was. His eyes were deep blue beneath his heavy dark brows. The planes of his cheeks were smoothly sculpted but for that devastating dimple that was slowly disappearing. Despite his afternoon shave, there was already a beard shadowing his jaw, but for the first time she could see the tendons of his lean neck and his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. It was so tempting, that urge to reach out and touch him. Touch him not to comfort or soothe but to simply feel the warmth of his skin beneath her fingers.

Hugh shifted slightly, his chest suddenly at eye level, drawing Claire’s gaze to the V of the T-shirt and to the rise and fall of his chest. She could lay her head there … or press her lips there. Would he embrace her, she wondered? What would it feel like to be held in those strong arms? To have that massive body surround hers?

Did she really want to know?

Did she dare deny it?

“Sorcha,”

he whispered huskily.

She looked up to find his head bent, his lips just inches away. He was warm, oh so warm. Life radiated from him until she was engulfed in it. Claire breathed in deeply, swaying unconsciously toward him as if he were a magnet, her chest almost touching his. Hugh bent his head, his cheek inches from hers. “Release me from my vow, lass.”

She could feel his breath brush against her neck and shivered.

How could she release him when she couldn’t release herself? Regretfully, Claire stepped away with a long sigh that was echoed by Hugh’s and changed the subject with forced gaiety. “Since your uncle was an earl, I suppose that you always had servants to wash dishes for you, huh? Why don’t you just let me do these and you can take our luggage upstairs?”

“I am capable of assisting,”

he said, his hand covering hers as she reached to turn on the water. His rough hand set her skin tingling instantly, and Claire jerked away from his touch. “Sorcha, I …”

“No touching, Hugh, remember?”

she whispered, almost inaudibly.

“Aye. How could I forget?”

His voice was tight, disappointed in her, but perhaps no more disappointed than she was in herself. “Where should I take the bags?”

Claire gave him brief directions to two of the guestrooms above that her family had used before, adding brightly, “I’m sure your uncle would have a fit if I let his nephew do the dishes anyway.”

“Nae at all,”

Hugh said, his suddenly arrogant voice making Claire look up curiously. “I am the Duke of Ross and I hae always done as I bluidy well please.”

Stunned, Claire could do nothing but turn and stalk angrily away. A duke? Good Lord, could it get any worse?