Page 11 of Highlander’s Curse (The Daughters of the Glen #8)

Nine

T he rain had turned to a fine, light mist by the time Abby pulled into the car park at Dun Ard. Her stomach knotted into a tight little ball as her foot hit the crushed gravel and she fought the urge to turn around and run as she made her way down the walk and up the massive stone stairs.

This was it. In a matter of moments, she’d be face-to-face with the man she couldn’t seem to escape. Though she’d played that meeting over and over in her mind as the miles had slipped past, now that she had arrived, she still had no idea what she’d say to him.

Hi, remember me? We slept together that one time. You kissed me good-bye and my lips tingled for a week. I’ve dreamed about you making love to me every single night since then.

Yeah. Probably not. If he didn’t already think her a stalker, that little speech would push him over the edge.

At the top stair, her stomach flip-flopped again. What if he didn’t remember her? What if he wasn’t here? What if they’d never even heard of him?

A fine, prickly layer of perspiration broke out on her skin, and she dragged a hand over her forehead before opening the door and stepping inside.

“Good day, Miss. Welcome to Dun Ard.” A smiling, ruddy-faced woman stood up from her seat behind a large antique desk, extending her hand in greeting. “I’m Margaret MacAlister. Are you looking for lodging?”

“No. I’m . . . uh . . .” Abby gulped in a breath, hoping to steady her shaking voice. “I’m actually looking for someone. Colin MacAlister. Is he here?”

The woman’s smile disappeared, a suspicious frown wrinkling her brow as she clasped her hands at her waist, looking for all the world like the disapproving headmistress in an old English movie.

Oh, lord. That didn’t look at all like the “I’ve-never-heard-of-the-man” face.

“And just what might you be wanting with my Colin?”

Her Colin?

A new suspicion hit Abby like a tidal wave, a suspicion that made her feel as if she might be sick all over the carpet in this lovely, ancient-looking lobby.

What if he was married? This woman did say her name was MacAlister.

“I. . . uh. . . he, that is, Colin . . .” Abby’s tongue felt remarkably as it had the time she’d visited the dentist and he’d had to give her Novocain twice to deaden her gums. “I met Colin a few months ago when he visited Denver. I only wanted to stop by and say hello.”

Not true. She’d wanted much more than hello, though even to herself she couldn’t say what, exactly.

Almost immediately Margaret’s face brightened. “Well then, Miss, it’s no my Colin yer wanting. He’s no ever stepped foot in the States.”

“I beg your pardon?” Oh, his feet had been in the States, all right. Not only had they been in the States, they’d been in her bed. This woman might not want to believe her husband had been there—hell, she didn’t want to believe Colin had a wife!—but it was fact.

Clearly, she trod a fine line here. It might be best for everyone if she said nothing more. Just turned around and walked away. There was still a chance for her to save face before it was too late.

But, as if controlled by a force outside herself, the words slipped from her mouth. “He told me his home was Dun Ard.”

“Did he now?” Margaret’s smile broadened before she turned her head to call loudly over her shoulder, “Bella! Fetch Colin out here to the desk for me, please.”

He was here! Somewhere back beyond that doorway where even now she could hear running footsteps.

The hard, tight little ball that had once been her stomach suddenly sprouted butterflies. Big, hairy-assed acrobatic butterflies, from the feel of it. All wearing steel-toed boots and marching in lockstep formation across her intestines.

The seconds dragged by in a fashion Abby would have denied was possible before now.

Just as she’d decided she could stand it no longer, that she’d make some wild excuse and beat a hasty retreat, a small boy no more than eight or nine burst into the room.

He ran straight to Margaret’s side, stopping to frown up at the woman.

“What do you want of me, Mum? My show’s on telly. I’m missing it,” he complained.

“Mind yer manners, lad.” With her hands on his shoulders, Margaret turned the boy around. “I’d like you to meet this nice lady who’s come for a visit. This is my son, Colin, and this is . . . begging yer pardon, miss. Did you give me yer name?”

“Abby,” she offered, almost forgetting herself in her surprise as the boy politely shook her hand. “Abigail Porter.”

This was Colin MacAlister?

“Run along back to yer telly, Colin. Sorry to have taken you from yer show.”

With a shy smile, the child took off running and disappeared through the doorway.

“Now, Miss Porter, do you still think it was my Colin you met?”

Abby could only shake her head, waiting for her brain and her tongue to catch up with one another. This was altogether just plain wrong.

He’d lied to her.

He’d come home with her, climbed his naked butt into her bed, and lied to her.

“I apologize for troubling you, Mrs. MacAlister. I was so sure that . . . but, obviously, I was mistaken and I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

He’d lied. To her. God only knew who he really was.

Her face burned with embarrassment and anger. The pitying look on Margaret’s face only made it worse.

“Dinna you worry yerself over yer mistake, lassie. MacAlister’s a common enough name in these parts. Likely you misunderstood the gentleman as to the name of his home.”

Yeah? No, not likely at all. He had lied to her. Plain, bold-faced lied.

Abby’s breath caught as she made her way down the stone steps toward the spot where she’d left the car. The cold mist stung her face, helping her to concentrate on something other than the tears blurring her vision.

Now what? This had been her last hope for getting him out of her head. Now she’d never find him, and that could mean she’d be haunted by him for the rest of her life.

She climbed into the car, slammed the door shut, and leaned her head back against the leather headrest. “Liar!” She spat the condemnation into the empty car as if she confronted him.

Damn him! He’d had absolutely no reason to lie to her. It wasn’t like she was going to turn into some psycho stalker who’d come looking for him.

She stuck the key into the ignition, biting back a bitter laugh as she realized that was exactly what she’d turned into. She’d traveled over four thousand miles to Scotland and spent the whole of today trying to hunt the man down.

No wonder he’d lied to her. A great-looking guy like that probably had women stalking him on at least two continents. And clearly she had turned into one of those stalkers.

“Thanks a whole hell of a lot, Casey.”

No, that wasn’t fair. This wasn’t any more her friend’s fault than it was her own. It was his fault.

Margaret had said that MacAlister was a common name here, so his telling her his name was Colin MacAlister could well be the Scottish equivalent of introducing yourself as John Smith, for all she knew. He must have thought himself pretty clever pulling that one on her.

Didn’t that just serve her right for picking some stranger up in a bar? All things considered, she had absolutely no right to feel so horribly betrayed. After all, he was nothing more than that: a stranger.

And yet betrayed was exactly what she felt. Hurt, betrayed, lost, and gullible.

“And stupid,” she muttered. That’s really what she was. She certainly couldn’t leave off her growing list how utterly, completely stupid she felt.

With a deep sigh, Abby put the car in drive, pausing before she moved forward to wait for the dark blue car idling across from her to pull out of his space. When the driver simply stared at her but made no effort to move his vehicle, she pulled forward.

“Men,” she fumed aloud, casting an indignant look his direction.

“That one’s likely so busy trying to figure out a fake name he could give some poor woman, he’s just sitting there like a lump on a log.

” Well, too bad for him. He’d have to follow her now.

Hopefully, wherever that woman was, she’d be smarter than Abby had been.

For her own part, she sure as heck wouldn’t be fooled by that trick twice.

Abby nosed the car forward but slammed her foot on the brakes as one little detail slipped into her mind.

How could she have forgotten something so important?

Behind her, brakes squealed and gravel flew as the driver of the car she’d seen earlier slammed on his brakes to avoid rear-ending her.

Their eyes met briefly in the reflection of the rearview mirror and Abby mouthed a quick sorry before pulling forward again, her mood too lightened to allow her to dwell on feeling guilty for her little driving indiscretion.

Colin might have lied about his home, but he hadn’t given her a fake name and she had proof.

She’d spoken to his cousin on the telephone that day to arrange to have him picked up from her house. She’d seen Mairi MacKiernan Navarro, a woman she knew personally, drive up in front of her house and take him away.

He might not be from Dun Ard, or at least not this Dun Ard, but that didn’t mean she’d never be able to find him. All she had to do was call up her old professor and ask where her cousin was now.

Simple.

Of course, before she made that phone call, she’d have to find the nerve to do it, and that would be the tricky part.