Page 18 of Priceless (Return to Culloden Moor #7)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

M y new tour guide stood and jangled his keys, eager to get moving. He absolutely refused to let me pay for any part of my lunch, and though it went against everything I’d ever known, he wouldn’t let me leave a tip for Vonnie either.

“Tips arenae necessary here.”

“I just want to show her I’m grateful?—”

“Then thank her and let that be enough.”

I huffed, but I did as he asked and put my wallet away. Customers had been few and far between the whole time I’d been there, but I didn’t dare assume that he needed my business. What did I know about bars, anyway?

“Back to Bluebell House first,” he said. “I have a brolly in the car—that’s an umbrella. But change into boots, or wellies if ye’ve got them. Rubber ones. And a warmer coat.”

I raised an eyebrow. “This sounds serious.”

“Only if ye dinnae like wet feet.” His grin was infectious.

“I have boots. And a warmer coat.”

The black SUV he drove looked like it could survive the apocalypse.

It had a rack of roll bars with gnarly metal grills across the front and back.

He parked beside Bluebell House and came inside with me, then took a seat in the tiny foyer.

I hurried upstairs. In my room, I switched into sturdier boots and traded my thick sweater for my coat with a fur-lined hood.

No fuss. Just a quick mirror check. Not a date—just sightseeing, no matter how many butterflies were banging around inside me.

As I came down the stairs, he was standing at the tall desk chatting with the woman who had checked me in.

His lips stopped moving when he saw me, then he gave me the once-over.

A smile and a nod said he approved. He took my hand, nodded a goodbye to my hostess, and led me out the door and back to the car, where once again he put me in on the left side.

“I don’t think I’ll be around long enough to get used to the wrong side of the car and the wrong side of the road.”

“Auch, ye’ll surprise yerself.”

We sat in a mutual nervous silence as we headed out of town. His finger constantly tapped against the far side of the steering wheel, and I alternated between chewing on my lip and sucking on my teeth. Eventually, I summoned enough courage to spit out the question I’d been dying to ask.

“How often have you…played tour guide…for your…customers?”

He frowned and glanced over at me, then back at the road. After a few seconds, I thought maybe he didn’t intend to answer, but then he smiled. “I see. Ye want to know how often I chat up my lady patrons?”

“I guess so.”

“Weel, I dunno. Let me think on it for a mite and I’ll try to give ye an accurate count.”

I bit my lips together, not knowing if he was joking or not. If this was a regular thing, I would have to consider him differently—as just another tour guide.

Finally, he nodded like he was finished counting, then he sent me a quick wink.

“If my memory serves me, I have chatted up, and/or offered my tour guide services to exactly zero customers thus far. No. I take that back. I now have lured the first into my car and whisked her away. I’d tell ye how it turned out, but I won’t know that until the evening is done. ”

Unfortunately, my relief was audible, and he laughed.

While my face was still burning hot, he continued. “I’d appreciate it if ye’d keep that in mind when we reach our destination. As I am new to the tour guide trade, I cannae promise to know much more than the average Scot, aye?”

“No pressure,” I said. “I’m not looking for a serious education, just a change of scenery and a glimpse of the world outside Colorado, you know?”

“Two adventurin’ hobbits, then. Change of scenery coming up.”

We drove out for about ten minutes before we took a turn down a ribbon of road that curled through random hedges and huge trees. The air smelled of damp green leaves and recent rain.

When we pulled into a designated parking lot, he spoke again. “I must ask, why Scotland? And why on yer own?”

I made myself answer honestly. “I lost my husband, Paul, over nine months ago. It still feels strange to say it, so I don’t, if I can help it.

We never traveled. He was a homebody. I just…

recently…realized I could travel all I want now.

This is the first time I’ve left the country, though I haven’t seen much of my country either. ”

His hands tightened on the wheel, and he kept his eyes on the hood of the car. “I’m sorry. That is no small matter.”

“If Paul had a motto, it would have been Let’s move on .

He wasn’t the type to linger over anything.

” I glanced out the side window, seeing Paul standing in the kitchen, leaned against a counter, telling me I was being silly.

“If ghosts are a real thing, he’d think haunting was a waste of time. He’d already be on to something else.”

Jacob’s voice dropped low. “Ye might be lucky in that. Mine stayed.”

I turned to face him, but he wasn’t ready to do the same.

His jaw jumped. “My wife, Ellie. Cancer took her fast. We were still young. It stole the breath out of a beautiful summer and didn’t give it back.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He gave the smallest nod. “We bought a Georgian house, half a mile east of the bar. Cut stone, long windows. Ellie loved those windows, loved the house. Still does. A friend of the family lives in the carriage house, keeps the place up in exchange for rent. I cannae bear to sell it, but rarely go inside. I have a flat above the pub. The crew there—they’re my family now. ”

“Wait. You think your wife is still there?”

“Aye. Not just in memory, but in the rooms. When I step inside, I hear her…sashaying in the hallway, turnin’ a corner. The air moves. I reckon she thinks I’m down at the pub and there’s no tellin’ when I’ll be back. Just like when she was alive.”

I kept quiet, not wanting to interrupt whatever memory he was reliving.

This was no time to debate the existence of ghosts or whether there was real magic in Scotland that made spirits want to stick around.

Though, judging by the beauty I’d seen already, that might be the answer. Who would want to leave this place?

“I’ve never said so to anyone, but I think it’s tellin’ that she haunts the house and not myself. The few times I went back, I dinnae believe she noticed me at all. I fear it was the house she loved.”

Privately, I thought he was probably wrong. He seemed pretty loveable to me.

My hand just sort of found its way over to his forearm. Even through the thick padding of his coat, I felt the wide hard bones beneath.

He glanced at my hand, then up at me. His eyes were wet, but he smiled and winked. “Speakin’ of the dead, here we are. Clava Cairns.”

“What are those?”

“The word cairn means a mound of stones, built as a memorial of some sort. These are believed to have been built for the dead—and for the sun.”

He hurried around the car to open my door, took my hand to help me out, then let go and walked beside me as we passed through the gate. Beneath massive trees was a field with so many stones it looked like a graveyard. Beyond it was a fence and a field with cattle on the other side.

There were a number of stone circles, like miniature Stonehenges. When we got closer, we could see lichen crawling across the rocks’ surfaces like pale but colorful maps. At the far end, mounds of rock rose like small hills, their surfaces rough, their age impossible to guess.

I asked him, “How old?”

“Four thousand years,” he said. “Before Rome thought about us. Long before Denver saw white people.” He pointed toward the far end. “At the winter solstice, the sun lines straight through the entrance of those two.”

We wandered separately for a long time, reading plaques and guessing why the rocks were arranged the way they were.

My brain needed time to stretch around the wild concept that people were doing more than just surviving in the year 2000 BC.

But I remembered that was about the same time they were building the pyramids.

Jacob joined me again and we walked a narrow path between two tall stones. Moss made the ground slick, and my boot slid. My hip struck stone and I over-corrected. Before I could catch myself, his long arm grabbed me around my waist and pulled me against him.

“I’ve got ye,” he whispered.

Chills rushed through me, head to toe, at the mere thought of a man wrapping his arms around me again. It didn’t matter if he was just trying to keep me from falling on my ass.

“Thank you. I was sure I was going down.”

“Quite welcome.” He made sure I was stable, then released me and took a step back. “All part of the Jacob MacKinney Tour Services.”

We kept walking until we reached the entrance to the biggest cairn. The stones formed a narrow passage leading into the higher center. I stepped inside, tempted to keep going, but I didn’t want to leave Jacob behind. He was obviously too large to go any deeper.

“People were buried here,” he explained. “Burned first. They found ash and bone, sometimes pots of food.”

“Did they worship the sun?”

He snorted. “Likely everyone this far north does. But no. I reckon they needed this place desperately.”

“Um. I don’t understand.”

He put out a hand and rested it on the stone wall behind me, effectively barring my escape.

“Weel, every year, at the winter solstice, the sun comes back. Exactly to the right place, on the right day. It’s proof, ye see, that some things can be counted on.

Sure as the sun will rise in the mornin’, aye?

I doubt much else could be guaranteed back then. ”

I couldn’t help smiling. I felt my long-forgotten dimples dimpling. “You’re a philosopher.”

“Comes with the job,” he said with a nod. “Pub owner. Barman.”

“And newly minted tour guide.”

“Aye.”

The way he growled the word sent sparks skittering over me, like someone was holding sparklers over my bare shoulders and each little spike of light kissed me lightly as it fell. I could imagine the smell of gunpowder and waited for the sound of fireworks.

Standing toe to toe with Jacob was literally like the Fourth of July.

I had to tilt my head back to look into his eyes. They were green now that we were outside and I could see them clearly. Thanks to the piercing light of the lowering sun, I had to squint a little, but I didn’t want to look away.

“Well, Mr. MacKinney, I think your first guided tour was a big success.”

“Thank ye, Ms. Harris. Sure, but ye’ll be certain to leave a review.”

I blinked a few times, thinking, remembering. “I don’t remember telling you my last name…”