Cathryn Parry - The Sweetest Hours

“Will he be okay?” Malcolm asked softly. Throughout the entire conversation, he kept his gaze on the tableau of the room. Bustling, energetic, they weren’t paying much attention to him—except for the mother. But at the moment, she was occupied with searching for napkins—giving him and Kristin a chance to talk safely.

“We hope so,” Kristin answered in a lower voice. “Stevie was reckless, going too fast, and he lost control when a car coming in the opposite direction crossed over to his side. We’re lucky he survived the accident.” But she brightened and talked faster. “Over there is Neil, my second oldest brother. He lives across town.”

“How many brothers do you have?” Malcolm asked, suddenly feeling nervous. So much for being aloof. The haggis hadn’t been presented, and already he was betraying himself.

“Four. The last, Grant, just joined the marines. He’s in boot camp. He’s hoping to come home and join the police force after his tour of duty.”

Brilliant. “Er, are you the youngest sibling?” God, Malcolm hoped not. That would bring out her brothers’ protective instincts.

“No,” she said, “I’m right in the middle. Two older than me and two younger.”

Malcolm nodded. He didn’t know why he was bothering to keep close track of everything. He would probably never see her again—he was counting on never seeing her again.

“Except for the marine, no one in your family tends to move very far from home, do they?” he observed.

“No, we do not.”

Before he could ask why, the sister-in-law—Stephanie—strutted into the room. She’d changed from her chef clothes and was wearing a blouse with green and navy blue plaid in it—Black Watch, he automatically thought. She still looked formidable, the military tartan appropriate on her.

Clearing her throat, she said, “Attention, everyone!” She tapped a water glass with her spoon. “Thank you for coming to the Hart family’s first annual Burns Dinner. This is a surprise orchestrated by—”

“Me!” the urchin to his right said, jumping in her chair. She squatted, her feet on the seat, and her kilt was in a most unladylike position. But, Malcolm had grown up with an urchin sister, and in his house, they hadn’t stood on formality much, either.

He must’ve been grinning at the little girl, because to his left, Kristin turned in her seat and gaped at him.

“He smiles!” she said. “Hallelujah!”

The urchin giggled, her chubby hand splayed over her freckled face.

“Kristin,” the girl’s mother ordered. “Help Lily sit properly in her chair. Lily, use your company manners.”

He couldn’t help it, he turned to little Lily himself. Didn’t say a word, just gave her his best comic glower.

Lily laughed harder. But she straightened her skirt and untangled her feet from beneath her, sitting solidly on her rump.

Meanwhile, the mother and father were arguing across the table. It was so much like his own family he was starting to believe there was something to the Scottish genes. Maybe he was homesick.

Stephanie clapped her hands, startling them all. “As I was saying, this is called a Burns Supper. Lily learned it from her aunt, who was teaching her about Scotland and her Scottish ancestry for Lily’s Brownie badge.”

“Oh, please,” Evelyn said. “Here we go.”

“Your mother was born in Scotland,” Stephanie said, directing the comment at her mother-in-law. “I think we should be proud of that.”

“Yes,” Evelyn said, “but I know where this is going.”

She shot a look at Kristin, who blushed furiously.

Malcolm wondered what was going on.

“My mother was not heiress to a castle in Scotland,” Evelyn said to Kristin. “Get that fantasy out of your head. I don’t want to hear a single word of it tonight.”

“She was, too!” the urchin—Lily—cried beside him. He winced from the shriek in his right eardrum. But at the same time, it took all his self-control to restrain himself from bursting out laughing. In general, he didn’t like to snuff out anyone’s enthusiasm—he hated the look of sadness it gave Kristin—but Evelyn was right.

There were thousands of castles in Scotland. Malcolm had often met people who, just because of a last name indicating a few drops of Scottish blood, somehow felt they were related to Scottish royalty. It was part of the romance of the Scottish diaspora, he supposed.

“A long time ago, Nanny got a letter from a man in Scotland, and, and, and...” Lily threw up her hands. With a straight face, the little girl said to Malcolm, “My great-nanny owned a castle. In Scotland. Really.”

“Is that so?” Malcolm murmured.

“It’s a family story,” Kristin explained, her face flushed. “Before I was born, my grandmother received word from Scotland, informing her that she was heiress to a castle.”

“Probably a scam,” her father—Rich—remarked.

“Certainly a scam,” Evelyn agreed. “They were looking for money.”

Kristin’s countenance fell.

Malcolm wished he could make her feel better. “Do you have the letter?” Malcolm asked gently.

“My mother-in-law tore it up,” Rich said. “She was a practical one.”

Kristin shook her head. “My family tends to be...skeptical,” she said to Malcolm.

Malcolm completely understood.

“Still,” Kristin said, glancing across the table at them. “The story remains.”

“It’s like those spam emails the Nigerian princes send, looking for bank account numbers,” her brother—PJ—remarked. He looked plaintively at his wife. “Honey, I thought I smelled hamburger in the kitchen. Aren’t we going to eat?”

Malcolm had news for him—that smell was haggis. Not one person present was going to be pleased once they tasted it. If this crowd heaped scorn and poked fun on a “castle heiress,” then the presentation of the haggis would really kick off a round of derision.

Kristin stared at her empty plate. There was a resigned sadness to her face. Malcolm suspected she had experience with the futility of arguing with skeptics. Why did she stick around in the same hometown she’d grown up in if she had to deal with this on a daily basis? She was an adult—why not move away like he had?

As far as her career was concerned, she’d told him she liked the products at Aura Botanicals and the variety of the work in a small company. He understood that. But why subject herself to such restriction when she obviously craved adventure? That was her true personality—he’d watched her in action all afternoon. He’d only known her this one day, and it was obvious to him.

He frowned. He shouldn’t long to cheer Kristin up or to look out for her. He shouldn’t be moved enough to care about anything she did.

Leaning back, he ran his tongue over his chipped tooth.

“I believe in the fairy castle,” a small voice whispered in his right ear.

He turned his head slightly. The urchin was standing in her chair again. She was staring at him as if she expected an answer.

“Do you now?” he murmured.

“Don’t you?” she whispered back.

But it was a loud whisper. He glanced at Kristin, who was gazing at him expectantly, as if she’d heard their entire conversation and was immensely interested in what he thought on the matter.

Malcolm didn’t believe in fantasies of castles and lost letters. But he did believe in Kristin. The woman was eminently capable. So he smiled in encouragement at her.

“I do,” he said.

She bit her lip and looked down at her hands in her lap. When she glanced up again, she was blushing.

“Mom, when are we going to play the music?” the urchin shouted to her mother in the kitchen.

Malcolm flinched again. Kristin covered her mouth, laughing. She was beautiful when she laughed. Bewitching.