Connor looked her over. He had noticed as she slept upstairs that her clothes were more than unusual. Trousers! Unusual wear indeed for a lady. The tight pants accentuated her long legs and the short little jacket accented her tiny waist. The blouse beneath was surprisingly sheer. It was also abundantly clear she wore little beneath it. “Your shirt seems to be a bit on the thin side,” he offered at length still staring at her chest.
“Ye can see her legs,” Ian commented.
Emmy glanced down at her jeans. “You can’t see my legs. I’m covered to the ankle!”
“Can see yer shape,” he clarified as his eyes skimmed down her figure with appreciation drawing an unpleasant cluck from Dorcas.
Men have no appreciation for fashion, Emmy thought and asked directly of Dory. “Don’t you like it?” Surely, from a female view, her look was good. It might be a bit trendy for conservative Britain, but she wasn’t visiting the queen here.
That lady only pursed her lips in disapproval and commented changing the topic, “Maybe it would help us if we understood who you think you are.”
Emmy’s mind went blank and she stared at the dumbly for a moment before the light bulb went off. Oh! I know. “If you would simply check the visitor’s list, my name is Emily Rose MacKenzie.” The looks around here still looked skeptical, so she added, “Surely you have records of the guests you are expecting here? I am the American who was crazy enough to come over in the fall rather than the summer? On the last day the castle is open to tourists? I was told the laird and his family usually lived in Edinburgh for the summer and that’s why the house was open to visitors from May until October. I didn’t know the owners would be here…” she stopped suddenly aware that she was rambling while frowning confusion deepened on their faces.
“So you came back now because ye weren’t expecting any of us to be here then?” Connor misinterpreted.
“No I already told you I have never been here before!” she insisted. “I am a tourist…just visiting on vacation.”
“Vacation?” the three repeated blankly.
“Yes, vacation!” Emmy responded searching her mind. That’s right, the Brits called it, “Holiday! I am here in the UK on holiday. For ten days.”
“You returned here for a holiday?” Ian asked bewildered. “Why would you do that?”
Emmy screeched behind her teeth in frustration. “Not returned! Listen! I’m just a tourist! I am staying in Oban across the sound, I have a room there. I just got in yesterday and came straight here on the ferry today because you close tomorrow for the winter!
“I am an American! I live outside Baltimore. I’m originally from Richmond, Virginia.” The brows grew even more puckered. “I did my undergraduate at UVA and attended John Hopkins. I graduated at the top of my class, I did my residency at Hopkins…I’m a doctor, dammit! I know who I am. Why don’t you check my passport if you’re unsure?”
“Passport?” The word echoed around the room from three mouths, as if it were foreign to them.
“It’s in my large tote.”
Again, three mouths silently formed the word.
“The brown leather bag.” She spoke slowly with bemusement at their confusion. Undeniably, something was being lost in the translation.
“I’ll have one of the servants fetch it for you.” Ian offered.
Chapter 3
A serious headache throbbed at Emmy’s temples as they waited in silence. Burying her face in her hands, she massaged them discreetly with her thumbs. This was all so unreal. Here were these strange people dressed ultra-conservatively, having no sense of fashion, questioning hers and insisting that she was someone they knew. The woman who looked just like her was wearing a long skirt and a blouse that buttoned up tightly to her chin. She looked horribly uncomfortable as she alternated between staring at Emmy as if she had seen a ghost and looking at her with suspicion.
Her head hurt, her eyes burned and she wanted nothing so much as to take a handful of Excedrin and sleep until this was all over.
And that man…unable to help herself she peeked up between her fingers at him. Oh, that man. The laird. He made her heart pound faster just looking at him. He had changed from the kilt into a pair of tight charcoal pants and white shirt. The shirt had been left open at the neck and had only a short collar on it. Odd style. European probably. His hair wasn’t actually black at all but rather a dark rich brown nearly mahogany with lighter variable streaks that could only be natural. He was well over six foot and she guessed about 255-260 full of muscle thick and heavy. Built like a right tackle football player she had known in college, but those weren’t the kind of muscles built in a gym but rather through heavy work. He was rugged and beautiful. And angry. She couldn’t help but wonder what he would look like if he were to smile.
He was staring at her as if he were trying to see right through her. As if he could see into her mind. If he were insane, it would be the greatest loss to womanhood she could imagine. He was otherwise the most compelling man she’d ever met.
“What did you say to me out front?” Emmy asked curiously.
Connor looked blankly back at her for a moment then shook his head remembering. “It was Gaelic. It meant welcome home.” Actually, he had said ‘welcome home, wife,’ but did not feel the need to clarify given the insanity of her refusal to admit her identity. God in Heaven, he did not remember her being so lovely even with Dory here as a daily reminder. It was bewildering and had a negative effect
