A Highland Fling

A HIGHLAND FLING

By E. M. Kareno

Published by Emma Kareno at Smashwords

Copyright © 2012 Emma Kareno

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

CHAPTER 1

Now, really! What does a Scotsman wear under his kilt? Jo put her drink down on the table and turned to Duncan. She saw a smile slowly appear on the man’s lips.

Why don’t you find out? Duncan replied lifting the hem of his kilt suggestively, stretching out his long, powerful legs and spreading his knees further apart.

Whoa, steady on! Heather, sitting on the other side of Duncan, slapped her hand on his thigh pulling the kilt over his knees as other people around the table burst out laughing. Jo could but join in the laughter. She was feeling happy in this crowded, noisy pub next to the ragged cliffs of the famous castle rock. It had been the right decision to pack her bags and come to stay with her cousin Heather in Edinburgh. Jo would enjoy the buzz in the Scottish capital during the next two weeks of the late summer, when the whole city was turned upside down by the famous annual arts festival. At least, she hoped, it would help her to forget Miles. She would not give him a thought, nor would she allow herself to think about the awful scene that had made her suddenly decide to take up her cousin’s invitation and rush to King’s Cross to catch the north-bound train to Edinburgh.

It was only hours ago, that very same morning, when Jo had left London wishing to get as far away from Miles as possible. Sipping from her glass Jo recalled her journey. After pulling out of the station, the rhythm of the moving train made her initial rage give way to depression; she had hoped so much from that relationship, planned her life around it. By the time the train reached York, the town Jo had left just a few weeks earlier to join Miles down in London, she was plunged into a deepest gloom which only a broken heart can cause. She met Miles when she was preparing for the final exam for her PhD degree at the University of York. She could hardly wait to pass the exam so that she could follow him to London. Jo had a post-doctoral research project lined up in Genoa, which would start later in the year. But she had decided to tell the Italians that she would not take up the job after all. Jo was so excited and happy, willing to do anything just to stay with Miles. She even turned down her cousin’s invitation to go and celebrate her newly achieved degree in Edinburgh. All that suddenly came to an end the previous night, and Jo was only too relieved to be able to change her mind and accept Heather’s invitation. It would be better than to limp back home to her parents. And Miles would not think of looking for her up in Scotland, if he even would look for her. Maybe, Jo thought grimly, he would be only too pleased to be rid of her.

As she travelled on through the early August afternoon, Jo felt increasingly that she was travelling away from Miles and her old life. When the train crossed the deep gulf of the Tyne along one of the many heavy bridges into Newcastle, and the official-sounding English conductor was replaced by a relaxed and cheerful Scottish equivalent, Jo felt like she was journeying towards a truly different country. This feeling grew even stronger when she saw the dramatic scenery of the coastal cliffs north of the ancient border town of Berwick-upon-Tweed. Her spirits began to improve, and she began to think ahead of all the entertainment and excitement waiting for her in Edinburgh. There would be so much to see and to do; theatre, concerts, exhibitions, street fairs. And she would stay until the end of the festival to see and hear the magnificent fireworks concert in Princes Street Gardens. She would not let herself think beyond that. Heather would be good company, too. She had sounded so pleased, when Jo informed her that she was coming.

Before she had managed to retrieve her small suitcase from the overhead shelf after the train came to halt at Waverley Station, Jo could already see her cousin on the platform. Heather was wearing a flowing, blue cotton dress and white sandals, with her long, golden curls tied behind her neck with a blue clasp. She is so pretty, Jo thought, looking down at her own worn jeans and tennis shoes. That is the way you dress when you have a nice income and time for yourself, not when you have been worrying about passing exams and spending most of your time in a library, Jo concluded, watching Heather through the dirty window of the train carriage. That is also the way Jo had wanted to look, for Miles, but somehow she had not had the time to buy new clothes and change her style. Jeans and T-shirts in the summer, jeans and jumpers in the winter: that was the variety in her wardrobe. Some day, Jo had been telling herself for years, some day she too would manage to dress elegantly. For Heather it seemed to come naturally.

As soon as Heather spotted Jo alighting from the train, she ran across the platform to welcome her with whoops of delighted laughter. Despite her hunger and the remains of the depressed gloom she was carrying in her heart, Jo had to smile and return her cousin’s enthusiasm and embrace. Heather looked so charming and her bright eyes were shining with pleasure. She was an attractive mixture of a little girl and a grown-up woman with her doll-like round face, big, blue eyes and beautiful smile all crowning a well-formed, full figure. The contrast between the two cousins had been even starker when they were children: Heather had always been the golden-haired, plump princess, whereas Jo had been the long-legged filly with an almost black mane falling over equally dark, sharp eyes.

I’m so glad you changed your mind and came after all. We are going to have some serious fun. The festival is in full swing and there is so much going on … Heather greeted Jo throwing her arms around her and hugging her tightly. Jo had to drop her small suitcase to the ground in order to push aside Heather’s curls that were threatening to smother her. Suddenly, looking over Heather’s shoulder Jo’s eyes widened with surprise. A few meters behind Heather stood a man wearing a kilt, a T-shirt and Doc Martens boots. He was looking straight at them with a light smile, as if amused by the scene of the two happy women with their arms around each other. He had long red hair reaching down his back. His handsome face was defined with stark angles and a strong jaw, and his steady, grey eyes had laugh lines in their corners. The man looked as if he had stepped straight out of Braveheart or The Highlander: a tough, rugged warrior. Jo almost expected to see a broadsword sticking out behind his wide shoulders, but instead he was dangling car keys in his fingers. Jo tried to take in this impressive sight and disentangle herself from Heather’s embrace. Finally Heather stood back releasing her.

Let me introduce you, Heather said turning towards the Scotsman, Jo, this is Duncan … Duncan, this is my Sassenach cousin Jo. Duncan’s smile revealed warmth underneath his wild appearance as he came forward to shake Jo’s hand. She felt a slight flutter in her stomach. She returned his smile and met the enquiring gaze. She could not avoid a strange sense of disappointment when Heather slipped her arm through his in a happily proprietorial manner as she made the introduction.

What a welcome, Jo thought. Heather let go of Duncan’s arm and began to lead them towards the car park. While she was trying to listen to Heather describing all the delights of the festival and her plans to entertain her visitor, Jo was only too aware of Duncan following behind them carrying her suitcase. As a young teenager she had seen both Braveheart and Rob Roy, those popular films about Scottish history, and they had set her romantic imagination alight. But even then she had understood that such handsome heroes only existed in the world of fantasy. And yet here was her cousin evidently on intimate terms with one of them in real life. Then Jo had to smile: she imagined what Miles would look like in a kilt. The image popped into her head out of the blue. The mere thought of Miles, a composed, controlled economist arriving at his office wearing a tartan wrapped around his loins was just absurd. He would look ridiculous. Whereas Duncan, with his strong frame and fierce looks, appeared, Jo had to admit, quite formidable. There was nothing ridiculous about him.

The immediate plan is, Heather was saying, that we drop your things at home and then head out for drinks. We’re going to meet up with some friends at Grassmarket. Are you hungry, Jo? If so, we can stop to grab something on the way, or if you think that a cheese toastie will be enough, you can have that at the flat. Jo’s bag was thrown into the boot of Duncan’s battered old Ford, and they aimed its nose towards Marchmont where Heather had her flat. As they drove out of Waverley Station, Jo relaxed and took in the view. The towering castle rock, with the magnificent old castle standing on top of the sheer cliff face, rose in front of her. The car meandered up The Mound with the colourful, flowering gardens of Princes Street on their right, and crossed the Old Town High Street. Everywhere Jo looked streets were packed with people; tourists laden with cameras and shopping bags, groups of performers distributing leaflets advertising their shows, street musicians, jugglers and vendors selling funny hats, T-shirts and jewellery to passers-by. There was a distinct atmosphere of a carnival. Anything was possible.

Heather’s flat repeated the chaos of the streets. The front door opened to an entrance hall and from there further doors led to all the other rooms. Clothes and wine-glasses (all empty and used), books and magazines littered the living room and the kitchen. Duncan moved some of the debris aside to clear a space on the couch and immersed himself in an old copy of the Cosmopolitan. Heather took Jo to the study that would do duty as a guest room and got her settled. She had obviously gone through some effort to clear the room for Jo, or perhaps Heather just preferred to keep her work space free of the usual clutter of life that filled the rest of the flat.

Since I’m taking the next two weeks off from work, that’s as long as the festival lasts, you can have this room as your own. Heather explained. And even after that I can always work at the office, so you can really stay as long as you like.

What are you working on at the moment? Jo asked.

A manual for a new, statistical software package. Heather grinned. Riveting stuff, don’t you think? Heather worked for a translation agency and made a living from translating various manuals and technical documents. Although she had a desk at the agency’s office, she often preferred to work from home. There was a collection of Italian and German dictionaries on the shelves by the window. There was also a small desk and a chair in front of it next to the bookshelves. On the other side of the room there was a day-bed now made up with fresh linen for Jo. A small set of drawers and an old arm-chair again next to the window completed the furnishings. Jo lifted her suitcase on the bed but decided not to change her clothes or unpack. Heather appeared to be far too anxious to get going for Jo to do much more than draw a long breath. She was already in the kitchen lifting things out of the refrigerator and making some toast so that Jo could have a bite to eat before they headed back out. As soon as Jo had finished eating her cheese toastie, Heather tore the magazine from Duncan’s hands and pulled him onto his feet.

I was just in the middle of reading something very interesting! Duncan protested pointing at yet another article on ‘what do women really want from their men.’

Och, don’t you worry. I will make sure that it will all become crystal clear to you. Heather assured him shepherding both Duncan and Jo out the door. They would walk to the city centre and Duncan could pick up his car later. Jo could not help wondering whether this would mean that Duncan too would spend the night in Heather’s flat. It was a very small flat and, Jo had noticed, Heather’s sturdy, pine double-bed stood just on the other side of the wall from Jo’s guest bed.

Outside the sun was still shining above the castle. In The Meadows people playing football on the grass were mere flashing shadows in the golden light pouring from the sky filling every corner of the park. Excited voices and laughter were carried in the evening air as Jo, Heather and Duncan crossed the green on their way towards the square of Grassmarket. On their right rose the majestic promontory of Arthur’s Seat, the ancient volcano that once served as the hunting ground of Scottish kings. Its crags and cliffs reflected the low-lying sun and gleamed yellow. In the Old Town day-time shoppers were making room for people in search of evening’s entertainment. Buses arrived to let out visitors on their way to the military tattoo that takes place in front of the castle every night during the festival. In Grassmarket the pubs and restaurants were filling with groups of laughing and chatting people. The holiday atmosphere created by the warm, sunny evening and the excitement of the arts festival was strengthening its hold on Jo. She could hardly believe that this very morning she had been in London cursing Miles, storming out of his flat. And now she was here; surrounded by Heather and her smiling friends, sipping dark, Irish beer and listening to their soft, burring Scottish speech.

CHAPTER 2

It was Robbie, also wearing a kilt, who had first started teasing the English guest about the age-old myth of the ‘proper’ way to wear the garment. With the skean dhu in the sock and the sporran dangling from the waist, Jo wondered if the Scottish national festive outfit required a similar local specialty to be worn under the tartan wrapping. Hence the question: What does a Scotsman wear under his kilt? that had inspired Duncan’s generous offer and Heather’s quick defensive gesture.

Maybe you should take that as you next research project now that you’ve finished your degree. Robbie suggested. I’m sure you will find a lot of material to work with during the festival. You can do a wide-ranging field study on the topic. The tone of his voice told Jo clearly what she might expect to find (or not find) under a Scotsman’s kilt. She did not blush easily and accepted the challenge Robbie’s words implied.

And what sort of a methodology would you recommend for this study? She asked. Should I choose a theoretical approach, or an empirical one, or perhaps a straight forward hands-on approach? Another burst of laughter rang around the table.

I would think, Robbie pretended to be serious, that a direct hands-on approach will in this case yield the best results. He took a thoughtful sip from his glass nodding his head sagely.

Robbie, together with Morag and Lisa, had joined Jo, Heather and Duncan when they were half way through their first drinks. Heather introduced Robbie as her friend, and Robbie introduced Morag and Lisa. Robbie had his arms so firmly around both young women’s waists that it was impossible for Jo to decide exactly what his relationship with them was. He appeared to have a smile permanently on his face, his friendly, brown eyes sparkling with energy and good humour. Whereas Jo found Duncan quite intimidating, Robbie made her feel comfortably at ease. He was turning out to be a harmless sparring partner, someone to argue and joke with without fear of offending or being offended.

Is Jerry coming tonight? Duncan asked Robbie when the laughter had subsided.

He should be. Robbie answered. Then again, he might not, it depends … You never know about my brother. He takes work so seriously. He added as an explanation to Jo. I may be left to entertain both ladies. Robbie glanced at Lisa and Morag sitting on either side of him.

Wishful thinking, Heather murmured.

Jo stood up and offered to get in another round of drinks. A pint for Duncan, a wine and soda for Heather, and Jo would get herself another half pint. The other three people still had their glasses more or less full. Jo pushed her way through the crowd between male shoulders and bare female arms, passing faces flushed with drink and the warmth. All around her there were open mouths, talking and laughing; waves of noise swept over her as she precariously negotiated her way across the floor to the bar.

Oy, watch it! Keep your elbows to yourself! In her frustrated attempts to penetrate the solid wall of backs and necks at the bar, Jo resorted to the harsh tactic of burying her elbow in the nearest ribcage. The man in front of her turned around quickly, his full pint glass dangerously close to Jo’s ear.

Just let me through, please. Jo demanded attempting to use a cool and authoritative tone. The man looked at her with a mixture of surprise and slight annoyance, as if calculating whether he should move aside or taunt her with further obstruction. He decided to move and made room for Jo at the bar. Jo raised her arm waving a bank note in her hand to attract the attention of the young woman behind the counter. The man standing next to her appeared thoughtful, sizing her up with his eyes.

You look familiar. Have we met before? He asked letting his gaze travel in measured steps all over her.

Irritated by the bar personnel’s persistent ignoring of her Jo let out a sigh indicating weariness with all the tiresome men approaching women in bars around the world. Is that the best chat-up line you can think of?

Well, the man did not appear perturbed, "it’s a well-established, classic line, and it had crossed my mind to chat you up. But I’ve already decided to abandon the classic approach and figured that you are far too cynical to receive such a line