Fate's Twisted Circle Vol. 2

By C.A. McJack

Her life further turned upside down by unwittingly becoming hand-fasted to Gregory
McGregor one night, Abbey now faces the idea of marriage to a man she just met
less than 6 months ago. As she continues to rebuild her life and a new home in the
Highlands of Scotland, Abbey soon must face her past fears and losses once again.
Just when life in Ullapool seems to settle into simple and endless repetition of day to
day life in the country, Abbey soon learns about the truth of her past with Gregory,
only to nearly lose him not just once, but three times. Each time a different test, a
different set of rules in which she must choose wisely, hoping not to repeat past
mistakes, securing life’s knots tighter or unraveling fate’s threads forever in her attempt
to set herself free from the past that haunts her to the unknown future that
intimidates her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483634012

C.A. McJack

C.A. McJack was born and raised in San Juan, Puerto Rico and in Central Florida and the west coast of Florida since the mid-1970s. In 1998, after their service time in the U.S. Army, she and her husband have been residing in Wichita, Kansas. She holds a Bachelor’s in Fine Arts from the University of South Florida and an Associates in Aviation Applied Science from Broomfield, Colorado.  She joined the US Army shortly after graduating from the University of South Florida, working as a flight line avionics technician with temporary assignments working as a photojournalist for the Fort Hood Sentinel Newspaper.  She continued working in the civilian sector as a Flight Line Avionics technician for over 15 years for Cessna Aviation.  Fate’s Twisted Circle was her first novel published a few years later after the “great layoffs of 2008.” During that time, her second passion for remodeling homes has kept growing as she worked alongside her husband as a real estate investor and remodeler. Currently, it is her primary job that she loves doing. In turn, her passion led to her to write her second book called, The Other Side of the Flip. This book explains what to expect as a house-flipper and a landlord in the city of Wichita, Kansas. However the advice is still applicable in other parts of the nation for novices to intermediate real estate investors. She presents not just the good but the bad that comes with working in this profession. Seward Bound, her most recent fictional novel, focuses in on the adventures of a young female war veteran who decides to take a chance on making a living and a home on the edge of the Alaskan wilderness. She not only learns more aviation skills but ends up finding love and a new family. For more information on her latest  stories, or leave a message or comment go to www.facebook.com/camcjack

Book preview

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE STRAIGHT AND NARROW ROUTE

T HAT AFTERNOON, THEY WERE SITTING IN THE LARGE PASTURE in which the expanse spread out before them, dropping slowly down to Loch Broom below. It was fenced off with a low rise of stacked stones that one would always see in travel books of Scotland. The field was vivid green with the new growth of spring grass. Their spot was located near the top of the hill, where they rested against a large tree trunk. The massive tree had grown for years between the large stone outcroppings, the stones being too large to move by the local inhabitants.

The sheep dotted the field like reflections of the puffy clouds that filled the rare perfect deep blue sky. They had some shade against the early-afternoon sun, and Greg had explained that he just moved with the shadows as the day progressed. It was his way of keeping an eye out on the flock and getting caught up on things such as reading, listening to music, and of all things, knitting.

Knitting? she asked, fingering the large woven basket that separated them. The basket was given to them on the way out to the fields by his mother, as she wished him well, her happiness alight on her face at the idea of him taking Abbey with him and showing her around the family homestead.

The basket contained a blanket, some food and drinks, along with a few magazines and some yarn and needles.

Gregory explained that his knitting was to help his mother since her arthritic hands were beginning to have trouble holding the needles. Muriel’s knitted woolen goods supplemented their living by fulfilling orders for the townsfolk.

He had led her to the spot that appeared to be very special for the whole family. It was here that he spread out their picnic blanket for them to lie on as they watched over the flock.

Greg sat with his legs casually bent in front of him. His arms were around his trouser-clad knees, his fingers absentmindedly stroking a blade of grass that he had plucked from the field beside the blanket.

Abbey had stretched out on her side, facing him, her arm bent, with her head propped on her upturned hand, as she half thought to herself and listened to Greg.

It hadn’t even been six months since arriving in Ullapool and meeting Gregory; and almost a year since Fredrick’s death in Iraq that she now found herself hand-fasted to Greg! She barely knew the man! Well,—she knew about him but not on a more soul related level in her book. She felt she knew more about his family than she of him.

This was marriage! This was serious! She wasn’t ready for this part in her life at the moment. She was still trying to find her way in life after having her world turned upside down. The last thing she needed was a prince charming coming to her rescue. Greg may have been ready, but she doubted it. There was something about him that nudged at the corner of her mind and she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was there, the wheel spinning away on its center point, and she was unable to slow it down or stop the wheel to see what it really had to reveal. Ignoring things until it went away never worked for her in the past nor would it ever in the future.

The future. What would a future be like with Greg? Or for the rest of her life after him? She didn’t think she could handle that again. Each time she experienced a loved ones’ death, she became more tramatized. She couldn’t even begin to see a lifestyle of them together as husband and wife. Marriage consisted of openness and really knowing who your partner and best friend was for life. It took time to know, to really know someone before one should commit to another. She felt like she barely knew the man. She only just had a new home built. She was in the middle of trying out new ideas that may or may not work in the end. She had no idea where she was heading. Even if she was going in a particular direction. She watched a bee lazily buzz around aimlessly. Its flight path constantly flying over and over again in various lazy eights and undiscernable patterns, with no certain or one direction over the grass just nearby. She found herself comparing her life to that bee. She sighed inwardly.

She needed marriage like she needed a hole in her head. Though in her current physical state from last night’s drinking and inadvertently being drugged, her head felt like she needed a hole in her head just to relieve some of the dull headache pressure that persisted after their breakfast earlier this morning. Life was moving too fast through her fingers, like sand sifting through the cup of her hand, as she tried in vain to stem the flow of life around her as she kept working to put her life back together. There were too many holes to fill in before she would even allow the idea to be pursued as she sat there listening to Greg. Greg had told her in addition to teaching her things about the park and their sheep, countless stories for the past three hours of things he and his brothers had done in their younger days. Along with his early desire to travel the world—only that it wasn’t like he thought it would be when the only way they could do it was by joining the service.

He even talked about his first relationship with Lydia and the love triangle that ensued shortly afterward, when he had discovered Lydia with his brother one day and that they had been dating unbeknownst to him. And that it nearly caused the family to split apart the way Ivan and him fought for more than a year after that fateful day.

Abbey reached a hand out to his arm, hearing the past pain in his voice. He wasn’t looking at her but out to the loch below, remembering. His profile was stern yet with a hint of a smile from how the past’s first love felt and then hurt. The wind picked up the layers of his wavy dark reddish-brown hair, and she took in his magnificent features.

How could any woman want to leave him? His physical perfection alone was enough to make most women entranced. Abbey wondered if she could eventually give up her control to him, entrusting him with her life. It would be so easy to do on a bad day, she thought, especially on days that she felt alone and the world around her was out of control.

But what about the good—no, great—days? They would be constantly at each other’s throat, she felt, given the way he liked to take over. It was his nature to be in control, too. She no longer wanted to tag along and go with the flow. She didn’t want to be bobbing in his wake as he plowed through life. With her first husband dead, she felt like she was left adrift when his life’s rope snapped.

She wanted her own course. If she picked up someone along the way and he didn’t rock the boat, then fine, she would marry him.

Aye, not to worry, lass. He patted her hand. I am long over it now.

Abbey pulled her hand away from his at his last remark.

He continued, What about you? You hardly ever talk about your past loves.

Abbey shrugged her shoulders at him.

Was Fredrick that bad of a husband? What about other men? he asked, his look straightforward.

Other men? she questioned him. Wasn’t much of a socialite when I was younger. I kept mostly to myself. Too busy with just trying to make my way in life. She now picked at the blanket before her, on which they rested. The large wooden basket became a helpful barrier to guard herself from him as she pondered her own past.

Didn’t really date much. Those I did date just ended up with me being left for another or I wasn’t good enough for them. As for Fredrick, no. He wasn’t horrible. He was wonderful. Truly a lighthearted soul. Always joking around. Very good with people, unlike myself. At this Greg raised an eyebrow.

I mean, I can get along fine with folks. Just don’t have the finesse or the patience to deal with people all day long. He was a natural leader. I’m not so much. It’s too much work and doesn’t come naturally. I have no problem with long periods of solitude. Gives me time to think—to do things that I like to do.

And just what would that be if it isn’t working on a house? There was a hint of mirth within his eyes as he took her in.

Reading, painting, and if there is a lot of time, stitching.

Those are quite the domesticated hobbies you have there, lass. I thought you weren’t the domesticated type?

She gave him a charred look, correcting him. In terms of keeping house!

Easy there, lass.

I’m still not marrying you, Greg. I’m not ready for it. Nor do I think you are ready for it either.

There’s plenty of time, all in due course. And we’ll, emphasizing we’ll, work on it.

You make it sound so simple and so unemotional, Greg. Haven’t you forgotten the most important thing? What about love? The… the romance and the passion? She looked back down at her hands.

Not to speak ill of the dead. But one of Fredrick’s weaknesses in our relationship was his lack of passion and romance. Looking back up at him with a level gaze, she said, I knew he loved me, loved me greatly, and I would rather take a sensible, responsible, and hardworking man any day than one who is irresponsible and whisks me off my feet. But I want romance in my next marriage,—should I want marriage, and when I feel I am ready for that step.

She turned to her back side, elbows bent to hold her upper body upright so that she could look out over the field and to the loch below. The next man I marry will definitely have passion, and he should know how to stir the depths of my soul. I want it now more than ever, and I am afraid that as pragmatic as you are—she looked over to him to find him watching her—I sincerely believe it is not in your nature to be a romantic, much less over the long years of marriage.

He leaned toward her; she refused to be cowed by him, holding her position. I rather thought last night was very romantic, even quite impassioned. In fact, the dancing… His eyes razed her form as he came closer now that he was practically over her, the basket pushed aside. —And the unusual way of making love in public in a back alley…

Abbey stopped breathing, waiting on that kiss of his, as he tried his best to woo her. Like a predator with his captured prey, he grinned to himself, delighted at the thought of his next move. I think I did a rather good job of sweeping you off yer feet. For yer feet and legs were wrapped around me hips in the pleasure of me taking ya.

Abbey turned on him like a wildcat when his lewdness dawned on her. Bastard!

He pounced on her, laughing at her and then capturing her mouth with his, kissing her until she calmed. He stopped long enough to look at her flushed face.

I can think of other exotic places where we can enjoy each other. Yet I would not call those the norm either. She struggled in his embrace though it was in vain, being pinned by his body. He reached over to something past her head, to something she could not see. She just watched his muscular arm pick something and then bring that something down to her face, a wildflower. He gently brushed her face with the petite and lovely bloom.

He continued, If it’s candy, roses, and other material things ye be wanting, then no, I am not yer man. But if it is true passionate love ye seek, ye have it. Ye already have my heart for ye’ve marked me and stolen it since I laid my eyes upon ya. He smiled at her, knowing the depth of that truth and really how far back he had fallen for her. The earth responded to his endearment with her light breeze sighing in his hair, the sun pulling out the reddish highlights in his strands.

I have already decided that I love ye enough to remain at yer side forever. I’ll let tomorrow decide whether we marry or not. He didn’t kiss her again. Instead, he got off her, gathered her lightly to sit up and turn around, and told her to look at the tree that they sat nearby.

Abbey, you see that tree? You want to know why it is so gnarled in its grand limbs? This tree is special to our family. I want you to place yer fears and worries on one of its limbs. Go on, physically place yer concerns on it. Those limbs are that way because of all the worries we MacGregors have placed on its limbs in the past for generations.

The gnarled branches grew in all directions, and a smug thought of mischief came to her. You MacGregor men do a lot of worrying, she commented lightly.

She felt his smile against the side of her face where he had leaned into her as he continued on with the family story.

His father, a military veteran, too, had called the spot his worry spot, where he hung all his troubles on the old tree so that he could enjoy life without dumping his troubles upon his family and friends. The idyllic scene was spread before them, putting things into better perspective.

So for now, lass, let’s hang up our worries about tomorrow.

Neither of them wanted to ruin the day with more haggling after the family’s brunch. Much needed to be discussed about them, but her dissent only haggled Gregory further this morning.

To add to it, she was still fighting off the nausea of last night’s drugged drinking, her body weak and still tired. The outing for the day, in Abbey’s mind, was much needed in that it got her far away from people and closer to her current situation with Greg.

She was pleasantly surprised at Greg opening up to her and telling her more about himself, though he still never talked about the last few years in detail of Ivan. If she didn’t know any better, she thought he seemed to be hiding something.

The breeze coming off the loch washed her mind clean of those errant thoughts, placing them on the gnarled limbs of the giant tree behind her. Each thought easing with the fresh air and the grand view below them, she lay back against the rock into a more contented position of idleness.

Abbey dozed off. The late night coupled with the large breakfast from this morning did not help in keeping her awake for much longer. In the end, the serenity won out, and she was awakened hours later by Greg peering over her, asking if she was OK.

Stupefied, she sat up with a jerk. Yes,—I think so. I guess—I am just tired, I’m sorry I fell asleep on you. Her brows furrowed. Why do you ask?

You seem to be having another bad dream. You were mostly moaning though. It wasn’t another one from the war, was it?

Abbey couldn’t remember what it was honestly. No, nothing like that.

His burr thickened again with tenderness in his question. Have ye ever thought about talking to someone about these dreams? It might help. Greg reached out, touching her. He stroked her soft hair back from her face as she sat up leaning forward, her profile to him.

Who would want to listen to a bunch of old war stories? Especially from a woman, Greg.

"I would, and why do ye put it like that—especially from a woman?" Gregory asked with his brow furrowed. He attended to her like a servant, dusting her back from the errant grass on the blanket where she had lay back on while asleep.

To most folks, it would sound like I couldn’t handle the hard core stuff that most men experience when they go off to war. It would make me look weak for one reason.

Abbey, I really donna think sae… But at the same time, I have seen how the Yanks treat the females. I did note that many of the female soldiers were more apt to be found in clerical or in field hospitals. Yer the first I have ever known to be placed in a combat sector, though I am told there are several female combat pilots now.

Greg had stopped to cup her chin and turn her face to him. And no, I wouldn’t think ye weak for divulging yer fears and bad memories. We all have them whether men will admit them or not.

And you? Have you ever told anyone the things you have experienced and seen during your tour of duty? Especially about your brother’s death? Does anyone know how he died? She looked imploringly into his deep blue eyes. When he didn’t respond right away and she saw how he hid his emotions behind his eyes, his face devoid of expression, she responded, I didn’t think so.

Abbey got up, brushed herself off, and then turned to look down at him, sitting. You can’t even tell me much less your family. I believe they really don’t know how he died—

A suicide bomber and an errant bullet through his shoulder, Greg stated simply yet weighted with some anger.

She stopped and studied him a moment. When and where?

Does it really matter? He looked up at her with such ferociousness. Abbey caught her breath at the sight of him. She had touched an emotional sore spot again, and he had become the wounded animal ready to fight.

Abbey gathered her courage and mentally readied herself for the next argument. Yes,—does your family know? she breathlessly asked, breaking his gaze on her.

Yes, they know he died by a bomb and by friendly fire in Iraq! God, he made her feel guilty for asking such personal questions. But if he couldn’t tell her things on such a personal note, then she, much less he, would never be ready to share in a relationship, much less a marriage.

She turned away from him as if physically shielding herself from his anger.

Greg got up from the spot where he had been sitting next to her and turned his back on her momentarily, as if trying to get a grip on his anger. His one hand in the pocket of his pants. He aimlessly fumbled for the crushed bullet, a memento of his war wound.

She turned at his sudden urge to stand and place some distance from her. Abbey talked to his backside.

Gregory, I don’t see why you seek a relationship, much less a marriage, if you can’t even confide in those who do love you the most, that being your family. His head turned but not to look at her—he heard her.

What I do know about marriage is that you are supposed to marry your best friend, not just a lover. You are supposed to trust them to—

Do ye not trust me? he asked rather gruffly.

I do, but that’s not all, she said, trying to keep herself from yelping at the pain that she began to feel from the savagery of his anger-laced question.

Then what else is it that ye require? He turned, taking a step toward her, bending down and grabbing a hold of her face, and forcing her to look at him. Abbey had stood her ground, refusing to run from him, remaining quiet.

Is it not enough that I have seen to it that you are protected, have work, have helped ye on yer home, let ya do what ya wish, have given ye the freedom that ya seek to pursue yer heart’s desire, accepted who and what you are, made love to you, and love you as if you were the most prized possession any man could ever have? Abbey closed her eyes.

He shook her. Abbey, open yer eyes. Tell me that it is not enough. What else do ye need for you to believe that I want ye?

Abbey’s hands came up to where his hands firmly held the sides of her face. "Your ability to confide in me and not shut me out. To have you ‘trust’ me."

Ye have it already, Abbey.

Do I really? she asked, searching his eyes for the truth. Gregory had stood still as if he had just been slapped. When he didn’t respond, she said, I didn’t think so. You are not ready for marriage any more than I am.

Och, ’tis not what ye think, lass. I do confide in ya. But ye will have some secrets and so will I that will always remain until we are ready to tell each other. Of that I am sure. He pulled her in closer, almost whispering the last words against her lips.

No, he wasn’t getting out of this. Daring him further, she asked, And when I do ask? Much less get an answer?

His grip on her jaw tightened, forcing her lips to part for him. He wasn’t going to lie to her, but he did his best to placate her with his answer.

Abbey, just respect my right to have and keep my secrets as I do any of yours.

But I don’t have—

As soon as I am ready to share them. There is nothing you have to worry about when it comes to affecting our joining. Just enjoy today, the past is past, and we will deal with tomorrow when it comes, his dark blue eyes pleading with her to accept it for now.

She nodded reluctantly.

He smothered her with an encompassing possessive kiss, making her knees go weak from the sheer intensity of his passion.

THE REST OF THE DAY WATCHING OVER THE GRAZING SHEEP was spent in the line of woods at the edge of the field, where Gregory led her to shelter them from the strong sun and to finish his kiss and his promise to love her under the impromptu natural cover.

He continued his assault on her body with his lovemaking, stroking her to exquisite levels of pleasure that even she had not experienced in a very long time.

Gregory’s touch was firm and assured as he stroked her curves and rubbed her flanks like a sculptor finishing his statue. His hands were strong and gentle as he continued to awaken her body from its long period of denial from human touch, her skin on fire where his hands had just left the spot.

He undressed her and pinned her up against a tree, capturing her hands to keep her from teasing him. He was more than ready again when he got her to release her desire on his hands.

It was his intense and heated look that made her come alive. The way he felt next to her when their bodies came in contact with each other. His desire to possess her, making sure she would never forget him or want any other man. His fervor to make her happy, feel comforted, and most of all treasured. It showed in the way he took his time with her, both melting into each other. He was an open soul, baring it raw to her, entrusting her not to hurt him when she encountered his most sensitive parts.

Abbey, he whispered in her ear as he ran his fingers through her golden tresses, exposing more of her flesh for him to caress with his lips and frequent love nips. Let me love you, let me show you how happy I can make you. I promise… Abbey wasn’t one for much talk. His fingers trailed blazing hot over her skin and down to her essence.

She squirmed under him, nudging him, raising her hips against his hard member, Aye, love, we’ll get there… Patience, love. She felt his smile against her neckline. She suckled lightly at the base of his throat, eager for more. He inhaled at her hungry desire as she continued to kiss his neck and chest with just her mouth.

His hand released her hand so that he could cup her breast, stroking her nipple with one of his thumbs, teasing it erect. Abbey’s free hand grabbed his smooth muscular bottom and dug in her nails from being on the edge for too long. He captured her mouth with his, both sighing into each other. He lifted her, without spearing her, and she whimpered her wordless frustration at him.

He kneeled on the ground and gently lowered her on top of the clothes they had discarded earlier. He separated from her, watching her loveliness, as he untangled her legs from his hips and made her spread her legs for him with one of his thighs. Gregory sat there in awe of her, drinking in the sight of her as she lay there on display for him. He smiled as she whimpered a no and began to shift away from him, shielding her body from his gaze. He stilled her with his hands firmly on her thighs.

Aye, lass, I want this to last all day. No more taking ye as if I was a rutting bull. No more arguments, no more ale-induced or coerced lovemaking. Ye deserve more than that. I want to make love to ye as a loving man. His lone finger was making wet trails over her tummy, from her earlier sweet release, with him periodically dipping a finger into her. Aye, ye’ve a fine sweet body, Gregory murmured huskily as he studied her.

Abbey felt herself blush from head to toe, tensing from the small exhilarations his lazy finger left as he traced his initials onto her belly just below her perky round breasts, to just above her sex.

But maybe I like it when you take me like that, she said coyly to him, her eyes half closed with desire. He ended with dipping his finger into her while his thumb rubbed her clit gently.

Abbey shot up from the ground, arching her back and pressing herself into him where he leaned over her. In a breathless whisper, she said, Give me… She bit her lower lip with impatience. She grabbed a hold of him. Her other hand wrapped around the back of his neck as she positioned herself onto him, lowering herself on him. He closed his eyes in obvious delight as she gently squeezed him with her internal muscles, suckling him. Taking in the sensations, they began to move as one.

Like the Colossus of Rhodes, he fell forward with her still clinging to him, easing himself gently on top of her, smothering her with his entirety. She liked the new giddy power she had over him. She met him, stroke for stroke, the rhythm increasing until he groaned his release, emptying himself into her. Abbey felt the muscles along his back side go from rock-hard rigidity to reflexively spasmodic to a spent mass of a weighty beast as he stilled. Only his heart pounding furiously between them, letting her know he was still alive in her arms.

Several sessions later, by the time the day ended, Greg and she ‘would have made his father proud,’ he told her. She ended up bursting into a fit of laughter over the bawdy thought as they reluctantly dressed.

Greg stopped in midstride, pulling the shirt over his chest, as she giggled to herself wondering if she had gone mad. She told him what made her laugh, and he chortled along with her next remark. Should I tell him how many times today?

Oh, I think he’ll know already that I got a leg over a time or more with ye today. Da knows that no one comes to the field unless necessary. Part of the reason he asked me to watch the flock and drive them back to their pens. Abbey lifted a brow at him now that the real underlying reason was revealed, and he smirked at her obvious surprise at the MacGregor men.

Dressed, he pulled her to him again planting a kiss on her forehead and giving her rump a squeeze before they set out to gather the sheep. It would definitely be a learning experience for Abbey to watch how to herd and corral the sheep.

THE NEXT DAY AT HER NEW TEMPORARY HOME WITH THE MACGREGORS, they went to church and then spent the rest of the day catching up on household chores and getting to know more about his family.

The following Monday, Abbey was moved out of the inn completely to accommodate more summertime guests. Abbey thought Maeve was rushing the getting acquainted part with Greg and his parents, and thus, she told her so.

Maeve laughed at her. Well, think of it this way, sis—oh, I like that—sister! Mum and Da need the extra help.

But what about my job at the inn? she asked a bit concerned.

You’re still working here, I am just going to give you a bit more time off to settle and adjust to your new home. I don’t expect you in until this Friday.

Abbey’s mouth dropped at the concept of a whole week off. But, Maeve! exclaimed Abbey. All she could think of was how she was to live without pay for a week. Maeve was oblivious to her concern.

Oh, you can thank me later, sweeth’art! Maeve clasped her hands in apparent glee, thinking that she and Alex had succeeded in her match-making abilities. Maeve, like a teenage girl, twirled in her excitement. Her form still lithe though filled out from the two children she birthed.

You know we are not married yet, Maeve. Abbey rolled her eyes at her. A lot can happen in one year—

—And a day. Yes, I know, but I have never seen two people such as you two who were just made for each other! Greg is so different now! It’s almost like old times.

Maeve! You make him sound like he was a horrible troll before I came along.

She stopped in her happy dance, the dress she wore ceasing in twisted folds around her legs at the abrupt halt. Even her straight thick chestnut hair she wore down often, spun over her shoulder, halting just short of her face in similar folds.

Yes… Maeve placed a finger on her pursed lips as if remembering. Yes… he was a lot like that, she said as she darkly chortled at Abbey’s description of her older brother.

Abbey shook her head at Maeve in mock disappointment. Abbey changed the subject.

All right, what do I need to do to help out your parents?

Maeve proceeded to tell her what to expect while living there and all the things she could do to earn her keep as part of the family. Abbey had a variety of choices on what she could do. In the end, Maeve told her to relax and get acquainted with her parents and things would eventually fall into place soon enough.

Then it was lunchtime at Evelyn’s. Maeve had insisted on a break for them both, telling her that Alex could finish up without them. Alex looked disappointed at being left behind, but Maeve told him that as soon as he was done getting Abbey’s things to their parents’ home, he could come along. To Abbey, he said, Thank God you pack lightly. It shouldn’t take long.

YOU TWO ARE SUCH A PERFECT FIT FOR EACH OTHER, ABBEY. Don’t you agree, Maeve? asked Evelyn. She slid their oversized soup mugs to each of them at the table they took up for Maeve and Evelyn’s weekly get-together for the latest town gossip.

Maeve was busy picking at her chips, sorting a few to her liking, and then eating them to some order of preference only known to her. With a chip halfway chewed, she said, Aye, you know, just the way ham and eggs go together, agreeing with Evelyn as she popped the other half of her chip into her mouth, smiling at Abbey, with a twinkle of self-satisfaction at having a hand in getting Abbey and Greg together.

Abbey remained quiet, staying aloof from Maeve’s and Evelyn’s matchmaking discussion. She slipped her hands around the warm mug, relishing the instant heat, while inhaling the scent of the creamy tomato basil soup.

Alex and I have thought so for a while now. If it wasn’t for his help, I would never have gotten these two matched up. I just wasn’t expecting Gregory’s tackling of her the way he jostled for her hand and then the short brawl that followed with Rolf.

Evelyn sat down for her tomato soup and chips, murmuring her mock surprise at Greg’s newsworthy aggressiveness. Evelyn sat, turning slightly away from Abbey, knowing that she was never one to join in girly gossip. This further raised her ire. Yet Abbey kept her reactions in control, the only telltale sign being her raised eyebrow.

Abbey shot an unbelievable look at her, her mouth hanging open at the two of them bantering on about Gregory and she as if she weren’t there listening to them. She had been a pawn in Alex and Maeve’s little matchmaking game. Does Greg know about this? she asked Maeve. This planned matchmaking?

Oh, he knew what we had done to him, luv. He knew the instant you walked back into the tavern all gussied up. Maeve took a tentative sip of the hot soup before taking the rest of the spoonful.

Oh, aye to that! agreed Evelyn gleefully.

That explained his reaction to me then! thought Abbey. Mmmm… Now I understand why he was so mad at me that evening.

Oh no, Abbey, not mad at you, but more or less at me, Maeve giggled.

That was the perfect dress on you, Abbey. Just beautiful and quite the catch for any young and strong lad here in town. Quite the perfect match! Just like ham and eggs! chimed Evelyn over her eyeglasses at her. Her eyes warm and motherly on Abbey.

Yes, quite… A day’s work for the chicken and a life-ending commitment for the pig, Abbey said dryly of their shared remark, keeping her sarcasm in check as much as possible. She worked on her soup as she watched the two ladies in front of her eat, searching the silent signs of communications as Maeve and Evelyn exchanged knowing glances.

Like the two lifelong friends that they were, Maeve broke their silence.

Depends…

What depends? she asked, not sure where Maeve was leading the conversation next.

Evelyn picked up where Maeve left off, merriment in her eyes. It depends on who’s the pig.

Stopping in midair with her soup spoon, Abbey gave her a mortified look.

Awww. Now, Abbey, is it that horrible to be betrothed to my older brother? He’s not that bad of a guy at times even though he can be a bit piggish.

And possesses the sausage and brings home the bacon, Abbey retorted indignantly.

Evelyn snorted into her soup cup, which she now held in her hands, though her ample bosom more than adequately acted like a shelf upon which the bottom of her soup mug rested.

Maeve kept eyeing Abbey, who could no longer continue pretending to be unamused by their antics. Abbey had thrown her shoulders back defensively at first but began to lose the indifferent attitude in her form as she struggled not to join in on her own roasting. Yet as Maeve’s smile grew, Abbey pointed her spoon at her, her face expectant of her next comment. It was hopeless. Abbey unable to keep her smile from forming as she no longer could control her mirth. All of them were laughing, gator tears streaming down Evelyn’s face.

Oh aye, Maeve said, wiping an errant croc tear from the corner of her eye, at least we know that Abbey is the hot hen of this marriage. Maeve goosed Abbey’s waist in a friendly gesture.

Oh aye, luv. Evelyn chortled, warning Maeve, Just don’t ruffle her feathers too much!

Abbey twisted her lips to the side of her mouth at their comments. To Evelyn, she said, Just be sure to help Maeve pick up all the broken shells when her basket breaks, because she put all of her eggs in one basket. I refuse to be the one to blame on this scandalous setup if it fails.

It won’t fail, Abbey, encouraged Evelyn. Just give it a chance. Don’t be a hard-boiled egg about it.

OK, enough with the bad puns and advice, commented Maeve through her chortles.

The door’s entry bell rang, announcing Alex’s arrival. What’s so funny, ladies? You all sound like a gaggle of hens in here.

Thus, all three of them ended in howls of laughter at his comment.

THE MOVE TOOK LESS THAN A HALF MORNING WITH ALEX’S HELP. Once again in Greg’s room, she felt as if she was intruding into someone else’s life. It was not like her to just move in, making split decisions like the MacGregors did when it came to her own life. She looked around the room after Alex left her there to unpack her stuff to add to Greg’s things. It was another hotel room, a little larger and with a personal bathroom. A slight improvement given that the room was already occupied.

As her eyes traveled his domain, she noted, in particular, the lack of pictures on the wall. Not one family photo or poster, though the walls did sport a few nail holes from prior pictures. The room was bare as if Gregory was a monk. The only color was the dark navy comforter and the beige sheets and matching two pillows. She peered into one of his closets only to see a disorganized mess of jeans and button-down work shirts, a kilt, and more, along with four pairs of shoes. All encompassing his entire lifestyle, from casual to work to an office suit. Simple, thought Abbey when she had to use only one word to describe Greg’s life.

She remembered the large dresser next to the full-length mirror on the wall at the end of the bed and figured the rest of his stuff must be stored in there. She pulled at all the drawers to inspect and to learn a bit more about her mysterious MacGregor fiancé, especially since he was intent on making her his wife in the near future.

The first three drawers contained an assortment of undergarments, shorts, sleepwear, and what looked to be sportswear and hunting and hiking clothes. Abbey compressed her lips in thought. What the hell did this man do for fun and games on his off time?

The last two drawers were her last hopes at finding out more only to discover that they were pretty much empty. Did Gregory empty these out knowing she was moving in this week? She could only assume that was the case. Abbey sighed at her disappointment at not uncovering more about Gregory. She unloaded her duffel bag and shoved her whole life into those two drawers, with the exception of her shoes, laptop, library books, and iPod.

Abbey spied the second of the three doors that lined the far wall. She knew one of them to be the bathroom door, the other his closet, but what was behind door number 3? Abbey tried the next door and found that it was a closet too. Opening the door, she found that it was rather depleted of personal effects. The only thing hanging in the closet was his old military uniform.

She pulled out the sleeve of the dark dress uniform, feeling the rich fabric in her fingers, remembering the time he and Will came into the tavern wearing them, just before they were off to the barber for haircuts and then travel to the next town for a comrade’s funeral. If it were not for the occasion, she would have swooned on the spot because of the Scottish uniform. The night watch colors, the years steeped in tradition, and the romance of their outfits from another time. She wondered what he had looked like in normal fatigues issued by the Queen’s Army and made a mental note to look around for an old photo of him. It began an onrush of memories of her times in her dress greens—some happy but most times unhappy at delivering the news to loved ones and attending one too many funerals including her husband’s.

Abbey? Her name being called startled her.

It was Greg. He had returned from his work on the dock and had come to check on her. She didn’t hear him come in at all and wondered how long he had been standing there, watching her snoop around in his closet.

He crossed the room to her, enveloping her with his warm strong arms, giving her a hug from behind when he caught sight of her fondling his uniform. Is everything OK? Do I need to remove my uniform to give you more space? She silently shook her head no and lightly squeezed his arm in reassurance that she was fine.

Greg turned her in his arms and cupped her chin, forcing her gaze to his. Yer quiet, luv.

She smiled weakly at him. Oh, just remembering a few things. I was wondering where you were about five to ten years ago.

Now why on earth would she want to know that? he thought. He raised an eyebrow at this comment from out of the blue. He had found her just standing there, fondling his dress uniform’s coat sleeve. He watched her stand there for another couple of minutes before he wondered if she figured out and finally had him pegged as that same man one year ago. He called to her, asking if she was all right, ready for the onslaught of memories to return when she would realize it was him that she had shot.

With the handfasting came a new set of issues. He had to start hiding his background in the military. He didn’t want her to remember that they had met before. Though she shot him and his brother through the shoulder, he didn’t want her to remember that fateful day not just because of his brother’s death, but her husband’s death as well. In the short time that he knew her, he was sure she blamed herself for all three of them and their situation.

He shuttled all photos of him and his brother in their fatigues away in storage down in the main closet and the family photos of his brother Ivan in uniform in his older brother’s unused room. Eventually, he would tell her, but not until they were married and he could get her to believe that he was slowly coming to terms with the loss of his brother and that he didn’t blame her anymore.

When they had made love several times in the copse at the edge of the pasture on their first full day after handfasting, she had asked once jokingly whether he got the bastard who had shot him, as she traced the outline of the old wound. It startled him a bit, and he hid his answer by nipping her ear with a love bite and a nay. He hadn’t gotten her, not just yet. But it would be soon.

Abbey’s tender touch on his wound became a soothing and healing touch. Each time they made love, she would kiss his wound tenderly and with reverence, as if she was silently asking for forgiveness. Maybe she still felt sorry for hurting him the first time she accidentally placed her full body weight with her elbow on his wound back then the day after he went searching for her, only to discover that she was one and the same girl who had shot him.

The shoulder wound had grown smaller and less red since she last touched it, not knowing it was there when she fought him so long ago on that fateful hike. It was still healing. The soreness wasn’t as bad as it used to be. The hike had sealed their fate together—first out of revenge, only for him to realize that he had fallen for her. Gregory had asked her to stay and to live, if not for herself, at least for him. He didn’t know he would be falling in love with the one who had marked him for life.

Where were you about five to ten years ago? she asked him again. She slid into his arms and sighed contentedly at their newfound familiarity. It was nice to have their relationship made public. No more secretive engagements like the last few times. He breathed in the scent of her before responding.

In the military, traveling the world with my brother. Why?

Oh, I was just wondering what it would have been like to have known you then and to have seen you or other Scots in their night watch uniform. If I wasn’t married, I would have fallen for you guys a long time ago. Hell, I might have even divorced Fredrick had I seen you guys back then.

She scrunched her nose at him, wrinkling the ridge, as she confessed her weakness for men in dress uniforms in addition to men in kilts, especially after seeing him in his uniform earlier. Then she turned her head to the side, not without inhaling deeply of him, feeling secure and content with life, and sighing at the sound of his laughter resonating in his chest. The fresh air and the dockyard smell of the loch’s waters wafted on his coveralls, calming her.

Her sly and cute expression along with her confession caused his heart to skip a beat.

With gratitude to God and the Fates above, Greg’s insides relaxed after having to possibly confront her with the truth that was about to be exposed, whether or not he would be ready. He would have to tell her soon.

Chortling at her response, he gave her a deeper hug. With a mischievous slow burr to his voice, he said, I know, if I had seen you five years ago meself, I would have definitely been trying to steal you from your husband. I just don’t know how the men in your unit ever dealt with having you around.

This last statement caused her to lift her head off his chest and look up at him with a puzzled look. Gregory continued with his reason, There would have been no way I could have ever controlled myself back then with ye. I would have found a way to bed ye and make ye mine. His burr more pronounced as his desire grew for her. His hand slid down to her rump, pulling her closer so that she could feel what she did to him. She did not let it go unnoticed. She slid her hips against him, rubbing his arousal harder.

She slyly smiled at him. You do have a way of making me feel more special than I deserve, you flatterer.

Flatterer? Aye, it’s the truth! Yer me own goddess. Yer beauty and special talents precede ye. He couldn’t resist not giving her a deep kiss and promptly hauled her up to him, squeezing her full and luscious rump.

With the short distance between the closet and the bed, Gregory fell backward on the bed, taking her with him in his arms, holding on to her tightly, to finish what they both wanted.

THE EXTRA TIME OFF FROM THE INN COUPLED WITH THE INCESSANT RAIN for that week kept Abbey at the MacGregors’ home and unable to work at her own home. She became bored stiff on the second day from reading and working on her laptop.

Duane showed great interest in her house designs and plans, asking several questions here and there and how to possibly upgrade their own home. He took her around, showing off what his father had built before him and where he added onto the home for his own large family. Abbey made several suggestions that were affordable options. But she emphasized that no major changes were really necessary.

Abbey, I hope when you are finished with your home and have settled in, you will promise me to help us overhaul our own old home. I like what you have completed at the inn. I like the way your mind plans and thinks ahead. You have a gift of vision that many lack. Use it wisely. He patted her hand as if she had always been his daughter for years.

Come, I would like an opinion of what to do in this office to make it more inviting and more efficient, he told her as he guided her into a handsome masculine library and office. The room was heavily cluttered. The decor was the traditional male-dominated dark-wood office. It was cozy, but the heavy clutter of papers and lack of organization contributed to the feel of I have to work at cleaning more than at the task at hand.

The other issue was the darkness of colors and lack of proper lighting. Abbey quickly assessed what it would take to immediately remedy the situation and explained to Duane that perhaps after a good day of cleaning and organizing, the following day, they could drop by the local hardware store for some better lightbulbs and updated light fixtures.

By Thursday, another day of rain, the office was cleaned and rearranged for better work flow, much to the delight of Gregory’s father.

By Saturday, she had organized and deeply cleaned the entire house much to the delight of Mrs. MacGregor and Gregory’s astonishment. Greg walked in awe of Abbey’s handiwork.

All furniture had been moved and cleaned underneath, every item dusted, books lined and dressed right dress on shelves, throws on their furniture folded with perfect squared corners, glassware cleaned, windows bright from being cleaned both inside and out between the rain showers, the draperies taken down and laundered.

I do believe that ye would have easily passed a military inspection, Greg commented as he dragged a finger over the highly polished wooden surface of the living room coffee table, as if he was wearing a white inspectional glove.

"Me house looks like it’s ready to be photographed for the Better Homes and Gardens magazine!" exclaimed a very happy Muriel as she brought them all tea for the late afternoon.

I thought ye told us ye wouldn’t clean or pick up after me or anyone else, Abbey? Have ye become domesticated then? Gregory asked with an impudent grin.

Abbey rolled her eyes at him and turned on her heels with the sound of his laughter bellowing against the walls of the house.

Only Alex suffered from the cleaning the most. He followed his father’s footsteps in his unique cluttered filing system. He too had wished it would stop raining soon.

Abbey resumed her work at the inn and on her house for the next few weeks toward the end of spring. Periodically, Abbey would see Lydia when she came by to pick up her two sons from a day spent with their grandparents out on the ranch. Sometimes, Abbey was relieving Lydia from the front desk of the Quay Side Inn.

As always, Lydia left soon after Abbey came around, never saying much word-wise. It was just as well, she thought. Lydia did not hide her disdain toward Abbey. Only one time did she have a tête-à-tête with Lydia shortly after moving into Greg’s room. It did not amount to much, all in all in the end. But it was enough to begin the ticking time bomb of anger in Abbey. It would only be a matter of time before the long fuse would shorten, her temper exploding. Even Abbey had her limits.

She barely saw Greg since he was either at work at the dock or outside with his father on the ranch. When they did meet up, he was late getting into bed or too tired to even eat before collapsing into a lifeless heap in bed.

With lambing came the news of Maeve being four months pregnant, thus making this her third child. With it came extra front desk shifts for Abbey to work.

It would make up for the loss of income these past few weeks. She needed to start watching her pennies as the construction of her home came to a close. The rental income from her estate holdings were picking up only two-thirds of her monthly expenses.

Her pay from the inn had increased since she was no longer renting a room from them, but it, too, was not enough to cover the rest. Abbey soon needed to find other work or another investment to add to her earnings. Marriage still was not an end solution. If everyone had their way, she would be married within the year.

The life with Gregory MacGregor would be titillating for her emotionally. But would it really last? She wondered. She found him exciting, her body responded to him far more than necessary, and there seemed to be no way to control herself when he was around.

The more they spent time together and made love, the more she didn’t want to be alone and to discover if she could really make it on her own in life. Part of her screamed for her to just marry the man, enjoy being a wife, and settle down again to a life of mundaneness. With Greg, she’d doubt if she would grow bored of him or if life would ever be ordinary. She felt like a little girl dreaming about her first marriage to a boy she had a crush on, instead of the older and mature and recently widowed woman she was. She had only commenced living with him and his family for about two weeks.

She liked being lost in him; the sense of security that he gave her was what she craved the most. Rationally, there was no such thing as security in life. Like Fredrick, he too could be taken from her at any day or any moment.

His income would probably help her in the long run if she was willing to give up her freedom, share her new dream home, and be ever devoted to his needs in exchange for his protection and monetary shelter. It was normal, even expected, between men and women here in northern Scotland.

But with each month, the refund check from the utility company for all the extra energy being generated by the mini windmill and solar panels became more bountiful. Even Gregory was impressed with the new income, and the word around town began to spread about her residual income.

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

A NEW DESIGN

I T WAS LATE AFTERNOON by the time she had finished mudding and taping the drywall in the downstairs guest rooms. Gregory was still upstairs in the master bathroom.

Periodically, she would go and check on him, especially if it got too quiet. Quiet meant trouble when it came to men and kids in most instances. Earlier that morning, she showed Gregory how to install a toilet downstairs so that he could work the one on his own upstairs.

Currently, he was working on the whirlpool tub installation.

During one of the times it got really quiet, she climbed the stairs to the master suite and turned the corner into the master bath only to find him reading a book. He was kneeling on one knee on the floor, looking down at something from the book’s illustration and to the tub itself, comparing, a screw driver in his mouth. Looking like a pirate holding a dagger, his shirt was off, his shoulder and back muscles rippling smoothly underneath his skin. He looked like the dreamy construction guy one would hire except for his tartan kilt. What kept him glorious was he wasn’t showing the typical butt crack when bent over, intent on his task. His exposed long muscled legs were a treat to watch, endowed with a fine sprinkling of coarse leg hairs dusting every square inch to where his scrunched-down socks stopped at the top of his brown work boots.

Caught, Gregory snapped the book shut, but not quick enough for him to hide it. She picked it up off the floor and, upon closer inspection, read the title, How to Build a House. Both her brows rose in question. It was a huge encyclopedic book about building, showing everything from wiring to plumbing.

She returned the book to him, smiling. She nudged his shoulder with the book since his head was still down, as if hiding his embarrassment for his lack of knowledge or from being caught at reading instructions, which most guys would never admit to doing.

He looked up, surprised to find her smiling. His face flushed. He forcibly blew out the breath that he had been holding. He took his book back without a word. Saying nothing, she shrugged a shoulder dismissing it, turning on her heel, and went back downstairs to work on all the electrical outlets.

She was amazed at how quickly he picked up things. Just like Rick did. She smiled to herself about the small and inconsequential similarities of the two. Finally, she realized that she was smiling instead of choking on her sorrow. The pain was not intense. It was the first time in the last year. Had it been that long already?

She picked up the box of outlets, her cutting dikes, and a screwdriver to begin her task before the last of the light would begin to fade. They needed outlets in order to plug lighting and power tools for tonight’s late-night laboring.

With his help the last few weeks, the house began to take shape inside, having a more finished look. Hopefully, before the end of next month, she would be able to move in and return the cargo container to the ship. Winter was only two months away. But at least, there was heat, a roof overhead, windows and doors installed, the water and electricity was on and running, a working fireplace and a water heater, and all her things would be inside the house, even though partially unpacked.

She already had her bedroll and an extra comforter spread out in the corner of the finished master bedroom suite. She slept a few nights there only when she was too tired after work, needed solitude, or when Gregory was out on the job site for a couple of days.

She may not have the walls painted, but she could still live and work with just a bed, table and chair until she could get more time to finish the trim work of the house. Happy with the installation of the kitchen cabinets and the countertops from a month ago, she merrily hummed along to a tune from her iPod as she continued with the electrical stub out. She still had the grand room, the office, the two