Chapter 1

Chapter

One

Escape to the magic of Scotland's breathtaking scenery and ancient ruins, where every corner holds the promise of adventure.

Isle of Adventure Travel Company

I strolled through a bustling outdoor market in Edinburgh, Scotland, rolling my suitcase along a cobblestone path. Bypassing vendors selling single malt whiskey, heathergems, and cashmere sweaters—excuse me, jumpers—I kept my sights on the true treasure: a display of kilts. The perfect souvenir for myself. On cold winter evenings, I'd curl up with it and fondly remember eight blissful days spent touring magnificent castles, searching murky waters for monsters, and hiking through lush fairy glens.

The scent of lavender and fresh baked bread dominated the soft breeze as I riffled through the plaid selections. Oh, how I was going to miss this extraordinary place. Don't get me wrong. I loved the two-bedroom farmhouse I inherited from my grandparents. I even loved my job. In roughly two weeks, I'd be kicking off my next year as a special education teacher at a public school in Oklahoma City. But. Inverness. Loch Ness. Isle of Skye. And let's not forget the warrior-rouges with sexy accents who populated each area. Talk about Heaven on Earth!

I'd scrimped and saved for years to make this vacation happen. If given the opportunity, I would move here. Although, that meant leaving behind my mom and stepdad, Joshua, and I enjoyed being near them, no matter how maddening they were.

Six months ago, I'd broken up with my boyfriend, August, and ever since, my parents had worked nonstop to set me up with strangers. The reason I'd finally pulled the trigger and taken this trip. Everyone needed an escape now and then.

With a sigh, I selected and paid for my favorite kilt. A bold blue and black with a paper tag that read, " From Clan Bruce. The family motto is Uisge ciùin, meaning ‘Calm waters'. " The little taste of history only added to the garment's appeal.

As I strolled off, navigating through the growing crowd, I checked the time on my phone. One hour before I needed to catch a ride to the airport. Why not re-explore the city of my dreams a bit longer? The sky continued to gray with the promise of a coming storm, sure, but wet or dry, I was exactly where I wanted to be. How many people could say the same?

Up ahead, a man leaned against a brick wall, casually eating a cookie. No, a biscuit. That's what the Scots called them. I didn't mean to, but I stutter-stepped as I neared. Men like him should come with a warning label. Side effects include racing heart, fever flush and loss of brain cells.

He wasn't wearing a kilt, but his outfit wasn't without appeal. The tight black T-shirt and leather pants, with metal spikes banded around both of his wrists might be my second favorite. Didn't hurt that curly blond hair framed rich hazel eyes and perfectly chiseled features .

When he aimed a slow, teasing smile in my direction, I glanced over my shoulder to steal a peek at the greeting's recipient. Wait. No one walked behind me. That meant…

My eyes widened as I refocused on him. He smiled at me . Elizabeth Darcy. The world's worst flirter, who'd only crashed and burned in the romance department since the big breakup with August.

My knees trembled, but I didn't slow. "Hi, hello, how are you?" I blurted as I passed him. My cheeks burned. See! World's worst.

"Hi, hello, I'm verra good, thank you," he called, glee in the undertone.

I didn't respond or backtrack, just kept going. As I turned here and there, drinking in the ancient architecture blended with modern, I forgot all about the embarrassing encounter. How I adored the sophisticated earthiness here. The hills and castles and cathedrals. The farther I traveled, however, the less populated the streets became. Eventually, I seemed to be the only person left in the world.

Only seconds later, heavy footsteps sounded behind me. I cast a curious glance over my shoulder. Uh. The leather clad blond.

Unease raced along the ridges of my spine. Had he followed me?

Before my trip, my mother had relayed a wealth of horror stories about women who traveled alone. In a blink, my admittedly overactive imagination whipped up a detailed analysis of all the ways I could die before noon. I quickened my steps, my tennis shoes thumping against the pavement.

He quickened his steps, too, drawing closer.

A lump grew in my throat. When thunder boomed, I yelped. What should I do? Shout for help or fish out my cell and phone authorities?

Authorities, definitely. Yes, yes. Hand trembling, I dug inside my travel purse. But a wheel on my suitcase hit a pebble, and I careened, barely able to prevent a face-plant. Did his footsteps quicken again?

I cast another glance over my shoulder. Dang it. He was closer than expected. Worse, he'd stuffed his hands in his pockets. A serial killer pose if ever I'd seen one.

His smile returned and widened, and I gulped. Did he sense the defeat of his prey?

Breath accelerating, I snaked around a corner and scanned the streets up ahead. Oh, thank goodness! People! They milled in front of a fancy hotel with a colorful mural painted on its walls. No need to phone?—

"Hello, darlin'."

The rough and tumble voice filled my ears a split second before I plowed into a hard body. I stumbled back and flipped up my gaze. Leather man! He now towered before me.

I jumped away, my knees knocking. "How…you…I…"

"Thought you should know your zipper is down," he told me with a wink. Whistling, he strolled off without a care.

My zipper? No. Just no. But I looked down and kind of wanted to die. Yep. The metal teeth meant to hold my jeans together now gaped open, giving everyone in the area the granny panty peep show of a lifetime. A new round of heat seared my cheeks, yet my anxiety lessened. My suspected murderer was actually a good samaritan.

"Thank you," I called, hurrying to correct the situation.

He raised an arm to acknowledge my words, but he didn't turn around.

As much as I hated to admit it, this wasn't my worst encounter with a stranger. To be honest, this didn't even make the top ten. All my life, I'd excelled at two things. Being socially awkward and attracting drama.

My cell rang, drawing my gaze to the screen. A much-needed smile bloomed when I spotted the ID. Mom. Her superpower was knowing exactly when to reach out.

I eased to the side of the hotel, avoiding the crowd, and answered. "Hey, Momma."

"Hey, baby. Are you ready to say goodbye to Scotland?"

Despite what had just happened? "No. And yes. But mostly no." The thought of returning to a predictable life in an ordinary small town struck me as sad. "I wish I could spend another week exploring." Maybe a month. Perhaps a year.

"I choose to believe you mean yes and only yes. You know I hate being more than five minutes away from my grandchildren. Besides, Scotland isn't England."

And there went my smile. Here we go again. "You don't have any grandchildren. Since I'm an only child, that circumstance isn't likely to change any time soon." Freezing wind kicked up, stealing much needed oxygen. Ugh. Maybe I shouldn't have packed my coat, but keeping track of bulky wool on a trans-Atlantic flight was a pain. Using a pillar as a shield, I dragged my bag closer to the hotel's entrance.

"Darling, situations can change in a blink." The delight in her tone caused my stomach to curdle. A truckload of trouble headed my way, no doubt about it. "Oh! I should probably mention your welcome party. The festivities begin as soon as you get home. Are you excited? You're excited, aren't you? Because you know how hard I worked to make this special for you."

A groan escaped. Here was my suspicion in manifestation. "I'll be in airports and airplanes for the next twenty hours. I'll be exhausted. There's no way I'll make a good impression on whoever it is you're hoping I'll meet and marry."

She continued to set me up with eligible men between the ages of twenty and fifty-five. Men she encountered at the grocery store or doctor's office. At twenty-seven, I preferred a number somewhere in between, thank you.

"Nonsense. You'll sleep in the air and be completely refreshed. James will adore you, and you'll adore James. He's the perfect man for a woman of your...unique charms. He might even be your one true love. You two will make pretty babies."

I was already shaking my head. "No more setups. I mean it. We've talked about this." Often.

The newest crack of thunder drowned out her response. Then the sky opened and deluged the streets with icy rain. An awning saved me from a thorough soaking, but not from the cold. Screw it. If I didn't put on my coat, I'd provide every passerby with a solo wet T-shirt contest.

Anchoring my phone between my cheek and my shoulder, I knelt beside my bag and unzipped—eek! The wind snatched my favorite cardigan. I reached out to catch it, missed, and dropped my phone on the pavement, cracking the screen.

My eyes slid closed.

"—say to that, darling?" my mother was asking as I snapped to and pressed the broken device to my ear. "The connection might be fading. Are you going through a tunnel? I'm looking forward to your party, and I know you are, too. Wear something flattering for your figure. Bye!" Click .

Argh! I'd rather be reading romantic cozy mysteries than dropping queso on my shirt while a good-time-guy explained all the reasons I should invite him back to my place and not expect a call afterward.

But enough about the travesty of modern dating and my mother's obvious manipulation. Books were a much safer subject. Now would be a good time to lose myself in a story, but I'd finished my newest read last night. A delightful tale about a sunny, cursed-in-love heroine who owned a landlocked cemetery and solved a murder while fighting her attraction to a grumpy, cinnamon roll of a special agent.

As carefully as possible, I searched the carryon for my coat, to no avail. Had I left the garment at the bed-and-breakfast?My shoulders rolled in. There went my exploration of the city. Better to hole up and get warm.

After securing my bag, I headed inside the fancy hotel and aimed for the bar for hydration and a snack . A small round table called my name. I sat, scanned the menu, then ordered a cranberry juice and a smoked haddock with toast points drizzled in sweet onion cream sauce. The benefit of traveling alone: No one cared about my breath.

While enjoying the treats, I marveled at my opulent surroundings. A massive crystal chandelier cast spears of light over glass tables topped by fresh lavender centerpieces. Plush, colorful chairs acted as the perfect compliment. Inlays of cobalt and gold glistened throughout an ivory floor. Across the room, a bay of windows displayed a covered deck teeming with potted flowers.

"Is this seat taken?" a woman asked.

Startled, I glanced up to find an elegant, green-eyed, freckled redhead standing next to the empty chair across from me. A lovely white dress molded to her long, slender frame. Two burly men in tailored suits flanked her sides. One had a buzz cut; the other sported a ponytail.

Were they bodyguards? Both glared at me as if I'd forced the woman to approach at gunpoint.

"Well?" Red asked, glancing at the remains of my appetizer and wrinkling her nose.

Right. She expected a response. "No," I piped up. "The chair isn't taken. Please feel free to?—"

"Excellent." She plopped a designer purse between us and eased down, a glass of what looked to be whiskey in hand. Two lime wedges balanced on the rim.

Oh. I'd thought— Well, it didn't really matter now, did it?

"I'm Isobel Campbell." She arched a thick red brow at me. "An' you are?"

"Oh. Um, I'm Elizabeth Darcy. Or Lizzie. Or Liza. Or even Ellie. Ianswer to all."

"I will never answer to Ellie," she said with a shudder, confusing me.

She waved the men away, and they obeyed, claiming the table behind ours. "Do you know your name is used in a Jane Austen novel? Well, post-marriage?"

"I do. My mother loves Pride and Prejudice . She's fond of saying she only agreed to go on a date with my father because his name was William Darcy." Thankfully, the spicy ballet instructor and mild-mannered accountant had hit it off.

"Was?"

Sharp pangs cut through me, and my fingers flew to the penny hanging from a chain around my neck. The coin my dad carried in his pocket until the day he'd died. A reminder, he'd said, that money could only take you so far. You required wisdom to go the rest of the way.

How I missed his quiet insight. "He passed years ago."

"Interesting. You sound sad about it. I cheered when mine died." Isobel sipped her drink. "Are you comin' or goin' from our great land, Elizabeth?"

Breezing past her first comment because I had no idea how to respond, I checked the time on my phone and said, "Going. In thirty-seven minutes, I'll be on my way to the airport." A groan bubbled up. "I'm supposed to attend a welcome party when I get home."

"And where is it you call home?" she asked.

"The United States. America." When she arched her brow once again, I added, "Oklahoma City, Oklahoma."

"Ah." She pursed her lips in distaste.

Why distaste? I loved my home state.

"Are you married?" Her gaze fell to my unadorned ring finger. "Or do you have a significant other, perhaps?"

Her brusque manner was turning a polite attempt to pass the time into an interrogation. I proceeded anyway, ready to launch my own inquiry. "No significant other." As soon as things with August started to fizzle, I'd bailed. A pattern, my mother claimed. I'd liked him, I had, but we'd begun arguing even about the smallest issues. Give me peace or give me solitude.

My last impromptu date with a stranger—courtesy of Momma—hadn't gone well. The moment the guy discovered my profession, he'd smiled all creepy-like and asked how I disciplined bad boys. Things only got worse from there .

"How about you?" I asked Red. "Are you dating? Married?"

"No' single, but no' married either. No' quite yet," she muttered, then drained the rest of her whiskey. With a determined wave that displayed perfect, painted nails, she signaled for another drink.

In a blink, the twenty-something bartender arrived with the beverage in hand. Had his feet grown wings?

"Anythin' else I can do fer ye, Miss Campbell?" His gaze darted to the men, and he shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable.

She didn't bother responding; she simply waved him away as she'd done to the others. He, too, obeyed. After bowing.

Was Isobel Campbell some kind of royalty?

"Wait. C'mere," she called, and again, the bartender dashed over, eager to please. "Bring me one of those." She pointed to my cranberry juice.

"Aye. Right away." He rushed off and returned in a matter of moments.

Isobel claimed the glass, inspected the liquid, and thrust the beverage in my direction.

For me? I accepted with reluctance, unsure how to politely refuse. "Thank you."

"You have a vocation, obviously," she said, lifting the new whiskey to lips as red as her hair. "What is it you do?"

Obviously? I almost rolled my eyes. Despite my awkwardness, I like who I am as a person. I'm honest, loyal, and downright dependable. Three rare and highly valuable traits, in my opinion. "I'm an elementary school teacher. Special education."

She wrinkled her nose again. "I see."

Her derision failed to leave a mark. "And you?" Without thought, I took a long swig of my complimentary mocktail. Mmm. Even better than the first. "What is it you do?"

A pause stretched before she grumbled, "This an' that."

Ah. She lived off someone else's money. So, really, which of us had room to judge?

"Do you like dogs?" she asked out of the blue.

Hmm. The sharpness of her tone pinged a soft internal alarm inside me. Caution, caution . Where was she going with this? "I guess. They're cute and all, but I'm allergic. Why?"

"You'll love my darling Thora. You can't not love her. She's a tiny black and white Pomeranian everyone adores." Isobel drained her new drink with a single gulp. "One last question. How do you handle emotionally unavailable males?"

And I'd thought the dog query was weird. Wait. Was she trying to set me up with someone?

No, what a silly idea. I was mere minutes from my departure home. Did she seek advice about someone in her life? The one she wasn't "quite yet" married to, perhaps. Should I put a stop to this? Interfering in a stranger's relationship wasn't wise.

But I didn't stop. "I put them in time out." A method I'd used with August, too. Because it worked.

"Time out? Oh, I bet he'll love that." She brightened and gave a clipped nod, as if she'd just made a major decision. "Aye, I believe you'll do nicely indeed. Iron sharpens iron, and you, my dear, are a butter knife. Meaning, perfect."

Butter knife? I'd do? What, for a nanny position? Was this an interview? Who was "he?"

Goodness gracious. "Well. It was very nice to meet you, Isobel, but it looks like the rain has let up. I'm heading out. "

I pushed to my feet, ready to surge outside, but I wobbled, struck by a wave of dizziness. What the?—?

"Sit," Isobel commanded. "I said there'd be no more questions. I didn't say our discussion had ended."

"I'm sick or something," I told her, slurring my words. The world around me expanded and contracted. My heart slammed against my ribs, and a clammy sweat beaded on my brow. "Take me…hospital…hurry." Please!

"You aren't sick," she stated, merciless. "You're drugged."

Drugged? Panic shot off inside me like a rocket. Everything I'd imagined earlier, when the leather-clad snack cake had followed me, replayed through my brain. Kidnapping. Ransom. Some kind of sacrifice. Or worse!

My vision blurred, and my knees buckled. I plopped into the chair.

"Better." She drummed her nails against the table. At least, I thought her nails caused the click, click, click exploding inside my spinning head. "We're going to trade, you and I."

I tried to respond, to demand answers and help, but the lights in my mind dimmed one by one until…

Darkness swallowed me.