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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
Istrolled 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 inheritedfrom 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 ofbrain 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 atme. 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. Iquickened 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 ofwantedto 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 heatseared my cheeks, yet my anxiety lessened. My suspected murderer was actually a good samaritan.
“Thank you,” I called, hurrying to correct the situation.
