She was completely freaked out, that’s what she was. She was looking at a guy in front of her who she could easily imagine using a sword. She was living next to a guy she was starting to believe actuallydiduse a sword. Unwell? She wasn’t unwell, she was losing her mind. The worst thing about it was, she thought she just might find some company for that activity if she looked hard enough.
“Emma?”
“I’m fine,” she managed, realizing that she was croaking as badly as Nathaniel had been that morning in the village.
That morning. Was it possible that it was only that morning when she’d dropped her phone and broken it?
Patrick was looking at her thoughtfully. “It can get a little—” He paused and seemed to be looking for the right word. He frowned again. “Solitude can be good,” he said slowly, “but it can get a little—”
“Freaky?”
He smiled briefly and Emma wanted to close her eyes. She wasn’t sure how he and Nathaniel could look so much alike without being related, but, as she’d pointed out to herself more than once already that morning, Scotland was a strange place.
“I was going to saytrying, but perhaps that isn’t the rightword, either,” Patrick continued. “I should have brought the runabout. I could have walked back home.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t have asked that,” Emma said in surprise.
“I know,” he said simply. “I’ll bring it round tomorrow.” He picked up a basket. “We thought you might want a few things to liven up the old place. Why don’t I set it on the counter for you?”
Emma stood aside to let him in and tried not to weep. She was tired, that was it. It had nothing to do with the kindness of strangers. She shut the door, then sat down at the table, watching Patrick MacLeod make tea. He set her up with a cute little brown pot and a china cup on the table, then leaned back against the sink.
“I take it the very elusive and reputedly very desirable Nathaniel MacLeod ran you into Inverness?” he asked mildly.
She nodded. “He was headed there anyway, apparently. Hopefully that will throw Sheldon off the scent.”
Patrick smiled. “I imagine it will.”
“You and Nathaniel could be brothers, you know.” She wondered if it might be ill-advised to point that out, but she couldn’t help herself. The resemblance was uncanny.
“Funny, that,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t think we’re related, but who knows? We’re a little foggy on our genealogy in my family, so for all I know, we’re cousins. Tell me if he becomes a pest, though, and I’ll have my brother exert a little lairdly authority over him.”
“I appreciate it,” she said. “And I don’t know how to thank you for what you’ve already done.”
He shrugged with another faint smile. “Highland hospitality. It all comes back round in the end, so no need to fash yourself over it.” He pushed away from the counter and walked to the door. He paused, then looked at her. “Be careful in the woods,” he said seriously. “The weather can turn very suddenly.”
She wanted to say that wasn’t all that could turn, but she didn’t suppose pointing out that her stomach tended to turn when dead guys landed on her back was very useful at the moment.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she managed.
He let himself out and pulled the door shut behind him. Emma locked the door, then decided it wouldn’t do to leavethings out to rot. She filled the fridge with what needed to go there, then looked at the little black nylon bag in the bottom of the basket.
She took it out, unzipped it, and realized it contained the barest essentials for a survival kit. There was a note there as well.
Might want to keep this to hand, just in case.
It was signed by the good lord Patrick himself, and somehow the words sent a shiver down her spine. In case what? In case she found herself locked out of the house and the thought of catching a fish and frying it up was more appealing than using her phone to text someone for help? In case she found herself facing Bigfoot and needed to use a fixed blade she was fairly sure wasn’t legal to carry in the UK?
In case she found herself trapped in the midst of a reenactment battle and needed to make do with that little bag and nothing else?
She put it in her backpack just the same, because it seemed like a good accompaniment to her daily necessities. One never knew when being prepared might mean life over death.
She just didn’t want to think about under what circumstances that might be necessary.
She forced herself to sit in front of her stove and drink her tea, then she checked her phone for any stray messages from her neighbor who couldn’t possibly be anywhere besides at home nursing his migraine, then washed up and put the Aga to bed.
By the time she put herself to bed, she was starting to get back to that place where she thought she might be able to believe she was just having hallucinations. She was tired and she wasn’t sleeping well. All kinds of things were possible when that was combined with tall tales from the local greengrocer and jet lag.
Surely.
