Bookstores with volumes enough to keep him occupied for the remainder of his years. He couldn’t resist touching them, despite the no-touching policy Scarlett and Emmy had originally burdened them with. Hours spent at a bookshop called Blackwells were he’d found favorites that Scarlett had introduced him to with the books she’d brought to the past and hundreds more to explore. He’d brought his niece back with him for hours more. Even purchased her a replica wand of the one Hermione Granger had carried in theHarry Potterbook series with the paper bills Scarlett had retrieved from her bank and distributed among them so they might fully enjoy their time here.
Hugh had introduced the men to the gym at the hotel, giving them another outlet for their energies. And had suggested the swimming pool to try next.
Through it all, however, Rhys had never been struck nor even clipped by Cupid’s arrow. Not tempted in the least by anyone he passed on the streets or talked to in the pubs.
He may not have been pierced full-on this morn. Nonetheless Rhys felt the breeze of one whizzing by. Best to ignore it, he thought. Despite Scarlett’s tales over the years about LGBT rights and social acceptance, Rhys didn’t fully believe such open approval was possible.
With a nod more to himself than the young man, Rhys took a seat in one of the many chairs along the perimeter of the pool, determined to wait for Hugh before entering the questionable waters.
The fellow watched him a moment more, then dove cleanly into the water. When he surfaced, he swam down the length of the pool before ducking into a turn and heading back again. Rhys watched as he did this repeatedly. Fine form. He fought to let his thoughts go no further.
A few other early risers trickled in to the enclosed swimming area. They exchanged nods or wishes for a good morn pleasantly. One entered the large pool, lingering near the steps. The other two moved on to the hotter waters of the smaller pool.
The fellow swam on.
Finally, he stopped at the near end of the pool and stood, running his hands over his face to shed the extra water. Turning, he looked to where Rhys sat close by as though surprised to still find him there. Still watching.
“Aren’t you going to come in?”
“Nay, I dinnae think I hae confidence enough in the waters.”
The chap smiled, his head tilted to the side again as if trying to figure Rhys out. “Maybe a smart move.” He heaved himself out of the water and stood at the edge, water sluicing down his lean, muscled body. His shorts clinging.
This time Rhys couldn’t hide his appreciation. Yet again the man didn’t seem to mind. “I’ve never heard a brogue as thick as yours before, mate,” he told Rhys. “Where are you from?”
“South of here,” he answered vaguely.
“Oh, are you staying in Edinburgh long then?”
“A fortnight more perhaps.”
“A fortnight?” Amusement lifted his lips. “An old-fashioned term.”
Irony worked its way up and out with a chuckle. “I suppose ye could say I’m an old-fashioned mon.”
“Really? That’s too bad.”
Rhys watched as he gathered up his towel and vigorously dried his head and upper body. “Is it? Why?”
The fellow shrugged. “A chap too old-fashioned would most likely take umbrage in an invitation to join me for breakfast.”
Agog with astonishment, Rhys was sure he looked a fool. Gads, had Scarlett been correct? “Ye dinnae e’en ken my name, lad.”
“No I don’t, but that’s easy enough to fix. Name’s Jack. Jack Prescott.” He held out his hand and Rhys shook it as he stood.
“Si—” Rhys squashed the habitual rhythm of adding his title. No longer Sir Rhys of Crichton in this place. Just… “Rhys Hepburn.”
“A pleasure. Would you care to meet in the restaurant in, say, thirty minutes?”
“Make it twenty.”
Jack smiled all the way to his bonny hazel eyes. “Twenty it is then.”
They left the pool area together, parting ways in the lobby.
* * *
Neither of them noticed the older man in a suit and tie, seated in one of the chairs with a newspaper but not reading it. His gaze tracked them, then Rhys as he strode to the elevators. A scowl burrowed deep vertical lines between his brows.
