The Accidental Scot (23 page)

Kirsty rose with a clipboard and pencil in hand to act as auctioneer. “I'll call the bachelors out one by one. Let's start with number twelve. Number twelve, step forward.”

Pippa recognized the Drummond tartan. So it must be Alan.

Deydie called for the knee-fondling. Three women giggled while they were blindfolded. Pippa's stomach clenched. She ought to leave the building now. She didn't trust herself and what she might do when the randy women wanted to feel up Max's knees. She took deep breaths and watched as each of the three women had their turn at poor Alan's knees.

When it was over, Deydie and three other quilters stood on the stage as spotters.

Kirsty held up her pencil. “Let's start the bidding at twenty-five pounds.”

Hands shot up all over the place. Within a few minutes, Alan had been sold for two hundred and ten pounds.

Pippa turned to Freda. “It's going to work, isn't it?” she whispered.

“It's a great start.”

One by one, the lads of Gandiegow bravely stepped up and were sold. Pippa was grateful for every last one of them. Loyal lads. Honorable men. She was proud to call them friends.

Because Kirsty and her clipboard were calling them out of order, Pippa had lost count of how many were left. But then Max and his kilt came on stage.

She had the ridiculous urge to tackle him and not let anyone bid on him. Freda laid a hand on her to hold her in place. Ailsa had taken Deydie's position. Deydie came to sit with them in the front row next to Freda.

No less than eight women wanted their shot at touching Max's knees. Pippa felt as if her eyes were on fire. One of the randy women from Glasgow got too adventurous, as her hands tried to go for Max's goods. Pippa broke free and shot out of her seat, but Ailsa and Aileen were right there, pulling the Glaswegian away.

“Let's start the bidding at one hundred pounds, since this one seems like a popular lad.”

“One hundred pounds,” Miranda said loud and clear.

Pippa spun around and glared at her. She shouldn't be shocked that Miranda would use any means to get her paws on Max.

“Two hundred pounds,” Deydie shot out.

Pippa whipped around to Deydie. “What are ye doing?”

“Getting every pound I can for yere da.”

Bethia leaned over Pippa and whispered to Deydie. “This is not part of the plan. I thought we had this covered.”

Pippa had no idea what these two were up to. But Deydie had a nasty little glint in her eye that Pippa fully approved of.

“I'm not going to make this easy on her,” Deydie said.

“So you knew she wanted Max?” Pippa asked incredulously.

Deydie and Bethia looked guilty. Why hadn't the silly old fools told her beforehand?

“Three hundred pounds,” Pippa shouted out. There was no way in hell Miranda would win Max.

Bethia grabbed her hand. “No, lass. Ye're promised to Ross.”

“Four hundred pounds,” Miranda said.

Pippa turned around to see Miranda sneering at her.

“Five hundred pounds,” Deydie said clearly.

“Ye don't have that kind of money,” Bethia hissed to her friend.

“I don't.” Deydie jabbed a thumb in Miranda's direction. “But she does.”

“A thousand pounds,” Miranda countered, victory lacing her voice.

Bethia dropped her grip from Pippa's hand and sat back. “'Tis done.”

Pippa felt sick again. She could do nothing about it. Max belonged to Miranda now. She glanced sideways at Deydie, who had a satisfied look on her face.

The next bachelor came on stage. It was Andrew's plaid.

“Let's start the bidding at fifty pounds.”

“What about the knee-touching?” a woman shouted from the audience. “I've been waiting for this one.”

Kirsty double-checked her clipboard and smiled. “It says here that there'll be no knee-fondling on this one. For religious reasons.”

Pippa glanced around for Moira. She was standing next to Amy, the smile evident on her face clear across the room.

The bidding began. Moira was careful with her envelope of money, only bidding a few pounds higher than the others had bid, but in the end, Moira got her man. Pippa was happy that at least one of them was getting what they wanted tonight. She saw Moira hand the whole envelope to Amy, keeping none for herself.

“And now for our last bachelor of the evening.”

Ross came out in his Armstrong plaid. Eleven blindfolded women wanted to feel his knees. When the bidding began, Pippa was shocked when Bethia bid on him against the women from out of town. She'd looked to Deydie each time for the nod before she upped the bid.

“Now what are you two doing?” Pippa hissed at Deydie.

“Wedding present,” Deydie said firmly, giving her a pointed glare.

No!
These two women were spending their hard-earned cash on her!

Ross sold for five hundred five pounds.

But Pippa didn't want Ross. She wanted Max.

The curtain came down.

“We have to make sure all the bachelors are paid for before we reveal who ye won.”

Deydie rose, motioning to Bethia. “I'll take care of this, while ye get the goblet.” Deydie pulled a wallet from the folds of her dress and lumbered over to pay for Ross.

Pippa opened her mouth to give Bethia a piece of her mind, but the old woman held up a hand.

“We did what we believed was right,” Bethia said. “Don't worry about the Yank. He won't be . . .” She seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “Deydie and I are taking care of it.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

But Bethia didn't answer. She left Pippa there to stew about what they had done. Sure, the evening had gone better than planned; more money had been raised than Pippa had dreamed possible. But her heart was heavy. Max was Miranda's, and that was a heartache she wasn't going to get over any time soon.

M
ax stood waiting his turn to get a silk rose from Kit, frowning at the absurdity of it all. The roses were wrapped with Christmas ribbon.

Kit handed a rose to Ross. “Remember what I said. Smile for your date when you present her with her rose. We're all doing this for the McDonnell.”

“I don't see that ye're doing a whole lot, sister-in-law. Handing us a few roses can't compare with being fondled and sold off.”

“Chin up, Ross. It may not be as bad as what you might think.” She winked at him. But then she frowned at his kilt as if only now noticing the tartan. Her eyes drifted to Max's kilt. “Oh,” she said to herself. “The plot thickens.”

Max just wanted to get this evening over with. He wasn't a germ-a-phobe, but he needed hand sanitizer for his knees. One overzealous female had kissed his knee before she was pulled off him. God, he hoped that woman hadn't been the one to win him in the end.

Kirsty stepped behind the curtain. “We're going to call ye out one at a time. When ye hear your number, step out front and be claimed.” She left with her clipboard.

One by one, they were called, in numerical order this time, so poor Kolby went first. He looked as stoic as if he
was being called off to war. When he stepped out, a roar went up in the crowd along with deafening applause and a lot of catcalls.

“It isn't right,” Alan Drummond complained to Max. “This whole thing. Men are supposed to be doing the pursuing . . . not the other way around.” Another female hoot came from the other side of the curtain.

Every bachelor was subjected to the same thing. When it was only Max and Ross left, Ross held out his hand. “Good luck tonight.”

The two men shook.

Max had this sappy fantasy that Pippa had bid on him, but it was only a dream. Unless of course, she'd disguised her voice, because it was an older woman who made the winning bid. Max didn't want to break the bad news to Ross, but he was fairly certain it was Miranda who had won him in the end.

“Sorry,” Max said.

“For what?” Ross looked at him, questioning.

“For the night ahead.”

Before Ross could ask more, his number was called.

*   *   *

Deydie hurried over to where Bethia was holding the goblet. “Did ye give it to her?” Kirsty was making pretty swift work of bringing out the bachelors, and Deydie had no way of slowing her down. “How fast does this sleeping draft work?”

“Fairly quickly.” Bethia shook her head, looking pale. “But are ye really sure this is—”

Deydie snatched it from her. “We're doing this for Max's sake. Hasn't the poor lad worked hard enough for this town?”

Deydie made her way toward Miranda and held the goblet out to her.

“Now?”

“Aye. It needs time to work. Ye want it to be in yere system by the time ye claim him, don't ye?”

Miranda eyed her one more time. “Here. Give it to me.” She grabbed the cup and drank it down. “This better work or I'll be back for a refund.”

Bethia whimpered softly.

Number fifteen was called, and Miranda's attention snapped to the stage.

Deydie leaned into her old friend. “Well, we did all we can do for the lad.”

Then Ross came from behind the curtain.

“What?” Deydie and Miranda exclaimed together.

They looked at each other, then back at the stage.

For a moment, Deydie thought old age had finally caught up to her, then she noticed that Ross wasn't wearing the Armstrong tartan. He was wearing the McKinley!

“Those little devils,” Deydie said. “Who told them what we were doing?”

“What do you mean?” Miranda said. “And who is that? I've seen him. At the factory, I think.”

Deydie felt madder than a hornet. “That's Ross Armstrong. We wanted him for Pippa.”

“I want my money back,” Miranda said. “I was bidding on McKinley.”

“No. Ye was bidding on the McKinley tartan. And that's what ye got.”

“Well. Yes.” Miranda seemed to realize that she'd cooked herself in her own stewpot. She wasn't even
supposed to know which tartan was which. None of the other outsiders did.

A little red in the face, Miranda shrugged. “He is a fine-looking man.” She smiled. “I'm flexible. He'll do for the night.” She swayed a little.

Deydie shoved Bethia. “Get Ross. I think we're going to need him.”

Deydie put her arm around Miranda's waist. The American lass was definitely swaying now.

Miranda looked at Deydie a little droopy-eyed. “I feel strange. What was in that drink?”

“That's just the first effects of the love potion. Trust me—ye'll begin to feel all soft and in the loving way any moment.”

Miranda gave her a lopsided grin. “Okay.”

Bethia dragged Ross off the stage and toward them. Deydie could tell she was blabbing to him what they'd done.

When he reached them, Deydie lifted Miranda's arm and transferred her to Ross. “Get her to the dorm.” She smiled up at Miranda “Yere night of romance awaits.”

Ross grimaced at Deydie and Bethia, then schooled his features as he readjusted Miranda against him. “Come now,” he said in a soothing tone. “Let's see if we can find a bed.”

“Oh, you're a fast one,” Miranda slurred. “I like fast.”

Ross led her away, but he turned back and gave the two of them one last glower before leaving.

Deydie had missed the calling of number sixteen but now Pippa was rushing over to them. Her eyes shifted to each one of them accusingly.

“What did ye do?” Pippa growled.

Deydie thought the lass had gone wonky until she nodded toward the stage. There was the Yank—wearing the Armstrong kilt.

“Oh, dear. What are we going to do with him?” said Bethia.

“Aye. What are ye going to do with him?” Pippa asked sarcastically.

Deydie looked to heaven . . . and it all became clear. “It's a sign. The Almighty saw fit to intervene. That means we should tell her. Don't ye think, Bethia?”

“Tell her what?” Pippa asked derisively.

Deydie grabbed Ailsa as she walked by. “Tell the Yank to grab some punch and cake. We'll be with him in a minute.”

Ailsa nodded good-naturedly and headed toward the stage.

Deydie and Bethia each took one of Pippa's arms and walked her to the corner for privacy.

“Deydie has some news for ye,” Bethia said kindly.

“What? That you two have a hankering for younger men?” Pippa eyed the stage again wearily.

“This has to do with Deydie's powers,” Bethia said. “She's been able to tell since she was a wee thing.”

“Aye,” Deydie said. “It got me in a lot of trouble back then. I've learned to keep it to myself. Best to find out on yere own.”

Pippa shook her head impatiently. “What are you two talking about? Have ye been nipping at the Glenfiddich tonight?”

Bethia patted Pippa's arm. “Deydie was the first to see that Amy, Emma, Claire, and Maggie were expecting.
Even me, back in the day. She's better than a pregnancy test.”

“Ye two are exasperating.” Pippa turned to go.

Deydie yanked her arm to keep her still.

“Ouch.” Pippa rubbed the spot.

Deydie was done being nice. “If ye don't listen to me, I'm going to get my broom. We've come to care for the Yank. And he needs to know before he heads back to where he came from.”

Pippa frowned at her. “Needs to know what?”

“That he's going to be a da.”

*   *   *

“I'm pregnant?” Pippa whispered to herself. She never expected to have a baby. Practically her whole life, she'd been determined to dodge marriage to Ross, and so children.

And how could these two old women know that only yesterday Pippa had missed her period?

Bethia patted her hand. “Deydie's never been wrong. The only time she hasn't been able to see was when Caitie was with child.”

“I think it's because she's me granddaughter.” Deydie looked sad about the two miscarriages that Cait had gone through in the last year.

Bethia noticed and wrapped her arm around her friend. “She'll give ye a great-grandbairn, just ye wait and see.”

Pippa only half listened.
Pregnant?

She glanced up. Max was making his way toward them. His frown was etched deep into his face.

He reached them. “I don't understand. Ailsa said Bethia won me?”

Deydie sliced the air, gesturing to the kilt Max wore. “Ye and Ross thought ye were being funny, huh?”

Max's expression didn't budge. “Where's Ross?”

“He left with Miranda.” Pippa could at least get those words out.

Max looked worried, which made Pippa's anger surface quickly.

“Ross is a big boy,” Pippa said. “He can handle
her
.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Still jealous? God, Pippa. I thought we were beyond this.”

He was right. Pippa was done comparing herself to Miranda, or any other woman. She was happy with who she was. Besides, she couldn't be anyone else. “Sorry.”

He nodded, appeased, then turned back to the old ladies. “What is it I'm supposed to do now? Am I free to go back to the pub? Or is one of you claiming my attention for the evening?”

“Not sure what we'll do with ye,” Bethia said, chewing her lip.

Pippa took a deep breath. “I'm claiming ye since these two busybodies goofed up. They were, after all, going to give me the bachelor that they won. Come on.”

She wasn't sure what she was going to do with Max either. Loneliness came over her.

“Don't forget what we told ye,” Deydie said. “This is one thing that can't be left undone.”

Pippa wanted to tell her to mind her own business. She ignored the inquisitive look on Max's face, too. She couldn't tell him yet. Hell, what if Deydie was wrong. Pippa needed concrete evidence that she was pregnant, not some wizened old woman's word.

“Come on, Yank. We have things to discuss.” She'd let
Deydie think what she wanted, but Pippa was going to talk to Max about business.

Away from this town.

Naked.

And after they'd made love.

In that order, or so help her, she wasn't
the McDonnell
.

Contrary to what Deydie thought, even if Pippa was pregnant, she wouldn't tell Max anything. She wouldn't tie him down with news like that. If Deydie was right—which remained to be seen—Pippa could raise the bairn on her own. Just like her da had done with her.

Pippa grabbed Max's elbow and headed for the door as the music started up. Quilting Central was going to turn into
dance central
at any moment; the quilting ladies had organized a céilidh to give the winners something to do with their recently won prizes . . . and to keep the local bachelors relatively safe from what the randy women wanted to do to them.

Pippa donned her coat, and at the last second, gave a thought to something else besides getting Max alone.

“Wait here,” she said. “I have to speak with Freda.”

Pippa rushed over to the punch table that Freda was manning with Aileen. Pippa laid a hand on Freda's arm and said, “Can ye do me a favor?”

Freda gave her a warm smile, tipping her head in the direction of Max. “Certainly, love.”

“Can ye check on my da for me?”

Freda frowned, and Aileen jumped in. “I'll go check on him right now. But then sister and I are headed to Lios. We're going on a quilt shop hop.”

“Thanks, Aileen,” Pippa said.

“I'll stop by in the morning,” Freda finally agreed, “to make sure he has some breakfast.” She made it sound like it was the Christian thing to do and not because she still fancied the McDonnell.

Pippa gave her a quick hug, for both agreeing and for not making her confess her plan to stay out all night.

“Now, can you do
me
a favor?” Freda asked. “Can you let the Yank know that I'll leave his quilt for him in the room over the pub?”

“What quilt?”

Freda smiled and nodded her head toward the front of the room where Pippa's quilt hung. “He had me win it for him.”

Pippa was a little choked up and feeling sappy that Max would want her quilt. She gave Freda another hug. “I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

Max was no longer at the door. Pippa went outside and found him staring out at the sea, his kilt blowing in the wind. His hair had grown since he'd been here and it was tossing in the wind as well.

She sidled up to him, feeling subdued. Part of her wanted to ask him about the quilt—why he would want it. But the question felt too intimate to ask. Which was strange, considering what she planned to be doing with Max tonight.

“Ready?” she finally asked.

“I'm all yours.” His expression was thoughtful. She wondered if he knew this was good-bye, too.

“Do ye have yere car keys?”

“Yes.”

She pulled her keys from her purse. “It's best we take separate cars.”

He looked at her quizzically.

“It's less complicated that way.” The people of Gandiegow were no dummies, and Pippa felt the need to be as discreet as possible. But in the next second, she thought about stopping in the General Store for a pregnancy test, to know once and for all. But that was only asking for trouble, as news like that would travel nearly as fast as the speed of light. She would pick one up in Fairge on her way home tomorrow.

They walked side by side to the parking lot.

Max finally spoke when they reached her car. “Where are we going? The factory?”

She shook her head. “To a cabin I know about, on the edge of Spalding Farm. Follow me. It's not far.”

Max brushed her arm as she slipped into her seat. “I'll be right behind you.” He closed her door.

His deep baritone remained with her, comforting her, as she drove out of the lot. Thirty minutes and several back roads later, they pulled down the lane to Colin Spalding's cabin tucked into the trees. The moon shone down brightly on the little log cabin. Patches of snow on the roof made it look like a gingerbread house with frosting on top.