Trusted (Club Indigo Book 2) Read online

  His thoughts jumped between his uncle in Scotland and all the experiences of summers spent there and his night with Suzie here in Kansas City. He was angry with his cousin Hamish for not letting him know that Uncle Angus was ill so he could have had a last visit with him. Funerals struck Connor as pointless—you honored the dead more by saying goodbye while they were still alive. Connor had been to more than his fair share of funerals and memorial services during his time in the army. As a captain, he had written too many letters to family members offering what he considered hollow comfort over the loss of their loved ones. Still, it was important to the clan that the American branch of the Carmichael family put in an appearance at the funeral of the chief.

  Suzie was a much more pleasant subject to occupy his mind. Their scene Saturday night had been all he could wish for. Suzie was a natural masochist and her response to the wax play had been delightful. He liked her desire to please, but he didn't know if they would be compatible in a relationship. Thoughts of Suzie and the possibilities for playing with her kept his mind occupied all the way to Chicago. He longed to see how she responded to his floggers, canes, and bullwhip. He imagined scenes where he had her begging him to stop and scenes where she begged for more. He wondered how she would respond to his brand of punishment. Would she like it, too? Had he finally found the woman he'd been searching for?

  He managed to sleep on the flight from Chicago to Edinburgh. He'd sprung for business class so he'd have room for his large frame. Economy class might as well be a can of sardines for all the room the passengers had. As they neared their destination, his thoughts moved ahead to Scotland even as his body was carried there.

  Angus Carmichael had been a good clan chieftain. Although the position carried no political power, it still mattered to the Carmichaels that their leader be honest, just, and fair in his dealings, both within the clan and as its representative.

  Connor had no idea who would succeed Angus. He supposed he was theoretically a candidate, but as he was more American than Scot, surely, it would pass to someone else. It had been five years since he had last been back for a visit. That was right after he'd retired from the army. He was sorry he hadn't come in the interim, but he'd put all his time and money into building his consulting and accounting practice. The last year he'd been promising himself he would come, but something always seemed to get in the way.

  By the time he landed in Edinburgh, he was both tired and impatient. He wanted sleep, but first, he wanted to see his aunt and find Hamish and give him either a punch in the mouth or a slap on the back—he hadn't decided which. It was noon, but it was so dark and dreary, he wondered if the sun had bothered to come up at all or was just hovering on the horizon. He'd forgotten how depressing the weather here could be this time of year. The rain came down relentlessly, making him think he might need to find a boat instead of a car.

  Customs moved smoothly for once, so he had little to do to get out of the airport besides withdrawing two hundred pounds from a convenient ATM. He found a taxi waiting outside baggage claim and gave the driver the address in Carmichael. As he contemplated what the cab fare was likely to be, he reconsidered his decision not to rent a car. Perhaps there would be an extra vehicle at the estate he could borrow. This driver was talkative and immediately commented on his destination. "Are ye one of the clan, then? Ye've a look of old Angus about ye. Come to pay yer respects?"

  "Aye," Connor answered. "The chief was my uncle. I spent summers here when I was a lad. My father was his younger brother William. Ye seem familiar with the clan doings. Are ye one of us?" Connor's accent thickened noticeably the longer he was there.

  "Nae, me wife is a Carmichael. Not close kin mind, but kin nonetheless. My name is Andrew Douglas."

  "A pleasure to meet ye. I just wish it were under better circumstances," Connor said with more warmth than he felt. He had found an outside source of information and he intended to take full advantage.

  "William was yer da, ye say?"

  "Aye, he was."

  "I heard a story once about Angus and his brother William. It was said that they had a falling out when William wanted to marry an American lass and move there," the driver continued.

  "I never heard about a falling out, and I came over here most summers from the time I was eight until I was sixteen. I only wish I had known Uncle Angus was ill so I could have said goodbye to him."

  "I hear the clan is planning a proper send-off at the funeral tomorrow."

  "So I gather. Apparently, I'm one of the pallbearers."

  Andrew continued the conversation as he drove, mostly about local politics and how Brexit was going to affect Scotland trade and tourism.

  Connor gave half an ear to the driver as he pondered what he might find when he got to the estate. When he was young, he hadn't paid any attention to the running of it, but on his last visit, his uncle had given him a detailed tour, proudly showcasing the improvements he had made over the years.

  The Carmichael estate wasn't fancy, for all it was the seat of the clan. It was a working farm and Uncle Angus managed to make it pay, even with all the challenges of farming. His barley went straight to the local distilleries to be used for single malt Scotch whiskey. The quality of his crop was so consistently high that his harvests were always in demand.

  He had further diversified by keeping a herd of Scottish Blackface sheep. Wool from the breed was highly sought after by both weavers and hand spinners. The Carmichael sheep's wool was frequently used in making the famous Harris Tweeds.

  They had both had a good laugh over the dam Angus had built on the same stream Connor and Hamish had interfered with when they were kids. The new dam was much lower down and was designed to keep the sheep watered while controlling flooding in the field below. He didn't know who would inherit the estate, but he hoped he would be as good a manager as Angus had been.

  Eventually, they arrived at the gates of the Carmichael estate. At first, it seemed not to have changed since he was eight, but then he noticed a modern building marked "Visitor Center" illuminated with floodlights. He wondered how long it had been there and hoped he remembered to ask. As they drove on, he wished he could see more, but the night was too dark and the rain too hard. They pulled up to the main house after another five minutes. Connor paid the outrageous fare and wished Andrew well on his drive back to Edinburgh.

  As he hurried through the rain to the front door. it flew open to reveal his cousin, Hamish. "Connor boy, I was beginning ta think ye was nae comin'."

  "The rain slowed the driver down considerably. Not much I could do about the weather. How is Aunt Margaret?"

  "She's holding up well right now. I think she was expecting it, and now she's going to stay strong through tomorrow at least. Come in out of the rain and bring your kit."

  They went through the simple but elegant entrance hall into a small side room decorated in plain colors with the Carmichael tartan on several pillows. Aunt Margaret was seated at the small desk by the window, writing notes. She rose as soon as Connor entered. "Oh, lad, I'm so glad to see ye. I'm sorry ye could nae come sooner, but ye're here now and that's what matters." She pulled him into her arms as she spoke.

  Connor hugged her back carefully, as she had become frailer since he last saw her. She was thinner, too, with dark circles under her eyes.

  "I'm sorry I didn't come, Aunt Margaret. Why did nae ye let me know Uncle was ill?"

  "He would nae let me tell anyone these last six months or more. The only people who had any real idea were Hamish, Bonnie, and the staff and they were sworn to secrecy. Angus made this one promise each and every morning and interrogated him every night to be sure he hadn't told anyone."

  "Hamish, it sounds like Uncle didn't trust ye," Connor said. "I thought ye'd grown out of spilling secrets that weren't yours to tell."

  "Ochs, ye're nae still going on about that crush Bonnie MacInnes had on ye, are ye? That's nae fair to hold a man responsible for something that happened forty years ago. Anyway, Bonnie and
I've been wed twenty-five years ago last July. Ye milked that old story at the wedding and promised Bonnie ye'd retire it," Hamish said.

  "Has it really been twenty-five years? That must have been just before I went into the army. It seems like a lifetime ago," Connor said. He turned to his aunt. "How are ye holding up, and what can I do to make things easier for ye?"

  "Right now, ye can sit yourself down on the sofa and have a nice cup of tea and whatever else might be in the kitchen. Hamish, go see what Mrs. Campbell has for us to eat."

  "Straightaway, Aunt Margaret. Yer wish is my command." Hamish saluted as he left the room.

  "So, Connor, tell me, how are ye doing? When we saw ye last, ye weren't the same man you'd been before going in the army," Aunt Margaret said.

  "After twenty years, any man will have changed, Aunt Margaret." Connor tried to avoid the question.

  "That's not what I meant and ye know it." Margaret Carmichael sat up straight and used the voice that put the fear of God and the clan chief into everybody who heard it, "How are ye?"

  Connor thought for a moment that his aunt would have made a fine Domme as he tried to decide how to answer her, "I'm doing well, Aunt Margaret. My business is going well. I'm getting to where I'll either have to hire help or stop taking new clients in the next year or so. The war fades from my memory a little more each year."

  "All right, lad, if that's the way ye want it, but I know that the last time I talked to Elaine, she was concerned that the demons of the war were still chasing ye."

  "My mother never talked about demons in her life, Aunt Margaret," Connor deflected the question again.

  Hamish returned then, carrying one overloaded tray, and his wife Bonnie, another. They had tea service for four, enough sandwiches to feed a platoon, and freshly baked scones. Connor rose to greet Bonnie, whom he had known since his first summer in Carmichael. She had been the daughter of the cook and an adorable six-year-old tomboy.

  Bonnie had followed Hamish around like a lost puppy but quickly transferred her affections to Connor when he arrived. The second summer, Bonnie had professed her love as only a seven-year-old can. Connor hadn't known what to say. He had reached the age where girls were considered alien creatures infected with "cooties," but he didn't want to hurt her feelings. He had confided in Hamish, thinking the older boy would know how to let her down gently. Instead, Hamish had let it be known throughout the village that they were in love with each other. It had been Aunt Margaret who had gotten to the bottom of it after interrogating both boys.

  She had explained to Bonnie that boys were far behind girls when it came to matters of the heart, even older ones. Although Connor liked her, it was Hamish she should set her sights on because his spreading of the embarrassing story proved that he was jealous.

  Both boys were instructed that if they hurt Bonnie's feelings, they would feel their uncle's ire where it would hurt most. The rest of the summer, the three of them become fast friends. Bonnie fell out of love with Connor and kept secret her growing admiration for Hamish.

  Now the four of them sat down to tea. Connor realized he was famished, having last eaten something made of plastic and cardboard on the plane. He started with a sandwich. The other three made small talk as Connor's mouth seemed to be constantly full. When he stopped to take a large gulp of tea three sandwiches later, he realized that the others were looking at him strangely. To cover his embarrassment and his hunger, he said gruffly, "Haven't ye ever seen a starving man eat before?" Hamish burst out laughing while the women smiled at him. "The sandwiches are delicious. Perhaps I should go and thank Mrs. Campbell for them."

  "I made them, Connor. Mrs. Campbell did the scones," Bonnie said.

  "They're still delicious. Thank ye, Bonnie. I believe I'll have another," Connor said.

  Now that Connor had his initial hunger satisfied, they continued with the rest of the tea and scones. Aunt Margaret, Hamish, and Bonnie quizzed Connor on his life in Kansas City and told him about the funeral plans. Aunt Margaret wanted him to read at the service and to give one of the eulogies, either at the funeral or the luncheon. She clearly preferred he speak at the funeral, but Connor did not think that was appropriate, given how out of touch he had been in recent years.

  "Fair enough," Aunt Margaret said. "Ye can speak at the luncheon after Hamish, and then, we'll open the floor to others who want to speak."

  "Who is doing the main eulogy at the funeral?" Connor asked.

  "The Reverend Michael Carmichael of the Carmichael Kirk. He's been here over twenty years, knew Angus, and I think maybe he knew he was dying, too," Hamish said.

  The four of them sat talking companionably for a while, filling Connor in on various doings around the estate. He was quite interested in the Visitor Center he had passed on the road in. "Do ye get many tourists here?" he asked.

  "Enough to keep three tour guides busy in the summertime," Hamish said. "Only a trickle this time o' year. Then somebody comes down from the farm to give them the short version of the tour—Eastend House, the cemetery, and a quick run around the farm. The Center includes a good history of the Clan and the area. 'Twere Bonnie's idea to set up the Visitor Center. Uncle Angus decided to renovate the old farm cottages at the same time, and the estate gets a good income from renting them out in the summer, too."

  "If nobody minds, I'd like to turn in early," Connor said, about eight o'clock. "My body doesn't know what time it is after all the flying."

  "Do ye remember where yer room is, Connor?" Aunt Margaret queried.

  "Of course."

  "Ye're staying in there and the bathroom is down the hall where it always was. Do ye need any help with your kit?" she asked.

  "No thank ye, Aunt Margaret. What time will we be leaving for the kirk in the morning?"

  "Not before nine, so ye've a chance at a good, long sleep. Mrs. Campbell has breakfast ready about 7:30 am. Hamish and Bonnie are staying here for the time being, to help out with the funeral arrangements and because they think I'm too old to be in the house by myself. They're further down the hall from you if ye need anything in the night."

  Connor assured her he wouldn't need anything and bid them all goodnight.

  His room looked the same as it had when he was a boy, decorated in dark, masculine colors. The four-poster bed had the Carmichael tartan bedspread Connor had always liked still on it. He unpacked his things and set his alarm for 6:30 am. He passed a restless night between the jetlag and worries about his aunt. In the morning, he got up and took a shower before he dressed in his kilt and dress shirt. He left his room and started for the back stairs where he could smell bacon frying.

  The stairs led to the kitchen, and he found Mrs. Campbell hard at work on breakfast. She turned around when he entered and said, "Ye must be Mr. Connor. Breakfast will be ready in about thirty minutes, in the small parlor."

  "It smells wonderful, Mrs. Campbell, as were yer scones yesterday. I don't suppose I could get a cup of coffee now?"

  "I suppose, as long as ye take it with ye out of my kitchen."

  He took a long sniff of it and tasted it before sighing, "Nectar of the gods. Thank ye very much."

  He was the first one into the small parlor that served as the breakfast room, so he took a seat and savored the strong, black coffee. He stood when his aunt entered about twenty minutes later. "Good morning, Aunt Margaret, I hope ye slept well?"

  "Thank you, yes, and you? You look tired. I hope it's just the jet lag?"

  "Yes, Aunt Margaret." Before he could say any more, Bonnie and Hamish entered ahead of Mrs. Campbell. She had coffee and juice to start with. Connor was ready for a refill. Bonnie went to the kitchen and helped Mrs. Campbell by bringing one tray with eggs, sausage and bacon, while the cook had a smaller tray with baked beans and a pile of toast with jam and butter in smaller containers.

  They passed the serving dishes around, and soon they were all enjoying the bounty Mrs. Campbell had provided. After their initial hunger was satisfied, Aunt Margaret asked Connor if he
had a black armband for the sleeve of his coat.

  "I'm sorry, Aunt Margaret, I completely forgot about that. Do ye happen to have some black fabric around that I can use?"

  Bonnie answered, "I have crepe at our house, Connor. There's plenty of time for me to run home and get it before we go to the kirk."

  Connor thanked Bonnie and poured himself a third cup of coffee, while she left to get his armband. Aunt Margaret left to get ready for the service, leaving Hamish and Connor alone together.

  "Ye've got a wonderful wife there, Hamish," Connor said.

  "I've reason to know it. I'm sorry the boys could nae be here, but it's exam week at the university."

  "I'm sure they're just as wonderful. I'm glad you ended up with Bonnie. I doubt we would have suited at all."

  "Who would suit you, Connor? You're past the age when most men settle down. Are you a confirmed bachelor? I would have thought ye'd be a natural father," Hamish said.

  "I would like a family, but I'm particular about the woman. While I was in the army, it didn't seem fair to marry someone I wouldn't see for months on end. My second and third tours in Afghanistan lasted over a year without any leave long enough to go home. The only long leave I had when I was overseas, was when me da was dying. Now, I look, but I haven't found the right woman yet." A petite brunette with a penchant for pain flashed briefly through his mind as he spoke.

  They separated to finish getting dressed, Connor in his army dress coat over his kilt and Hamish in his best dark coat.

  They both arrived downstairs right in time to see Aunt Margaret come from the parlor looking regal in her black dress with the Carmichael tartan over her shoulder. Bonnie came in just then, also in subdued black. She walked over to Connor and made quick work of sewing the armband on his sleeve while Hamish went outside to get the car.