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Part Of Me; Cross-over between Bad Girls and Monarch of the Glen
Topic Started: May 15 2013, 07:47 PM (3,611 Views)
CrashxBurn
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Title: Part Of Me
Author: CrashxBurn
Rating: This will eventually be 18/NC-17, so be forewarned. There will be detailed, consensual sex between two women, so if that offends you please do not read this.
Disclaimer: Bad Girls and all its characters are property of Shed Productions, a division of Shed Media Group, plc. The author implies no ownership of these characters, and they are used in the stories without permission solely for entertainment and not for profit. Similarly this applies to any copyrighted fictional characters either from literature, broadcast media or film.
Feedback: I love feedback. I won't lie, it's a major ego boost, but beyond that it's inspiring and it urges me to continue writing, even if I'm in a funk. I also appreciate constructive criticism as it helps to improve my writing.
A/N: This is a cross-over between Bad Girls and Monarch of the Glen. I came up with this idea over a year ago and wrote the first chapter before putting it aside for a rainy day. That rainy day is now and I've started writing it again. I hope you will enjoy. Also, please forgive and point out any glaring mistakes I make. :)

Chapter One

Glenbogle Estate, Scotland – Tuesday, April 23, 2002

Kiera McKinley had what most people would call a charmed life. She had a degree in World Literature and Creative Writing from UCLA, and she was a successful author of three fiction novels, which afforded her the luxury of an upscale condo in San Francisco and the ability to travel wherever she liked. While pondering ideas for her fourth book she was gripped by a seemingly insatiable curiosity to go back to her roots. Her mother hadn’t been able to tell her much about her biological father except for his name and that he’d been a flighty bastard who’d disappeared when she’d found out she was pregnant.

Three months touring Italy and soaking up the culture left Kiera feeling slightly more worldly and in touch with her heritage, but with no desire to track down the man who’d abandoned her before birth. She hopped on a flight to Glasgow to track down her only living relative on her mother’s side, her aunt Siobhan, and she kept communication open through overseas calls. After two weeks in Glasgow she decided she was in love with Scotland and had to know more of it, to see the beautiful countryside and breathe the fresh air outside the city. Her aunt and mother helped with her family research, tracing back several generations to the small estate of Glenbogle.

She purchased a car, packed her things, bid her aunt farewell (promising to visit again), and began to drive. Upon reaching the picturesque estate she entered the first pub she encountered to inquire about lodging. The barmaid kindly informed her that she was unlikely to find a room in town, as Glenbogle’s annual festival was just a week away and it drew in a lot of tourist traffic, but that a woman named Isobel Anderson had room to spare on her farm and was looking for a tenant, as long as she didn’t mind not living in luxury. Kiera was at once intrigued by the mention of the festival and she wasn’t picky about her accommodations, so she happily scribbled down the address and thanked the young bartender, who was definitely easy on the eyes.

Twenty minutes later her car’s built-in GPS had led her through a patch of forest, along a dirt road, to a handsome (albeit slightly run-down) farm. She parked next to a battered truck and a small red car and immediately noticed the woman sitting outside. Even at a distance Kiera could tell she was a looker. She stepped out of her small two-door vehicle, thankful the ground was dry, and pushed her Gucci sunglasses on top of her head. Her long dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail with wispy side bangs framing her face. She’d chosen navy skinny jeans with black high-heeled boots and a skintight plum-coloured blouse as her ensemble that morning. She shielded her ocean blue eyes with one hand and offered a friendly wave with the other.

The short, honey blonde woman, Isobel – she assumed, set her glass down and stood with a curious frown. Kiera approached with long strides and extended her right hand, introducing herself somewhat nervously, “Kiera McKinley. I’m hoping you’re Isobel Anderson and I’ve found the right place? The barmaid at McCall’s told me you’re looking for a tenant, and I’m looking for a place to stay so it’s a win/win.” The blonde seemed to speculate for a moment before smiling and accepting the brunette’s hand for a firm shake. She replied amicably, “Aye, I’m Isobel and I am seeking a tenant. Would ye like to come inside for tea or lemonade?”

Kiera nodded eagerly and breathed an inward sigh of relief, following the shorter woman inside the main house. She couldn’t help staring at the Scot’s backside along the way. Though she was dressed casually in faded blue jeans and a green button-up, there was something naturally radiant about her and she had curves in all the right places. The foreigner knew at first sight that her stay on the farm would be blissful torture if she was forced to look and not touch. The part of her that was an optimistic masochist desperately hoped that this woman was single and open-minded, if not entirely bendy. The realist in her said that she probably didn’t have a chance in hell.


Chapter Two

Glenbogle Estate, Scotland – Tuesday, April 23, 2002

Isobel Anderson was frustrated. Paul Bowman, the new Laird of Glenbogle, had given her exactly one month to find a tenant to take care of her grandmother’s farm or the lease would go to her next door neighbor, Sheriff Joseph Reavey. He was a twisted but cunning man and he’d so far managed to pull the wool over Laird Bowman’s eyes. Three weeks into her allotted month, Isobel was beginning to feel desperate. She’d quit her high-powered job in Edinburgh to try and salvage the farm herself, but she still wasn’t making ends meet and she was loathe to admit defeat, and hand the land over to a manipulative, misogynist bastard.

She was sitting outside sipping lemonade and marinating in woe when a flashy black car pulled to a stop in her dirt driveway. Her brows drew together in a speculative frown as she tried to suss the situation. Glenbogle was a small estate, mostly farm land, and she didn’t know anyone local with the wealth to drive a car that expensive. Her eyes followed the path of an attractive brunette as she exited the Mercedes. She found her eyes scanning the woman’s figure of their own volition. She was surprised with herself when she realised what she was doing; it wasn’t like her to check out women. She forced herself out of her reverie and accepted the outstretched hand on offer.

She was even more surprised to learn that this wealthy woman with the California accent was interested in being her tenant. Hope swelled in her chest and she led the brunette beauty inside for a drink, wondering if something was actually going right for a change. As she poured a glass of iced lemonade for her new guest, and hopefully future tenant, she gestured at the wooden bar stools by the breakfast island. “Feel free to take a seat and we can work out the details. I’m happy to take you on a tour of the place and explain what I’m trying to do here, and then, if you’re still interested, we can draw up an agreement. How long are you planning to be here?”

She handed the glass over and took a sip of her own as she sat beside the brunette. Kiera, for her part, was hard-pressed to come up with a reply in a timely fashion. She was too busy gazing at Isobel and soaking in the sound of her rich Scottish accent. She blinked dumbly for a moment and then shook her head to clear the cobwebs. “Um… I’m not sure actually. I came here to do some further research on my family history, which so far has traced back to the Glenbogle estate, so I might be here for a long stretch. I’m a writer, you see, and something about my Scottish roots is incomprehensibly fascinating to me.” Isobel nodded and smiled to show she was listening and Kiera added chirpily, “Besides, I hear there’s a festival going on and I’d love to see what it’s all about.”

Isobel’s smile widened and Kiera couldn’t fail to notice how she tucked her tongue up behind her teeth. It made her blood pump a little faster and she told herself sternly, ‘Down girl.’ She sipped at her lemonade and diverted her eyes to glance around the homely kitchen she was sat in. It was a cozy place made for home cooking and warm family dinners, nothing like the sleek and chic kitchen she had at home, full of top-of-the-line modern equipment and furnishings in stainless steel and shiny black. As Kiera finished her refreshing drink, tucking aside a note to compliment on it later, Isobel began to tell her all she knew about Glenbogle, starting with the array of comedic characters in residence.

Over the next half-hour, Kiera learned about Paul the new Laird, taking over from the previous Laird, Archie MacDonald, after he moved to New Zealand with his wife Lexie, Golly the Gillie of Glenbogle and his daughter Jess, Molly the widow of the late Hector MacDonald (Archie’s father), Hector’s brother Donald, a reprehensible career criminal with a fondness for troublemaking and chaos, and apparently also for trying to steal his brother’s wife, Jess’s boyfriend Duncan whose newest goal was to succeed in the radio industry, and Ewan, a younger lad she really didn’t know much about, but he seemed earnest enough.

Kiera listened with growing interest to Isobel’s descriptions of the people who were soon to be her neighbours for the duration of her stay, and she found herself falling in love with the place a little more as each minute passed. Finally they rose and she followed the curvy honey blonde on a tour of the house and the farm land beyond. The old architecture, the fresh air, and the amazing amount of green everywhere she turned tugged at her heartstrings. Not to mention the woman who was acting as her guide and landlord. She hid a smile and reprimanded her raging libido. Now was not the time. She had research to do and a book to focus on writing, and she wanted to make a good impression. Somehow she didn’t think this woman would take kindly to her flirting just yet. She decided to put a bookmark on her thoughts and return at a later date, when she knew her host better and could predict her reaction.


Chapter Three

Same time, different place… London, England

Nikki Wade’s mind was keeping her awake, at a time when she should’ve been snuggled up against her lover in the other room. Her thoughts were running on overdrive and refused to slow, drawing her out of bed and away from the warmth of Helen’s body. Now she was wandering around Helen’s flat wearing only a robe and re-familiarizing herself with the place she’d only visited once before, on her illegal middle of the night rendezvous to patch things up with her then soon-to-be lover. After the initial argument they’d made passionate love and they’d poured out their hearts before Helen had conned her into returning to Larkhall. In hindsight she knew it had been for the best, especially now that her appeal had been successful and she was a free woman, but at the time she’d been furious and hurt by what she’d perceived as a betrayal from the woman she loved.

Only ten hours ago she’d been convinced she would never again lay eyes on the gorgeous Scot or get to touch her golden skin, to take in that captivating smile and stare into those dazzling green eyes. Things were moving so quickly she almost couldn’t breathe. Her world had stopped abruptly and the air had been knocked out of her lungs as she’d stood waiting to hear the judge’s verdict in the crowded courtroom. Only when PO Di Barker had nudged her and exclaimed that she was free did things start moving again, and move they did. The rush of disbelief and elation had been dizzying as the room began to spin in Technicolor. She recalled being swept up into hugs by people she didn’t even know, and then Trisha’s beaming face and warm arms greeting her, welcoming her into the free world again, a place that felt decidedly foreign after three years spent behind iron bars and green walls.

Then there were the reporters flashing their cameras in her face as she descended the steps of the courthouse wearing her tailored black Armani suit. She remembered the tearful and heartfelt speech she’d delivered without any need for forethought. She knew she’d only told the truth and she didn’t regret it for a moment. Hopefully someone out there would take her words to heart and try to make a difference for women still imprisoned. As Helen had proved time and again, even one person had the power to influence change. The end of her speech had left her trembling with tear-stained cheeks and a gaping hole in her chest where her heart should have been. As she’d reached out to the person who meant more than her own existence, she’d mourned her loss and she’d made what she’d believed to be a farewell address. Two-and-a-half hours later, in the dim, crowded atmosphere of Chix, the lesbian bar she still co-owned with Trisha, she’d seen a face through the strobe lights that turned out to be her salvation.

For all of the years of her life that she’d given to Trisha, and for all of the love they’d shared together, forcing herself into the false cocoon of safety that reentering a relationship with the blonde would bring would not have worked. It would have been as useless as a thin plaster over a gushing wound, and removing it would have come slowly and painfully. Deep down she’d known it was wrong to give Trisha any false hope that they could be again as they were before, but courageous Nikki had been curled into a little ball, hiding from the hurt of separation and the confusion of being thrust into a world in which she no longer felt she belonged. Helen had changed that simply by appearing, bringing her old world and new crashing together with a bang. Trisha had seen right through the merry façade she’d displayed as she'd returned to the bar, the double doors of the club entrance still swinging softly in Helen’s wake.

If it hadn’t been for the insistence of her intuitive ex, Nikki wouldn’t have found the nerve she needed to chase after Helen, thereby correcting what would have been a mistake of momentous proportions. They’d said goodbye enough for a lifetime. She’d raced through the crowd with no apologies to the people she’d bumped into, her focus only on reaching Helen before she vanished like smoke. She’d burst through the doors with her heartbeat pounding in her ears and the brightness of the sun had momentarily blinded her. She’d seen the cab pulling away from the kerb and she’d thought she might vomit as despair filled her. Then she’d heard that voice and time stopped for the second time that day. All was not lost, but found in a flourish of delight. She’d approached her ex-jailor with the giddiness of a teenager and the accompanying uncertainty.

She needn’t have worried, though, for a few minutes later she’d been pressed against an outer wall of Chix with a voracious Scot claiming her lips for all of Soho to see. The memory of the heated kiss caused a smile to tug at her mouth and a stirring to begin much lower. She began to drift back to the present and she continued her quiet perusal of Helen’s flat. While she was physically exhausted from hours of lovemaking, her mind was alive like never before. She felt like she was beginning to live for the first time as she wandered into Helen’s lounge and studied the photos on the mantel. The colored snaps provided an intimate look at her girlfriend’s life that she’d never had the luxury of knowing before. She drank in the sight with eager eyes, seeing the smiling faces of friends and family in various times and places. She saw none of the stern prison governor that she’d met in Larkhall, only a face that seemed to beam from within, and she hoped desperately that she would get to know that side of Helen now that they were both truly free.

One photo in particular jumped out at her from the center of the collection. For a moment she thought her mind was playing tricks on her, but as she plucked the frame from the shelf and studied it more closely, she was filled with puzzlement and wonder. There appeared to be not one, but two Helens staring back at her, with a picturesque background that Nikki would bet was somewhere in Scotland. A soft touch on her shoulder startled her and she nearly dropped the picture, but she recovered in time and clutched it to her chest. Helen smiled apologetically and said softly, “Sorry… I woke up and you weren’t beside me. What are you still doing awake? You must be as tired as I am.”

The Scot’s tongue pressed against her teeth in that adorable way as she grinned and slid her arms around Nikki’s waist, and then she realised what Nikki was holding. She chuckled and took it with one hand, smiling down at the picture as though lost in some pleasant memory. Nikki bit her lip and waited for some kind of explanation that didn’t seem to be coming any time soon. After a minute or so, Helen replaced the photograph in its rightful place and sighed softly. “That’s my twin sister, Isobel. She lives in Scotland and I haven’t seen her in nearly five years, not since the last time we both visited our Gran at her farmhouse. She died almost a year ago and I didn’t make it back for the funeral.” A guilty, pained look crossed Helen’s face and she elaborated in a miserable whisper, “I sat at the airport waiting for three days to catch a flight, but mother nature had other plans and the snow kept them all cancelled.”

Tears pricked the backs of Helen’s eyes and she sniffled, red-nosed and sullen-faced, as Nikki pulled her into a tight hug. The ex-con stroked her fingers gently through Helen’s silky brown hair as she offered whispered words of condolence. Helen melted into her arms and allowed the tears to flow. The pain she’d repressed for the last year flooded out in cathartic wave after wave, until finally Nikki guided her to the sofa and they sank into the cushions. Helen burrowed into the side of Nikki’s neck as her tears ran unchecked down her cheeks in salty rivulets of release. When she could cry no more and her eyelids were drooping from exhaustion, physical and emotional, her darling Nikki took her by the hand and led her to bed, this time to sleep a shared slumber until late that afternoon.

Nikki was stunned to find out that Helen had a twin sister she’d never mentioned before, but then they’d not had much time for talking about their lives when she’d been incarcerated. They’d only had a few precious, stolen moments and most of them were spent planning her appeal. There was so much to learn but finally she had the time and the means in which to discover everything she could about the love of her life. As she lay pressed against Helen’s back with the Scot tightly ensconced in her embrace, her lids closed and she drifted into a land filled with possibilities for their future, her last conscious thought being that she never wanted to fall asleep again without this woman in her arms.
Edited by CrashxBurn, Jun 9 2013, 12:27 PM.
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Chapter Four

London, England – Wednesday, April 24, 2002

Rested and rejuvenated, Nikki spent the day after her release on the town with Helen. She took in the sights and sounds that she’d missed for the last three years and as they passed a row of clothing boutiques a thought occurred to her. ‘Shit. I haven’t got any money.’ She’d been so preoccupied thus far that she hadn’t even considered the matter. She’d left Trisha in charge of her finances for the duration of her stay at Her Majesty’s Pleasure. That coupled with the realisation that all of her worldly possessions were at the house they’d once shared made her wince. Trisha had clearly resigned herself to their separation if her actions the previous day were anything to go by, but Nikki knew she’d done it with a heavy heart and she loathed to cause her ex any more unnecessary pain.

Helen was a couple paces ahead of her when she realised she was talking to thin air. She spun on her heel to see what had delayed her partner and found the ex-con rooted to the spot with a pained expression on her face. The Scot doubled back worriedly and asked, “Nikki? What is it? What’s the matter?” The taller woman sighed heavily and stated in a resigned tone, “I’ve got to call Trish. I don’t see any point in shopping when I haven’t got any money on me. Besides, I’ll need to collect my things.” Helen nodded in understanding and touched Nikki’s forearm as she replied, “I know you must feel a bit out of sorts with everything changing so quickly, but I’ll be here to help you in any way that I can.”

The former prison governor paused then queried, “Have you thought about where you’re going to live now? Are you planning to rent a flat? Buy a house? Or…” Helen took a breath and plucked up her courage to ask the question that had been plaguing her since she’d woken up in Nikki’s arms. It was impulsive and completely out of character, but it was what she wanted and she was going to dive in feet first for a change. “Or maybe you’d like to live with me?” She held her breath as she waited for the answer that would make or break her dreams concerning the raven-haired woman before her. She was almost too nervous to look Nikki in the eye for fear of seeing rejection. It was unlike her to be so dependent on the thoughts of another and she cursed in her head. ‘Damn it, Nikki Wade. What have you done to me?’

Nikki gaped as a fish out of water as she processed Helen’s unexpected proposal. When had the Scot decided that the time for taking things slowly was over and why hadn’t she been told? She’d been preparing herself all day for the reality of a relationship that would likely progress at a snail’s pace, as it had through its entirety, and now she was staring flabbergasted at this slip of a woman who was constantly throwing her world off its axis. Helen was fidgeting, glancing this way and that at the people milling around them on the sidewalk. Nikki registered her nervousness and began to fully appreciate how much this meant to Helen, so she didn’t waste time mulling over her answer and keeping them in suspense; she went with her gut instinct. “I’d love to live with you, darling.”

She pulled the shorter woman into her arms and felt her body sag as some great, invisible weight lifted from her shoulders. Mindless of the passersby sidestepping them, Nikki dipped her head and sought Helen’s lips in a reassuring kiss. They found themselves lost in the cocoon of another reality until a car horn blared on the street. They pulled apart and Nikki grinned as Helen’s face and neck flushed light pink. She couldn’t resist having a tease, “Why Miss Stewart, you’re blushing.” That earned her a swat on the arm and a chuckle from the rosy Scot, who then proceeded to pull out her mobile and offer it to her counterpart. “We should probably get this over with as soon as possible. I’ve got plans for you, Wade, and they don’t include your ex.”

Nikki couldn’t stop herself from smiling as she heard the territorial note in Helen’s voice. In the past she’d always been the jealous one and she found she quite liked having the tables turned. Where she had always wrongfully made assumptions and spewed hurtful venom, Helen was merely stating her purpose and staking her rightful claim. Taking the phone from the outstretched hand, she quickly punched in the numbers she knew by heart. The line rang three times before it was answered. “Hi, Trish, it’s me. I was wondering if it would be all right to stop over and grab a few things? I’m in the city and I’ve just realized I don’t have any money.”

There was a pause and then, “Hi, Nik. I was expecting this call at some point. We’ve got a lot to sort out with finances and whether you still want to be involved with Chix, but your stuff has been boxed up and waiting for you since we split up.” They could both recall vividly the day in the visiting room when Trisha had revealed she’d met someone else, or rather Nikki had guessed, thus ending their nine-year relationship. “I’ll be here until five so you can drop in any time before that.”

Nikki nodded out of habit, even though Trisha couldn’t see her, and she replied, “All right, that works for me. I’ll be there soon.” She disconnected the call and handed the phone back to its owner, who was now questioning her with a gaze. She relayed the other half of the brief conversation and they changed direction toward the tube station from which they’d just arrived twenty-three minutes prior.


Chapter Five

Glenbogle Estate, Scotland – Wednesday, April 24, 2002

Kiera was sitting in McCall’s nursing a glass of whisky and brainstorming plot ideas for her latest novel-in-progress, while simultaneously sending surreptitious glances at the busty barmaid and eavesdropping on the local chatter. Apparently this Donald MacDonald character was continuing to stir up trouble and his latest misdeed was wrecking a car by ploughing it into a tree in his hasty attempt to escape Glenbogle. By sipping her Scotch and scribbling on a small notepad she went mostly unnoticed as she listened to a further fifteen minutes of gossip, hoping that something might strike a chord and inspire her to write. All she gleaned, however, was that two long-time residents were leaving Glenbogle that afternoon.

Duncan was going to Edinburgh to try and turn his dream of working in radio into reality, leaving a devastated Jess behind, and Lexie was going back to New Zealand to patch things up with her husband, after sensational rumours about her having an affair with Paul had sprung out of the woodwork. Kiera sighed in defeat and downed the remaining whisky in one gulp, so used to the taste that she didn’t even flinch. Her lifestyle as a writer meant she spent long hours locked away by herself avoiding any distractions. Over the last few years it had become a lonely existence and it had led to depression and alcoholism, finally culminating in a mental breakdown after her third novel was published.

She’d handled her problems very quietly with discreet counseling and antidepressants until she was stable enough to continue without them. Now she made sure to venture into the real world on a regular basis, to mingle with strangers and have conversations, to do her research hands-on instead of through her computer, and though she still drank on occasion, she never had more than two and she never allowed herself to get drunk. She feared if she fell back into that same routine then she would lose all of the progress she had made in making herself healthy again. More than that, though, she didn’t want to break her mother’s heart again by turning back to that lifestyle.

Her parents, or more accurately her mother and step-father, lived in California only an hour’s drive from her house in San Francisco. Her Italian blood father, Giraldo Valesi, had left before she was born. She’d retained her mother’s maiden name, McKinley, as a child when Aileen had married a charming policeman from New York who was working in Los Angeles, Calvin Bennett. She’d always gotten along well with Cal and over time he’d become the father she’d never had in her early years. She didn’t want to disappoint him either.

She paid for her drink and left the bar quietly, enjoying the Scottish breeze that whipped against her cheeks and the bright sunshine not diluted by the pollution of a big city. She drove back to the Anderson farm on autopilot, her mind busy cataloguing things that might be worth adding to her book and discarding those that weren’t. The process was time-consuming as she had so many sights, sounds, and experiences to comb through. This was all part of her research phase. As she parked her flashy new car in the worn dirt driveway she wondered at how out of place she must seem here. Yet she felt right at home, even more than she did in her actual home accompanied only by electronic gizmos and gadgets. This place was doing wonders to expel the hermit in her.

She found Isobel feeding her two hogs, Sausage and Bacon, and she approached with a smile. Seeing the daily tasks of country living was a new and exciting adventure for someone who’d only ever known the fast-paced life of big cities. When Isobel had told her the names she’d chosen for her hogs, Kiera had laughed aloud at her sense of humour. Now she stood by and thought to offer her help, but as the idea occurred Isobel was already finishing the chore. Instead she asked, “So… the festival that’s starting next week… I was hoping you could tell me more about it.”

Isobel offered a grin as she carried the metal slop pails back to the shed, Kiera just one step behind her. It never ceased to amaze how this woman could so readily have a smile on her face and in her voice. “Sure. It’s one of my favorite times of year, actually. I take it you’re interested in going?”

The slender Californian grinned back and quipped, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I wanted to see the Beltane Fire Festival in Edinburgh next week, but the tickets are all sold out.”

Isobel raised an eyebrow as if to say, ‘Of course they are,’ but what she actually said was, “Yeah, it’s a marvellous thing to see, but it’s also one of the most popular festivals around here and you’d have had to book your ticket months ago I’m afraid.” They strolled up to the house and settled into the kitchen for more of Isobel’s lovely lemonade, as was quickly becoming a habit, and she continued speaking as she poured, “Our festival is actually just before the Beltane Fire Fest and it’s designed to emulate it. You’ll see many of the same elements here, just on a smaller scale.”

The chat continued with Isobel explaining the local history behind the festivals and some of the things that were likely to be seen. Kiera could hardly contain her mounting excitement to see all of the splendour in person. Painted topless women? People dancing around bonfires? People waving sticks of fire around? She worried for a second she might go cross-eyed at the mental image she conjured of Isobel covered in paint and nothing else. That, unfortunately, would not be the case, as there were strict rules in place for all in attendance who were not official performers. Kiera wiped the stupid grin off her face and tried to tune in to the rest of the story, all the while thinking, ‘Damn it. This much obsession cannot be healthy.’


Chapter Six

Three days later… London, England – Saturday, April 27, 2002

The small rented moving truck had left Helen’s flat just an hour ago, and now boxes filled with Nikki’s personal belongings covered half of the lounge floor. She’d stopped by Trisha’s the other day shortly after her phone call and, as Trisha had said, all of her things were already packed for her. She’d told her ex to keep all of the furniture in the flat instead of splitting it, save two mahogany bookcases, as Helen’s place was already fully furnished. The two bookcases had found their new home in Helen’s spare bedroom, which doubled as a home office area with a desk and a chair as well as a bed and a walk-in closet. Nikki had already plugged in her laptop and placed it on the desk beside Helen’s.

It was one of the first things she’d bought, along with a mobile phone, after they’d had her personal checking account unfrozen, her credit cards reactivated, and had divided the money in their shared account consisting of profits made by Chix. She admired the strong and silent way Trisha had handled the splitting of a decade’s worth of shared assets, meant originally to build their life together. She’d offered no complaint or resistance, only the stoicism that comes with acceptance. Nikki thought if she’d been in Trisha’s shoes she probably would’ve had a fit. After the visit to the bank and the shopping expedition, she and Helen had gone to have her passport updated, get a new driving license ordered, and she’d filled out a form at the post office to change her address, so that all of her mail would be forwarded to Helen’s flat.

There were only three things left to do now: unpack and organise her things, meet with Trisha at the club to discuss the future of their shared ownership, and to meet with a real estate agent so she could remove her name from the deed to the house. Her ex had already agreed to buy out her half of it to save time and any kind of legal hassle, for which Nikki was extremely grateful. She got started on the first task right away and with Helen’s help it was accomplished in only a few hours. All of her clothes were neatly hung or folded alongside Helen’s in the master bedroom, with their out-of-season heavy winter wear residing in the guest room closet to free up the needed space.

Her photos had been interspersed in various places around the flat, creating a unity of her memories and Helen’s in their shared space, and the numerous boxes of books had been moved to the spare room to be sorted and allocated to the empty bookshelves. Four o’clock in the afternoon found her sitting cross-legged on the beige carpet as she stacked books around her in neat piles, according to author and genre. She lifted her head from scanning the works of Jane Austen when she heard a light tap on the doorframe. She smiled as Helen’s head popped into the room and she announced, “I was just trying to decide what to make for tea. Do you have a preference?”

Nikki stood and raised her arms above her head, a blissful groan escaping as she stretched and popped her spine. “That’s a good question. I guess I’d better take a look, hadn’t I?” Helen shook her head and tried to repress a smile at Nikki’s constant playfulness. Her mood had improved a hundredfold in the last few days and it was a pleasant adjustment to make on both ends. The ex-con followed her temptress’s swishing hips to the kitchen to inspect the contents of her cabinets and refrigerator, and she wasn’t disappointed by what she found. She’d expected a workaholic like Helen to eat takeaway at least six out of seven nights a week, but her kitchen was well-stocked with foods for cooking proper meals.

Upon finding fresh vegetables in the fridge, waiting to be washed and chopped, Nikki couldn’t contain herself anymore. “Helen… when did you undergo a personality transplant and learn how to cook? I was sure I’d find month-old takeaway in here and cabinets filled with well-thumbed menus.” It was said in jest and her tone conveyed as much, so Helen tucked her tongue behind her teeth and answered cheekily, “Around the time I dumped Sean and realised I was a lesbian, that’s of course ignoring my attempt at deluding myself with Thomas.” Becoming more serious than she’d meant to, she continued quietly, “When I envisioned my life with you outside of those walls, I didn’t see take-out dinners and nights sat in front of the telly with stale conversation. I want to make a home with you, Nikki, not just a space for surviving.”

Nikki was so moved by the impromptu declaration that she could only stand and stare as she fought the urge to cry. She’d always known that words were powerful things, an epiphany she’d had many a year ago while reading one of her cherished classic novels, but coming from the right person at the right time and place, words could be absolutely earth-shattering. Everything she’d thought she’d known about love at age thirty-two had only cracked the tip of the iceberg, because here in this moment, three years older and many more wiser, she felt that iceberg melting. That so simple a thought could be so profound and meaningful was hard to believe until one experienced the effects firsthand, and experiencing them she was.

In the split second it took to absorb the impact of Helen’s sentiment, Nikki felt her heart expand and her love for the Scot grow exponentially, impossibly bigger. She’d already decided there was no one else she wanted to spend her life with, but now she knew without any doubt that it was a decision shared. In that instant all past transgressions were forgiven in her mind, and more importantly in her heart, because no apology in the world could have made things clearer for her. Without another word spoken she crossed the space between them and Helen greeted her as though capable of prescience. Their mouths met for ardent, love-affirming instances driven by emotion greater than either had thought possible, and as hands roamed and clothing was discarded, dinner was long-forgotten and they began to truly understand what it was to merge one’s soul with that of another.
Edited by CrashxBurn, Jun 9 2013, 12:46 PM.
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Awesome start. Looking forward to more. Soon i hope
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Chapter Seven

London, England – Sunday, April 28, 2002

Nikki veered off the street into an alley that ran along one side of Chix. She approached the side door and used her key to gain access, asking herself for at least the twentieth time if she was doing the right thing; for her, for Helen, for Trisha, for the club, for her future… ‘Get a grip, woman. This isn’t the time to start feeling flighty.’ It would be several hours before the establishment opened so the place was dark and vacant, with the exception of the lights hanging directly over the bar and a slender, well-dressed blonde carrying a crate of beer from the storeroom in the basement.

The ex-con steeled her resolve and approached with a friendly smile. Trisha returned the gesture and set the crate down on the bar top. “I was starting to think you might not show.” Nikki had the grace to look humbled by Trisha’s clairvoyant conclusion. She chanced a rueful half-smile and was received with empathetic understanding. “Being back here wasn’t easy for me either. It took me a while to work up the nerve to set foot in this place after Gossard. Renovating it helped, though. Out with the old, in with the new.” Nikki’s field of vision was limited by the scant lighting, but from what she could see Trisha certainly had been busy. The design was much more modern and elaborate than she remembered, and now she knew why.

“Sorry, Trish. I did think about flaking for a minute, but I know this means too much to you. It still means a lot to me too. Things won’t ever be the same as they were, but in time we may find a new way of working together that doesn’t involve shagging. It might even be better for business.” She allowed a grin to break free as she waited for Trisha’s acknowledgement. The blonde only took a second to reply favourably. “Let’s go back to the office where we can sit and have a proper chat. I’ll even pour you a drink.”

Nikki feigned distress and groused playfully, “Well you leave me no choice but to accept. However can I resist when you tempt me with such a rarity?” Trisha saluted her with two fingers and Nikki knew it was in jest. It was like old times again, without the distraction of sex. Somewhere along the way she’d managed to forget one very important thing, something much more vital than carnal pleasure: Trisha had been her best friend for nine years. How they had let their friendship collapse along with their romance, she had no idea. It only occurred to her then how truly devastated she would be if she never saw the blonde again. While she was no longer in love with her ex-partner, she would always love her as a friend.

Nikki followed her ex to the back and into the office they’d once shared. Trisha flipped a switch and the room illuminated, revealing its many changes over the last three years. The space she’d once occupied with pride now felt alien to Nikki. She seated herself on the long leather sofa opposite the executive desk and took in her lavish surroundings. Trisha had always had a knack for decorating and it certainly hadn’t waned. The walls were paneled with oak that had been stained to burnt umber, the carpet was plush and wheat coloured, and all of the furnishings were varying shades of brown between the two.

The blonde walked over to the hidden liquor cabinet in the wall farthest from the door and began to pour them each two fingers of aged single malt Scotch. Nikki accepted the glass gratefully and took a hesitant sip. It had been a long time now since she’d indulged in hard liquor, and the amber liquid reminded her of such as it burned its way down her throat and brought her taste buds to life. It was a pleasant burn, though, and one she’d missed whilst imprisoned. Trisha settled in at the other end of the camel coloured sofa and nursed her own drink as she waited for Nikki to speak. It was she who now held the fate of their business partnership in her hands.

When she had first agreed to speak with Trisha about the club, she’d been fairly certain she would relinquish her half of the partnership, but after careful consideration she’d decided on a compromise. The idea had struck her that very morning as she’d pottered around Helen’s garden, pulling weeds and drawing mental plans to spruce up the greenery. Since Sean’s departure two years ago, the area had been neglected and the vegetation had grown wild. As she’d toiled away she’d realised that that was something she could easily make a career of. She’d always enjoyed nature before Larkhall, but she’d developed an avid green thumb during her stay. She was now considering opening a gardening business and she knew exactly what she’d like to do for her first big project.

“Trish… I’ve been thinking…” She rolled her glass nervously between her hands, unsure how her proposal would sit with her ex, who cared even less for gardening than Helen. “Well, I know you’ve made some renovations already, but I’ve a few ideas to renovate further, if you agree.” She glanced up from the sloshing amber drink in her hands to find two ice blue eyes staring at her, and from the look she was getting, Trisha was growing impatient. Nikki could just imagine her saying, ‘Spit it out already.’ She suppressed a smile and did just that.

“I think it would be interesting to turn Chix into sort of an indoor oasis bar. Think about it, no one else in London has anything like that open right now. I could stay on as a silent partner and do all the required work for upkeep during the day, so you’d only be responsible for the usual running of things at night. I learned everything I need to know about gardening while I was in Larkhall and I’m thinking about starting up my own business for it. What do you say to being my first client?”

Whatever Trisha had been expecting to hear, it wasn’t that. She stared silently for what felt like ages, and then she asked slowly, “You want to turn our bar into a garden?” Nikki’s lips twitched and she took a sip of her Scotch. She could see the wheels spinning in her ex’s mind. She was no doubt imagining dirt under her fingernails and cringing at the thought. “That was the idea, yeah, but I’m not proposing we get rid of the dance floor and turn it into a field or anything. We’d still have all of the modern amenities, but there would be some colour to liven the place up.”

Trisha relaxed and loosened some of the tension in her jaw. She was relieved to know that Nikki hadn’t completely lost her mind. She finally acceded, “I’ll think about it, okay?”

Nikki raised her glass in a one-way toast and said, “Cheers. I’ll put down some sketches and you can decide when you see them.”


Chapter Eight

Two days later… Glenbogle Estate, Scotland – Tuesday, April 30, 2002

In the beginning the land was covered in darkness, for every torch and candle had been extinguished. Enter the May Queen with her Green Man beside her and together they will light the sacred Bel-fire, from which all other fire may be reborn and the land will flourish. Accompanied by her guards, she and her Green Man will begin the dance to welcome Spring, but it will not go unchallenged. Enter the Red People, spirits from the underworld, and they will attempt to overthrow her. Under the pouring of rain the Green Man will be defeated and stripped of his Winter growth, but the May Queen will not rest until she revives him. Filled with life anew, he will rise to join her and together they will celebrate victory.

The crowd had begun gathering just before sundown, all of Glenbogle’s residents eager to see the streets come alive with their rendition of the ancient fertility festival. People pressed in closer as a procession of white-robed figures appeared, led by the May Queen with her headdress of flowers. A line of guards followed suit, garbed in black and beating drums, their faces covered in black and white war paint. Next to arrive was a man covered head to toe with green paint and elaborately draped in vines. A troupe of topless men and women wearing loin cloths and red paint were last on the scene.

The queen and her servants climbed onto a raised platform and began to dance, joined shortly by the man in green as the guards formed a protective circle and set the rhythm with their drums. The beat was primal, meant to evoke the urge to find a mate. The queen and the green man descended and led everyone to a clearing by the river. There they set light to a huge bonfire. The red people began to dance in a large circle, their movements primitive and suggestive. As the fire grew higher they began to move inward, ambushing the man in green. There was a feigned battle and then he fell to the ground. The red people quickly removed his covering of vines and left him lying in the grass.

An overhead sprinkler provided the illusion of rain as the queen knelt down to kiss him. He sprang to life and they rose hand-in-hand to the cheering of the crowd. They departed the clearing and a group of men wearing kilts and women wearing black skirts and bandeaus arrived, twirling batons of fire in every direction. Kiera and Isobel managed to find a vantage point at the innermost edge of the gathering by Jess and Golly. The three Glenbogle natives had seen it many times before and were suitably impressed, though Isobel had been witness to the actual Beltane Fire Festival during her time working in Edinburgh.

To Kiera it was all brand new and exciting. The performers displayed a talent in fire acrobatics that would make any pyromaniac dance with glee. One of the women had a hula hoop covered in flames swinging around her, from her hips to her shoulders, then down her arms to her wrists and back again. The brunette watched, dazed and glassy-eyed, and felt a passion begin to rise within, an eagerness to dance amongst the flames. Isobel noticed her expression and leaned in close to speak to her. “This has always been my favourite part. What do you think?” Kiera turned her head and found her mouth dangerously close to Isobel’s cheek, stirring up a completely different kind of fire that heated her blood and sent her heart racing.

She swallowed nervously and replied, “Yeah… it’s amazing. I kind of wish I could join them. It looks so… freeing, to be that close to fire and not get burned.” The Scot grinned in response and said simply, “I know what you mean.” Kiera had to turn her attention back to the dancing flames to avoid doing something reckless. She wanted nothing more than to pull Isobel close and kiss her senseless, but she knew that would be a mistake. In the days she’d known the charming blonde, she’d not seen any sign that her landlord was gay and the last thing she wanted to do was burn bridges.

Out of nowhere, the fire twirlers began grabbing people from the crowd and bringing them into the clearing to dance between them. A man waving a double-ended flame baton grabbed Isobel’s hand and began to pull her forward. Without any forethought, Isobel reached back and grabbed Kiera’s hand, tugging her along to join the festivities. The brunette was glad that it was nighttime and the only illumination came from the bonfire, torches, and batons, because her cheeks were positively flaming. She’d always been nervous in school when she’d had to give class presentations or make speeches, and now she was going to be dancing in front of a bunch of strangers.

Isobel began to move fluidly, first her arms outstretched above her head, then her torso and hips, followed by her legs and feet. She had the grace of a snake slithering through sand as she danced in the firelight. It was all Kiera could do to make her limbs move and try to follow suit. She was a good dancer and she knew it, but she didn’t usually dance in front of people. Isobel seemed aware of her plight because the next second she was grasping her hand and lacing their fingers, raising the digits above their heads and moving in closer. The Scot had on the widest smile yet and encouraged over the beating of the drums, “Just relax!”

The brunette closed her eyes and imagined it was just the two of them moving together in a dimly lit room, and as she did the tension drained out of her body. She loosened her muscles and began to dance freely, the music pouring new passion and life into her. She squeezed Isobel’s hand and opened her eyes, mouthing, ‘Thanks.’ The Scot inclined her head in acknowledgment then closed her eyes and threw her head back, rolling it slowly from one side to the other, her hips making seductive figure eights as her free hand carved graceful arcs through the air around her. She cast a spell upon her onlookers without even realising.

Kiera mirrored her movements and released her hand, running the tips of her fingers down Isobel’s palm and around the back of her forearm, past her elbow and down to her shoulder. She then retreated along the same path as Isobel opened her eyes, and she again grasped the blonde’s hand, this time lowering their arms to a ninety degree angle and stepping backward. She spun Isobel quickly, catching the Scot off guard, and she was relieved when the shorter woman laughed in delight instead of pushing her away. All around them people had started dancing, making things a lot less awkward for the shy American.

Ewan had the barmaid, Zoe, pressed close to him and they looked more like they were mating with clothes on than dancing. Paul had pulled Jess in for a dance and she, too, was laughing merrily. Even Golly and Molly were taking a spin around the clearing, with Donald watching jealously from a distance, a forlorn expression on his face. The fire crackled and spit sparks high into the night sky as the Torchies began their retreat, the main performance now over but the dancing to continue for hours on end.


Chapter Nine

Glenbogle Estate, Scotland – Wednesday, May 1, 2002

Having returned to Isobel’s farmhouse in the early hours of the morning, happy but exhausted, the pair didn’t wake until almost noon the next day. Kiera took a quick shower in the guest bathroom and donned a pair of denim shorts and a white tee before wandering to the kitchen for a strong cup of coffee. She found Isobel chopping potatoes on the island worktop, dressed in a snug pair of tan corduroys and a fitted blue-and-white pinstripe blouse. “Morning,” the brunette said pleasantly, whilst moving toward the coffee pot beside the double basin sink.

“Afternoon,” Isobel replied cheekily, tongue pressed to teeth. A glance at the clock above the wood burning range cooker confirmed her statement. In the time it had taken Kiera to shower, dress, and make an appearance, the smallest hand had moved past twelve. The writer poured herself a steaming mug of the energising brew that was already made. She added no sugar or cream, preferring to drink it straight, and she hummed her appreciation on the first swallow. She moved to sit at the antique farmhouse kitchen table made of French oak while Isobel carried on chopping.

Silence reigned as the Scot began adding handfuls of vegetables to a large crock pot, beginning the preparation of a hearty beef stew, and her tenant sipped coffee while scanning the front page of the local newspaper, The Highland Chronicle. The first surprise of the day came in the form of Jess bursting in through the kitchen door, out of breath as she rushed to explain. “Isobel, quick, you’ve got to come and see this,” she panted. “They’re pulling a German plane out of the loch and there’s a body in it! Ewan and Donald only went and tried to pull it up while they were fishing.”

The blue-eyed blonde pressed a palm to her side as she fought to regain her breath. Isobel’s head popped round so fast they were all surprised she didn’t break her neck. “What?!” she exclaimed, abandoning her cooking project and wiping her hands hastily on a dishtowel. She rounded the kitchen island, removed her apron, and said, “I’d hoped this would never happen. I’d better go take a look.” Jess seemed puzzled by her statement, but Isobel was in no mood to stop and explain. If this was really happening, then her godfather had to be warned.

The story of how he’d come to the village was widely known amongst the elderly but seldom spoken of. He was a good man and a hard worker, and he’d spent the last sixty years living a happy life in Glenbogle. She wasn’t about to stand back and idly watch his family get torn to shreds by some untimely intervention of fate, not to mention the cold-blooded curiosity of reporters, who were bound to flock around as seagulls to a flopping fish. She had to get ahead of the game, find out as much as she could as quickly as possible.

Kiera had watched the odd exchange in silence, but as Isobel and Jess moved toward the door, she abandoned her coffee and newspaper to follow suit. She grabbed a light jacket from the coat hanger by the door and announced, “Wait for me. I’m coming too.” Isobel spun on her heel, her jaw set angrily, clearly about to unleash an unkind comment, but she seemed to reconsider and held her tongue, turning back around without a word and marching down the long driveway with determination. The writer was as baffled as Jess by Isobel’s attitude, and presently unaware of the significance of this occasion, but she decided to tread lightly so as not to offend.

The three of them squeezed into the bench seat in Golly’s truck, which Jess had acquired temporarily, and they made haste toward the scene of the incident. On the way over, the gillie’s daughter sought answers for Isobel’s bizarre reaction. “So why did you hope this would never happen? I mean it must’ve crashed long before your time. Paul said the plane’s from World War II.” Isobel gazed at her with incredulity and countered, “Golly’s never told you?” Jess scrunched her face in confusion, shooting off a questioning glance before she refocused on the dirt road. “No. Told me what exactly?”

Isobel sighed and deflated then, resting back against the seat as she began to tell the story, what she knew of it anyway. “My godfather, you know him as Irvine Taylor, he was in that plane when it came down. He was the one flying it. I know it’ll be difficult for him if he has to relive it all. His family doesn’t deserve the disruption and the questions. That was another lifetime.” Kiera took this information in and her mind began whirring with speculation. She asked carefully, “So, what, you reckon they’ll think he was on the wrong side of the war or something? Like a spy?” Isobel’s expression turned grim and she responded quietly, “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”

The remainder of the journey was spent in silence, each woman lost in her own thoughts. When they arrived at the loch, Jess parked the truck and they exited single file. A large crane sat by the edge of the water and hoisted in its cables was an old WWII era German fighter jet, complete with faded black swastikas painted on both sides of the tail. Most of the clan was already gathered, watching at a distance as Paul photographed the plane. Isobel painted on her most insouciant expression as she walked toward him, the very picture of nonchalance. “Having fun?”

Paul stopped what he was doing to address her, “Not fun. Serious business.” Isobel actually smiled as she quipped, “Yeah, yeah… planes, trains, and automobiles. You lot never grow out of them, do you?” Before he could respond a boat speeded up to the shore carrying a group of uniformed men. The leader stepped off first and called out, “Sergeant Bowman!” Paul’s face morphed into shocked delight and he exclaimed, “Alex!” He added as an afterthought, “Uh… Captain Faversham. Or is it Major now?”

The man in the orange life vest, Alex, grinned and said, “We can cut the military formalities, Paul. Sir will do nicely,” to which Paul retorted, “In your dreams, Sunshine,” and the two shared a laugh as they embraced. Isobel watched in amusement a few feet away as she waited for introductions to be made. Further away than that, Kiera stood next to Jess and remarked, “Well, those two certainly look cosy. Who would’ve guessed?” Jess arched an eyebrow and the brunette laughed aloud at her own joke. The blonde leaned sideways and whispered, “I can assure you that Paul is not gay.”

Kiera cottoned on quickly and chuckled. “Oh. Like that, is it?” A blushing Jess made no further comment. Golly, Molly, and Donald approached the pair and they all stood by to watch the proceedings by the waterfront. Donald, of course, had something to say on the matter. “Leave it to the M.O.D to send some paper pusher to stick his nose in where it doesn’t belong.” Molly and Golly, for once, agreed with him wholeheartedly. They saw Isobel and Alex shaking hands and the flirtatious looks that passed between them, which didn’t go unnoticed by a broody Kiera. “Well he doesn’t waste any time, does he?” she grumbled.

Golly cast a sage look toward the writer and Jess, less wise and subtle than her father, asked, “What, do you fancy him then?” Kiera laughed at the absurdity and replied cryptically, “No, not even a little.” As Molly and Jess began chatting about the difficulty the older woman had had riding her bike that morning, Golly pulled Kiera aside a little ways and said, “I wouldn’t worry about it, Lass. He won’t be here very long.” The brunette considered him for a long moment, cocking her head to one side in contemplation, and then she asked simply, “How did you know?”

Golly chuckled quietly and explained, “When you live as long as I have, you learn to pick up on a few things.” Kiera smiled and made only one request before rejoining the group, “Don’t tell Isobel, okay? I don’t want to freak her out.” The gillie nodded his assent and stood back with an unreadable expression until she was out of earshot, and then he mumbled to himself, “I wouldn’t worry about that, either.” He had, indeed, become adept at reading signs, and the American girl wasn’t the only one showing her cards early in the game. As far as he was concerned, the stubborn pair deserved to have neon reflectors attached to their clothing.

Later that morning, as Golly was taking a look at Molly’s bicycle outside the Big House, a flustered Donald fretting that he hadn’t been allowed the honour, Isobel ran up with a worried look. “Oh good, a clan gathering. I think we might have a problem.” Golly abandoned the bike, which appeared to be in perfect working order, and asked, “What’s the matter, Lass?” Isobel frowned irritably and stated, “That guy from the Ministry, Paul’s army friend. He’s convinced that the dead man from the plane was the pilot, and that there’s a British spy on the loose. I don’t think he’ll let it go until he finds something.”

Donald and Molly stopped bickering then and Molly suggested, “Why don’t we go inside and come up with a plan, some sort of strategy to delay him at least?” The four moved their conversation to a drawing room in the Big House and were nowhere nearer finding a solution when Paul happened upon them. Donald stopped speaking abruptly as the Laird entered, nearly giving the game away. Paul revealed that Alex would be staying in the Big House, as per his invitation, after a fumbled explanation of the conversation he’d interrupted.

“Meat,” Donald had spouted the first thing that came to mind and Paul had asked with clear suspicion, “Meat?,” only to be answered clumsily, “Butchers. Um… I mean meat…” Donald had dug himself in a little deeper then, earning him a sarcastic reply, “Well I’m sorry I missed the conversation then. It sounds fascinating.” Surprisingly, it was Donald who smoothed things over after Paul’s announcement. “That’s it. We were just talking to Ewan about what he should cook for dinner. Wouldn’t do to serve meat if your friend’s a vegetarian.”

“Vegetarian?” Paul scoffed, “He’s a soldier, Donald, decorated man of action. What do you think we should serve him? Knock cutlets?” He seemed truly mystified by the suggestion, completely unaware that it had been fabricated on the spot. Donald laughed heartily as Paul exited the room, and then stopped to breathe a sigh of relief, mumbling, “Good job I can think on my feet.” He sipped at his whisky while three pairs of eyes stared disbelievingly.

When the group departed from Glenbogle House, save Donald who was confined there on a court order, it was with a purpose. Isobel went to her godfather’s butcher shop to warn him while Golly and Molly rallied support from the townspeople. Meanwhile, Jess was having a drink with Ewan and getting glared at by the barmaid. In a bid to cheer her up after Duncan’s abrupt departure, the young chef had suggested they perform a Karaoke duet on Thursday night. Jess was reluctant to agree until a jealous Zoe unwittingly changed her mind, by insisting that the blonde wouldn’t be any good at it.

Donald was likewise being pestered and bullied, by a persistent Alex Faversham, who apparently was not the upstanding gentleman that he claimed to be. He’d dug up Donald’s criminal record, filled with numerous dangerous driving offences, and the outstanding warrant for his arrest because of the same, which he flourished threateningly in the backyard of Glenbogle House. As he waved the manila folder about, Donald showed a commendable amount of loyalty and stubbornness in the face of blackmail. He even got an ace in one with his parting shot about how honour played into the whole thing. Alex’s feathers certainly seemed ruffled by that.

When Isobel returned to her farmhouse she found Kiera lounging in a lawn chair, notepad and pen forgotten on her lap as she soaked in the sunshine and breathed in the Scottish air. The writer shielded her eyes and looked up at her landlord with concern, noting the worry in her green gaze and the stiffness of her stance. “Is everything okay? How’d it go with your godfather?” Isobel sat down in the chair beside her and released a slow, heavy sigh. She stared into the distance, looking at nothing in particular, for a long time before answering, “I’m worried about him. He acts like it’s no big deal and he won’t even leave town like I suggested, at least until it all blows over. I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose him.”

“Since my grandmother Kate died he’s all the family I’ve got here. I even took her last name, you know, after I got divorced from my ex Dan. I married him when I was working as a head hunter for this posh advertising company in Edinburgh. He was a handsome radio producer and I thought it was a match made in heaven, but I was wrong. It only lasted a year before it fell apart. I could’ve kept his name or reverted to my maiden name, Stewart, but I wanted something to remind me of her, to keep her close. My mother and father live up in Stirling and my twin sister Helen lives in London, working for the prison service last I heard.”

Kiera shifted in her chair to face Isobel and put a comforting hand on the Scot’s forearm. She rubbed the golden skin revealed by rolled up shirt cuffs and said soothingly, “I’m sure it’ll all work out in the end. Fate may have an ironic sense of humor at times, and I’m not a fan of the Bible but when things get tough I repeat to myself, ‘This too shall pass.’” Isobel covered the stroking hand with her own and warmth passed between them, unacknowledged outwardly by either. Inside, however, both felt an immense wave of emotion crash over them, cathartic and cleansing yet perplexing and dizzying, carrying away their qualms and leaving serenity in its wake. The unspoken statement was clear: Kiera would be there catch Isobel if and when she needed it.
Edited by CrashxBurn, Jun 9 2013, 01:43 PM.
"Sit in that chair!" -- "Don't you wish it was electric?"

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Chapter Ten

Glenbogle Estate, Scotland – Thursday, May 2, 2002

The day after the plane was unceremoniously raised from the loch, a curious atmosphere descended on the village. Molly and Golly had been successful in warning the townspeople and a silent pact was made to protect their own. A reporter from The Highland Chronicle, a bubbly blue-eyed blonde by the name of Jaynie Cresswell, had arrived to capture the whole story in writing. She told anyone who would listen that this was the big break she needed for her career. Problem was, no one was listening. Her frustration mounted by the hour as she encountered a solid brick wall at every turn. It was a frustration shared by Alex Faversham, Paul’s former commanding officer in the army, who was now working for the Ministry of Defence.

When Jaynie entered Irvine Taylor’s butcher shop, intent upon questioning him as one of Glenbogle’s elder residents, she was met by yet another roadblock, except she didn’t recognise it for what it was. Isobel was already there consorting with her godfather, and upon seeing the reporter she came up with a plan. She spun a story about her Gran keeping a diary and invited Jaynie to dinner at her farm, to which the younger blonde quickly agreed. Mr. Taylor stated that he’d come to the village after the plane had crashed, so unfortunately he couldn’t help her. The reporter left the shop and Isobel and he shared a laugh. A fox, he called her, just like her Gran, after she revealed that Kate hadn’t actually kept a diary.

At the same time in Molly’s bedroom at the Big House, Dr. Gordon McKendrick was packing up his equipment to leave, advising the older woman to take it easy until she had the necessary operation. Molly, bless her soul, not fully understanding the diagnosis of arrhythmia or the procedure to fix it, was convinced that her time on earth had run out. She put on a cheerful enough mask, though, when she ran into Golly, not wanting the old man to worry about her health. Faced with what she believed to be a ticking time bomb ready to explode, a couple of hard truths began to hit home for her, one of them being that she was in love with Golly and had been for quite some time.

For all her soul searching, she still couldn’t find the right words to tell him, and now she feared she wouldn’t have the chance. No… it was better left alone. She couldn’t bear to give him hope only to have it dashed unpredictably. As Golly went in search of Jess, Molly headed to the back of the estate house and into the garden to tend to her flowers. If there was one thing Molly loved almost as much as Glenbogle’s resident gillie, it was wildflowers. She took care to water them often when it didn’t rain and routinely weeded the flowerbeds, allowing nature’s paintbrushes to bloom unhindered in a vibrant splash of colours. The sun was high in the afternoon sky when she returned indoors, feeling tired but content.

Her good mood faded considerably when she heard the commotion outside her door, reminding her of the current situation involving the plane. She heard Paul’s distinctive voice first, “‘He wasn’t a Nazi,’ you said. Who wasn’t a Nazi?” Then Donald’s voice answered back, “Be warned… I boxed as a lad.” Molly hopped to her feet, abandoning a cup of half-drunk tea to investigate. It was so like Donald to be overdramatic, but in this instance she would back him up if need be. “Just tell me what you know,” Paul insisted. “Oh! Suddenly I’m feeling quite faint,” Donald pantomimed, clutching a hand to his chest. “Oh, don’t come that…” Paul started, but was interrupted as Molly burst out of a door across the hall.

“Paul!” she exclaimed, “What are you doing harassing Donald like that? A feeble old man, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.” Paul could find no acceptable comeback, so he shook his head in disbelief and stalked off. Molly leaned in close over Donald’s shoulder and conspired in a whisper, “Watch it. He’s onto something.” Donald, ever the selective deaf, asked grumpily, “What do you mean feeble?” She rolled her eyes and retreated to the comfort of her room, planning to forget his moodiness and finish her tea. Later she would have a rethink on strategy and get the others involved.

Donald, in the meantime, was getting up to mischief as usual. He snuck out of the estate house tailed unknowingly by Paul, who had a better grasp on intuition than anyone gave him credit for. He followed the rotund man all the way into town and spied him entering Irvine Taylor’s shop. When Isobel arrived only moments later he began to get a niggling suspicion in the back of his mind. After he’d walked in on them having a chat yesterday, an extremely unlikely occurrence, it was too much of a coincidence to ignore that they were both here at the same time as well. He did some quick math in his head and then swore under his breath. Mr. Taylor was just the right age to have been involved in the war as a young man.

Paul entered the butcher shop a few paces behind Isobel and the second conversation in two days came to an abrupt end, confirming what he’d already deduced. These three were collaborating to hide the truth and he was determined to get it out in the open air. Keeping secrets almost never ended well. Being the newest addition to the estate, he didn’t yet know the man that everyone seemed to love and he couldn’t fully comprehend the damage this revelation might cause if brought to light. He confronted Donald first, informing him that he was breaking his curfew, to which the older man huffed and then asked Isobel for a lift back to the Big House. She agreed reluctantly and the two exited, leaving Paul to speak to Irving alone.

The elderly butcher was stand-offish to begin with, especially as Paul greeted him in German and declared that he knew, or at least he thought he did. In reality he’d only connected bits and pieces. He was a long way off knowing the full story. He hit the nail on the head, though, when he said that Irving had been in that plane. The Laird was just mixed up about who had been flying it. The body that had been dredged up with the plane had been encased in a pilot’s jacket, so the natural assumption was that the other passenger must’ve been a Nazi spy. After all, it didn’t take a genius to work out what a German fighter jet was doing on British territory. Luckily for Mr. Taylor, Paul wasn’t as heartless as he sometimes seemed. He urged the old man to come clean, to spare his friends and family the harassment, rather than giving him up straightaway to Alex.

Isobel returned to her farm after dropping off a red-faced and ranting Donald at Glenbogle House and she found Kiera, once again, sitting outside, but this time she had her laptop propped on her knees and was laughing at whatever was playing on the screen. The Scot parked her little red car and stepped out with a curious smile. She approached the amused American and glanced over her shoulder at the computer. “What on earth are you watching?” she asked. Kiera looked up at Isobel with a grin and said unashamedly, “Xena: Warrior Princess. It’s one of my favourite shows.” The honey blonde leaned down further, allowing Kiera to catch the scent of her perfume and giving the brunette a tantalising view of her cleavage.

The writer blushed and nearly choked on her own saliva as she tried to swallow, but she managed to hide it well enough. Isobel’s brows were scrunched in concentration as she watched the scene play out, and then she tilted her head and said, “I’ve never actually sat down to watch this, but I’ve heard it’s good.” Upon further consideration she glanced at the writer and added, “You know, you kind of look like her.” Kiera laughed openly at this and admitted, “You’re not the first person who’s told me that, and you probably won’t be the last. Actually, I dressed up as Xena for Halloween last year. I paid two-thousand dollars for a custom-made costume, but it was worth it. It was a hit at the party I went to.”

Isobel was stunned to find out how much money the writer had splurged on a single-use costume, but she supposed someone in that position could afford as much without batting an eye, so she didn’t comment on it. She sometimes wished for that kind of wealth, but she was happy enough to be here on her grandmother’s farm and working hard for a living. The place and the people made up for the lack of luxuries. She tried to picture the brunette in the leather outfit Lucy Lawless was currently fighting a warlord in, and she found it wasn’t difficult to imagine. Privately she admitted to herself that she wouldn’t be opposed to seeing that in person, but again she didn’t comment. She could hardly believe the thoughts she was having, never mind bring herself to share them with the object of said thoughts.

Yet she couldn’t help herself from testing the waters, thinking herself much more subtle than she actually was. “I bet your boyfriend liked that, huh?” To someone as comfortable with her sexuality as Kiera, the veiled question was blatantly obvious. The writer turned bright blue eyes filled with amusement toward the Scotswoman, arching a perfectly waxed brow as she chuckled. “I haven’t had a boyfriend since I was fifteen, right around the time I realised I was gay,” she replied, wondering all the while what Isobel’s reaction would be to her admission. The Scot didn’t disappoint. She seemed to be squirming as her cheeks turned pink and she chuckled throatily, trying to hide her embarrassment at not having realised that before.

Kiera smirked knowingly but decided not to push the envelope. Isobel was adorable when flustered, but she didn’t want to cross the line. They still barely knew each other. She decided to console the woman instead and free her of her predicament. “It’s okay. A lot of people make that assumption. I mean I don’t try to hide it but I don’t go out of my way to advertise it either. I’m not what you’d call butch, and I don’t date butch women.” Isobel nodded her understanding and smiled gratefully for the free pass, while thinking, ‘No, you’re all woman. That’s for sure.’ She sat down next to Kiera and began to watch the show with her, as much out of actual curiosity as for the chance to be near her.

The Scot asked occasional questions and found herself enjoying the adventures of the warrior princess and the bard. During one particularly touching scene between Xena and Gabrielle, a thought occurred to her and she had to ask, “Wait… are those two…?” She chuckled at the silent grin she got in response and she accurately surmised, “Oh, so that’s why you like this show so much.” Kiera laughed lightly and asked, “What can I say? It’s a guilty pleasure.” When the credits rolled on the episode, Isobel stood and invited, “Why don’t you come inside and we can have some of that beef stew I started this morning? It’ll be done by now and maybe we can watch more of your show.” The writer hopped to her feet and quickly unplugged her laptop from the extension cord to follow the Scot inside. “Yes, please,” she declared with appropriate enthusiasm, inwardly smirking as she thought, ‘My gaydar must be malfunctioning. Straight my ass. Is Golly good or what?’


Chapter Eleven

Same day… London, England

Nikki tapped her biro against the kitchen table and stared off into space as she racked her brain. She’d just finished writing a letter to Barbara, informing the older woman that all was well in the real world and that she’d started living with Helen, and now she was trying to compose one for Shaz. She’d promised to write before leaving Larkhall and she intended to make good on her word. The short spiky-haired girl had finally started behaving before Nikki’s release, and she wanted to encourage that burst of maturity to continue. But what to say? She sighed in frustration and threw down her pen. What do you say to someone with a such a free spirit when they’re caged and you want them to act like an adult so they don’t get in trouble? Act your age? Shaz was still just a kid, barely legal to vote and drink.

She stood from the table and stretched slowly, thinking a quick amble in the garden might provide her with inspiration. She grabbed her lighter and pack of fags and retreated to the backyard. She seated herself on the wooden bench by the shed and lit up, inhaling deeply as the smoke curled at the end of her cigarette. The sun was already up and with no clouds to be seen in the sky, she found herself squinting into the brightness. She’d been free more than a week now, nine days filled with change, discovery, laughter, and love. She pondered this as she sucked in another lungful of smoke. How was it possible to travel so quickly between extremes? Nine days ago she was behind bars and convinced that she would be there for years to come. Now she was sitting in Helen’s backyard, her backyard, feeling more free than ever.

Long morning hours spent working on the garden had paid off. Already a noticeable transformation had begun. Wild growing weeds were no longer clogging the flowerbeds, the shrubs had been trimmed back to a healthy state, and a good dose of pH balanced water and fertilizer, combined with natural sunshine, had overseen the dreary browns turning back to beautiful greens. As her eyes roamed the area that had once resembled an untamed jungle, her mind created a blueprint overlay. Everywhere she looked she could imagine what she’d like to fix or add, so that this humble garden could become a magical hideaway for her and Helen. At the same time, she contemplated the steps needed to morph her nightclub into the portrait of her mind’s eye.

The goal was to create a stunning oasis; a place to relax, laugh, have a few drinks, and take a spin on the dance floor whilst surrounded by the illusion of an opulent refuge. She had to find a way to make the club an embodiment of nature without sacrificing the characteristics necessary to lure her desired clientele. Also, she had Trisha to contend with. She knew that her ex would be on the lookout for any flaw in her planning, so she had to consider every variable and aspect before she introduced a final design. She snuffed her cigarette in a large clay flowerpot she’d commandeered as an ashtray, then she meandered around the yard for a bit, adjusting sprinkler heads and checking for anthills. She’d already dug up two colonies and drowned them in buckets of water and dish soap, as well as knocking down several cobwebs.

When she reentered the kitchen after stamping the dirt off her boots, she found Helen halfway buried in the fridge, her shirt riding up to expose her lower back and her jean clad bottom on proud display. Nikki leaned against the doorframe casually, arms crossed, as she openly appreciated the form of her lover. When Helen emerged she was clutching a block of cheddar, a bag of thinly sliced turkey breast, a jar of dijon mustard, a ripe tomato, and a head of lettuce. It took her a moment to notice Nikki was in the room, as the ex-con had remained silent from her vantage point. The Scot placed her loot on the countertop and arched a brow playfully. “Just how long have you been standing there staring at me?”

Nikki pushed off the wooden frame with a mischievous grin and approached slowly as she drawled, “Long enough to know you’ve got a fantastic arse.” Reaching the shorter woman, she gave the body part in question a firm smack, earning her a reproachful glance and a, “Behave. I’m trying to make us some lunch.” Nikki sniggered and dropped a kiss on her lover’s lips before straightening and changing the subject. “How did the job search go?” Helen had spent the last hour-and-a-half cooped up in her home office surfing the web for employment opportunities. “Not well I’m afraid. The only positions open in the prison service at the moment are entry level, and I’m not looking to take a step backward or make a drastic career change. I might have to, though, if something doesn’t turn up soon.”

Nikki wrapped her arms around the Scot from behind and rested her chin on the shorter woman’s shoulder. “You’ll find something that suits you, darling. I have every faith in you,” she whispered. “Don’t even think about downgrading yourself.” She pressed a soft kiss to the side of Helen’s neck before drawing back. “I wrote a letter to Barbara and checked on the garden while you were busy,” she conversed. “Got a bit stuck when I tried writing to Shaz, though. I want to cheer her up but give her some good advice at the same time. Just can’t think how to do it yet. Maybe I’ll tell her about my idea for a gardening business; how I seem to have found my niche. That’s what she needs, something to keep her occupied that she enjoys doing.”

She moved to Helen’s side and began slicing up the tomato while the Scot slathered mustard on slices of whole wheat bread. Helen glanced up from her task with a warm smile and said, “You’re a wonderful person, Nikki, and a good friend. I think she’ll benefit from anything you write to her, honestly. She does need to learn to keep her nose clean, though, unless she wants to spend the rest of her time in there on report every other day.” She moved to the sink and began washing the lettuce as she spoke, “I know she’ll get a hard time from Sylvia anyway. I can just hear it now,” she then did an incredibly accurate impression of the grumpy senior officer, “Blood! Wiley! What are you doing in there? The things you do to each other are unnatural and disgusting.” Helen scowled and muttered, “If only she knew, eh?”

Nikki chuckled and remarked, “Got it in one. But Yvonne Atkins proved to be a good influence on Shaz. Don’t you think? Bit of a mother figure to her and Denny. I bet she’ll keep an eye on them now that I’m gone, try to keep them out of trouble.” Helen raised her brows as she brought the lettuce back to the worktop, commenting, “I hope so. What is it with you two anyway? You’re the most stubborn, hard-headed women I’ve ever met and somehow you managed to be friends.” Nikki smiled and said simply, “That’s prison, darling. You learn to muck in. Besides, 'Vonne and I agreed on a lot of things. Injustice for a start. For a gangster’s widow she’s got a surprisingly good grasp on morality.”

“Mmm, I see,” Helen replied, only knowing Yvonne half as well as Nikki and not in any real position to comment. “Well, it seems you two will have plenty to chat about when she gets out next year, if she gets out. Fenner’s got it in for her. Bastard.” Nikki finished putting her sandwich together and released a heavy sigh. “I wish there was some way to get back at him,” the ex-con stated as she took a seat at the kitchen table. “He shouldn’t be working in a prison,” she added indignantly, “He should be locked up in one.” Helen couldn’t have agreed more, so she all she said was, “Best not to think about it, yeah? I just want to have a nice lunch and not relive all those bad memories.”

Nikki’s expression softened as her partner joined her at the table, and covering Helen’s hand with her own, she murmured, “Sorry, darling. I just get so angry sometimes. I won’t talk about him anymore.” Inwardly she was thinking, ‘Wish I’d gone for him when I had the chance. He’s ruined too many lives already and he’s still getting away with it.’ They tucked into their lunch in relative silence and afterward Nikki managed to write up her letter to Shaz. She sealed and stamped both envelopes before carrying them out to the post box, where she found that morning’s incoming mail waiting to be collected. She brought it into the house and began thumbing through it. Only two of the six letters were addressed to her.

There was a small white envelope and a large yellow one, both containing the Open University logo she was now familiar with. She passed Helen her mail and they sat in the lounge together to open it. Nikki chose the smaller envelope first. Tearing the seam and withdrawing a tri-folded letter, she shook it open and scanned the words quickly. Helen was startled when she jumped up and shouted, “Yes!” Seeing the bemused look on her lover’s face, Nikki sat back down and handed her the letter. It contained her exam results and she’d passed with flying colours. Helen grinned widely and joined in her excitement, “This is excellent, Nikki! What’s in the other one?”

The ex-con grabbed the yellow parcel and opened it with care, as it had printed in bold letters on the front: Do Not Bend. What she retrieved from within was an elaborate certificate on thick parchment, covered with watermarks, embossed stamps, and fancy cursive ink. Her hand trembled slightly as her eyes filled with tears of joy. She’d really done it. In her hand was the proof that she’d made the most of her incarceration, that she hadn’t fallen victim to a mundane existence filled with despair, for now she had a degree with which to reenter society. Helen, seeing the certificate and her partner’s reaction, squeezed Nikki’s knee and suggested, “Why don’t we go out to dinner tonight to celebrate? Then we can start planning that vacation I mentioned. I’ll just go give Isobel a ring.” Nikki nodded wordlessly and continued to stare in amazement as Helen vacated the room.


Chapter Twelve

Glenbogle Estate, Scotland – Friday, May 3, 2002

The following day the mess with the plane was cleared up, but not before a few more hurdles were overcome. Isobel and Paul had been caught attempting to lower the old jet back into the water, after which Alex had accused his old friend of being a traitor. Paul had volleyed back, accusing his friend of being stuck in a cold, clinical army mentality. Then Mr. Taylor had arrived on the scene and begun to tell the real and full story of what had happened, introducing himself as First Captain Irwin Schneider. He was met with initial disbelief, but by the time he'd finished speaking everyone, even Alex, was convinced. It was all they could do afterward to convince Alex to let the matter drop, as it was the right thing to do, and Jaynie not to print the story.

The young journalist was particularly torn on the matter, but her good heart won out and she'd handed over the tape she’d recorded of Mr. Taylor’s story, thereby giving up one of the biggest career opportunities she’d come across to date. All seemed to be going well once the dust settled, and then Alex decided to stick around for a while. It wouldn’t have mattered except that Isobel agreed to go on a date with him, effectively crushing any and all hope Kiera had that romance might be blooming between them. ‘Still in denial then,’ she thought gloomily as she sat at the farmhouse that night, tapping at her keyboard and putting down ideas for her book. Isobel was out there right now, probably in some cosy little restaurant playing footsie with the stupid git.

The brunette was so bothered that she could barely concentrate on the words she was typing, so after a while she gave it up for the night and sprawled out on the sofa with a copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, the series being another guilty pleasure of hers. She was fast asleep by the time Isobel returned and found her in the lounge. The Scot stopped at the sight of the writer in repose, feeling a tug at her heartstrings that she didn’t know how to cope with. She’d never been interested in women before. She’d always considered herself to be the more open-minded of the twins, and as far as she knew Helen had never dated a woman either, but she was torn in two directions. On one side, her heart and body were telling her what they wanted, but on the other side her religious upbringing was rearing its ugly head.

Her father, a Presbyterian minister for most of his life, would have an absolute fit if she ever brought a woman home. It was unthinkable. Yet here she was, watching this woman sleep and craving the feel of her curves and the warmth of her body. She longed to run her fingers through that shiny brown hair and get lost in the ocean of those eyes. They were blue like the sea and ever-changing. Isobel forced her feet to move and headed for the downstairs linen closet, where she happened to keep a spare throw. She retrieved it and laid it gently over the sleeping brunette, stopping to ghost her fingers over a porcelain cheek before heading to her bedroom upstairs, cursing her cowardice the whole way.

She would rather stay in denial and go on meaningless dates with men she didn’t even find attractive than take a chance on something that could lead to disaster. Her curiosity of the unknown was vast, but so was her fear. She didn’t want to be the cat that got killed for it, no matter what feelings were emerging with alarming speed. After changing into striped pink pyjama bottoms and a solid pink tee, she crawled into her bed and turned out the bedside lamp. Her thoughts refused to settle, however, and she was left staring into the darkness for over an hour before she managed to sleep.

The next morning Kiera awoke first and was surprised to find a blanket covering her. That explained why she wasn’t freezing her tits off. What she couldn’t figure out was why Isobel had made the effort. Was it simple friendly concern or was it more? She shook her head, expelling such troublesome thoughts from her brain. It was too early to think about that. She shuffled into the kitchen wearing yesterday’s clothes and started the kettle to make instant coffee. She was too tired and moody to wait for the coffeepot just yet. She slumped down in a kitchen chair and buried her head in her arms. The kettle whistled after a few minutes and she rose to pour steaming water over the instant mix in her mug. It tasted like shit but it had caffeine in it, and that’s what she needed to jumpstart her day.

Isobel wandered in almost an hour later and found the writer fully awake and scribbling something on a large, lined notepad. After two cups of coffee Kiera had rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and gotten to work. She’d come up with the perfect idea in a dream and she’d been eager to get it down on paper before she forgot. She glanced up from her writing and chirped, “Morning!” Isobel, not nearly as awake or chipper, mumbled something unintelligible in response and moved towards the coffeepot on autopilot. Kiera snickered quietly and took a moment to study the sleep rumpled woman before she refocused on her list of plot points.

Another hour passed during which Kiera downed a third cup of coffee, this time properly made, and Isobel began to mould hamburger patties out of ground beef she’d stowed in the fridge. She put the raw meat in a large metal bowl and gradually stirred in seasoning, then donned rubber gloves and began forming round patties and laying them down on wax paper. She’d filled three sheets of the nonstick paper and was starting a fourth when a knock sounded on the door. Kiera popped her head up with a frown as Isobel went to answer it, wondering who the hell could be calling round at nine o’clock in the morning. She could hear the conversation from where she sat and her mood steadily worsened. ‘Oh Jesus… him again,’ she thought bitterly.

Isobel was just as surprised as her tenant when she pulled open the front door to see Alex standing there. She wasn’t quite as thoroughly displeased, however. “You know when I said yes to a second date, I was thinking dinner,” she quipped. Alex downplayed it, “Too keen?” Isobel scrunched her nose and replied, “Just a smidgeon.” Her tone was playful and he thought she was kidding, but many truthful things were said in jest. Apparently he didn’t realise that. “No chance of breakfast?” he inquired hopefully. The penny dropped quickly and she almost laughed before answering, “None whatsoever.” Was he crazy? Did he really think she was going to sleep with him after one lousy date?

Maybe she was being a bit harsh. He wasn’t a bad guy and the date hadn’t been terrible. He just wasn’t what she wanted. She tilted her head in invitation for him to follow her and she walked back to the kitchen. Kiera stared at him from the table as he entered and walked to the island. If looks could kill… He didn’t seem to notice and he didn’t bother with a polite greeting. Neither did she. She had her pen in a death grip as she tried to pretend he wasn’t there so she could continue writing. Unfortunately, he was intent upon speaking to Isobel and the conversation was distracting. Hell, anything to do with Isobel was distracting, but particularly when some slime ball was hitting on her with a severe lack of finesse.

“Hungry?” he joked, glancing at all of the raw hamburger patties on the worktop. She spared him a quick glance and answered, “Business. One-hundred percent organic. Should go down a storm at the market.” He grinned and continued his effort to make her laugh, “Market’s here now. Isobel Anderson: Burger Queen.” Kiera could only watch with open-mouthed awe, mentally speculating, ‘Is he fucking serious?’ Isobel didn’t seem to find it very amusing either, as her only response was, “Strictly a means to an end. Tractor needs a new clutch.” The Scotswoman moved over to the mixing bowl and began stirring more seasoning into the meat. Alex followed, a little too closely, and asked, “Can’t you just say pretty please to the bank manager?”

By this point Kiera’s outlook had done a one-eighty flip and she was barely managing to contain her glee. This man was an idiot. He had absolutely no idea how to talk to Isobel, and she was sure the Scot would not take kindly to his fumbled attempts. The honey blonde’s patience was, indeed, beginning to wear thin, but she humoured him politely, “Oh no… no, this place has to pay its way. A real farm, not a hobby or a weekend indulgence.” She stopped stirring and resumed her patty making. Once again, Alex followed on her heels. Kiera felt like slapping him and chastised herself, knowing it wasn’t her place. But Jesus, couldn’t he take a hint? Isobel was sending out flashing neon signs of disinterest, for fuck’s sake.

The writer gave up all pretence of writing and stared openly, wondering how this conversation was going to turn out. It was rather like watching a boxing match of sorts. They were both fighting for victory, Isobel more subtle in her message than the ex-army man. After a few moments silence, she realised he wasn’t going to comprehend where they stood unless she spelled it out for him. “Alex, about last night… it was just a date. I mean it was fun, but it was just a date. I don’t want anything else, not at the moment. Anyway, it’s not as if you’re sticking around.” She said it so flippantly that it took him a moment to register the rejection.

Kiera nearly fell out of her chair, such was her excitement. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter, all the while whooping victoriously on the inside. Isobel noticed and pursed her lips, sending her a look that said, ‘Oh, behave. It’s not that funny.’ Feeling like an appropriately scolded but over-giddy child, she schooled her features into neutrality. Alex had his back turned on the brunette and didn’t pick up on the exchange. He was too busy blundering his speech, “Well, I mean, I might be… that is, I think Paul might be giving me a job, so I might be… staying, that is. I might be staying. I can wait, you know, if you want some time. Or a lot of time. No rush. We don’t have to be serious.”

Kiera watched on as he dug his metaphorical grave even deeper, her chin propped on her palm and delight written across her face. ‘This just keeps getting better and better.’ Isobel got that stern look on her face just before she spoke, the same one her tenant had witnessed the other morning as they were walking out the door. ‘Uh oh… You’re in trouble now, buddy,’ the writer thought wickedly. Now finished with the last of the beef mixture, the irritated Scot stripped off her rubber gloves and tossed them in the rubbish bin before turning around to face him again. “Look… I’m not interested in anything, serious or not. So give it a rest.”

If that didn’t erase his romantic hopes, Isobel didn’t know what would. He was a bit thick for someone who used to command a troop of soldiers. His face dropped and she suddenly felt like she’d kicked a puppy, so pathetic was his demeanour. He cleared his throat and mustered the remnants of his dignity to declare, “Right, well I’d better be off. I’ve got to see Paul about that job.” He left without another word, only glancing angrily at the seated brunette when she saluted him mockingly. They heard the front door slam and Kiera lost it, clutching her sides as tears of laughter escaped her eyes.

Isobel crossed her arms and sighed, “Oh no… not you too. I can only handle one adolescent-minded person per morning.” The writer bit her lip innocently and shrugged, explaining simply, “I can’t help it. It was funny.” Becoming suddenly serious, the brunette rose and approached her landlord, her eyes full of all the things she wouldn’t let herself say. She took Isobel’s hands in her own as the Scot stared at her dubiously, wondering why the sudden change. “You’re too good for him, Isobel. He’s a prick. Whether you’re ready for a serious relationship after Daniel or not, whatever you do, don’t settle for less than you deserve.”

Kiera kissed Isobel’s cheek so gently it could’ve been the breeze, except that the wind didn’t make the Scot’s heart pound like a tribal drum. The writer squeezed the blonde’s hands before releasing them and making her exit, forgetting her pad of paper and pen in her haste. Isobel stood stock still for several moments, fingertips pressed to cheek and mind catapulting into a dizzying whirl of thoughts. She closed her eyes and relived the moment again and again, coming to the same conclusion every time. What had she gotten so far by playing it safe with her feelings? Nothing worth having. Half-hearted relationships that always ended in shambles. A marriage that lasted less than a year before it crumbled. A lengthy and stressful divorce. A string of average dates with average men. A writer upstairs who didn’t know how special she was…

She walked over to the paper pad on the table and picked it up, finding herself unable to resist such an unguarded insight into her tenant’s mind. She flipped back to the first page and her lips curved into a slight smile as she read the outline, which described the plight of a gay woman who falls in love during a vacation to a secluded island, but her love interest is straight and recently divorced. They meet on the cruise ship, their rooms across the hall from each other, and then they spark up a friendship when they reach the island. Isobel laughed quietly and shook her head, grinning as she thought sarcastically, ‘That doesn’t sound familiar at all.’ She replaced the notepad and went to pack up the patties so she could take them to market later. She would have to talk to Kiera at some point, but right now she had a business venture to see through.
Edited by CrashxBurn, Jun 9 2013, 02:58 PM.
"Sit in that chair!" -- "Don't you wish it was electric?"

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ccgxh
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That was great CB. You are a very talented writer.
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CrashxBurn
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Thank you for your continued feedback and support ccgxh (: Every little bit means a lot
"Sit in that chair!" -- "Don't you wish it was electric?"

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A/N: Here's the next batch, shorter than the last, but I have to warn that I was in an extremely odd mood when I wrote these. I hope my eccentric sense of humor doesn't offend anyone (re: chapters 1 & 2) and that my poetic ramblings don't become a bore (re: chapter 3).


Chapter Thirteen

London, England – Saturday, May 4, 2002

“Jesus Christ!” Nikki spluttered, nearly choking on a bite of jam-covered bread.

She was sitting across the kitchen table from a sleepy Helen, now startled rudely into wakefulness, and had been enjoying her fried eggs and toast until she saw the front page of the morning newspaper.

“What is it?” Helen asked grumpily.

Nikki pushed the paper across to her and tapped on the headline article: Gangster’s Moll Charged With Murder Of Convicted Prostitute. Helen was sipping on a steaming cup of coffee and had nearly the same reaction as her girlfriend. She set her mug down and picked up the paper with both hands, staring at the grainy black-and-white photo of Yvonne Atkins that was splashed across the front page.

She scanned the article beneath, which expounded the death of Virginia O’Kane, and she echoed flatly, “Jesus Christ.”

Nikki, in an awkward bid to lighten the tension in the room, quipped, “Look on the bright side. Your father would be thrilled to hear all this praying going on.”

Helen pinned her with a death glare and said, “I don’t think this is the time for inappropriate humour, Nikki.” Easing her scowl a bit she added, “Besides, we’re not exactly praying. It’s actually a sin to take the Lord’s name in vein.”

Nikki rolled her eyes in response to Helen’s know-it-all, religiously uptight, standard issue statement. She couldn’t resist looking heavenward and muttering, “Oh, Jesus, give me back my girlfriend please. This stick in the mud is boring.”

That earned her a swift kick under the table as Helen narrowed her eyes. “Boring, huh? I’ll show you boring.”

Nikki rubbed her shin with a mumbled, “Ow,” but she didn’t get a chance to mope for long.

Helen rounded the table and pushed Nikki’s plate to the other side, causing the ex-con to blink in confusion. The very next second, Nikki found herself shoved down onto said table with her knickers being removed. Pain in shin long forgotten, she gripped the edge of the table as Helen sat between her legs. The first touch of her tongue caused the taller woman to suck in a sharp breath and release it with a moan.

“Oh Jesus…” Nikki breathed, this time in earnest.

By the time she came, loudly, she’d completely rescinded her former statement. Whatever could be said about her ex-jailor, Helen was definitely not boring.

That afternoon Nikki asked the Scot for a ride to Chix to pick up a copy of the building’s floor plans, so they climbed into Helen’s little red Peugeot and set off. The ex-con was feeling particularly cramped with her long legs squeezed into the small space between the seat and the dashboard.

She gibed good-naturedly, “We’re going to have to get you a new car, darling. I barely fit into this one.”

Helen glanced askance at her partner then turned her eyes back to the abundance of cars surrounding them. Traffic in London was bustling as usual.

“I agree, but I don’t have the money right now.”

Nikki smiled and said seriously, “I’ll buy you one. Money is not an issue for me and you’re the reason I have the freedom to spend it again. Consider it a thank you.”

Helen thought to argue, but she knew it would be a futile effort. As she’d told Nikki the previous day, the ex-con was one of the most stubborn women she’d ever met. Any attempt at refusal would simply be rebuffed and the case justified until Helen agreed.

“Fine, but nothing flashy. I’m not really into the sports car thing.”

On further reflection, the Scot added with tongue between teeth, “And I think you thanked me quite enough earlier, if I recall correctly.”

Nikki laughed heartily and placed her hand on Helen’s thigh, giving it a squeeze and a rub for good measure.

“Well it was only fair after what you did to me on the kitchen table. I mean honestly, Helen, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Helen’s cheeks darkened as she thought about what, exactly, she’d had in her that morning. She swatted Nikki’s hand away as it started to travel higher, squeaking out, “Stop it. I’m driving.”

Nikki laughed even harder then, unable to contain her mirth, and managed to gasp between chuckles, “Your… face… Helen…”

“God, what have I gotten myself into?” Helen muttered playfully, shaking her head and doing her best to concentrate on the road instead of the madwoman beside her.


Chapter Fourteen

Same day... London, England

“Claire!” Helen shouted in surprise, pulling her door open wider and ushering her friend inside. “When you said you were coming by I thought it would be later.”

Claire grinned as she stepped inside and took off her coat. “Well… I took an early day. I came to a stopping point in the case I’m working on and I thought, what the hell?”

“Besides, I wanted a sneak peak at you and your new girlfriend together. I can’t tell you how shocked I was when you told me that Nikki’s living with you. I never knew you were that adventurous,” the solicitor teased.

Helen’s dirty laugh echoed in the hallway and she held out her arms, saying, “Come here you.”

Claire stepped into her embrace and chided the Scot, “Seriously, Helen, you could’ve told me sooner. When we spoke the day before Nikki’s retrial, you made out that you and that Thomas bloke were really serious.”

They parted and Helen adopted a guilty expression. “I’m sorry, Claire. I know I should’ve said something, but you were still Nikki’s solicitor and I didn’t want to compromise your professional integrity. I made enough compromises with my own. And anyway, I was drowning in a river of denial at the time.”

They moved down the hall toward the kitchen, ready to sink into their routine of opening a bottle of wine before having their girly chat, the only change being that this time there would be a third party involved in the conversation. Helen popped her head into the spare bedroom to find Nikki sketching at the desk they now shared.

“Sweetheart, Claire’s just arrived early. We’re going to crack open a bottle of wine and were wondering if you’d like to join us.”

Nikki looked up from the blueprints she was marking and smirked. “I know… I heard you screeching from the door. You go on, I’ll be there in a minute. I’ve just got to add one more thing and these will be ready to show Trisha.”

Helen pretended to look affronted and said, “I do not screech.”

Nikki’s only response was a snort and a raised eyebrow. Helen shook her head and continued her journey to the fridge, Claire already having made herself at home on one of the kitchen chairs.

“She’ll be out in a minute,” the Scot announced. She grabbed a chilled bottle of red then rooted around in her crap drawer for the corkscrew. Finding it, she waved it in triumph and popped the cork with practised ease.

She poured three glasses and handed Claire one, joining her at the table and asking, “So… how are things going for you and… what’s his name again?”

The solicitor rolled her eyes and took a sip of her wine before answering. “You still haven’t mastered the art of listening then… George and I broke up. I told you two weeks ago the day after it happened.”

Helen snapped her fingers and nodded. “Right, George, I remember now. I just thought you two might’ve gotten back together. You sounded hopeful at the time.”

Claire’s shoulders slumped slightly as she took to sloshing her wine in circles. With a sigh of resignation she explained, “I was, but he doesn’t want to give it another go. Something about needing space and not thinking we’re a good match. Honestly, I thought women were meant to be the dramatic ones.”

Helen put a sympathetic hand on the blonde’s forearm and consoled, “He’s a total idiot then. You’re brilliant, successful, gorgeous… Only a complete tosser without half a brain would write you off like that.”

Nikki watched on from the doorway, unnoticed until she spoke up, “Helen’s right. I may not know the particulars, but I know you have no cause to feel bad about yourself. You and Helen are the only reasons I’m standing here right now, and in my eyes that makes you remarkable.”

The ex-con moved to sit next to her lover and accepted the wineglass offered. Claire had gone silent and was now staring at the pair of them like she wanted to cry. Helen rubbed her arm and Nikki, playing up to her new role of unexpected comedian, chimed in once more, “If you’re having shit luck with men then you might consider switching teams. I hear it’s all the rage right now.”

Helen smacked her girlfriend’s arm and said, “Don’t take her seriously, Claire. Apparently Nikki’s rediscovered her sense of humour. She’s been making terrible jokes all day.”

The solicitor looked back and forth between them several times before breaking out in a grin and addressing Helen specifically, “You two are something else, you know that? I had my reservations when you told me you were a couple, but that was only because I’ve never seen you like this with anyone.”

She redirected to Nikki and added, “Congratulations on taming the monster. This one,” she pointed at Helen, “used to devour men like a ravenous beast, but I’ve never seen her this devoted to anyone, or this much in love. I can’t believe I never figured it out.”

Helen, not keen on her girlfriend and best friend chatting about her like she wasn’t there (god only knows what embarrassing stories would be drudged up), quickly changed the subject, “Anyway… we were talking about you, weren’t we? So George is out of the picture. Is there anyone else you fancy?”

“No,” the solicitor replied, “and you’re doing that thing again. You know the one… Don’t get all dodgy on me, Stewart.” She waved a pointer finger in circles aimed at Helen’s face. “It won’t do you any good. I’m trained to interrogate.”

Nikki deadpanned, “Better not ask her about this morning, then, unless you’re trained to interrogate tomatoes.”

Helen folded her arms on the table in front of her and promptly dropped her head, muttering in a language that neither of the English women could understand. Nikki, having never heard her do this before, was absolutely bewildered.

Claire knew exactly which language Helen was using and had a fair idea of what she’d just said, but only through years of friendship with the volatile Scotswoman, having witnessed her temper at its worst.

She recognised the phrase as something that had been slurred at a mutual acquaintance of theirs at a party some-odd years ago. He’d gotten a bit too drunk and had followed Helen around all night. Helen, having had a lot to drink herself, had absolutely lost it when he’d tried to regale her with an endless arrogant monologue.

Back in the present, Nikki was still sitting there waiting for some kind of explanation. She touched Helen’s shoulder and said gently, “I don’t speak gibberish, darling.”

Helen looked up at her and repeated, “Cum do theanga ablaich gun fheum. Figure it out.”

Claire decided to interject and spare Nikki further puzzlement. “It’s not gibberish. It’s Scottish Gaelic. She only uses it when she’s really angry or really embarrassed, and I’m pretty sure she just told you to shut up and called you an idiot.”

Helen’s face broke out in a wide grin and she chuckled in that deep, dirty way that Nikki loved. “And the first place prize goes to…” She raised her glass in a mock toast to Claire and then downed the rest in one.

She poured another glass and asked in English, “Now that we have that established, can we please change the subject? As much as it does my ego good that you two seem to think so, I am not the only available conversation topic.”

Claire smirked and answered with a shrug, “Sure… just as soon as you tell me what happened this morning.”

“Oh Jesus,” Helen said, exasperated, and for at least the tenth time that day, Nikki found herself wiping tears from her eyes as she clutched a stitch in her side, keenly aware how much attention that phrase had received in the last twelve hours.


Chapter Fifteen

Still the same day… Glenbogle Estate, Scotland

The whole of the Anderson farmhouse was redolent with the scent of succulent cooked beef, and as the smell wafted up to the guest bedroom Kiera decided to take a breather from her writing and go downstairs. She’d been working tirelessly since the Scot departed that morning, anything to keep her mind unoccupied by turmoil. The result was two finished chapters and a grumbling stomach, and upon smelling the meat she assumed that Isobel had brought home her leftovers from the market.

She made the descent slowly, biding her time and poising herself for whatever welcome she might receive. After her rash and impulsive display of affection earlier, she was worried that her landlord might begin to pull away just as their friendship was beginning to solidify.

The sight that greeted her in the kitchen didn’t conform to any of her varied predictions. Isobel was standing by the rubbish bin with a metal spatula in one hand and a baking sheet full of hamburger patties in the other, steadily binning the lot of them.

Kiera stepped into the room and walked straight over to her, pushing aside her paranoia of rejection and going with her first instinct: to understand and protect this woman, to show her that she was loved even if it was unrequited. Isobel looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps but didn’t pause her angry scraping.

“What happened?” The writer didn’t even try to disguise the concern in her voice.

After the incident in the kitchen that morning, there was no use denying what the Scot had probably already deduced. She would be respectful of Isobel’s personal space from then on, barring on overt invitation, but she wouldn’t pretend that she didn’t care. Lying went against everything she believed in, even dishonesty by omission.

It took a long moment for the Scot to answer her, and in that time of waiting she began to grow nervous. Was Isobel upset about what she’d done and giving her a silent piss-off? Or was this about something else entirely?

“Broken dreams,” the Scot muttered bitterly. At first it seemed as though she wouldn’t elaborate, but then she sighed and set the empty tray down, her shoulders sagging under an invisible weight.

“I thought I finally had something figured out, something to really make this place successful. Paul’s constantly nagging me about my rent being overdue and I simply don’t have the extra money to pay it up.”

Kiera waited silently, sensing this was not a moment to interrupt, and Isobel finally continued after another long pause. “Having you as a tenant helps, but it’s still not enough to live without struggling. I thought this was something I could do to remedy that, but I was wrong. I’m so tired of struggling and having pressure on me all the time. I don’t know what to do.”

The writer felt her heart being squeezed in a vice as the Scot’s eyes filled with unshed tears. It took monumental inner strength not to hug the despairing woman.

Isobel, now aware of her tenant’s feelings, finally understood the conflict always present in the brunette’s eyes. It was equally clear that there would be no encore unless she made the first move. Trembling down to the depth of her soul, the shorter woman took one step forward and reached out a shaky hand.

Light as air, her fingers traced the curve of a cheekbone and the contour of soft lips. All the while Kiera stood frozen in place, terrified to find it was all an illusion. One wrong move, one blink of an eye, one ill-considered action would be all it took.

The American covered Isobel’s hand with her own and lightly kissed each fingertip in her reach, never retreating her gaze from pools of sage. She was entranced; lost in another as she’d thought never again.

The moment was cruelly ripped from their hands as the shrill ringing of a telephone pierced the air. Kiera kissed the palm still at her lips, then released Isobel with unspoken promises in her eyes. She would not forget this moment. She would not allow it to fade from her mind’s eye until she had her fill of searching through every second, to recall how perfectly close they came.

Isobel wouldn’t forget either. It was evident in the flush of her cheeks, the rising and falling of her chest, and the racing pulse that had beat from fingertips to lips. To desire another so much and not possess was a slow torture that would burn until extinguished. When the time was right they would know, and then they would let the fire consume them and burn them raw.

Farther away now, the Scot composed herself and offered her caller a distracted greeting, but the pulse in her ears was such that she nearly didn’t hear the response. Convinced she was losing her sanity, she pushed thoughts of Kiera into a box in her mind, to be reopened later when she wasn’t concerned with being sane.

She heard Helen’s voice come over the line and she remembered how to breathe. Talking to her twin was like speaking to another part of herself, as being in the same room was to finding a missing link. This she could deal with. This she could rationalize without having to analyze. She submerged herself fully in their second conversation in two days and by the time it ended, the writer had disappeared from sight yet again.
Edited by CrashxBurn, Jun 9 2013, 03:54 PM.
"Sit in that chair!" -- "Don't you wish it was electric?"

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ccgxh
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This story is awesome. Can't wait for your next update. You rock.
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CrashxBurn
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A/N: Here's a nice long one to thank you all for the lovely feedback.


Chapter Sixteen

Glenbogle Estate, Scotland – The night of Saturday, May 4, 2002

Isobel sat in front of her computer with a mug of warm whisky, honey, and sugar. Her fingers flew across the keyboard and then stilled as the selected page loaded. She took a sip of the relaxing beverage as her eyes began to scan the first column of the mini-biography.

“She even has her own web page,” the Scot muttered.

After a long conversation with her twin, during which plans were solidified for Helen to visit Glenbogle and introduce her new partner, Isobel had made herself a drink then gone to her desktop monitor, wanting to do a spot of research on the intriguing writer who shared her home. She’d found a link to an official website straightaway and, clicking on it, feasted her eyes on the scant details of the American’s life.

As she read the white words on purple background, she realised how much she already knew about her tenant. The mini-biography wasn’t lengthy, only skimming lightly over the writer’s life and accomplishments. Isobel filled in several blanks mentally and congratulated herself on taking an interest, though she hadn’t understood why at the time she’d done so.

She clicked on the bibliography tab at the top of the page and was presented with three novels, available for order online with cover photos of each and brief synopses. Reading quickly through, she decided to order the lot. She filled out the information form with her name and address, then went to retrieve her sole credit card to sort out the payment portion.

The website promised delivery within seven days, meaning she would have at least a week to read without interruption before her twin arrived. With that accomplished, she exited the browser and powered down the computer, gathering her empty ceramic mug and heading to the kitchen for a refill. She poured a second measure of the heady brew as an afterthought before collecting both and ascending the staircase.

The crack of light under the guest room door indicated that her tenant was still awake. Without giving herself time to become unduly nervous, she raised a fist and rapped softly on the aged wood. Only seconds ticked by before the writer appeared, seemingly taken aback by the unexpected visit. A smile bloomed on her face as she stepped aside, allowing her landlord entrance.

“I thought you might like a drink,” Isobel said by way of greeting, offering up one of the steaming mugs.

Kiera took it graciously and inhaled the fragrance with a growing smile. She sipped the mixture and hummed in appreciation. “Excellent, thanks. I love a hot toddy before bed.”

Isobel was floored that the American even knew what a hot toddy was, and she teased accordingly, “Very cultured, are you?”

“I like to think so,” the writer joked back, then added, “I used to make them all the time back home when I couldn’t sleep.”

Her gaze became distant as she swallowed more of the sweet concoction, allowing it to warm her body and transport her mind to another time and place. She immersed herself in forgotten memories and moved to sit on the end of her bed.

Curious, Isobel sat down beside her, cupping her mug with both hands. Kiera felt the mattress dip beside her, alerting her to the Scot’s presence and bringing her back from the stroll down memory lane.

“Sorry,” she smiled apologetically, “Got lost for a second there.”

“Where did you go?” Isobel tilted her head and studied the woman to whom she was seated so closely.

“California.” Kiera’s eyes smiled from under her dark brows and she elaborated slowly, “I was thinking about the many nights I sat awake drinking this stuff, and then some, while I pondered a new idea or a chapter I’d already written.”

Her blue orbs became troubled then, clouded with disappointment and shame. “For a while I didn’t know to survive without something to take the edge off. Loneliness can be a bitch and I didn’t cope with it well.”

She felt a warm hand cover her forearm and she looked sideways at her landlord. She twisted her torso to face the Scot and placed an open palm on the shorter woman’s thigh. Green eyes searched blue for an intense moment, and then Isobel leaned in slowly, her breath held in anticipation.

The first meeting of lips was gentle; hesitant; barely there. Then, courage strengthened when the Scot didn’t recoil, Kiera swooped in and kissed her more firmly. Their mouths explored slowly, committing every curve, every contour, every taste and sensation to a bank of memory.

The brunette brought a hand up and cupped Isobel’s cheek, her thumb stroking freckled golden skin with a tenderness that caused her companion to sigh. The warmth of the Scot’s breath against Kiera’s lips set her body aflame. Burying her fingers in silken strands of honey blonde, the writer shifted her body closer, her free hand seeking out the small of Isobel’s back.

A third kiss ignited between them, hungry and filled with vigor. Tongues stroked, teeth nipped at swollen lips, and breaths mingled as they melted into one another. Kiera was the first to break free of the heated embrace, and upon doing so she found that sage pools had turned to jade glass, carving a window into her soul.

Swallowing around the lump in her throat, the writer’s eyes morphed from cerulean to sapphire, probing Isobel’s face for any sign of uncertainty. What she found was an emotion she daren’t name, fearing it would vaporise if uttered aloud. She curled her fingers at the nape of the Scot’s neck, once again claiming those perfect lips.

A low moan built inside of Isobel and travelled slowly up her throat. The vibrations carried through their twining tongues and sent tingles straight to the writer’s sex. She whimpered in response and they parted, both taking in great gulps of air, amazed that something as often overlooked as kissing could bring them to this state of arousal.

“We’re really doing this,” Isobel muttered, awe evident in her husky tone. The thickening of her accent did not go unnoticed by her tenant, who shuddered slightly then leaned back on the mattress, using her hands at Isobel’s hips to manoeuvre the Scot above her.

The shorter woman stiffened momentarily as she felt their bodies align, soft against soft, an entirely unprecedented phenomenon for her. But as she stared down at the beautiful brunette, her nerves disappeared and desire reigned free. She licked her lips and descended on the writer’s mouth, plundering it with her tongue as her hands began to explore the body of a woman for the first time.

Her palms pushed up the hem of a black vest and fingertips trailed over an expanse of soft skin covering a muscled abdomen. Isobel sighed into the brunette’s mouth as she brushed a thumb around the warm curve of a full breast. Breaking the kiss, the Scot stared down into the eyes of her captive as she covered the soft flesh.

Isobel’s hands then abandoned their purchase to finish removing the cumbersome garment. She tossed it aside without breaking eye contact then allowed herself an unhindered view of the writer’s chest. Her breath hitched as she drank in the sight with greedy eyes, surveying twin mounds of ivory topped with peaks of coral pink.

The Scot traced the pebbled circles in a gentle caress and felt them harden further, straining toward her touch. A glance at the brunette’s face spurred her into action and, dipping her head, she took her first taste of the puckered skin. Her lips parted then surrounded a pink nipple, her tongue darting forward to massage the sensitive area.

A sharply drawn breath was her reward and she latched on with renewed purpose, enjoying the fact that it was her touch bringing this woman pleasure. Realizing she didn’t really know what to do next, she pulled away and uncertainty crept into her gaze.

Kiera felt bereft when the Scot’s mouth left her breast, but looking into Isobel’s eyes she saw the cause of her departure. She soothed the blonde’s worry by drawing her into a kiss and taking over. She rolled the shorter woman onto her back and her nimble fingers made short work of the pale yellow blouse.

She parted both sides of the fabric and sucked Isobel’s tongue into her mouth, groaning around it as her sensitised nipples brushed against black lace. Her lips trailed hot kisses down the Scot’s jaw to the curve of her neck and she unclasped the brassiere one-handed. Her other hand slid down Isobel’s stomach to the waistband of her jeans.

She popped the button and slid the zipper down with practised ease, and then both hands tugged the denim over shapely hips and smooth thighs. The Scot kicked her jeans off and away, simultaneously sitting up to shrug off her open blouse and bra.

This she knew how to do. Undressing was something universal in the world of sex, and so it didn’t take any forethought to bare her body. When she lay back against the pillows, her curves now proudly on display, the only barrier remaining between them was a triangle of lace, for Kiera had not watched idly.

The writer had discarded her sleep shorts and underwear as Isobel had stripped, and now the Scot found her eyes drawn downward to a nest of brown curls. Her open perusal sent blood pounding down to the American’s sex, causing it to throb as slick desire coated her womanhood.

The brunette slipped a thigh between Isobel’s knees and leaned forward, sewing a path of kisses from the Scot’s collarbone to her breasts. Taking each in turn, she left a glistening trail of saliva over golden flesh and nipples of raw sienna.

Isobel bit down on her lower lip and closed her eyes, a guttural moan rising in her throat and her back arching of its own accord, as the brunette tugged on a nipple with her teeth. The bite wasn’t hard enough to be painful, but it was firm enough that tingles ricocheted down to the juncture of the Scot’s thighs.

After working her prey into a lustful frenzy with teeth and tongue, the writer ventured south with due diligence. She licked and nipped at every inch of flesh within her path, and then she hooked her fingers into the elastic band of the lace thong.

Skipping straight over the glistening patch of dark curls, her lips followed the descending lace in its wake. She paid rapt attention to each thigh, knee, shin, calf, and ankle before retracing her steps and settling between the Scot’s legs.

From above, Isobel watched with nervousness bubbling in her stomach. She’d never felt this exposed before, not with her first boyfriend and not with her ex-husband. This uncharted territory was terrifying and exhilarating. She couldn’t speak to protest even if she wanted to, so dry and useless had become her tongue, so instead she watched on with excited apprehension.

She felt the sensation before her brain registered what she was seeing, and suddenly watching was no longer an option. She tipped her head back and her throat vibrated with a low moan as a shudder passed through her limbs, all the way down to the tips of her toes.

Kiera’s tongue swept a path through her slickened folds and heaven’s gates opened before her, bathing her in glowing warmth. The writer drank in her essence with calculated strokes, knowing just where to apply firm pressure and where to tease with gentle flicks.

Before long, Isobel found her body covered in a light sheen of sweat as her fingers clutched the duvet in a death grip. Kiera held the bucking hips steady as she continued to feast on the Scot’s treasure trove, dipping her tongue into the sea of clenching warmth on every third or fourth pass.

“Oh god…” Isobel moaned, eyelids fluttering and hips churning with wild abandon. She was throbbing and burning, every inch of her body on fire. Then she felt herself stiffen. “Oh!” she cried out, as invisible flames consumed her.

The writer found her wriggling organ momentarily trapped as the walls of Isobel’s sex clamped down to create a vice. Tremors wracked every part of the Scot’s body and she felt as though she was floating above herself, suspended in nirvana.

When she came down with an almighty crash, she struggled to regain her breath and calm the racing of her heart. Her tenant withdrew from her folds slowly, taking great care not to jar the hypersensitive woman. The writer ascended her body with a self-satisfied, semi-smug smile and Isobel couldn’t help her feathers becoming slightly ruffled.

Now that the waves of pleasure had ceased their crashing upon her shore, self-doubt was creeping in, fear playing its advocate. What if she couldn’t satisfy Kiera? She had no experience in this realm of lovemaking with a body so similar to her own, this complete sacrifice of self for the sake of another because of the emotional ties they’d sewn.

Regaining the power of speech, Isobel smiled through her conflict and brushed fingertips down one of the writer’s sticky cheeks. Drawing the brunette into a light kiss, the Scot whispered against her lips, “You’re amazing.” She tasted herself on Kiera’s tongue and it felt so right that she couldn’t object.

Slowly her confidence built as her hands began their own exploration, eliciting gasps and groans laden with want. She locked her calves around Kiera’s hips and rolled the writer onto her back, startling the brunette with a display of unexpected strength. She smirked at the bemused look she received, choosing not to comment as she dipped her head to her tenant’s neck and began marking it as her own.

Time escaped the clutches of their conscious minds until they were lying spent in a tangled heap of flesh, made sticky by sweat and other bodily lubricant. Isobel had her arms wrapped snugly around Kiera’s taller, thinner frame and breast to breast, they simply stared at one another.

“How many women have you been with?” Isobel questioned, her curiosity piqued by her lover’s flawless technique.

“Enough,” the brunette answered evasively, unsure where this line of questioning had come from or where it was trying to go.

Isobel dropped her eyes to the soiled pillowcase between them and she murmured, disheartened, “Oh… That bad, huh?”

Confused, it took Kiera a moment to work out her double meaning. Dismayed by the ridiculous misunderstanding, she hooked her forefinger under the Scot’s chin until she drew her gaze.

“I had a wild side when I was in school. I won’t deny it. But this… right here, right now, with you… it’s better than anything I’ve ever had with anyone. I’m not just saying that to make you feel better.”

Kiera sucked in a shaky breath and expelled it on a sigh. “I love you, Isobel. It would be so unfair to compare this to a fling, because everything else comes up wanting.”

Tears pinpricked the Scot’s eyes until they welled at the edges and overflowed, streaking down her cheeks in salty rivulets. Kiera caught them with her fingertips and kissed the honey blonde, pouring her heart out through her lips.

When they drew apart at last, Isobel tucked her head under the brunette’s chin and whispered almost inaudibly, “I love you, too.”

It was final, resolute, earth shattering, and heavenly all in one. Isobel had never been so scared in all her life, but she’d never been so free. Kiera closed her eyes and a few tears strayed past her lids, unseen by the slumbering Scot. She held the woman tighter to her chest and followed her into the land of dreams, crying silently from sheer relief. She was not alone in this.


Chapter Seventeen

London, England – Monday, May 6, 2002

Nikki used one hand to fumble with the lock on the side door of the building and then pushed it open with her foot. Her arms were bundled down by round tubes containing the altered blueprints of Chix.

“Trish! You in here?”

A blonde head popped up from behind the bar and called out, “Yeah, Nik. Be with you in a minute.”

Nikki stepped into the pool of light surrounding the bar and inclined her head toward the back. “I’m just going to set these down in the office. See you there.”

Trisha watched her back as she retreated into the shadows. She set down her clipboard and pen and wiped her cheeks dry, composing herself before she went to follow. She didn’t want Nikki to see what a mess she’d become.

A quick stop in the loo refreshed her face and she entered the office with a casual, confident smile. Nikki looked up from pouring two drinks, the blueprints now spread across the executive desk, and returned the smile with ease.

The pair of ex-lovers stood side by side and Nikki began to explain the designs she’d come up with, running the tip of her index finger along the floor plans as she spoke.

Trisha’s first glimpse of the elaborate sketches took her breath away. They were nothing like she’d expected and more than she could have hoped for. Suddenly Nikki’s renovation proposal didn’t seem farfetched at all. In front of her eyes lay plans for a fabulous garden wonderland.

“They’re amazing, Nik.” She touched her ex’s forearm lightly and felt her emotions begin to spin out of control once again.

The blonde’s eyes welled up and her jaw trembled, but she took a steadying breath and quickly removed her hand, unable to touch Nikki for one more second or she would lose her last vestige of stability.

Unfortunately for the rattled blonde, Nikki still knew her better than she knew herself, and her time in prison had only heightened her ability to read people. She took in Trisha’s red-rimmed eyes and the barely restrained tears swimming in pools of baby blue.

Nikki faced Trisha and stroked her cheek out of habit, her brown eyes filled with concern. “What’s the matter, Trish?”

The blonde’s breathing was becoming increasingly distressed as tears slid their way past her defences and she stared at those mesmerising eyes, getting lost in memories of a time long past. She leaned in without thinking, touching her lips to Nikki’s. It was a few seconds before she realised that there was no response from the raven haired woman.

Snapping back to reality, Trisha pulled away as if she’d been burned and covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry,” she gasped from behind her trembling fingers.

Nikki’s gaze was that of silent understanding and sorrow. She shook her head slowly and took a long moment to gather her thoughts. “Trish,” she said gently, “I’m sorry this is difficult for you, but you know where we stand. I’m with Helen now.”

The blonde club owner retrieved her glass of whisky from the desktop and moved to sit on the sofa. She downed the burning amber liquid in one gulp and scrubbed her face furiously with her sleeve. She got her breathing under control and then looked up at her ex, still standing by the desk with heartbreak etched into her face.

“I know, Nik.” Her words came out in a barely audible whisper, but the club was silent and Nikki heard every one. “I really am sorry. I don’t know what possessed me.”

Trisha laughed bitterly then and another few stray tears escaped. “No. Who am I kidding? I got caught up in the past for a moment. Having you here, working with me again, it all just came back to me and I lost control. It won’t happen again,” Trisha promised solemnly.

Nikki nodded slowly, seeing that Trisha was deadly serious. “That’s all right then,” she answered quietly, no hint of anger or reprimand in her tone. She knew things were going to be awkward between them for a while, but she hadn’t realised just how much Trisha was struggling until that moment.

She rolled up the blueprints in contemplative silence and slid them back into the cardboard tubes for safekeeping. She spared one final look at her ex, still sitting on the sofa with a miserable expression, one of regret an self-pity.

“I’ve got to go. Helen’s making dinner.” She apologised with her eyes and then left the club, wondering if they were all going to make it out of this in one piece.

When she entered her and Helen’s flat thirty minutes later, the wonderful aroma of baked lemon pepper chicken and jasmine rice assaulted her senses.

“Babes, I’m home!” she announced as she shrugged off her coat in the hall and hung it on a hook.

“In here,” answered a distinctly Scottish voice from the kitchen.

She walked in to find her lover standing at the stove, using a large wooden spatula to stir the pot of rice. She took quick strides to reach the shorter woman and wrapped both arms around her middle, nuzzling into the curtain of her baby fine hair.

A petite hand covered her forearm and she could imagine Helen smiling at her silent affectionate greeting. A moment later, the Scot turned down the heat on the cooker and laid the spatula on a ceramic spoon dish.

Turning in Nikki’s arms, Helen tucked her tongue up behind her teeth and said, “Hi.”

Nikki’s face broke out in a silly grin and she rubbed the tip of her nose against Helen’s, echoing quietly, “Hi.”

Helen’s eyes closed as she rested her forehead against that of her lover, breathing in the scent of the cologne and body wash that lingered on her skin. The Scot looped her arms up around Nikki’s neck and they held each other in silence for a while.

The moment finally broke when Helen pulled back and asked, “So… how did it go with Trisha?”

Nikki’s face must have revealed that all was not well, because Helen quickly asked, “What is it? What happened?”

Nikki sighed heavily and began to relay the events of the last two hours, starting from the beginning when she arrived at Chix. She told Helen that Trisha had seemed extremely pleased with her plans but that the blonde had gotten upset and acted without thinking. She explained the quick kiss and that Trisha had been devastated by her own actions.

“She what?!?” Helen screeched in outrage.

“Calm down, Helen.” Nikki took the shorter woman’s shoulders in both hands and rubbed them soothingly.

Helen’s posture relaxed as she released a heavy sigh. “I thought she was okay with us.”

“She is, darling. She’s just lonely and she knows she made a mistake. You should’ve seen her face, Helen.” Nikki shook her head sadly.

“I think it’s just hit her what she’s sacrificed. She knows I’m happy with you and I know Trish well enough to know she won’t try and come between us. I just hope she finds someone to help her through this.”

All anger forgotten, Helen stepped in closer to Nikki and whispered, “You never cease to amaze me, Nikki Wade.”

The ex-con drew her lover into a tight embrace and whispered into her hair, “And you’ll never stop amazing me, Helen, for as long as I live.”

The enormity of the statement hung in the air and both accepted it as written in stone. Dinner was a quiet, peaceful affair as they ate their food and stared across the table at each other, eyes filled with love and unspoken promises.

After depositing their plates in the sink, Nikki fiddled with the dial on the kitchen radio, turning it on and setting it to an easy listening station.

The soothing vocals of David Gray filled the room and Nikki pulled Helen into her arms. The Scot rested her cheek against the taller woman’s shoulder as they began to sway together, letting the music wash over them and carry them away.

“This year’s love had better last. Heaven knows it’s high time. And I’ve been waiting on my own too long. When you hold me like you do, it feels so right. I start to forget how my heart gets torn, when that hurt gets thrown. Feeling like you can’t go on.”

Helen’s mind was transported back to Larkhall and she was awash in the memories of all the struggles they’d endured, all of the pain and loneliness, the misunderstandings and the brief moments of respite when everything seemed so right.

“Turning circles when time again it cuts like a knife, oh yeah. If you love me, got to know for sure. Cos it takes something more this time than sweet, sweet lies. Before I open up my arms and fall, losing all control, every dream inside my soul.”

Nikki tilted Helen’s chin upward and their eyes met with understanding. The raven haired woman wondered if the Scot knew just how much of a hold she had on Nikki’s heart and soul. Everything she had, she would give in an instant for this woman. Anything.

“And when you kiss me on that midnight street, sweep me off my feet. Singing ain’t this life so sweet… This year’s love had better last. This year’s love had better last.”

Their lips met in a tender caress and the music faded away into the background, the words falling on deaf ears as they were swept away in the moment. If every day ended this way, Nikki felt sure she’d wish for immortality, her lone desire to stand here and breathe in this woman, to drink in her essence and bask in the warmth of their love.

Dido’s ‘Thank You’ filled the room next and they began to discard clothes with unhurried fingers, mindless of the fact that they were standing in the kitchen. Helen felt herself being backed into the counter and gasped as Nikki’s thigh wedged itself between her legs, pressed firmly against her sex.

Her bare breasts were heaving and illuminated by the moonlight that had descended upon them, flooding in through the kitchen window and glowing down on their tryst. Nikki’s mouth sought out a nipple that had been hardened to granite and Helen tipped her head backward, a growl of pleasure escaping through parted lips.

The Scot felt a warm rush of liquid settle between her thighs and soak through her knickers, threatening the white linen pants she still wore. The length of Nikki’s muscled thigh held her in place and she began to grind against it desperately.

“Nikki… please…” she whimpered.

Nikki’s mouth abandoned its oral exploration of the Scot’s bosom and her charcoal gaze held Helen in a trance. The pressure eased off her sex and the linen pants pooled around her ankles. Cool air assailed her heated folds and Helen felt a resounding throb in her nether regions.

“Nikki…” she repeated, begging now for some kind of friction to ease the desperate need between her legs.

Nikki’s mouth quirked at the edges and she captured Helen’s lips, stealing her next protest and soothing it with her tongue. Nimble fingertips slid through a haven of moist curls and drenched themselves in liquid heat. Helen melted into Nikki’s embrace and felt her knees growing weak as the ex-con stroked her deftly, expertly working her toward the precipice to oblivion.

Two slender, dexterous digits filled her core and curled inward, sending her tumbling toward release. They pressed their advantage and Helen lost control of her muscles as they turned to butter. She stared unseeing at the ceiling as neurons fired rapidly in her brain, a kaleidoscopic explosion of color and light bursting in her field of vision. A strong arm held her steady as she surfed the all-consuming waves of pleasure, a guttural moan ripped from within.

Several minutes passed before she regained the ability to speak, two strong hands stroking her back soothingly all the while. “God, Nikki… the things you to do me.”

Her voice was hoarse and her eyes shining with wonder. She ensnared her lover’s lips in a slow, sensual exchange, then took Nikki’s hands in hers and led the taller woman to the master bedroom. She had plans to show her appreciation that didn’t involve standing naked in her kitchen. They spent the next few hours tangled in creamy sheets as they tired each other out, eventually falling into deep sleep before waking and beginning all over again.


Chapter Eighteen

Glenbogle Estate, Scotland – Tuesday, May 7, 2002

“What about this one?”

Jess fingered the fabric of a coat hanging on the rack, drawing Golly’s attention to it. They were in the market browsing, as Golly needed a replacement, but so far he had yet to find one he liked.

“Nah, it’s too flappy. I don’t like flaps,” Golly commented idly, passing the coat over with a brief glance.

He spotted one entirely without the horrid accoutrements and reached for it, but apparently someone else was thinking the same. He looked up to see a redheaded woman with blue eyes and a kind face smiling back at him as they ended their tug of war.

“We seem to have a meeting of minds,” the woman said with obvious amusement.

She was much older than Jess but still about half his age. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help finding her attractive, especially when he heard her voice and saw her smile. He thought of Molly with a pang of guilt, but he knew that was never likely to happen. There was too much water under the bridge.

“But I think you saw it first,” the woman continued, breaking Golly out of his reverie.

Ever the gentleman, Golly released the material and smiled assuredly. “No, no, please, I insist.”

“Oh, well, thank you! It’s usually every man for himself.” The redhead beamed and then removed the coat from its hanger. She shrugged it on and then did a little spin. “What do you think?”

“Nice,” Golly complimented with a nod.

He was a taciturn man by nature and when he spoke it was usually with great forethought. Not many words were needed to get a point across, in his opinion, if the words were chosen with care.

“But no flaps,” the woman exclaimed, “I hate the ones with flaps everywhere.” She considered him for a moment then smiled. “Well I’d, uh, I’d better to pay for it before you change your mind.”

She walked off and the sound of her light laughter rang in Golly’s ears. Jess had been studying the exchange intently, remaining silent throughout. She could see the obvious attraction between them and this gave her hope, hope that her father might find someone with whom to be happy.

He spent too much time alone these days, with no one but her for company, and she could see that it was a miserable existence, despite whatever proud, unfazed façade he might present. She had a feeling, though, that these two might just need a nudge in the right direction.

“She’s right about those flaps,” Golly muttered under his breath, staring off after the redhead.

Jess gave him a knowing look and then linked her arm with his, smiling on the inside as she pulled him toward another rack of coats to continue their hunt.

That afternoon the father/daughter pair entered McCall’s for a drink and found a dance lesson in full swing. Elderly couples were gathered all around taking instructions from the redheaded woman they’d met earlier.

She spotted them as they approached the bar and came to introduce herself as Meg. Jess managed to embarrass Golly when she refuted his statement the he wasn’t much of a dancer, informing Meg that after a dram he could sword dance with the best of them.

The dance teacher paid for their drinks in an unexpected act of generosity before returning to her class, leaving Golly and Jess to sip on their drinks. Jess took one swallow then claimed she had things to be doing, leaving Golly with a ridiculous statement about letting the dog see the rabbit.

After her lesson was completed, Meg sat down to have a chat with Golly. She asked after his job as Gillie and what it entailed. After gently teasing her about shooting poachers, he found it difficult to explain the vast responsibilities, so instead she suggested that he could show her.

They spent a pleasant afternoon wandering through the trees and hillsides, getting to know each other and discussing his varied work. He returned to his house with a sprig of wild heather tucked into the front of his blue polo shirt, inciting good-natured teasing from his daughter that Meg was certainly interested.

In the meantime, a Miss Buchanon from the Forestry Commission was sitting Paul down to discuss the tree population in Glenbogle, stating that they had the wrong kind of trees planted. Further investigation uncovered the fact that she had sent him a notice several months prior, but he had forgotten about it.

Alex, having called in a friendly favor from the laird, had secured the job of Factor and decided to handle the problem for him. He later met with the Forestry Commission woman and they toured the nearby farmlands, with her pointing out where and how changes could be made to procure a sizeable subsidy for the estate. Eager to prove himself, he quickly struck a deal with the woman.

The next day, a disastrous attempt at matchmaking saw a fallout between Jess and Golly, her father furious that she’d interfered with his love life. She’d sent a note to Meg inviting her out for a romantic lunch, and had then lured Golly out to the location. The unwitting pair had quickly worked out the obvious and then Golly had returned home in a foul mood.

An unusual row transpired between them, resulting in Golly storming out and leaving Jess with hurt feelings. Her intentions had only been good, but her meddling had been very unappreciated. As Golly left to stew in his inner turmoil, he regretted taking out his anger on his well-meaning daughter.

A few hours later he returned to find her angrily hacking at a pile of firewood. She paused when she saw him and threw her axe to the ground, wiping her blonde hair out of her eyes and trying not to cry. He stepped under the awning of the outdoor enclosure with an apologetic expression.

“I shouldn’t have walked out like that,” he conceded.

“I know,” Jess said, waiting to hear his apology.

“What you want me to do… I just don’t think I can. Take the risk I mean.”

The older man seemed saddened by this confession and Jess couldn’t find the will to stay angry with him.

“Dad, it was only supposed to be a date. A bit of fun.”

“To you, maybe. What you have to understand,” he explained calmly, “is that after Molly… I made a decision. Just to leave all that stuff behind me. Get out of the game permanently. Retired heart.”

“Just like that?” she questioned, unwilling to see her father suffer unnecessarily because of his stubbornness.

“No,” Golly shook his head, “no, not just like that. I would like someone. Someone like your Mum. But… I’m scared.” It took a lot for him to say it out loud, but now that he had he felt a weight lifted.

Jess decided to try and make light of the quiet confession. “And there was me thinking you weren’t scared of anything.” A pause, and then, “Do you like her? Meg?”

“Yes.” A smile appeared on Golly’s lined face as he nodded. “Yes I do.”

Later that day, relative hell broke loose when Alex’s secret agreement to replant on Isobel’s farmland came to light. Paul got his hands on the contract via an angry Jess and stormed onto the property, demanding to know what Alex was playing at.

Isobel overheard the tail end of the conversation, where Alex tried to defend himself by saying the ends justified the means, and Paul retorted that that wasn’t acceptable for him, not anymore. He was seething outwardly and inwardly. They were no longer in the army. They were dealing with real people, not pieces on a chessboard, and he was appalled by his friend’s sneaking around. Alex hadn’t even bothered to discuss it with Isobel before having the contract drawn up.

Isobel approached with a confused frown. “Can someone tell me what’s going on?”

Kiera had also heard the commotion and came outside to investigate. She stood on the front porch wearing a black T-shirt and a black-and-grey flannel shirt. She stuffed her hands in her front jeans pockets as she watched the scene unfold.

Paul handed over the contract to Isobel, ignoring Alex’s pleading shake of the head, and Isobel stared at it with a growing frown. She looked sideways at Alex with disbelief and disgust, and then she addressed Paul.

“Get him away from here. Get him off my farm.”

She picked up her shovel and strode off with anger emanating from her small being. Kiera cast an equally disgusted glance at the two men before chasing after her lover. Alex left the farm and Paul followed shortly, knowing that his friend’s time here was at an end. It was unfortunate that things had to be this way, but Alex had really screwed up this time.

Kiera caught up with Isobel at the barn and tried to lighten the mood, “Jeez, for a short person you move pretty damn fast.”

Isobel stuck the shovel into a bare patch of dirt and turned to face the writer. She was absolutely furious about the nerve of Alex going behind her back, but she knew that lashing out at Kiera wasn’t the answer. She set her jaw and turned away again, occupying her hands with menial tasks to keep her busy.

A gentle touch at her shoulder caused her to still, and then she felt two slender arms being wrapped around her waist. She allowed herself to relax into the embrace, laying her head back against the taller woman’s shoulder. She swallowed hard and held back her tears, wondering when things would begin to get easier for her.

The only saving grace was that she had Kiera there with her. The last few nights had been absolutely perfect. She’d never known such tenderness and emotional connection before, or such overwhelming passion. In the brunette’s arms she felt like she could do anything, conquer any obstacle that came her way. She hoped that was the case.

After a time the American managed to drag Isobel into the farmhouse and got started cooking them dinner. She refused all help from the Scot and insisted that she relax by the fireplace with a glass of wine. It had been a stressful day for the shorter woman and she needed time to unwind.

They went to bed together that night, finding refuge in Isobel’s room, and simply held each other. They were too drained from physical labour and emotional surprises to do much else. Kiera had really gotten her hands dirty that day for the first time since moving into the farmhouse. She’d followed the Scot around and assisted in every task competently, allowing Isobel to get much more accomplished in the same span of time.

When dawn broke over the horizon, the pair was cocooned in warm blankets and still holding the other tightly. Kiera woke first and spent a luxurious amount of time simply marvelling at the beauty of the other woman.

She studied the curve of her eyebrows, the long eyelashes resting on her cheeks, the shape of her nose, the perfect pink lips, the light smattering of freckles on her golden skin, the widow’s peak at the top of her forehead, the way the morning sunlight reflected off the honey highlights in her silky hair…

She was done for and she knew it. No other woman had ever entranced her this way, made her to feel as though she wouldn’t be able to survive without her presence. In a short space of time, Isobel had become the air that she breathed, the heart that beat in her chest, the blood that rushed through her veins, and the smile that touched her lips.

Sleepy green eyes came out of hiding and the brunette snuggled in closer, depositing the softest of kisses on the lips she’d been admiring. She felt the slight pressure returned and smiled, moving her mouth to nuzzle the Scot’s warm neck.

Isobel stroked her fingers through Kiera’s long brown hair and closed her eyes again, enjoying the moment and feeling no rush to get out of bed.

“What are you doing today?” the Scot asked eventually.

Kiera withdrew from the warmth of her lover’s collarbone, where she’d been resting her cheek, and she thought for a moment before answering, “I was thinking about going to Glenbogle House, to check out the lineage archives in the library.”

She rolled onto her back and began to stretch whilst lying down, gradually freeing her muscles of their stiffness. She groaned in appreciation and stared up at the wooden beams supporting the ceiling. She’d been here for over two weeks now and she hadn’t yet fulfilled her actual purpose for coming, which was to do research on her family history.

She decided that today would be the day she’d start digging. Glenbogle House was sure to have detailed accounts of the last few centuries and she was equipped with the names of her maternal great grandparents. She knew that her great grandmother, at least, had been born here, so that was a starting place.

She looked sideways at the sleepy Scot and smiled. “What about you? What are your plans?”

Isobel heaved a dramatic sigh and said, “I’m going to sort out the bills and try to figure out a way to catch up on the rent.”

Kiera’s brow furrowed and she rolled back onto her side, facing the honey blonde. “You know I can help you with that. It’s not like I don’t have the money.”

Isobel pursed her lips, an obvious sign of displeasure, and answered tetchily, “I’m not a charity case.”

Kiera sat up and sighed with frustration, wondering when the other woman was going to understand. She shot her an unhappy look and said firmly, “I never said you were, and you should know better. How could you believe I think that?”

Isobel sat up as well and swung her legs over the other side of the bed. “Well I don’t need your help,” the Scot declared stubbornly, despite the fact that she did, and knowing full well that she was being unreasonable.

Her wounded pride was the cause of her attitude and she knew it, but facing it was another matter. She headed for the master bathroom and called over her shoulder, “And I’m not in the mood for an argument so just leave me alone.”

Kiera stared after her with disbelief then flopped back on the bed. She heard the sound of the shower turning on and pressed a hand to her forehead. Today had only just begun and it was already turning out to be a mess, but she had a feeling somehow that it was only going to get worse.
Edited by CrashxBurn, Jun 9 2013, 05:54 PM.
"Sit in that chair!" -- "Don't you wish it was electric?"

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ccgxh
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Awesome writing. I really appreciate your efforts, with two stories going.
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CrashxBurn
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A/N: Unfortunately, if I want to make an update today it means you're getting two chapters instead of three. I'm absolutely pooped and I've been writing all afternoon. It's not my fault that these two chapters ended up being 19 pages combined, swear!

Chapter Nineteen

London, England – Thursday, May 9, 2002

Nikki woke early, leaving Helen fast asleep in their bed, and dressed in black straight-leg linen trousers and a crisp white button-up from M&S. She snagged a toasted bagel and a cup of coffee for breakfast then left the house. Having received Helen’s permission to buy her a new car, she walked to the tube station and got off at the South Kensington stop. From there it was a short walk to the Mercedes-Benz Chelsea dealership.

Remembering what Helen had specified about not wanting anything too flashy, she decided that this stop would be for her to buy a new car for herself. She could then drive to the BMW dealership in Westminster. Correction, she would drop by Claire’s flat first and collect the solicitor, as she would need another body to drive Helen’s new car back to their flat.

As she walked through the rows of shiny new models she was approached by a salesman. Taking in her attire, he quickly surmised that she wasn’t wasting his time and offered a huge smile and an outstretched hand in greeting. “Alan Beckett. How can I help you today?”

Nikki shook the proffered hand and replied, “Nikki Wade. I’m looking for something sporty, preferably a two-seater. I’m buying my girlfriend a car as well today, and she’s requested ‘nothing too flashy’ so I’d like to compensate with mine.”

Alan nodded with a chuckle and glanced around the lot, then said promptly, “Follow me. I think you’ll like something in our SLK-Class.”

He led her to a row of shiny red roadsters and then went to collect a set of keys. She immediately fell in love as he unlocked the nearest one and opened the driver’s side door for her. She sank into the black leather and sighed happily. He went on to explain that the car had climate control, fully electric seat adjustment, and 4-way lumbar support.

In addition, the panoramic vario-roof could be switched from clear to dark with the touch of a button when it was up. She adjusted her seat then fiddled with the controls to let the roof down. She watched in amazement as it manoeuvred itself into place.

“Can I take it for a test drive?” she asked, running her hands over the steering wheel with the giddiness of a child at Christmas.

“Certainly. I just need to have a look at your driving license,” Alan answered. He got in on the passenger’s side and she offered up her license for inspection. Satisfied, he handed her the keys and she started the ignition. She put on her seat belt, he followed suit, and then they were off. She steered the car gracefully out of the parking lot and then tried it out on a long stretch of road.

It was a beauty to handle. Sleek, quiet, agile, and able to handle curves with ease. She took it for a ten-minute drive then headed back to the dealership. When it was parked she got out and said without preamble, “I’ll take it. She drives gorgeously.”

Alan climbed out of the car and asked with a curious expression, “Don’t you want to know the asking price?”

Nikki grinned as she got out and shut the door. “I suppose. I was just going to let you draw up the contract and sign my name on the dotted line, but I guess it would be nice to know how much this’ll set me back.”

He led her inside the air conditioned building to his cubicle, where he took a seat behind his desk and flipped through a thick book that illustrated every model they carried. He then pushed it across to her and tapped on the designated page, which declared £30,015.00 beneath a coloured photograph of the car she’d chosen, along with various details about handling and safety, etc.

She eyed it quickly and then shrugged. “Fine by me. Do you prefer a cheque or plastic?”

“That depends. Are you planning to pay for it outright or make monthly payments?”

“Outright. I have the money available and I’m not keen on making payments,” Nikki answered.

“I see. Well a cheque would be preferable then, since it’s going to be one lump sum.”

They skipped over the credit check since the car wasn’t being financed and dove right into the contract, which took just over thirty minutes to work through. When everything was signed and dated, she handed over the cheque and left smiling, car keys in hand.

She called Claire on her mobile to make sure the solicitor was home and dressed, and then she declared that she was on her way to get her. She neglected to mention what for, stating only that it was a surprise for Helen and she needed help with it. When she pulled into the drive of Claire’s flat, a head peaked through the curtains of the front window and then the door opened.

Claire emerged squealing in delight as she rushed to examine Nikki’s new toy. “Oh my god! Helen’s going to go ballistic!” The dirty blonde paused in her gaping admiration to ask, “So what do you need me for then?”

Nikki laughed and said, “Well this is my new car. I’ve yet to get one for Helen. That’s the next stop actually, and since I’ll be driving this one home…” She left the sentence open-ended and waited for the penny to drop.

Claire squealed once again and hopped in the passenger side. “Count me in,” the solicitor said, grinning from ear to ear. She buckled up and they made the short drive to BMW Westminster.

Seventy-two minutes later, the pair left with a new BMW Active Hybrid 3 in blue-grey. Nikki led the way in her Mercedes and they soon found themselves pulling the new cars to a stop in Helen’s driveway. Closing and locking the doors, Nikki and Claire made their way to the front door and Nikki put her index finger to her lips, motioning Claire to remain quiet.

The pair entered and Nikki dropped both sets of keys on the small table by the door. She whispered for Claire to wait there a moment while she went to get Helen. The silence of the flat indicated that the Scot was still sleeping. No surprise there.

Nikki wandered into the master bedroom and woke her lover with a slow kiss. Helen mumbled unintelligibly as she woke up and saw Nikki’s grin. The taller woman stood and held out both hands, saying, “Come on, Sleeping Beauty. I’ve got something to show you.”

Helen yawned behind her palm before grabbing Nikki’s hands and allowing herself to be hauled out of bed. “This can’t wait until I’ve had coffee and a shower?” the Scot grumbled.

“‘Fraid not,” Nikki replied with a wink. She led the half-asleep woman to the foyer where Claire was waiting, and Helen stopped upon seeing her and blinked several times, wondering if she was still half-dreaming.

“Claire! What are you doing here?” Helen asked, going to give her friend a hug.

“Ohhh… nothing much. I was just helping Nikki out with something,” she replied vaguely.

Helen frowned and crossed her arms, looking back and forth between them. “What are you two plotting?”

Nikki’s face broke out in a grin and she gestured to the front door with a flourish. “Find out for yourself, darling. Your surprise awaits.”

Helen opened the door after casting one more suspicious glance at her lover and best friend. She stopped short when she saw the two brand new cars in the drive. She clapped a hand to her mouth and mumbled through her fingers, “Jesus, Nikki.”

The ex-con moved up behind her and whispered teasingly into her ear, “We’re not going to start on that again, are we? I enjoyed it so much last time you said that.”

Helen turned to smack her lightly on the arm then she donned a pair of slippers to go investigate. Nikki grabbed the keys from the table and handed them to her excited girlfriend, who was now peering in through the front driver’s side window, her brows scrunched in puzzlement.

“Nikki… is that a television screen mounted on the dash?”

“Sort of. It’s the iDrive system. So?” The taller woman shrugged and stuffed her hands in her trouser pockets.

A light whack to the back of her head was followed by Helen saying, “I said nothing flashy. Remember?”

Nikki couldn’t contain a chuckle and then she said quite unapologetically, “Sorry, couldn’t help myself. You have to admit I used admirable self-control whilst picking yours. Or, erm, Claire did.” Nikki rubbed the back of her neck guiltily as she looked over at her own car, which Claire had definitely not helped with choosing.

The Scot moved in closer to her BMW and opened the driver’s door to inspect the beige leather interior. She ran a hand across one of the seats and then pressed down on it. “This is pure luxury,” she commented, moving to examine the GPS screen on the dash. “You really went all out, didn’t you?”

Two strong arms wrapped around her from behind and Nikki nuzzled her neck affectionately. “I wanted you to have the best. Do you like it?”

Helen turned in her arms and kissed her hard, wrapping both arms around the ex-lifer’s neck. “Mmm… I love it,” she answered, once they broke for oxygen.

Claire approached the lovebirds with a huge grin and declared, “This calls for celebration. I say we all get dressed up and go to Chix tonight.”

Nikki squeezed Helen’s bum before she released her and answered for both of them. “We’d love to.”

The trio moved inside and Helen cooked up some breakfast while they chatted about the design and safety features of both cars. Helen was shocked to hear how much technology had advanced since she’d bought her little Peugeot, which she would now have to sell. While the BMW was more than she had expected, she conceded that it was lovely and not too flashy. Elegant and efficient, it suited her perfectly.

+++

When Helen and Nikki walked into Chix at eight pm, most of the club turned and stared. Claire nearly fell off her stool at the bar and her jaw nearly touched the ground. Trisha stopped mid-pour on a customer’s drink and her brows nearly reached her hairline.

Helen was wearing a floor-length strapless taffeta gown in scarlet, complete with a lace-up back and boned bodice. Beside her, Nikki was stunning in an Oscar-style black gown made of jersey with a plunging back. Helen grabbed Nikki’s hand and together they made their way through the crowd toward their friends.

Claire and Trish were still standing there, gaping mutedly, as the pair approached. Nikki fidgeted on the spot and Helen frowned in confusion. “What? Have I already got something on my dress?”

Finally the solicitor found her voice and blurted, “You two look like you’re about to walk the red carpet, not dance in a nightclub.”

Helen shrugged and said, “You said we should dress up to celebrate.”

Trisha piped up from over the bar counter, “Hey, Nik… nice dress.” Trisha sniggered into her hand as Nikki’s cheeks flamed pink. Everyone who knew her knew that she had a severe dislike of wearing dresses and that she rarely, if ever, did so. The blonde club owner tried to mentally calculate how many years it had been since she’d last seen her ex wearing a dress, and the magic number she came up with was seven.

Helen slid her arm around Nikki’s waist possessively and purred into her ear, “Buy me a drink and then I’m going to show you a good time.”

Nikki nodded and swallowed around the lump in her throat, suddenly feeling that the temperature had gone up at least three degrees. She ordered a vodka and tonic for Helen and a rum and coke for herself. The couple sat by Claire at the bar and sipped their drinks as they listened to the lively music playing over the high-tech sound system.

When Nikki finished hers, she stood and made her way over to the DJ booth in the far corner. She returned a few minutes later and promptly pulled Helen onto the dance floor with a grin, claiming, “This is ours, darling.”

They picked their way through the crowd until they found a spot near the middle. The chilling vocals of Celine Dion filled the club and they held each other close as they began to sway.

“Everything you are, everything you'll be, touches the current of love, so deep in me. Every sigh in the night, every tear that you cry… seduces me. And all that I am, and all that I'll be, means nothing at all, if you can't be with me. Your most innocent kiss, or your sweetest caress… seduces me.”

Helen sighed shakily as Nikki’s hands slid down her back and pulled their bodies together, leaving no space between them. Their eyes locked in an erotic staring contest as Nikki took the lead and slowly spun Helen around on the dance floor.

“I don't care about tomorrow, I've given up on yesterday. Here and now is all that matters. Right here with you is where I'll stay. Everything in this world, every voice in the night, every little thing of beauty, comes shining through in your eyes. And all that is you, becomes part of me too, 'cause all you do seduces me.”

Helen felt chills run down her spine as the music seeped into her soul. Her heart palpitated wildly and her lips parted in a silent gasp, for Nikki’s hand had just claimed purchase on her rear, rubbing slowly through the fabric as she remained entranced by eyes of dark chocolate.

“And if I should die tomorrow, I'd go down with a smile on my face. I thank God I've ever known you. I fall down on my knees, for all the love we've made. Every sigh in the night, every tear that you cry… seduces me… seduces me. All that you do… seduces me.”

“Nikki…” the Scot murmured breathlessly, “take me home. Now.”

The raven haired woman stared down at her aroused lover and whispered huskily, “I’ve got an even better idea.”

She tugged on the Scot’s hand and led her off the dance floor, weaving her way through other close-dancing couples toward the office in the back.

Trisha watched from the bar and when she realised where they were headed, she dropped her head in her hands and groaned. Claire noticed and shot her a quizzical look. The club owner mumbled exasperatedly, “They’re going to fuck in the office. I just know it.”

The solicitor blushed then and asked for another drink, mumbling something about how hot it was in the club and asking whether the air conditioning was broken.


Chapter Twenty

Earlier that day… Glenbogle Estate, Scotland – Thursday, May 9, 2002

“You’re already getting behind on the rent and now the bank’s chasing you. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Paul and Isobel were sitting at a table looking through letters she’d received from the bank, each of them demanding different sums of money. Kiera had already cleared out earlier after their argument, leaving the laird and his tenant to get on with it.

She leaned forward slightly and mockingly replied, “How about ‘This is your dream, Isobel, and it’ll take as long as it takes to get the farm going again, so don’t worry about it.’”

“Well what message would that send to me other tenants?”

Paul genuinely didn’t know what to do about this situation and Isobel was thankful she wasn’t in his shoes, but it was equally difficult in a different way to be in her own at the moment.

“That you’re a great guy?” Her voice was laced with sarcasm, but there was an undertone of truth to her suggestion.

“You put me in a really awkward position,” Paul chastised.

“Oh, well God forbid you should be made to feel awkward, Paul.” Her voice was rising in volume and she could feel her anger bubbling just beneath the exterior.

Paul rubbed his forehead with one hand and closed his eyes, enduring the reproach with admirable calm and taking a huge bite of humble pie. She was right, of course. No one had ever promised him that being the laird would be easy. This was just one of the many things he had to deal with on a daily basis if he wanted to do his job correctly.

“Okay, all right, I’ll give you another month rent free but… but that’s it.”

“I don’t need your charity,” Isobel spat, having used nearly the same statement earlier, only then it had been directed at Kiera.

Paul was just as understandably outraged by her attitude as the writer had been. Both of them were kind, well-meaning people who seemed to care a great deal for her, but some giant mental roadblock was standing in the way of her accepting their offered handouts.

“I’m trying me best to sort things out for you here,” Paul said by way of defending himself.

“I think you’d better go. I’ve had enough nasty surprises for one day.” Isobel stood from the table, more than ready for this conversation to be over, and moved toward the door.

She had a spot of difficult thinking to do and she needed peace and quiet. Besides, she could admit, at least to herself, that she was being a bit unfair on everyone. This was something she needed to work out by herself, lest she continue lashing out and hurting people who didn’t deserve her venom.

As she pulled open the door, an unknown man stumbled in and slumped down against the wall. His hair and beard were overgrown and his clothes were completely filthy. He had the look of someone who’d been wandering and homeless for a great deal of time, and he was clearly exhausted and delirious.

Isobel put a hand over her racing heart, willing it to slow as she overcame her terrible fright. She bent down to check on the stranger, holding her breath to avoid the smell, and she found that he was alive, but unconscious. She stood and looked over at Paul, now standing by his abandoned chair at the table. “I think we should try and move him. Let’s get him onto the sofa.”

Paul was understandably reluctant to come near the strange man, but he did so anyway and an awkward dance ensued as he and Isobel half-carried, half-dragged the man onto the sofa. “Christ, he smells like he’s been living in a rubbish bin,” the laird remarked.

Isobel shot him a glare and then began checking the stranger over for injury. “Boots have seen better days.”

Paul took a seat in a chair adjacent to the sofa and retorted, “All of him’s seen better days.”

“Maybe he’s hungry,” Isobel suggested. The stranger, now awake, perked up a bit at that and she asked, “Are you hungry? I’ve got some bread and jam.”

“Well there’s egg, bacon, sausage, and fried tomato,” Paul added chirpily. The stranger looked hopeful at the thought. “I was joking,” the laird said, causing the stranger’s face to fall in understanding.

Nevertheless, Isobel prepared a hearty meal for the dirty man and helped him over to the table when it was ready. The stranger tucked in with a gusto, clearly not having had such a good meal in a long stretch of time.

“He’ll pause for breath in a minute.” Paul looked from Isobel, who was watching with sympathy, to their unexpected guest, who was scraping at the empty plate with a fork. “Finished?” A nod was his only answer. “Good. Up on your feet. You’ve had the courtesy lunch. Time to get back on the road.”

“Where am I going?” the stranger asked.

“Wherever you were going before,” Paul replied.

“Where am I now?” The stranger looked up at the laird with clear confusion.

“You’re on the Glenbogle Estate,” Isobel offered kindly.

“Glenbogle?” The stranger scrunched up his face, as though trying to remember something forgotten.

“And you’ll surely be leaving the Glenbogle Estate, so let’s go,” Paul interrupted.

“What’s your name?” Isobel inquired softly.

“Uh… fft… it’s, uh… I can’t remember anything,” the stranger said slowly and with great difficulty.

Isobel looked to Paul, who had his arms crossed and was looking quite petulant, and she said, “We should call Dr. McKendrick and get him checked out.”

An hour later, the doctor packed up his medical equipment and explained that the stranger was suffering from hypothermia and lack of food, and that that probably had something to do with his memory loss. When asked what could be done, he suggested bed rest for a few days and regular meals. He left then and Paul pointed out protectively, “Well he can’t stay here for a few days!”

Isobel, while touched by his concern, was growing frustrated with his pigheadedness. “He could stay at Glenbogle. There’s plenty of room there.”

“He is not staying at Glenbogle,” Paul countered stubbornly.

One look at Isobel’s face had him shutting his mouth and fidgeting. Christ, that woman didn’t half know how to put someone in their place.

+++

“Molly! You’re looking really well.” Golly smiled as he saw his old friend and love interest coming down a grassy hill toward him.

Molly grinned back and came to a stop on the other side of his truck. She folded her arms over one side of the bed and exclaimed, “The break at the health farm was just what I needed. Lasso therapy, seaweed wraps, this yoga, that yoga. It’s amazing what a regular detox will do.”

“I’ll bear it in mind.”

Becoming more serious, Molly continued, “And it also gave me a chance to prioritise what’s important to me. Top of the list is friendship. Your friendship. Which is why I’m inviting you to a carefully balanced, wheat free, meat free dinner at Glenbogle tonight.”

“Tonight?” Golly appeared taken aback and disappointed.

“Is that a problem?” Molly asked perceptively.

“I’m sorry, Lass, I cannae make it tonight.”

He was hesitant to elaborate, cursing the dilemma he’d gotten himself into. Just a little while ago he’d approached Ewan to get the young chef’s opinion on what would constitute a romantic dinner. He’d been wanting to surprise Meg and make up with her ever since Jess’s matchmaking attempt went awry.

“How about tomorrow?” Molly inquired.

“Can I get back to you on that one?”

Molly seemed disheartened for a split second but she covered quickly with a smile. “Course.”

As she turned and began walking away, he thought to stop her but simply called out, “Molly… it’s good to see you.”

She turned with another forced smile and replied, “You too,” before continuing on her way.

+++

Paul and Isobel, after a good bout of bickering, had brought the stranger to Glenbogle House and called PC Callum McIntyre to question him, hoping the scatterbrained constable might be able to shed some light on his identity.

“Are you married?” Callum asked slowly, as though speaking to a child. “Kids?”

The stranger had been given a shower and lent a pair of pyjamas since his arrival, and was now lying back on a bed for the interrogation. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly.

“Where do you live?” Callum tried again, squinting his eyes in concentration.

“He doesn’t know,” Isobel intervened, “He doesn’t know anything. He’s lost his memory. Remember?”

The PC seemed to contemplate this for a second, a look that didn’t suit him at all, and then he suggested with puerile enthusiasm, “We could try word association.” He waved his pen around in the air as he spoke, an auspicious smile covering his face.

“Or you could try tracing any missing persons,” Paul cut in.

“Have you done this before?” Callum asked curiously.

“Have you?” Paul retorted doubtfully.

“No,” the constable answered uncertainly, then brightened, “What about a wallet?”

“There was nothing on him,” Isobel offered helpfully.

The PC nodded and began to write on his notepad, intoning slowly as he did so, “No… wall… et.”

Molly, Isobel, Paul, and Ewan all exchanged worried glances, realizing unanimously that the gormless constable wasn’t going to be much help.

“Right,” Callum said, capping his pen and stuffing his notepad in a pocket, “I’ll get back to the station. I’ll run a description through the system, see what turns up.” He shot the group of onlookers a hearty wink.

“We’re really glad we called you in,” Paul said with a smirk, the sarcasm lacing his tone not evident to the painfully aloof, optimistic constable.

“Don’t know what we would’ve done without you,” Isobel added flatly.

“Glad to help,” PC Callum enthused.

“If he’s going to be staying here for a while, we can’t keep referring to him as him,” Molly mused thoughtfully, “We ought to give him a name.”

“He’s not going to be staying here any longer than he has to,” Paul interceded.

“If he was an injured animal, you’d let him stay here until he was better,” Isobel replied indignantly.

“Not in Hector’s pajamas I wouldn’t,” came Paul’s quick reply.

“Woe betide anyone who needs your help,” Isobel muttered.

“Especially if they’re not willing to be helped,” Paul stated, his double meaning not lost on the stubborn Scotswoman.

“These need cleaned,” she said, thrusting the pile of the stranger’s dirty clothes into Paul’s arms.

“I wouldn’t bother if I was you,” he answered, pushing them right back at her.

“I suggest dry cleaning,” she replied obstinately, and the parrying of clothes continued.

“You heard the lady,” Paul stated, thoroughly displeased, and he shoved the pile onto Ewan.

“What about Alan?” Molly asked, breaking the tension in the room.

“Who’s Alan?” Paul queried distractedly.

“For a name,” the older woman enlightened.

“He doesn’t look like an Alan,” Isobel tilted her head as she pondered, “How about… Richard?”

“Oh no, I had an accountant once called Richard,” Molly shuddered, “Most unsightly creature.”

“Terry!” PC Callum interjected, smiling brightly.

Everyone ignored him and Isobel ruminated, “Jerry, Barry, Liam…”

“Oh, Liam!” Molly exclaimed. “Liam feels good.” She stepped toward the bed and smiled at the stranger. “We thought we’d call you Liam. What do you think?”

“Well,” he said thoughtfully, “I think you can call me whatever you like.”

“Then Liam it is!” Molly clapped her hands together, grinning happily.

“Excellent,” Liam answered, smiling uncertainly and looking around the room.

+++

Paul and Isobel were loaded into an estate Jeep and he’d just put it into reverse when a flashy little black car sped up the drive and ground to a halt beside them. Isobel looked out the window as Paul angrily got out from the driver’s side. A grin broke out across her face and she quickly departed the vehicle.

“Drive not big enough for you?” Paul questioned bitterly.

“Kelly!” she exclaimed, rushing toward the dark haired woman driving the car.

They hugged tightly and then separated. Introductions were made and then Ewan stepped out of the castle's nearest entrance to see what the big commotion was all about. Kelly looked over at the chef and murmured her approval, loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Cute.”

Ewan grinned like Christmas had come early and then Kiera appeared at his shoulder, having finished a good chunk of research and ready to find some lunch. She spotted Isobel and Paul standing by a dark haired woman she didn’t recognise. She moved around Ewan and approached the trio with a curious smile.

Isobel forgot all about that morning’s argument as she set eyes on her lover. Her heart did a little flip and she smiled her thousand-watt smile as the brunette walked toward them. Without even thinking, she grabbed Kiera’s hand and said, “There’s someone I’d like you to meet. This is Kelly. She was my boss back in Edinburgh.”

Kiera nodded at Kelly and offered up her free hand with a friendly smile, “Hi. Kiera McKinley. I’m Isobel’s tenant.”

Kelly shook her hand then looked at the pair of women with open fascination. Glancing at their joined hands, fingers now laced together, she asked, “Oh, her tenant… Is that all?”

Isobel blushed furiously upon the realization of what she’d done, and she freed her hand quickly. “How about we go back to the farm and I’ll make us some lunch,” she offered by way of stalling an answer.

Kelly smirked knowingly and Paul seemed clueless. “Yes, let’s,” Kelly replied. “Hop in,” she gestured to her two-door car.

Paul just shook his head and went back into the Big House, mumbling something about impossible women. Now alone, save the presence of Kelly, Kiera looked at the car and noticed there were only two seats.

Placing her hands lightly on Isobel’s waist, she leaned in and murmured, “Looks like one of us is sitting in the other’s lap. How about it then?”

Isobel’s cheeks flamed as Kelly stared at them with unconcealed awe, already having sussed the situation despite Isobel’s silence. “Don’t mind me,” Kelly giggled. She would have to ask her friend about this later, but for now she was hungry after her long drive.

"Isn't your car here?" Isobel asked, looking around but not seeing it.

"Nah, I lent it to Jess for a few hours," the writer answered.

Kiera released her blushing lover and got in on the passenger’s side. Isobel joined her shortly and sat on her lap without saying a word. The American managed to get them both fastened in with the seatbelt and then tucked her chin over Isobel’s shoulder, resting her palms on the Scot’s thighs.

Kelly spared them a sideways glance and a chuckle as she revved the engine and put the car in gear. The drive was made in relative silence, only an occasional comment from Isobel about the passing scenery and the estate breaking the tension. For her part, Kiera kept still and allowed her eyes to soak up their surroundings, making no move to embarrass the flustered Scot further.

+++

Kiera was sitting outside sipping on a glass of lemonade, her belly full from Isobel’s wonderful cooking, as she pondered her earlier discovery. The Big House had a vast library with thousands of books and plenty of well-kept records on the village’s inhabitants, dating back centuries.

It turned out that her maternal great, great grandmother was none other than Iona MacDonald, who had gone on to marry one Aonghus Graham and then birthed her great grandmother Agnes Graham, who’d married an Englishman named Michael Fisher.

Agnes and Michael Fisher were parents to Elspeth Fisher, Kiera’s maternal grandmother, who’d moved to Glasgow at age nineteen and fallen off Glenbogle’s record books. The writer knew from speaking with her mother and aunt that Elspeth had married a fellow Scot named Boyd McKinley, and together they’d parented Aileen and Siobhan McKinley.

Her mother and aunt had been raised in Glasgow with her aunt still residing there, but after falling pregnant and being abandoned by the father of her unborn child, Aileen had gotten a work visa and emigrated to the United States. There she’d met and married a policeman in Los Angeles, California and together they’d raised Kiera to be the woman she was today.

“Did you find anything?” Isobel’s voice broke through her reverie and she looked up at her landlord with surprise. “Kelly’s upstairs unpacking,” the Scot said, taking a seat beside her. “So… did you find anything in the library?”

“Yeah…” Kiera answered distractedly, “Paul’s my cousin.”

“Pardon?” Isobel’s brows scrunched together in confusion.

The writer took a breath and repeated, “Paul’s my cousin. Sort of. Distantly anyway. I’m related to the MacDonalds through my great, great grandmother.”

“Wow…” Isobel sat back and exhaled in shock.

“You can say that again.” The brunette took another sip of her lemonade and stared into the distance.

Isobel studied her lover as the afternoon sun bathed her in a warm glow. A smile curled the corners of her lips and she remarked quietly, “You know… you’ve got green in your eyes, just around the middle.”

Kiera turned her head and looked into the Scot’s eyes, returning her smile as she responded, “And you’ve got amber in yours. I can see it in the sunlight.”

The Scot ducked her head and murmured, “I’m sorry about earlier. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.” She released a heavy sigh and then looked up as the writer took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“It’s okay,” Kiera soothed, “I know you’re really stressed out so I didn’t take it personally. Well, not after I thought about it for a while.”

The brunette stood and pulled Isobel to her feet, a warm smile etched onto her face. Setting aside her glass of lemonade, she used both hands to grasp the Scot’s hips and draw her closer.

“I love you,” the writer whispered, “that’s all that matters to me right now. It’s forgotten.” She ended the odd conversation by claiming Isobel’s lips in a steady kiss.

The Scot melted against her and kissed her back with fervour, vowing to herself that she would think more carefully before she spoke in future. She didn’t want to lose this wonderful woman because of some ill-considered temper tantrum.

A quiet cough interrupted the moment and the pair pulled apart to find Kelly standing on the doorstep looking decidedly sheepish. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve unpacked and I was wondering if you’d show me around later.”

Isobel released Kiera quickly and tried to hide her blushes, but it was a pointless exercise as her entire being was now red with embarrassment. “Of course. I’m the one who should be apologising, Kelly.”

The shorter brunette tilted her head and asked, “Whatever for?”

The honey blonde ran her fingers through her hair and admitted meekly, “I wasn’t expecting company. If I’d known you were coming, I would have said something. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Kelly laughed then, startling the petite Scot, and she explained quickly, “I’m not uncomfortable, Iz. It’s good to see you so happy. I’m just a bit surprised is all. Well, maybe more than a bit. When did you decide to start playing for the home team?”

Isobel nearly choked on her own tongue as she replied, “About five days ago.”

+++

That evening, Kelly, Isobel, and Kiera decided to go to the local pub to show Kelly what Glenbogle’s night life had in store. Kelly was wearing tight fitting jeans with a strappy white top that showed off a fair bit of skin. Isobel had gone for equally snug jeans and a skintight scoop neck top that was black with a vibrant floral pattern. Kiera kept the jeans theme going steady with her own pair of navy low-risers and a v-neck navy tee from Abercrombie & Fitch.

“Does your Laird ever come to the pub?” Kelly asked as they stepped inside the thriving establishment.

“I hope not. And he’s not my Laird,” Isobel answered irritably. All afternoon Kelly had been dropping teasing hints that Paul had a crush on her.

The trio found a table occupied by Jess and joined her. Isobel inquired what she was doing and it was revealed that she was avoiding her dad’s romantic dinner with Meg. Ewan approached the table and Kiera hid a snicker behind her hand as he asked Kelly in his thick Glaswegian accent, “Can I get ye a drank?”

“Do you know what I really want?” Kelly asked seriously.

“What?” Ewan seemed baffled.

“To dance.” Kelly grinned.

“Dance?” Ewan repeated, even more baffled.

“Yes. Come on.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him out to the dance floor while the rest of the table laughed.

“She’s a breath of fresh air,” Jess remarked.

“Aye. When we went out in Edinburgh, no one was safe,” Isobel declared with a smile.

A man in his mid-thirties approached the table. Brown hair, blue eyes, mildly attractive, he flashed a smile at Isobel and asked, “Would you dance with me darlin’?”

Kiera discreetly placed her hand on the back of Isobel’s chair and glared daggers at the cocky stranger. He seemed unperturbed by the look he was getting and held out his hand to the honey blonde. She looked down at it with distaste and replied, “No thanks, darlin’.”

Put out by the rejection, he moved away to the bar and Kiera let out a huff. “Cocky git,” she muttered, sounding decidedly British.

Isobel raised her brows in amusement and traced Kiera’s cheek with a fingertip. “Jealous?”

“Hmm… maybe,” the brunette hedged, “Wanna dance?”

Jess watched the interaction as she ate her dinner and then the penny dropped. “Wait a minute. Are you two…?” She waved her finger back and forth between them.

Isobel smiled but didn’t offer an answer as she grabbed Kiera’s hand and pulled her onto the dance floor. The live band started up a rendition of Shooglenifty’s “Maxine’s Polka” and they began to get their groove on beside Kelly and Ewan.

As the night wore on and the dancing tired them out, Isobel began to feel more and more comfortable being in public with Kiera. They’d garnered quite a few looks from the small-minded villagers of Glenbogle, most unused to anything as scandalous as two women locked in a passionate embrace, but no one said anything to the unlikely pair.

Life was too short to live in denial and Isobel had decided after their argument that morning that she would do anything in her power to keep the woman she loved. If that meant going public, so be it. The only thing that worried her was how her father would react. She pushed those troublesome thoughts to the back of her mind and decided to cross that bridge when it became necessary.

+++

The next day, Kiera spent all of her morning in the study writing for her newest novel. When she wandered past the living room to get lunch she overheard Isobel and Kelly talking and froze in her tracks. Dread filled her heart as Kelly asked Isobel to come back to Edinburgh and become a partner in the firm, fifty-fifty everything and a hefty pay rise included with the new position.

She listened from the doorway as Isobel told her friend she would think about it, and that things just weren’t working out on the farm, so she’d be stupid to refuse the offer. Kiera swallowed the lump in her throat and moved down the hallway to the kitchen before either woman could spot her. She gathered an armful of vegetables from the refrigerator and began chopping them ferociously, venting her frustration on unsuspecting cucumbers.

Her angry chopping attracted Isobel and the Scot placed a hand on her forearm with a concerned frown. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Kiera dropped the knife on the cutting board and moved to get a salad bowl from the cupboard. She ignored Isobel’s question as she began scooping maimed vegetable bits into the glass bowl. The tenacious Scot grabbed her hands, abruptly stalling her movement, and the writer looked down into concerned green eyes.

Clenching her jaw, Kiera asked short-temperedly, “Were you going to talk to me before you left or let me find out the hard way?”

Isobel released her grip and Kiera resumed making the salad in silence as she awaited an answer. The Scot took a long moment to gather her thoughts before responding evenly, “I don’t know that I am leaving. I’m considering it, though. Things haven’t been going right here for a while, and I don’t mean with you.”

The brunette grabbed a bottle of Italian vinaigrette but looked at her landlord to show she was listening. Isobel sighed quietly and then asked, “If I do leave… would you come with me?”

Kiera stopped drizzling the lettuce and vegetable concoction and peered at the Scot through troubled eyes. “You’d really want me to?” she asked uncertainly.

“Of course I’d want you to!” the honey blonde exclaimed, as though the question was ridiculous. “I know I don’t say this as often as I should, but I love you. I don’t know why or how, but I do. I want you with me always.”

The writer’s face softened and she dropped the bottle of dressing on the counter to take the Scot in her arms. She buried her face in the side of her lover’s neck and hugged her tightly, trying her best not to cry as relief flooded through her. “Me too,” she whispered. “We’ll figure something out together, yeah?”

“Together,” Isobel confirmed, closing her eyes and running her fingers through Kiera’s hair.

+++

Two days later, Kelly was packing her bags to return to Edinburgh and Isobel was standing on a hill, looking out over her farm and warring within herself. She didn’t want to leave this place; it held some of her happiest memories. But it wasn’t working out the way she’d expected it to. Every day brought about new and unforeseen struggles. If it hadn’t been for Kiera’s company and help then she would’ve packed it in weeks ago.

The writer found her lover staring into the distance and approached silently. She wrapped an arm around Isobel’s waist and asked gently, “What are you going to do?”

The Scot sighed heavily and leaned against the brunette, murmuring, “I don’t know.”

Trying another angle, the writer queried, “Why did you come back here? Why did you quit your job in Edinburgh if it was what you wanted?”

Isobel smiled in a pained sort of way and admitted, “Because I love this place. Because it’s part of me.”

Kiera kissed the Scot’s cheek and whispered, “That’s your answer then.”

Hand in hand, they walked back to the farmhouse and Isobel broke the news to her friend. Kelly was disappointed and tried once more to convince the honey blonde to come with her, but Isobel stood strong in her conviction. The lovers saw Kelly off and then retired to the lounge to cuddle by the fireplace.

The next morning Isobel got a knock on her front door and she dragged herself out of bed with a yawn. She pulled on a dressing gown and left her lover snuggled under the duvet to investigate. It turned out to be the postman with a package. She woke instantly at the sight and brightened as she signed for the box.

Upon opening it in the study, she discovered three new books encased in plastic wrap: Shards of Her Soul; Mending Broken Glass; and Love Theorem. She unwrapped them and sat down at her desk, fingering the covers lovingly before stowing them in an empty drawer. She wandered into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee before returning to her study to start reading the first in the trilogy.

Kiera woke much later and wasn’t surprised to find that Isobel had already vacated the bed. She was the early riser of the two, used to being up in the mornings to work the farm single-handedly. The writer stretched her muscles then had a quick shower before dressing and going downstairs. The house was filled with silence so she poured herself a thermos of coffee to go.

She went back upstairs to the master bedroom where she’d moved in all of her things, and she collected her keys and handbag, double checking that her cheque book was in possession before she left the house. She drove her fancy Mercedes to the Estate Office where Paul was working through a stack of paperwork.

She knocked twice then entered upon invitation. She closed the door and took a seat across from him on the other side of the wooden desk, fidgeting nervously as she clutched her handbag in her lap. She had two things to accomplish while she was here, and she wasn’t exactly sure where to start.

“What can I do for you?” Paul asked, spreading his palms in front of him. The American girl had always struck him as friendly and kind, though maybe a bit quirky at times. He enjoyed her sense of humour and he felt no reason to be on edge in her presence. Today she seemed tense, though.

Kiera withdrew her cheque book and a pen and explained in a rush, “I’m here to pay Isobel’s rent, both what she’s behind on and what she’ll owe for the next six months.”

Paul’s jaw dropped and he stared at her in stunned silence. He shook his head, searching for words, and then asked slowly, “Does Isobel know you’re doing this?”

The writer paled a little and said on a breath, “No… but I’ll tell her later. That farm means so much to her. I can’t let her lose it because she doesn’t have enough money. I have too much to spend on myself, and she means more to me than anything, so this is the least I can do.”

The laird continued to stare at her for a long moment as he pieced things together and realisation dawned. “You’re not just her tenant then?” There was an edge of disappointment to his words and Kiera tilted her head, studying him with an insight that made him suddenly nervous.

It was his turn to fidget and part of her rejoiced in that fact, knowing she’d just squashed his hopes of courting the Scotswoman. Knowing that he was family, she inwardly chastised herself for hurting his feelings, but she did want to make the situation plain to him.

“Yes. I am.” She blinked at him and waited until he coughed and started shuffling papers on his desk to begin filling out a blank cheque. She wrote the correct sum, signed and dated it, then slid it across to him. He picked it up and acknowledged her with a raised brow as he looked at the amount written in black ink.

“She’ll kill you for doing this, you know?” He asked as he stowed the cheque away with other things to take to the bank.

“Probably, but that’s not going to stop me.” Kiera shifted in her seat and said, “Look, there’s something else I need to tell you. I was doing research on my family history the other day and I uncovered something that was a bit… surprising.”

Paul, intrigued and wondering how this had anything to do with him, said cautiously, “Go on…”

“My great, great grandmother was Iona MacDonald, which means we’re related,” Kiera finished.

The laird looked at her blankly as his mind struggled to absorb the information. He then let out a low whistle and sat back in his chair, tapping a pen idly as he said, “Well I wasn’t expecting that.”

Kiera arched one eyebrow and stood with a smirk. Slinging her handbag over one shoulder, she moved to the door and replied, “Neither was I. See ya later, Cuz.” She winked playfully then departed, pointing her car in the direction of the Anderson farm.
Edited by CrashxBurn, Jun 9 2013, 08:11 PM.
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A/N: Here's the third chapter I owe from my previous post.

Chapter Twenty-One

London, England – Wednesday, May 15, 2002

Three days before Helen and Nikki were set to leave for Scotland, Nikki drove to Larkhall to visit Yvonne. She left her car in the public car park and then went through all the necessary hassle to be admitted as a visitor to the prison. Her VO was inspected, her ID was checked, and she was given a visitor’s badge, then she was escorted by an officer to the visiting entrance.

She joined the queue for security screening and almost groaned out loud when she saw Sylvia Hollamby at the front of the line. She stepped forward when it was her turn and the look of shock on Bodybag’s face was almost enough to make up for three years of snide remarks from the grumpy PO.

“Wade! What are you doing here? I thought you might’ve had enough of this place.”

Nikki smirked as she replied, “I’m visiting. Obviously. And that’s Miss Wade, I believe, as I’m no longer a prisoner.”

Hollamby huffed contemptuously and ordered, “Arms out and spread your legs.”

The older woman patted her down briskly, checking her clothes and person for weapons and paraphernalia, and a light was shined into her mouth. Upon receiving permission from the PO, she stepped through the metal detector and joined the queue on the other side, awaiting admittance to the visiting room.

Once all civilians were through the checkpoint and the clock struck the allotted hour, the visitors were ushered into the room full of tables and plastic chairs. The prisoners were already there waiting, one per table in garish orange vests. Nikki spotted Yvonne at a table near the back of the room and she offered a small wave in greeting as she approached.

Bodybag took to hovering nearby with a permanent scowl etched on her face, so Nikki seated herself quickly and folded her hands in front of her.

“Hi, ‘Vonne… You’re not looking well,” she greeted candidly.

Yvonne leaned forward slightly and replied, “Gee, thanks. You are, though. What you been up to, Nik?”

Nikki looked around at the placement of the POs, trying to determine if any were within hearing range, and then she said quietly, “This and that. I’m living with my girlfriend.”

Yvonne squinted her eyes and said, “Who’s that then? That blonde who was with you on the telly?”

Nikki knew immediately to what Yvonne was referring, the interview on the court house steps when she’d been released, but she was a bit surprised that the wing had been allowed to see it. Shaking her head almost imperceptibly, she leaned closer over the table and asked, “I can trust you to keep a secret, can’t I?”

The east ender frowned in curiosity and cocked her head to one side. “You know you can. What’s this all about?”

Fidgeting slightly, Nikki once again surveyed the room before answering, “You, me, and my girlfriend have something in common. We all want to get Fenner by the balls.”

Yvonne seemed even more perplexed as she asked, “So what’s ‘e done to ‘er then?”

Nikki stared straight into Yvonne’s questioning, steely gaze as she said, “You remember Helen Stewart.” It wasn’t a question.

Realisation dawned and Yvonne’s eyes widened comically. “Kinell, Nik! You were shaggin’ the Gov?” Her voice came out in a harsh whisper with a tone of awe and a hint of disapproval.

Nikki shook her head and whispered back, “I know it sounds bad, but it wasn’t like that. Helen’s not like that,” she reiterated. “It wasn’t some power play. We love each other. I came to see you because we heard what happened and we want to help you.”

Yvonne nodded thoughtfully and took a moment to respond. “I tried to help Miss Stewart hang ‘im out to dry before she left, but ‘e wriggled out of it. What makes you think you can catch ‘im now? He’s only gone an’ gotten ‘imself promoted to Wing Gov.”

“Shit,” Nikki sighed. “Just tell me straight, Yvonne. Did you do it?”

“No I bleedin’ well didn’t!” Yvonne retorted, quietly outraged.

Nikki hung her head and nodded, wringing her hands together as she racked her brain for an idea. “We’ve got to get him then. None of us has anything left to lose. Helen’s already lost her job, I’ve been released so the bastard can’t hang my appeal over my head anymore, and from what I can see you’ve been fitted up good and proper. I would bet my freedom that Fenner’s behind it.”

Yvonne lit a fag and inhaled deeply, wondering how much she should say. Hearing that Nikki was living with Miss Stewart was a shocking revelation, but her instincts told her that the ex-lifer could still be trusted. She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement but didn’t say anything, as Bodybag was now approaching the table.

She stared down at the pair like she had a bad smell under her nose, and then she wandered off with a huff. Nikki rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to shoot the old cow a two finger salute. Yvonne looked at her with amusement and took another drag off her cigarette. After exhaling slowly, she admitted, “You wouldn’t be wrong, mate. Fenner’s in this up to 'is eyeballs.”

After a moment of consideration, the con continued, “If you’re serious about settin’ ‘im up, then I’ll ‘ave my Lauren help you. She’s been beggin’ me to do somethin’ in ‘er letters.”

Nikki lightly tapped her fingers on the table as she pondered the offer. “All right. Nothing illegal, though. We have to get him fair and square or he’ll just find a way out of it.”

Yvonne grinned slowly, like a shark about to seize its prey, and she let out a plume of smoke as she said gruffly, “Don’t you worry ‘bout that, Nik. My Lauren’s no fool. I’ll give ‘er a call when I get back to the wing. Miss Stewart won’t mind if she drops by yours?”

Nikki shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. I’ll check with her just to be sure. If you have any minutes going spare, give me a ring later.”

Nikki dug a receipt out of her pocket and scribbled the address and her mobile number on the back. She pushed it toward Yvonne and then they changed the subject, the con filling the ex-lifer in on all of the recent happenings on G-Wing. She learned that Karen had been demoted to Senior PO after Neil Grayling arrived to replace Helen as Governing Governor, and that’s how Fenner had been promoted.

For all of his supposed forward thinking, apparently Neil was keeping the Old Boys Network very much alive. Di Barker was getting cosy with a new PO named Barry Pierce and they were engaged to be married, but the girls on the wing suspected he was an abusive bastard. Then there was Jim’s on-going affair with the murdering gangster Maxi Purvis, whom Yvonne was certain had actually killed O’Kane, and Karen and Jim’s cancelled engagement over it, following Yvonne’s thwarted escape attempt.

“Jesus,” Nikki muttered, “Business as usual then. Fenner’s corrupt and carrying on with a murderous little tart. Nothing new there. But why did you try to escape, Yvonne? Surely you must realise that makes you seem even more guilty.”

The gangster’s widow sighed and said tiredly, “I didn’t see any other way out. This place is doin’ me 'ead in.”

For the first time ever, Nikki thought she saw something akin to fear in Yvonne’s eyes. The raven haired woman covered one of the con’s hands with her own in a rare display of affection for the older woman, and she promised sincerely, “We’ll sort this out, Yvonne.”

The signal came that visitation was ending and the POs started ushering the prisoners to the back of the room. Yvonne stood and nodded solemnly at her friend and ally, allowing herself to be escorted back to the wing. Nikki left the premises after handing in her visitor’s badge and headed straight for home to talk to Helen.

+++

Nikki found Helen sitting in her home office, clicking through her e-mails with a mug of tea beside her laptop. She dropped a kiss on the side of the Scot’s head and squeezed her shoulders. Helen looked up from the screen and offered her a smile as she asked, “How did your visit go?”

Nikki sighed wearily and explained, “It’s worse than we thought. ‘Vonne didn’t kill Virginia. She’s claiming that Maxi Purvis did, and that Fenner’s covering it up. I wouldn’t put it past the bastard.”

Helen’s shoulders slumped and she muttered disgustedly, “Just another sin to add to the list then.”

Nikki squeezed her shoulders again and said fiercely, “We’ll get him, Helen. I promised Yvonne that we would, and I meant it. Not just for her, but for all of the women that he’s wronged. Don’t think I’ll ever forget what he did to you, darling.”

Helen reached up and covered one of the ex-con’s hands with her own. She let out a breath she’d been holding and conceded, “I hope we do, Nikki. He’s been allowed to carry this shit on for too long.”

The taller woman nodded in agreement and queried quietly, “Would you mind if Yvonne’s daughter Lauren stopped by here later? I gave her the address and my mobile number. She seemed pretty confident that Lauren would be able to help us.”

The Scot pursed her lips and stared up at Nikki uncertainly. “Doesn’t she have illegal business dealings? I don’t want either of us getting into trouble, not when I’ve just got you out.”

Nikki swivelled Helen’s chair around to face her and leaned down, placing her open palms on Helen’s thighs. “I’m sure she does but I trust Yvonne, so by extension I trust Lauren. ‘Vonne told me not to worry about it so I’m not. Everything regarding Fenner will be above board or it won’t stand up in court. Yvonne’s not an idiot. She understands that.”

Helen nodded slowly and agreed, “Fine. So long as she does. Anyway, I’ve got some news of my own.”

“Oh?” Nikki raised her brows, a motion to continue.

“Yeah… a Home Office rep e-mailed me this morning. Apparently they want me to come in and discuss a job offer. Strangely enough, I thought they’d be glad to see the back of me.”

Nikki’s quizzical expression morphed into a frown as she considered the possible implications of Helen getting involved with the prison service again. She’d thought that was well behind them.

“Are you going to take it?” she finally asked.

Helen sighed heavily, looking troubled. “I don’t know. From what I’ve been told so far, it’s a great job. It’s a higher grade than I was before with a considerable pay rise and benefits. But it would certainly complicate things and I don’t want to do anything that would get in the way of us.”

The ex-lifer softened a bit at that and began rubbing her hands from Helen’s thighs to her knees and back again. “You should take the meeting, find out what it’s all about before you decide, yeah? I know how much it means to you, helping people. I wouldn’t ask you to give up that part of yourself. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”

The Scot’s face bloomed with a beautiful smile as she soaked in the advice and the compliment her lover had bestowed. “Yeah… I think I will schedule that meeting. But Nikki… if there’s some kind of regulation that prevents us being together, I’ll turn the job down in a heartbeat. You have to know that. There are other ways I can go about helping people without sacrificing anything when it comes to you. I refuse to do that.”

“Glad to hear it,” Nikki assured, “and speaking of helping people… I’ve decided to start volunteering for Monica Lindsay. Spencer House has been a great success so far and now she’s opened a second halfway house called Peter Hunt House. Barbara funded it with money from her late husband’s inheritance, before her conniving step-children got their hands on it.”

If possible, Helen’s smile got even bigger. “Oh I love you,” she murmured, dropping a quick kiss on Nikki’s lips. “By the way, how is Barbara? Have you heard back from her?”

“Yeah, I got a letter the other day and Babs is doing fine. Sorry I didn’t mention it sooner,” Nikki had the grace to look sheepish, knowing they’d both been a bit preoccupied with each other. “She’s due for release next year so she’s counting the days, and she’s still planning on writing a book once she’s out.”

“Good for her. I hope she tells it like it is.”

“She will. I have no doubt. I’m going to ask her for a VO when we get back from Scotland. Speaking of which, don’t you think we should start packing?”

“Aye. I suppose so. But we’ve still got three days.” Helen seemed disconcerted now and Nikki couldn’t help but wonder if she was worried about the reunion with her twin.

“I thought you were looking forward to seeing Isobel again,” Nikki pried gently.

“I am. I’m just a bit nervous,” Helen confessed.

“Telling her about us, you mean,” Nikki deduced.

“A bit, yeah, but I’m sure she’ll be fine with it. I just haven’t seen her in so long. I guess I’m worried that we won’t get on like we used to.”

The taller woman pulled the Scot to her feet and drew her into a tight hug, rubbing her back and soothing her quietly, “It’ll be fine, darling. You’re twins after all. I’m sure the last few years will just melt away when you’re together. I bet she even has an ugly little red car.”

Helen chuckled quietly against Nikki’s shoulder and allowed, “You’re probably right. I’m being silly.”

They drew apart and Helen went to the closet to drag out two suitcases. “We best get started,” she said, handing one to Nikki. The taller woman followed her lover out of the spare room and into the master bedroom, where they began rummaging through drawers and hangers. Nikki was going through the underwear drawer they shared when she came across a little black pouch. Curious, she pulled at the drawstring and dumped the contents into her hand.

Helen had her back turned and was sifting through her blouses in the closet, so she didn’t see the highly amused look on Nikki’s face. “Helen… I didn’t know pink was your colour.”

The Scot turned to face her with a countenance of bafflement. It was such a random statement after all. “Sorry?”

Nikki smirked like the cat that ate the canary as she held up the little cotton candy pink vibrator and wiggled it in the air. Helen’s face turned even pinker than the toy as she realized what Nikki was holding. She let out a little squeak and went to retrieve the device from her lover’s hand, but the taller woman held it out of her reach and said, “Ah, ah, ah… naughty.”

The Scot reached for it again and was deflected easily. “Why, Miss Stewart, I never knew. I think we should take this for a test drive.” Nikki leaned into her flustered lover, grasping one of the shorter woman’s hips and guiding her backward toward the bed.

Helen’s face changed from embarrassment to arousal in the blink of an eye and she began to tug Nikki’s black polo shirt from her jeans. She unbuckled the taller woman’s belt as the backs of her thighs met the edge of the mattress. They tumbled backward together and locked in an ardent kiss, packing delayed as Nikki clicked on the toy. She smirked against the Scot’s lips and mumbled, “Five speeds. Very nice.”

+++

The doorbell rang at a quarter to five, just as Helen was pulling tinfoil wrapped salmon filets from the oven. “I’ll get it,” Nikki called from down the hall.

She opened the door to find a slender, attractive brunette with hazel eyes standing there, dressed in full motorcycle leathers and clutching a black helmet. “Lauren Atkins?” Nikki guessed correctly.

Lauren held out her hand with a smile and said, “You must be Nikki Wade. Mum’s told me I can trust you. That’s a high compliment coming from her.”

Nikki shook her hand then stepped aside to allow her entrance. “Well your mum and I have a lot in common, opinion wise anyway. It’s nice to finally meet you. ‘Vonne’s always spoken very highly of you.”

Lauren nodded and stepped inside, setting her helmet on the table by the door. “Smells like I’ve interrupted your supper,” she commented, as the aroma of cooked fish hung heavy in the air.

“You’re welcome to join us. I had Helen make extra in case you showed up early.” Nikki led the way to the kitchen to introduce Lauren to her lover. Helen was spooning roasted vegetables onto one of three plates when the pair entered.

Calculating hazel eyes appraised the Scot slowly, and then Lauren said, “So you’re the screw that’s on the cons’ side. I remember seeing you once in the visiting room.”

Helen bristled at the term ‘screw’ but pasted on a smile nonetheless. “And you’re Yvonne’s daughter. We’re all working toward the same goal here, so I don’t see any need for bad feelings or formalities. You can call me Helen.”

Lauren grinned slowly and looked sideways at Nikki. “I like her.”

Nikki laughed and went to stand beside her lover, giving her a playful pinch on the bum. “Yeah, she’s all right I guess,” the ex-lifer teased. Helen whacked her on the back of the hand as she went to reach for a roasted brussel sprout. Nikki feigned hurt as she rubbed her hand and pouted.

The three unlikely allies moved to the dining table once Helen finished distributing the food. Chatter was kept light as they ate and the reason for the gathering wasn’t broached until the last morsel was scraped. Lauren jumpstarted the conversation as Helen and Nikki rinsed the dishes and loaded them into the dishwasher.

“Mum’s filled me in on her end but it doesn’t seem like anything useful will turn up from the inside. He’s too careful for that. So my plan is to catch him on the outside. One of my sources tells me that Fenner’s taken over some of Virginia O’Kane’s massage parlours. I’ve got someone watching him for now.”

Helen’s face showed her surprise as she asked, “Really? I thought he would’ve given that up after I caught him coming out of one.”

Lauren shrugged and took a guess, “He probably thinks he’s in the clear outside of Larkhall. Mum told me how he forced you to resign so I doubt he sees you as a threat anymore.”

Nikki interjected then, “That could work to our advantage. He won’t be expecting it.”

The youngest Atkins nodded. “My thinking exactly. I’ll keep someone on him day and night, at a safe distance, until we’ve got enough evidence to move forward.”

Helen folded her arms and leaned back against the counter by the sink. “What can we do?” she asked earnestly.

“For now? Nothing. Just keep your heads down and don’t go anywhere near him. I’ll handle that end. In the mean time, think about building up a case against him, anything you can remember from working with him.”

Helen let out a heavy sigh and muttered, “That won’t be a problem. There’s plenty. Rachel Hicks, Shell Dockley, me… But it might sound a bit like sour grapes if we don’t get enough evidence to show him in a condemning light.”

Lauren leaned forward in her seat, clasping her hands on top of the dining table, her attractive features furrowed in concentration. “Well that’s half the problem, innit? Like I said, I’ll take care of that part. If you don’t mind me asking, what is it you have over him?”

Helen exchanged a glance with Nikki, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, and then she said, “Just a minute. I’ll show you.”

She left the room and returned a few minutes later clutching a dark blue folder. “Read this,” she said, handing the file to Lauren. “I wrote it all down when it happened.”

Lauren opened the folder and began scanning the words with an increasing frown. When she finished she closed it and slid it across the table. “Well Mum was definitely right about one thing. He’s a first class bastard. Keep that safe and maybe we can use it later in court.”

Helen nodded and picked up the file, clutching it to her chest in a death grip. Images flashed through her mind and she fought to slow her rapid breathing. It had been a while since she’d allowed herself to relive the assault, but now it was coming back with vivid clarity and her heart was racing with panic.

Nikki saw what was happening and cut the meeting short. “Lauren, can we pick this up another time? I’ll see you out.”

The brunette nodded in agreement upon seeing the pasty appearance of her host. “Yeah, sure.” She followed Nikki to the front door and said quietly, “I hope your girlfriend’s all right. I’ll stay in touch.”

She collected her helmet and left without further ado, and Nikki went back to the kitchen to console her alarmed lover. She pulled the Scot into her arms and murmured against her hair, “It’s all right, darling, I’m here. He can’t touch you now. He can’t hurt you. Shhh.”

Helen’s choking sobs were muffled by Nikki’s shoulders as she rocked the weeping woman in her arms. Eventually Helen regained control of her emotions and pulled away, wiping at her face and looking ashamed of herself.

Nikki assured her that it was normal to feel that way and that she didn’t have to be strong when it was just the two of them. Helen accepted this support with heartfelt gratitude and they decided to finish packing then have an early night reading by the fireplace, a relaxing end to a stressful day.
Edited by CrashxBurn, Jun 9 2013, 09:26 PM.
"Sit in that chair!" -- "Don't you wish it was electric?"

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Great story, good writing, thanks.
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So I'm not sure if I'm actually allowed to post these on here or not... If I'm not please someone tell me so i can take them down and find another means of posting them. Anyway, here's a little preview of the next few chapters...

Ever wondered what's in my characters' underwear drawers? This idea was inspired by the lovely pew (over on Bad Girls Riot), and she's graciously given permission for me to use some of the Agent Provocateur underwear in my story. I'll also be including some things from Victoria's Secret, Silks & Secrets, Ultimo, and Asos.


Nikki:

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Helen:

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