Oh, stop it already, Taylor. Getting a little cut on your finger isn’t worth ruining your mood. You haven’t done a single thing wrong. It is high time you stop punishing yourself.

Memphis doled out bits of history to her as they passed by various landmarks. After twenty minutes, he took a round about and exited off to the north, toward a place called Grantown-on-Spey. She loved the name. So very Scottish. That cheered her up. The town itself came into view, a lovely resort village. She could smell smoke and peat from the fire places. It was obviously an affluent area; the architecture was some of the finest she’d seen. The roads were well paved, and the whole town was done up for Christmas. It looked quite elegant. Memphis explained that this was a prime water sports and caravanning spot. But in the winter, it curled in on itself like a dead leaf, waiting for the warmer weather to break it free.

“Do you need to stop?” he asked. “We can get some tea.”

She shook her head. If she saw any more tea this morning she may float away.

Memphis left the town behind, driving into the forest. The road got narrower, the pavement breaking in parts. It got continually worse for several miles.

Where are we going?

“To the family seat.”

The family seat?

“Yes. This is my history. We’re not all ghosts and castles, you know.”

She couldn’t get her bearings. The trees were so thick that the sun didn’t shine through, and the cloud cover made it impossible to tell which direction was north. Memphis seemed like he was making turns at random, taking her deeper and deeper into the woods. The road narrowed to one lane. There was nothing out here, no villages, no signs. Just the extensive flora and fauna of the Highlands. She was hopelessly lost.

She finally saw a sign, tiny, brown, with an arrow pointing to a church. Memphis said, “Nearly there,” and turned left.

She didn’t think it was possible for the road to get any narrower, but it did.

“In the summer I can’t bring this car out here. The branches hang over the road and scratch the paint.”

She could see how it would be more suited to an off-road vehicle. They were practically on a dirt track.

The road twisted, and the church advertised on the sign came into view. It was stone, collapsed, untended. A ruin. She felt suddenly sorry. No sacred place should go unloved. Memphis drove by it without a glance, then slowed to a stop.

“We go on foot the rest of the way,” he said.

She followed him from the vehicle, glad to have his coat for warmth. The air was crisp and she heard water running. They walked for about a hundred yards, around the bend, and she caught her breath when the scene unfolded in front of her. A quaint but substantial stone bridge, bordered by a huge waterfall.

It was beautiful.

Memphis gave her a moment to take in the scene. “You can only truly see the waterfall during the winter. In the summer, it’s in full leaf here and hidden from view unless you’re under it, in the river. Great fishing in some of the pools that filter off of it.”

She was reluctant to take her hands out of her pockets to write; the chill was sneaking under the edges of her coat already.

Wow. It’s stunning.

“This is Dulsie Bridge.”

She turned to look at him, puzzled.

Wait a minute. Your family is named for a bridge?

“Yes. It’s a very important bridge.”

But a bridge? You don’t have a town or a village or a county, or…something?

“That old church back there. But it fell down two centuries ago.”

Ah, I see. Okay then.

Memphis laughed. “No, you don’t. But that’s all right. If an army needed to cross this land, there was no way across the river. They built this in 1255 to allow English troops to move across the land. You’ll know that Highsmythe is a British name, not Scottish, yes?”

She nodded.

“We were granted the lands early, and left them untended for many years. But when the fourth earl came north to view his properties and collect rents, he immediately saw the advantages to be had. A way to get even richer than he already was. He built onto the castle with the proceeds from the deal, then settled into his life in the Highlands, far away from England’s rule. Married young Isabella and gained even more land. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

That’s some story.

“And more importantly, Robert Burns stayed here once, too, while he was visiting Strathspey. He took a liking to Mrs. Grant.”

Ah. ‘My love is like a red, red rose.’

“You know him?”

She smiled at him.

Everyone knows who Robert Burns is, Memphis.

He took her hand and put it to his heart. “‘So fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I, And I will love thee still, my dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry.’”

His face was hopeful, smiling lightly. Taylor bit her lip. She knew he was just quoting from the poem, that it was another’s words. But did he?

She didn’t know what to say.

“Taylor, I—”

She held up her hand. God, not being able to talk to him right now was killing her.

Stop, Memphis. Please. Before you say something you might regret.

He turned back to the river. She could see he was fighting with himself. There was more he wanted to say, more that he wanted to do. She could feel the frustration coming off him in waves.

She was frustrated as well. She didn’t know what she wanted. She’d always thought she did, but the past few weeks, with Baldwin pushing her away and Memphis pulling her in… She kicked at a rock, watched it spill over the edge and down into the torrent of water below. Her head hurt.

Memphis turned to her, his eyes dark. “I won’t say it, then. But I will do it.”

He took two steps toward her, so quickly that she didn’t have a chance to back away, put his arms around her, and pulled her to him. Without hesitating, he lowered his face to hers.

Their lips met urgently. She exhaled into him, getting lost in the kiss. The last time this had happened, she’d pulled away. But right now, with no one watching, no one to see, she didn’t want to.

He put one hand behind her neck and the other around her waist, pulling her closer, deeper. She couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to breathe, didn’t want to think, didn’t want the kiss to end. It was perfect, hard and soft at all the right moments, the rhythm moving in a way that told her they would be good together in more ways than just this.

A little voice spoke out from the back of her head—Taylor, you are losing yourself….

She told it to shut up. She’d been lying to herself, to Baldwin, to Sam. She’d come to Scotland, for better or for worse, to figure out what sort of glamour Memphis had put on her, whether it was something real, or something destined for failure. Now, standing on his family’s lands, at the very heart of his history, was as good a time as any to find out.

She was pinned against the stone wall. Without breaking the kiss, he put his hands under her bottom and picked her up, rocking her body against his as he did, forcing her to grab hold of his arms for balance. He set her carefully on the wall. He was as hard as he looked from the outside, muscles tense, like granite under his clothes. She pulled his shirt from his pants, got her hands under the fabric. Felt his chest, his smooth stomach. He yanked up her sweater, unsnapped her bra with one hand. Her breasts spilled out into the cold air. He caught them in his hands, brought them to his mouth. He moaned, low in his throat, and she felt the answering cry start deep within her.

Oh, no. She had to stop now. Before it was too late. But his hands were going lower, expertly moving down her ribs, unbuttoning her jeans, plunging into her panties. It felt so good. So amazingly hot… No, no, no, no, she had to stop. Stop. Stop, stop, stop, stop.