Legacy Read Free Page B

explains it.” His eyes moved over my hair and face. “You don’t look like an American and you certainly don’t act like one either.”
    Startled, I said the first thing that popped into my mind. “That makes two of us.”
    The flicker of interest in his blue eyes increased. “How so?”
    “You’re not like any Scot I’ve ever met,” I explained slowly. “They’re usually much more reserved.”
    He laughed. “Touché. Let me redeem myself. My name is Ian Douglas, and I live nearby. Do you know the story of the Bear Gates?”
    “Not yet.”
    He reached out and pulled me down on the grass so that we sat facing the gates. “Traquair is the oldest inhabited house in Scotland,” he began. “The Maxwell Stuarts were cousins of the royal Stuarts, and even though the families didn’t visit regularly, the familial bonds remained strong. During the Jacobite rebellion, Bonnie Prince Charlie stayed at Traquair. There are some who believe that he planned his strategy here with the earl.” His speech was very clear, the brogue nearly unrecognizable. “When he rode out of the gates for Drumossie Moor in 1746, and news of the defeat filtered back, the old earl closed the gates and vowed never to open them until a Stuart king sat on the throne of Scotland once again. They remain closed to this day. The family, out of respect for the earl’s wishes, installed another entrance, which you probably entered when you arrived.”
    “How tragic.” Blinking back tears, I stared at the ferocious twin statues positioned on the pilings. “All this time to live on false hopes.”
    “You are a romantic, aren’t you?” he teased. “I’m quite sure Ellen Maxwell doesn’t hope for anything of the sort. She’s English to the core.”
    Of course he couldn’t know the woman was dead. “Do you know Lady Maxwell?” I asked.
    “Everyone knows her, although she’s been bedridden for a number of years now.” He stood and extended his hand to pull me up.
    “Have you seen everything you wanted to see?” he asked.
    I nodded.
    “If you’re agreeable, I’ll walk you to your car. Peebles is only about five kilometers from here. I’d like to buy you tea.”
    “I don’t have a car. Lady Maxwell’s driver picked me up from the airport.”
    The blue eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”
    “Christina Murray.”
    “Ah, of course. I should have known.” His mouth twisted up at the corner.
    “Excuse me?”
    “I thought you were a tourist.” The warmth had left his voice. “And to think I was telling you the legend of the gates.”
    The cold was painful. It was definitely affecting my hearing. “I came to Traquair because it’s the one place in Scotland I’ve never seen. Ellen Maxwell sent me an airline ticket.”
    He stared at me as if he were trying to remember something important. I knew he hadn’t listened to a word of what I said.
    “I know we’ve never met before, but there is something familiar about you,” he said slowly. “One doesn’t often see hair so black paired with those eyes. I just can’t place where I’ve seen your face.”
    My bones ached, and I couldn’t feel my hands. It was time for a bold step, even if it was out of character. “If you don’t mind,” I said politely, “I’d really like to get out of the cold. It’s freezing out here, and tea sounds wonderful.”
    He smiled, and I forgot to breathe. The pain of my divorce was very far away. “Have you tasted raspberry scones, Miss Murray?”
    An hour later he watched as I worked my way through my third buttery scone piled high with cream and raspberry jam. The waitress paused by our table. “Anything else today?”
    Ian shook his head and grinned. “Not for me, thanks.” He motioned toward my plate. “The lady might like something else. She has an unusually healthy appetite.”
    I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
    “Do you always eat as if there were no tomorrow?” he teased.
    “I was