Morag’s eyes snapped open and she slammed her chair legs back down to the floor. “But it came to nothin’, for all that. It ended because he decided to step out on me, and no piece of man-flesh is worth that, girlie.”
She leaned forward across the table and set the jar upright with a thump. “Ye have to love yersel’ first, Emma. My greatest regret is that I walked away from Willie without chasin’ him down and showin’ him what he’d lost. I’d hate tae see ye make the same mistake, lassie.”
She pushed herself to her feet and leaned over to twist the lid off the jar. “Perfect!” she yelled, and stumped over to the counter. She expertly poured the liquid off into a little stone pitcher, and scooped the remaining lumps of butter into a small bowl. She shook a little salt on it, stirred it around a few times and handed me the bowl.
“Fer yer porridge,” she said, then she reached up with one hand and patted me on the cheek. “Follow yer heart, lass. If ye can work things out, it’s all for the good. But if ye can do better, tell the bugger so.”
I stood beside her, my heart full and the little pot of butter in my hand. The thought of her kindness overwhelmed me a moment, and I leaned forward to hug her.
The look of horror on her face stopped me in mid-air. Clearly even six shots of whiskey were not enough to entice her to indulge in such a physical display. Instead she thumped me on the shoulder, held open the kitchen door and waved the scotch bottle at me as I headed out into the dark.
As I stumbled down the path to the barn, I knew she was right. One hundred percent, absolutely correct. After all, what was this whole trip about if not following my dreams? I couldn’t let my time with Hamish just melt away into the Highland mists.
The air was cool, now that the midnight hour was well gone. In this part of the Highlands at least, the heat of even the hottest summer day dissipated as dusk fell. But the fragrance of the warm grass and whatever else was blooming along the margins of the farmyard persisted. I gazed for a long moment up into the clear starry sky.
Morag was right. I needed to take her advice.
I didn’t even stop to go inside.
Carefully placing the pot of fresh butter on a little wooden shelf beside the door, I threw a leg over my bicycle. The air held a chill that only someone who had been in the Highlands in August could truly appreciate, but I didn’t feel the cold. The talk with Morag had given me a fire in my belly.
Not to mention all the single malt scotch.
The whole ride into town, I replayed conversations with Hamish in my head. The way he recited song lyrics—that was endearing. It was. What kind of cold fish didn’t like to be sung to?
The recent rift was repairable. What good was falling in love with Scotland if I didn’t have a man to love, too? After all, the whole reason I’d come here was to find my Fraser.
I followed the glow on the road cast from the headlight on my handlebars. Hamish had adjusted that light for me—made sure it shone straight and true. The road surface showed clearly ahead of me, and if my trajectory was not exactly in a straight line on that dark night, the light gave me notice so I could correct before driving off the edge and into a ditch.
That headlight was his way of showing his love for me. So what if he’d never managed to refer to love without it being a part of a song lyric? That was his way. Scottish men were a breed apart. Anyone who’d read the OUTLANDER books knew that. And I’d never told him I loved him either, so how could I judge him by such a harsh standard? I loved his country. I’d come there to find my Jamie Fraser, and I’d found him— or as close to him as I could hope for. Any problems we had were fixable.
Rolling into town, I began to feel a certain chill in my fingertips. Morag’s fuel was burning low, and with the cold night air in my lungs, I began to think a little more clearly. I’d begun this journey on little more than a whim, but by the time I’d arrived in Scotland, I’d had a plan firmly in place.
What I hadn’t really thought about—beyond tracing the journey in the front of the novel—was Claire’s part in the love story. Claire’s heart was true, but there was never any doubt that the woman had standards. Jamie literally lived through hell and more to meet those standards. Even living with uncertainty and chaos all around her, she knew what she wanted.
As I rode my bicycle off the High Street and into the lane that led to Hamish’s flat, I noticed a light was still on in the back of the garage.
This stopped me in my tracks.
The light was off in his apartment, but still on in the garage.
The glow inside me from Morag’s scotch increased once more. The man was so dedicated, he worked until the job was done. That was why people from miles around came to his garage. How many nights had he been working late recently? This was a real man.