Free His Lass Wears Tartan by Kathleen Shaputis

juice and jotting notes on a tablet for Putney. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end before she realized Jonathan had come up behind her. She turned her head; lengthy tendrils of dark hair curtained the side of his face as he watched the writers leave.
    He cleared his throat. “I was in the midst of what has become rather a ritual at this time of day during my stay here, a communication of sorts with myself, when I realized perhaps I should do something of immeasurable difference today.”
    “And what might that be?” Rogue asked. She tried focusing on her task, but the small crowd had already dissipated, leaving her alone with Jonathan and nowhere else to look but at the attractive man in black.
    “Inspiration has moved me to impetuously ask for your company during the midday meal.” Jonathan moved closer. “Far be it from me to interrupt your duties. As such, I implore you to allow me these precious moments of time with you.”
    His eyes locked on hers; the flaming intensity bored straight into her heart. “I, I could put together a picnic lunch if you’d like to sit outside.” Rogue warmed up to her own suggestion, an intimate feast alfresco sounded charming, romantic. “Today’s sunshine proves that Scottish weather isn’t constantly gray. We should take advantage of it.”
    Jonathan bowed with a wicked grin. “Then by all means, I would be pleased to meet you near the front door when you’re ready.”
    He sauntered off, and Rogue watched him leave, his shoulders straight and head high, before heading to the kitchen.
    Opening cabinets and slamming the doors, Rogue found the wicker basket on the third try. Setting it up on the oak table, she grabbed plates, glasses, utensils, and a bottle of wine, setting them inside. Along with cucumber sandwiches and fruit, she added a container of biscuits and sweets.
    Putney was watching her movements, and Rogue squared her shoulders. “Yes, Jonathan and I are going for a picnic in front of the castle.” She laughed and grabbed an old blanket from the hall cupboard, heading for the front door. Even this slight deviation from her usual exit made the event more special.
    Jonathan, who posed elegantly by the entrance wall, slowly moved toward her. “Despite what I am certain are excellent delicacies from your kitchen, I will find nothing more delightful than you during our meal.” He took the basket from her grasp and put the blanket over his arm with a quick grimace, immediately erased. “Please lead the way, indeed, my dear.”
    She opened the door as if in a trance, and blinding sunlight filled the foyer and her mind. She noticed briefly out of the corner of her eyes the lanky gray dog standing back in the shadows of the hallway. She could have sworn she heard a low, menacing growl.
Silly dog. This picnic food is not for you, Diva.
    • • •
    Rogue stepped into tour guide mode, showing Jonathan the iron grate above the archway leading out. To reach the main bridge over the moat, Rogue led him through an intimate inner bailey where the massive, solid doors stayed open.
    “Long ago, castle security against the enemy, be it English or another clan, was tantamount.” The sun draped across her face like a delicious warm pack and elevated her mood beyond ecstasy.
    “Charming yet brutal, stark.” Jonathan looked around him. “There is so little regard for the past in my world unless on a movie screen or a backdrop at a party. I’m more in tune with the high social life of nightclubs and international soirees.”
    She leaned against the bridge’s railing. “Well, for now I thought we could picnic by the moat in the grass there.”
    “Certainly you jest.” Jonathan stopped in front of her. A chuckle caught in his throat. “Sit on the ground? How barbaric.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “Perhaps we should try something a little more distinctive. Do you not have a quaint table and chairs available, like a bistro of sorts?” He sniffed. He’d left his hair down,