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I had always loved that my birthday was on October 11th.  I liked telling people that 11 really stood two number-ones, and that I was extra special.  The little things in life have always thrilled me.  When I got to the university before my class, I decided to eat lunch outside at a wooden table, for though October weather was usually too chilly for picnics, it was an atypical day.  I always made sure to pack my umbrella, though, as I had found that weather in Scotland was moody, yielding downpours in one instant and sunshine in the next.  Changeability of the weather here, I figured, had much to do with the geography of the land, and the fact that the sea circles Scotland on three sides.

I had been trapped inside my apartment that morning with phone calls from home, from friends and family, reminding me that though I seemed not-yet-acclimated and somewhat of a pariah at St. Andrews, I had a lot of people supporting me back in the bluegrass state.  So I didn't feel lonely as I sat at the wooden bench by myself, eating my sandwich.  I took out a book about Highlanders, and got so lost in stone castles and clashing swords and battlefields, that I did not notice at first when a guy from my class came to join me from across the table.  I jerked my head up in surprise, then recognized him almost immediately.  It was Iain Ross, the guy that usually sat beside me during class.

"Oh hey!" I said to him, "Sorry, I was so into this book that I didn't see you coming, how are you?"

He laughed, "Wha' is it about those kilted highlanders?  Women canna seem to get enough."  His head gave a tilt of feigned arrogance, and at my helpless giggle he gave up his facade and continued, "Och, weel, I'm fine, tis a fine day and I'm with fine company."

"Well thanks" I said, smiling, "You Scotsmen really are quite charming."

"Aye we are" he agreed, "But I was serious."  Then he smiled, undaunted, and looked me in the eye as he sat down opposite me.  Iain was a boldly candid man.  He had the art of charming a female down pat, as he seemed to have an intrinsic prowess for verbal communication and the obvious confidence to act upon that prowess.  My lip quirked upwards into a half-smile.  Iain reminded me, in a way, of my brother Taylor.  In fact, he looked quite like my brother as well; pale but ruddily bronzed and freckled, with the same animated eyes and dark hair, and the same broad-shouldered build and tall height.  And he dressed well, I thought, taking note of his tartan sweater and khakis.  Yes, I was very familiar with his suavely charismatic type, and thus knew exactly how to compose myself around him.  His complements did not surprise me, nor did they make me blush.  They merely made me smile endearingly.  Despite the fact that I knew Iain was a flirt, I liked him anyway.  It's hard not to like a flirt; you just have to hold on a little tighter to your heart around them.  And I was certain at that moment that mine was firmly locked inside the fence. 

"How many women have you wooed with your overconfidence?" I asked him, giving him the left eyebrow elevation and a coquettish expression, "Just give me a rough estimate."

He opened his mouth slightly as if to say something, then exhaled on a laugh.  

"Mmhmm" I sung expectedly.  Then I leaned closer, taunting just a bit, "Did you think it would work on me?"

He gave me a close-mouthed grin and lifted his brows helplessly.   

"Gotcha." I said as I gave him a conquering smile.  I was delighted now that he had no tactics left.  But I was quite wrong.  A charmer always knows how to nurse a social situation.

"Alright then, so I generalize my colloquy when talking to women.  I get a wee bit...overconfident...I admit.  But I really did mean wha' I said about ye being fine company."  He said, not smiling this time, meaning it.  "You're a posh girl, Ellen, ye should know."

"Posh?  Like Victoria Beckham the Spice Girl?"  I thought "Posh" was a person's name, not an adjective.  

He chuckled, realizing that I probably was still not familiar with a lot of the Scottish slang terms.  "Yeh, posh really stands for Port, Out, Starboard, Home.  It's a slang term based off of navigational terminology tha' means you're all tha', really something."

I looked at him again and smiled more warmly, partly because he was a complete geek and partly because he had managed to say something nice and I was impressed.  "Thanks, Iain.  That's probably the nicest birthday present I've gotten today."

"Och, happy birthday, then" he said, and toasted me with his water bottle before he took a drink.  Mid-drink he spotted something on the ground and held up his finger, as if telling me to wait because he had something spectacular planned.  When he came into my view again he was holding a tiny yellow buttercup in his fingers, delicate but strong, and with his roguish smile he dramatically extended it to me, as if he were acting in a Shakespearian play of some sorts, "Thy sweet lady, may I present thee with something a bit more tangible?"  We both laughed, and I took the flower from him and put it in the crook of my ear.  He winked and nodded, and I, much to my amazement, felt a blush creep up my throat.  I reconsidered, then, the power of the suave ladies' man.  Then I shook it off.  What was this?  Was I going to be sexually intrigued by any man that talked to me these days?  Was that the way of it?  Just because they all had accents like Mel Gibson in Braveheart and Liam Neeson in Rob Roy didn't have a damned thing to do with what kind of people they were and whether or not they were right for me to be associating myself with.  My anger lessoned my blush of flattery, and suddenly decidely hungry, I took a punishing bite of my sandwich.  

I did well hiding my internal struggle, and Iain didn't notice.  "Listen" he continued when he had finished drinking his water, "ye know there is going to be a big research paper due before the end of the term, right?"

I nodded.

"And ye know that we 'ave to work in groups of three, right?"

I nodded, lip quirking upwards because I knew where his sly interrogation was headed.

He smiled, "Will ye work on my team then?  You're either the hardest working or the most brilliant of all of us, and, well i just thought I'd snag ye before anyone else could."

I laughed outright at his intrepid admission, "I assure you, I'm not brilliant, made evident by the fact that I got a D in college chemistry.  Point made?  I think so."  I had once wanted to be a doctor.  That hadn't worked out as I'd planned.

"Chemistry blew" he agreed, disgusted look on his face.  "Seriously, wha' a pointless class.  The only chemistry I find applicable in today's society is the kind of chemistry tha' is at this table as we speak."

He got me on that one.  I straightened and gave him an incredulous look, lifting my left brow.  He threw his head back and laughed whole-heartedly, the sound rich and infectious.  I loved it when people laughed with their whole bodies, like they were putting all of themselves into it.  I interrupted, smiling.  

"Well, excuse me while I take your cheesy statement and go have a chemical reaction over that trash can over there" I said, pointing at the black waste bin only steps away from the table.  Then I laughed, whole-heartedly.  

Now it was his turn to give the look of entertained incredulity.  But his suave nature returned within a few moments, as it was unassailable.  "Weel" he said, continuing, "ye're guud at history and writing so ye must be right-brained instead of left-brained then.  History is more important than...ah...some aspects of chemistry, anyway."

I laughed at him.  "You're right" I answered his previous assumption, "I am much more right-brained than left-brained."  I thought of how incredible it was that I held such promise in history and the arts and such little promise in math.  Even on my SAT the difference had been incredible.  My verbal scores had been in the top 10% in the nation; my math had been well below average.  I shook my head.  My brain was a wonder.  "ANd yes, I'll be on your research team." I concluded, "I'm actually glad you asked, because I think the professor likes you, and I don't want to be on a team that he doesn't like.  I mean that's not the only reason...I think you're a nice guy too.."

He flashed me a smile, of course.  I continued.

"I just wouldn't want to be a thorn in his side more than I already am."

"Wha'?" He asked me, confused.

"Oh, it's nothing, I just, well, were you at the pub a few weekends ago when I had a fight with him, kind-of?"  He shook his head.  "Well nevermind then."

He raised his eyebrows, then reached what looked like a slight epiphany.  His eyes narrowed.  Did he know something about Dr. MacAllister that I didn't?  I had seen Iain and the professor talking a lot, and it seemed as though they were on friendly tems.  If I were to ask anyone about the true nature of Kane MacAllister other than Kane MacAllister himself, I supposed it would be Iain.

"Fine, I'm just confused about him.  Sometimes he's nice, sometimes he's indescribably caustic.  He's like a pile of hot coals that those men from the circus walk over, you know?  I never feel comfortable coming close to him but at the same time he's a little bit arresting and I have to wonder about him.  Do I make sense at all?"  Iain began to laugh at my description.  "Great, why are you laughing?"

"Kane is..." then he thought about how he was going to word his thoughts.  He sighed, and his brows furrowed, "...he has had a lot of tragedy in his life which has caused him to be like he is" he finished.  

"Oh" I said, heart for some reason feeling penetrated.  My brows furrowed.  "What happened to him?"

"Um...weel for a start he lost his mother when he was only five."  My small gasp of horror made him pause, then he continued, "She died giving birth to his youngest brothers, the twins.  She had a hemorrhage, heavy blood loss, hypovolemic shock, tha' sort of thing.  They just couldna give her the blood transfusion she needed fast enough."  My brows furrowed in sympathy.  "Tha' isna all though.  His sister, the sibling closet to him in age and the only girl of 6 children, died of anorexia when they were teenagers." 

I closed my eyes and shook my head.  How cruel was this world, with its media full of lies and false idols, that it could make a young girl believe that she was not good enough to the point of death?  I knew that many women, myself included, had suffered from slight eating disorders in their younger years, societal pressures eating away at them until they discovered that they were unique in their nonconformity.  I suppose I had never researched what percentage of those women suffered so badly from the disease that it became life-threatening, but just the idea that a young woman could die believing the world's poison just made me sick.

Iain continued.  "His father never got remarried.  Kane told me once that he'd had two serious girlfriends.  One of them cheated on him in the end and the other died in a car accident."  He paused, taking note of my blank look, which really wasn't a blank look at all, but one of such shock that it appeared that way.  I had never heard of anyone going through so much tragedy.  I'm sure there were worse things that could have happened to a person, but not to one that I was in such close association with.  "Yeh, he hasna had a girlfriend since then.  He willna even date anyone.  So if he comes across as not liking ye, it's because he genuinely doesna trust women.  He feels either cursed by them or like he's a curse to them, if tha' makes any semblance of sense."

I made a small huff of laughter as I came to an epiphany.  "No" I said, "it makes perfect sense."  No wonder his moods around me had been so changeable.  No wonder he acted like an outlying monster one moment and my best friend the next.  The arrogance of his responses to my questions on the first day of class, and the letter of apology on the back of my evaluated papers, now made complete sense.  I fear I have never had a way with pretentious urbanity.  In other words, he did not have a way with false refinement, believing most people to be posers that he could not trust.  At the pub, I must really have seen the moment of wistfulness in his eyes before they returned to their normal wrathful state.  All the strange behavior was for a reason now.  A very sad reason, but a reason that made very much sense.  Kane was a tortured man, who kept all problems very much to himself.  Then something struck me.  If he had intended to keep all problems to himself, then why had he apologized to me in the letter by explaining his own character malady?  Was he baring himself to me in the slightest way possible, hoping, through his fear of trust, that I would understand him?  Then I thought about what an interesting situation this really was.  There was me - a woman who was afraid to spread her wings, to trust, to love, and there was Kane - a man who had trusted and been hurt, and sought not to trust again.  We were both roses with thorns.  No wonder the two of us had been dancing a touchy battle of uncertain behaviors.  

"Nay, he doesna see you as a thorn in his side, I can promise ye tha'" Iain said, interrupting my thoughts.  "If anything, he respects you, and just doesna know how to show ye without letting his guard down completely.  And the fact tha' you are beautiful probably makes hiim even more wary to approach ye."  

I looked up at him, expecting to see him acknowledge his own flirtation with a sly smile, but there was nothing but genuine expression in his warm eyes; eyes that until that second I had thought were dark brown.  They were not dark brown, but rather darkened silver that had great propensity to gleam, much like a blade reflecting sunrays.  They were gleaming subtly now.  I narrowed my eyes, suddenly thinking that maybe Iain had a lot more depth than I had previously assumed, and perhaps he was being sincere.  This is when it can get dangerous to trust a charmer, I reminded myself.  I liked Iain, and he was nice, but I did not know him all that well, after all.  I decided to change the subject, instead of leading him on, just in case he thought of me differently than I thought of him, which was surely nothing more than a friend.  

"How do you know all of this information anyway?"  I asked him, very interested in how exactly he had come to know so much about the cryptic man that stood at the chalkboard every day.  I suspected that he had known him from before, just as had Vic, but maybe his story was more interesting.

"Och, Kane and I go a long way back" he started, smiling to himself in what I assumed was good memory.  "I grew up with him and his brothers.  We're sort-of neighbors.  Weel, alright we are neighbors, but since we live in rural areas, we still have to drive a ways before the neighboring house comes into view, so tha' statement is negotiable.  We also went to the same primary school, and were together here at St. Andrews when I was an undergraduate.  He was older, of course, than us, and while he was in school getting his doctorate he was also the coach for our fencing team."  Then Iain laughed, "Yes, go ahead, I know you're going to make fun of me for being on a fencing team, go on."

I was delighted.  I had secretly always wanted to learnhow to be a sword-fighter.  I might as well admit, I was that girl who always went to Renaissance festivals just so I could shoot bows and arrows and dress up in old-style clothing.  I just love everything medieval.  Perhaps, yet again, this is why I was getting my PhD in history.  "Are you kidding?  Fencing?  Okay that just made my day.  You can't stop now, keep explaining."  

"Weel, we got close, Kane and I, because we are both so tall, and no one else on the team could ever fight me on eye-level, so he became my fighting man, in a sense.  He taught me a lot, not only about fighting but about life.  He's a good man, even though he may not seem to be.  A man of few words, but when he talks it's powerful."

I huffed, "No kidding."

"The whole story is a bit ridiculous, actually, I doona know why I'm telling ye."  He paused for a moment, before changing the subject, "What happened at the pub?"

I halted, not happy that the situation had been re-mentioned, and even less happy at the thought of discussing it.  However, since I had just learned information about the professor that had drastically altered my views about him, I did not feel quite so angry about that night anymore.  Iain's eyes narrowed when I hesitated in answering. 

"Is there something going on between the two of you?"  He asked me, suspecting, through my tense silence, that I was holding something back from him.  I thought about telling him about the letter Kane had written to me, but then I reconsidered.  I had my own opinions about that letter, and I didn't want to hear what he would have said.  He could ruin my interpretation.

"NO, what could have made you think a think like that?" I asked, trying to look taken aback.

He huffed in laughter, "Only the fact that hundreds upon hundreds of other women have fallen head over heels for Kane MacAllister inthe course of time that I've known him.  Women just 'ave a thing for him, I doona know wha' it is. Maybe it's tha' he seems untouchable."  He laughed again, "Weel he isna untouchable when ye get to know him, if he lets ye get to know him."

"Well" I said with certaintly, "I'm certainly not like those hundreds and hundreds of other women."

"No" Iain said, "ye most certainly arena."

Iain and I had implied two different things.  I had intended for the ocmment to mean that I had not fallen for Kane MacAllister.  It was true.  I had not fallen for him, had I?  No, he made me too angry too often.  I had merely been very intrigued by him.  And if I'm being completely honest, yes, I do agree that I had been attracted to him.  Who wouldn't have been attracted to a tall, dark-haired, green-eyed, broad-shouldered, 18th-century-looking knight in shining armor that hid his facial chisels behind a 5-o-clock shadow, spectacles and a copy of Plato?  Of course I thought he was attractive, but I hadn't fallen head of over heels for the man, this was for certain.  

Iain, however, had twisted my original statement and turned it into another means for his flirtation.  He had been hard at work during our whole conversation to prove his partiality towards me.  That was all I needed, another man to worry about.  I needed to concentrate on becoming the right woman before I could find the right man.  I looked down at my sandwich, most of which still remained.  I lost my appetite completely on my next epiphany.  Perhaps it hadn't been a flirtation and perhaps Iain didn't really have a partiality towards me.  Could he read me?  Perhaps he was implying that I was finally the woman that would find her way to Kane's heart. 

I looked up at Iain then.  I searched his grey eyes.  They were warm, teasing, not ambiguous at all, though the shades of grey in them would have expectedly implied ambiguity.  No, this man was not a grey-house nation.  He was very easy to read.  He had one purpose in his eyes, and I'm very afraid that purpose was...me.  I suppose I would have been happy under normal circumstances that such attention from an attractive male was being rained upon me.  But how could I return Iain's interest when Kane MacAllister was constantly invading my thoughts?  I may not have fallen head over heels for him, but he still occupied a vast majority of my daily visions.  I certainly couldn't imply to Iain, however, that I was having these feelings towards our professor, who also happened to be one of his closest friends.  Even if I had already implied my interest in Kane, Iain could know no more of it, I thought decidedly.  No one  could know of it.  

However, I didn't know how I was going to succeed in pulling off the apathy.  

wheeeew. my fangers hurt lol.