Tense holidays with her family was a norm for Isabella.

Throughout her childhood, for most major holidays of the year her father was traveling. Between Goldman Sach's offices in Hong Kong, Sydney, and London, he was rarely able to make the trip to his hometown to celebrate with his parents and daughter.

For the most part, that was fine with Isabella. She missed her father, of course, but from her observations of her friends and how they interacted with their parents, he was more of a flaky uncle at many points in her life. And when he was able to make a holiday, him and his father would get into arguments.

Now a freshman in college, Isabella was more aware of her grandfather's borderline animosity towards his son than she ever had been. When she was younger, he had done a much better job at hiding his thinly veiled comments and occasionally snide remarks. Now that she was older and her father wanted to be more involved in her life, Grandad had lost his filter.

Isabella had hid in the kitchen with Grannie, making a pumpkin pie and making the mashed potatoes. She was nursing a can of Pepsi and wishing it was the glass of red wine that her grandmother was drinking, wanting a reprieve from the tension. Her grandparents had never shown any indication they were willing to bend on the serving of alcohol to minors, so she didn't push it.

The dinner itself had been nice.

Nice enough anyway.

Talk seemed to revolve around Isabella, on her classes the previous semester and what classes she would be taking in the spring. They asked about her roommate and chatted about the dorms and meal plans.

The only dicey moment was when her grandfather asked, "Now, are you planning to stay in business or are you going to explore other majors?"

Isabella had opened her mouth to reply but had never gotten the chance.

"I don't see what could provide her a more stable career than Wharton," her father stiffly replied.

The father and son exchanged heated stares before Grannie launched into a story about the new neighbors that had moved in.

Later, when Grannie had gone to take the leftover potatoes to the downstairs freezer, leaving Isabella towel trying one of the large pots, she overheard her father and grandfather arguing in the living room.

"… you swore you would never throw it in my face! We agreed it was best for her you – you insisted!"

"And raising her was a huge joy for your mother and me, Charles. She is a bright kid and if…"

Isabella strained to hear the rest of Grandad's words but he had lowered his voice. She realized her whole body was leaning in that direction, trying to decipher what they were saying. She heard her father's usually calm voice become even agitated with his father.

"I'm not pushing her into anything that isn't good for her! Sometimes pushing is okay. Sometimes ambition is a good thing. If you really loved her you would support…"

That evoked a passionate response from Grandad.

"I will support her and I will love her just as I have loved and supported you through every decision you have made that I don't agree with but you must know you are making a mistake with her. Let her figure it out. Wall Street will take that bright and kind girl and destroy her."

"Oh bullshit! She can't stay a little girl forever. She has to grow up at some point!"

"Try harder to let her figure it out."

Isabella didn't move a muscle.

"Maybe this is me trying with her!" her dad exclaimed in exasperation. "Did you ever consider that? Did you consider that I may not be the world's worst father if I had one thing in common with her? You two raised her and have given her everything she needed – did it ever occur to you that I can give her something too?"

"Did it occur to you that it might not be what she needs?"

~O~

Isabella's rental car was waiting for them outside of the inn after they were shooed out of the doors by the merry guests. Someone had hung a "Just Married" banner on the back of it and people cheered as they walked to it. Isabella walked to the left side of the vehicle out of habit and then laughed when she realized the steering wheel was not on that side.

Later, she would consider the fact that in pretending to be happy on the day of her fake wedding, she had unwittingly given herself permission to be that very thing.

"That's not going to work," she muttered.

"No, it's no," Edward agreed with a chuckle, opening the door for her. "I dinae suppose ye can drive."

"And you can?" she challenged.

"Aye," he replied with a smirk. "A few whiskies dinae bother me."

"I suppose in your line of business that is a benefit," she agreed dryly, getting into the car while he chuckled and then shut the door for her. She waved out the door to Alice, who was properly plastered and leaning heavily on her brother, Emmet.

Edward got in the driver's seat and turned on the unfamiliar car. Upon hearing some rambunctious shouts from Robert and Ian, he turned and waved. Robert was giving him a big thumbs up while Ian made a provocative gesture. At that, Edward dropped his hand and rolled his eyes, pulling the car forward.

And then they were alone for the first time all day.

Isabella was suddenly very aware of how heavy her head felt while still feeling condemningly light.

"Well," she finally said. "That went well."

Edward chuckled. "Aye," he agreed.

"Now what?" she asked.

Edward though for a moment as he turned off the tiny main street. "In the interest of making this convincing, I dinae suppose you should sleep at the inn."

"No, I do not suppose so," she agreed, her head feeling light.

"I have a home a few miles outside of town, we can go there as soon as we…" he trailed off when he saw he lost her attention.

They had just turned down the street and she could see all of the lights of the harbor twinkling against the night waters. They bravely sparkled against the immense darkness and it struck her as so beautiful.

"When did ye get to Skye?" he wondered.

"About 20 minutes before we met," she answered.

Edward glanced at her in surprise before directing his eyes back to the road. "I'll show ye around then? Tomorrow?" he asked tentatively.

"That would be lovely," she replied honestly. They had one day before the banks were open and they had to get to work.

They drove in silence for a few moments before Isabella realized that they were at the distillery.

"You live here?" she asked in surprise.

"No," he grinned. "Just need to pick something up."

Isabella didn't let her face react or show the unexpected stab of disappointment she felt, realizing that he would be thinking of work at that point. They were no longer in front of all of his friends and family who assumed they had situated themselves in a honeymoon suite or knew better. There was no need to keep up the farce of being a newly married couple with no one watching.

She was surprised when he opened the door for her. "Just a wee stop," he promised.

Edward navigated expertly through his distillery, pulling a set of keys out of the small purse-like thing that hung in front of his body, over his kilt. Someone had told her the name of it but she could not remember as they walked through the halls.

"Edward!" she exclaimed suddenly.

He immediately turned to her. "Whit? Whit's wrong?"

"The song I walked down the aisle to – what was it called? Highland something, right?"

At hearing that, his shoulders relaxed and the panicked expression on his face smoothed away. "Highland Cathedral."

"Ah! I knew it!"

Edward gave her a dubious look.

"I knew it," she told him.

"Aye," he agreed before taking her hand and gently tugging her along. "Come on then."

"Emmet did a beautiful job," she commented as they walked.

"He's one of the best pipers in Scotland," he informed her with a note of pride in his voice. "He teaches at the National Piping Centre in Glasgow."

"It was lovely," she said.

"Aye," he agreed. He then stopped walking and twisted a different key in an unlocked door. Isabella waited at the threshold as he went in and quickly retrieved what he had come for. He handed her a bottle while he turned to lock the door again.

"Alcohol?" she asked. "I'm not sure I need more of it."

Edward chuckled. "Ye do talk a lot more after a few drams, did ye ken that?"

Isabella raised her chin with dignity.

"It's been mentioned."

He chuckled. "Trust me, ye'll want this one," he promised, taking the bottle gently out of her hands and instead grabbing one of her hands.

"Are you trying to me drunk Mr. Mac- Cullen…Jeffrey, James- what the hell were all of your last names again?"

Edward laughed deeply as they walked out of the distillery. "MacDonald will do," he told her.

Largely aware that she was more talkative than she had planned to be, Isabella resolved to sit quietly for at least five minutes in the car without making a fool out of herself. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Edward lived less than a mile down the road from the distillery and soon he was opening the car door for her to get out.

It was a white, medium sized cottage that looked as if it had been renovated within the past ten years. There were no other cottages around for acres and the house was slightly elevated, situated on a rolling hill. A single light was on over the front door, which was painted a beautiful red.

"When it's light, ye can see Loch Pooltiel, the Uists, the Benbeculas, even the Outer Hebrides," he finally said.

"It's lovely," she commented as he led her to the front door.

"Ooch, let me get yer bag," he remembered, handing her the heavy bottle and turning back to the car where her suitcase was in the small trunk, something she had forgotten about entirely. He quickly grabbed the bag and returned to the front door. "While ye do look braw in that dress, I canne imagine ye want to sleep in it."

Isabella looked down at the dress. It was from the 70's but it was nearly impossible to tell. It was a long sleeved with lovely lace at the forearms and around the slight dip near the neck line. There was also beautiful embroidering at the bottom half of the skirt which was a bit scrunched up in the back where Lizzie had stitched a bustle to hold the train. Other than that, it had fit her perfectly, surprising both her and Lizzie.

"No," she agreed. "Thank you. And thank you for letting me wear it."

"Ye are verra bonnie in it." He opened the unlocked door and let her in. "Maw would have been happy."

Had he not had her back to her as he walked through the threshold, he would have seen the pleased blush rise on her cheeks.

Isabella took in her surroundings as Edward crossed the large room. He made quick work of lighting a fire in the small stone fireplace. The main room they were in had several windows and was uncrowded by two red couches, some small tables, and a plush rug that had been some kind of animal. Over to her left was a space for the dining room table and being that was a decently sized corner kitchen that also had several windows.

It wasn't until the fire started that she realized how cold she was. It was November in Scotland after all.

"It'll warm up quickly," he apologized, seeing her rub one of her hands up and down her arm to warm it up. "Here, let me take that," he volunteered, reaching for the bottle.

"Ah yes, back to getting me drunk."

Edward smirked. "I say ye did fine enough left on yer own."

"I'm quite adept it appears," she replied wryly.

With a grin, he turned his back to open the bottle and pour two glasses. He faced her once again with two glasses filled half way with amber liquid. Isabella eyed it with a raised eyebrow.

"I am no trying to get ye drunk, Annie," he said seriously. "I ken ye dinnae have a reason to trust me, but I promise ye: I will no take advantage of ye."

Isabella had to smile at his earnest expression. "I trust you," she admitted, feeling the words slip out of her mouth without her control.

Edward smiled shyly and then handed her the glass that had less liquid in it.

"What is it?" she asked, sniffing discreetly.

"One of our finer single malt batches," he said with a curious look in his eyes. "My dad distilled it."

She took another sip, noting even in her drunken state, that it was likely the best whisky she had ever had.

"When did you lose them?" she asked after a few moments of silence.

Edward sighed again and for the first time, she could see that he was a young man who did not have all of the answers. He had acted so sure, so confident, so charming around his family and friends. The man she was looking at now looked almost…lost.

"Maw when I was 16…cancer, ye ken?" Isabella nodded sadly. "And Da…it'll be a year in February."

Isabella put a hand on his broad shoulder in a gesture of comfort, not knowing what to say.

"I am sorry," she finally said.

She felt his shoulder rise as he inhaled a large breath through his nose and then slowly let it out before lifting the glass to his lips and taking a large gulp.

"Thank ye," he said after he lowered his glass.

Isabella sighed quietly. She looked down at her own glass before staring back at her husband who was still looking down at his dram. She held her glass to him.

"To your parents."

Edward looked up and blinked a few times, blinking away the moisture in his eyes.

"Aye," he agreed quietly, clinking his glass against hers.

They took a sip of the well-aged, likely relatively expensive whisky, and then sat in silence.

Isabella's hand dropped of his shoulder and returned to her lap. Silence descended on the room and Isabella took her own healthy swig of the drink.

She could tell it was even better and even smoother than the usual Sleat malt she drank.

She took another drink to try and squelch the growing unworthiness that she be the one sharing his memory of his parents.

"My Grandad loved this stuff," she finally volunteered, trying desperately to regain a sense of equilibrium.

That seemed to startle him out of his musings. "Scotch?" he asked curiously.

"Sleat whisky," she corrected softly.

"Aye?" he asked, surprised.

"He and my Grannie went on their honeymoon in Scotland in the 40's and everywhere they went…they found Sleat malts," she told him quietly, staring straight ahead and not meeting his eyes as she shared. "He always had it at the house," she finished in a rush.

"Swan…" he muttered to himself.

"What?"

"Swan," he repeated her last name musingly. "For over 50 years Sleat had a longstanding order and sent a batch of whisky twice a year to the states for a man named Swan. I wonder if…"

A slight smile crept onto her lips.

"That would be him."

At that, Edward looked at her, turning his full gaze and attention to her. His lips were parted oh so slightly as stared at her as if he was really seeing her, having been given a hint of the complexities that she carried close to her heart.

With a heavy breath of her own, she raised her glass. "To auld lang syne?"

His lips closed into a soft smile.

"For auld lang syne."

For the sake of old times.

The wee hours of the morning found the new couple not the least bit intoxicated after a few glasses of the new whisky.

Edward discovered that once his new wife started giggling, little could stop her. The sound was sweet and surprising coming from her, and as she sat and laughed and tried to stop laughing which only made her laugh harder, he couldn't help the broad smile that spread across his face in response to the sight.

She had learned that the more he drank, the more his accent thickened and his choice of vocabulary expanded. The latest round of giggles had been set off by him telling her about a few years ago when he had been so hungover that the smell of chips had "gie'n him the boak."

Eventually, she calmed down and relaxed against the couch, letting out a long, amused sigh before taking another drink. She looked lovely setting there in a sea of white against the red couch, a warm pink flush on her cheeks and her hair tousled from an evening of dancing and drink. Her eyes danced with laughter and he found himself smiling like an idiot at seeing her pleasure.

"What were the words to the stomping earlier?" she asked, suddenly remembering her confusion. "Gaelic, right?"

Understanding dawned on his face as he realized what she was talking about. "Mo leannan, mo leannan bhiodheach," he told her, the strange words flowing effortlessly off his lips. It made her smile.

"And what does that mean?" she asked curiously.

Edward stared at her for a moment and blinked slowly before he answered.

"My sweetheart. My beautiful sweetheart."

Boldly, she met his gaze and for a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire that had long since warmed the room.

"That's lovely," she finally murmured, lifting the whisky to her lips as her throat suddenly felt incredibly dry.

Edward chuckled to himself, broken out of the trance he had been in. He noticed that not only was she more talkative when she was drinking, but she also referred to just about everything as "lovely."

He wondered if she realized.

"Aye," he agreed softly.

Isabella wiggled slightly as some of the three dozen or so small buttons that fastened her dress dug into her back. She tried to get comfortable without their small presence digging into her spine.

Edward realized what the problem was. "I'm daft. I'm sorry," he suddenly apologized. "Ye probably have no way to get out of that dress. I should have offered to help ye."

He was not expecting the surprised but undoubtedly pleased look he received in response. She granted him with a soft grin. "That would be lovely actually, if you don't mind."

Edward sat his glass down and stood up, offering her a hand. Once she was on her feet, he stepped behind her to get to work. "Och," he muttered, seeing how many buttons there were and how small they were.

"Alice and her wee fingers were much better for this, weren't they?"

Isabella giggled. Even Alice had struggled to get her into the dress, but now didn't seem like the best time to mention that.

Edward tentatively laid his fingers against her back where the buttons were. After an experimental tug failed, he had to get close to see how snug the buttons were fastened. His legs complained as he had to sink into a squat to lower himself down to her level, but he ignored the ache as he tried to get his large fingers to release the button. He was close enough that he could feel her chest rise and fall as he worked.

"Ah!" he said triumphantly when the first one released.

For a man of his size, he was remarkably gentle, she noted. He did not tug on the dress or use any force to get them undone. He worked with deep furrow in his brows, painstakingly fiddling with each one.

After a few, he fell into a rhythm, successfully undoing one after another. Each button gone, each bit of fabric parted revealed another sliver of her creamy white back. The skin was soft looking, glowing from the firelight. With each button undone, he felt a tension rising in the room. He felt the urge to run his finger down the length of her spine, to feel her skin under his hands.

He was finding it increasingly difficult to swallow.

The breaths she was taking no longer filled her belly. The further down he got with the buttons, the swallower her breaths were.

Finally, he reached the bottom of the buttons, undoing the last few on her lower back, ignoring the fact that his hands were hovering over her perfectly round bum. He took painstaking care to only use the tips of his fingers as he undid the last few buttons.

For a moment after he finished, neither of them moved.

Neither of them breathed.

Finally, he forced himself to swallow.

"There ye go," he murmured, the words scratchy against his dry throat.

Isabella turned to face him as he stood up. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Right," he said after blinking three times at her. "Yer wee bag is right there. I'll just go and leave ye to it."

"Go where?" she asked, the words slipping out of her mouth.

That made his lips quirk up into a grin. "I'll be right over there in that bedroom," he said, nodding in that direction. "Holler when yer finished."

Once he was out of the room, she pulled her sleeves out of the dress and let it fall to the floor before stepping out of it. She quickly found a crewneck sweatshirt from her college days that she had never gotten rid, and slipped on a pair of leggings, her sleeping attire for the past few days. She didn't bother to consider why she was rushing to have her rejoin him.

"All set," she called in the direction Edward had left, picking up the beautiful wedding dress and draping it across the opposite red couch.

When Edward entered the room, he had shed his formal wear and was instead wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt that was snug on his chest, emphasizing the sizeable muscles he had. Without the kilt and suit coat he looked much more…human. It made her turn her head and smile.[c1]

In his hands, she noticed, were glasses of water.

"That better not be vodka," she said playfully.

Edward chuckled. "No, no it's no," he assured her, handing her one of the tall glasses. "Figured ye might appreciate it."

Isabella sat back down on the couch with her glass, still feeling drunk and lightheaded, but nevertheless surprisingly content. Edward stayed standing, taking a long gulp of his water.

"I thought whisky did not bother you?" she teased.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"That was before I tried to keep up with ye."

That made Isabella laugh and he smiled.

"Did we finish the bottle?" she wondered as she patted the couch cushion next to her, indicating that he should take back up the spot he had been in for the better part of the evening.

Obligingly, Edward sat back down next to her. "There's enough for about two more glasses."

"Another time then," she murmured.

He made a humming noise from the back of his throat she was beginning to associate with Scots in general.

"How old are you?" she asked him suddenly.

"I was born in '84," he answered.

Isabella winced. "So that would be…mean you are at least 22…25ish or – damnit I really am drunk."

"24," he supplied helpfully.

"24. Exactly," she agreed, taking another drink of water while he chuckled.

"What about ye?" he asked.

"I was born in the 70's," she told him conspiringly.

That seemed to surprise him. "Aye?" he asked, looking her up and down.

"'79," she supplied with a smirk.

"Yer a regular hippy," he said with an eye roll. "29 then?"

Isabella settled comfortably into the couch, her eyelids feeling suddenly very heavy as she yawned. "29 then," she agreed.

Edward stared at her curiously, clearly wondering about her life and what had led her to have so much money and so little ties to the states that would warrant her marrying a stranger in a strange country to save a distillery. But he kept his mouth closed through all of his musings. He would not force himself on her in any way.

He respected her too much.

"Caledonia," she mumbled the ancient word for Scotland sleepily.

"Aye?" he asked, amused at her suddenly lack of energy.

"We danced to it," she recalled. It had been their first dance, courtesy of Lizzie or Collette, he wasn't sure.

"Aye, we did," he agreed.

"Do you remember the words?" she asked. "It was lovely."

Edward couldn't help the chuckle that left his lips.

"Aye, I do."

Her eyelids had fluttered closed but after he did not continue to speak, one eye lid opened. The sleepy eye looked at him expectantly.

"Oh, uh…I suppose ye are curious then?"

"If you wouldn't mind," she replied, closing the eye.

"Oh," he said, with a nod, rubbing the back of his neck as he spoke. "Caledonia is what the Roman's called Scotland, I dinae ken if ye knew that or no?"

She nodded.

"Oh right, well versed in yer history of the Scots, I forgot."

"I wouldn't say…well versed per say," she replied, her statement broken up by a yawn that was too big for her face.

"Right," he said in a tone of disagreement. "Well the song is about Scotland. The singer has been away for a time and is saying that Caledonia is calling them home and that even if they're ever a stranger, which would truly make any man or lass sad of course, this is land is all that they…that any of us really, have ever had."

He paused and noticed that her breathing had evened out.

As she drifted sleepily into her curious dreams, she could have sworn she heard a low voice, quietly singing the song of her second wedding.

and yet, the night is still young...

I would like to clarify again that this story is set in 2008 at the onset of the great recession. It hasn't necessarily been clear, so just wanted to make sure we were all on the same page.

I hope you enjoy these two as much as I do.

all the love.