“Kylie? As in Kylie Minogue?” Ray was sitting on the end of Fraser’s bed staring at the acres of tartan material spread out on the covers. “The little Australian singer?”

Fraser was holding a white, ruffled shirt up to his chest and admiring it in the full-length mirror. “Not Kylie, Ray, Ceilidh, which is pronounced ‘Kay-lee’. A traditional Scottish dance. I’m rather looking forward to it.”

“And we gotta wear skirts?” Ray lifted the corner of the tartan and rubbed the rough wool between finger and thumb. He tried to imagine what that would feel like against his bare legs and shuddered.

Fraser’s reflection scolded him gently. “Kilts, Ray. Kilts.”

“Yeah, whatever. Either way, I’m out in public without my pants.”

Fraser laid the shirt carefully atop the tartan and examined the soft black leather brogues. “Well you can rest easy, Ray. As everyone else will be similarly dressed, you wont look in the least odd.”

Ray fingered the rough wool again sceptically. “So this is your own personal pattern? The Fraser Clan Tartan?”

“Spectacular isn’t it?” Fraser beamed proudly.

What Ray had actually been thinking was that ‘loud’ perfectly described the bright red and green material, but as he’d already upset Fraser once too often today, he kept his big mouth shut.

Ray’s own outfit for the evening, which had been chosen and dropped off by Keith earlier, was quite different. Unlike Fraser’s’ white frilly shirt and bow tie, Ray had something called a black Jacobean shirt, which fastened up the front with leather thongs and reminded Ray of a pirate shirt. Coupled with the jet-black kilt and socks, the whole ensemble was quite sexy, if you liked men in skirts, that is. And obviously, Keith did.

“You know how to dance to Scottish music, Frase?” Ray had seen Highland dancing on television once and it looked dangerous, what with jumping over swords and the high pitched whooping noises.

“I know the Gay Gordons,” Fraser replied, starting to unbutton his shirt. “And the Dashing White Sergeant of course.”

Ray backed towards the door. He’d had the pleasure of seeing Fraser strip before, but in his current state of horniness, he doubted he could stay cool and collected once Fraser’s shirt came off. “If you hear a yell, come help me wrestle my sporrgle into submission, okay?”

Fraser’s shirt fell from his shoulders and landed on the bed. “If you mean sporran, Ray, then I would be more than happy to assist.”

Great! Now Ray had an image in his head of Fraser adjusting the lie of his man-purse for him, which was way hotter than it had any right to be, and he needed to get out of Fraser’s bedroom right now before anymore of his clothes came off. “I get to wear shorts though, right?” he just had to ask.

“Well, no true Scotsman would, Ray.”

“Thank God I’m Polish then.” And with that, he fled to the safety of his own room

***

Give deMarco his due; he knew how to throw a party. The ballroom was brightly lit and filled with pipe music and whirling dancers by the time Ray plucked up the courage to come down. He’d knocked on Fraser’s door but he had already gone.

Ray paused in the doorway and scanned the throng, hoping to catch a glimpse of his partner. Just as Fraser had said, most of the men were indeed decked out in kilts, not one of which seemed to be the same as the next. Some of the differences were subtle and Ray wondered how people could tell the clans apart at a glance. No-one else seemed to be wearing a black kilt, but a couple of guys were actually wearing tartan trousers. Now why hadn’t he been offered those? Those he could have carried off.

“Ye managed to figure out which way aroond it goes then?” Ray turned to smile at Keith, who like the rest of the male staff, was dressed in waiter’s whites.

“The skirt? Wasn’t hard to work out. I am a detective you know.”

Keith stepped a little closer, lowering his voice so that no one but Ray would hear him. “Looks good on ye. Black is definitely yer colour.”

It was hard not to respond to the smouldering look. Ray lowered his eyes and then looked very slowly back up at Keith through his lashes. That had always made Stella go weak at the knees.

Keith leaned against the doorjamb. “But the thing I want to know most is, are ye a true Scotsman?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Ray whispered, knowing how corny it all sounded but enjoying the game anyway. Keith was interested, he was over the legal age and Ray was horny. Why shouldn’t he have a little fun? It wasn’t as if the object of his heart’s desire was even remotely interested.

And speak of the devil… “My, my, Ray, you do look nice.”

Ray wiped the lecherous leer from his face before turning round. Fraser didn’t look too shabby himself. He was giving Ray the once over, a proud smile lighting his eyes, and Ray would love to believe that his partner was thinking how sexy he looked. Of course, he was in all likelihood just as impressed as Keith had been that Ray had gotten the outfit on the right way around.

“Itches,” he confided in a low voice, “in unmentionable places.”

Fraser looked suitably surprised at the admission, so Ray turned his attention the blonde attached to Fraser’s arm. “Hi,” he grinned, giving her the once over.

She did him the same favour. “Hello.”

Fraser coughed politely. “Ray, I’d like to introduce you to lady Penelope Fairbairn. Penny, this is my partner, Ray Kowalski.”

Penelope disengaged herself form Fraser’s arm and reattached herself to Ray’s. “Do you know the ‘Gay Gordons’ at all?”

Ray shrugged. If it was a dance, he could pick it up in a flash. That was his thing; his talent. “If you wanna risk your toes, I’m game.”

Penelope’s smile was blinding as she ushered Ray to the edge of the dance floor. He cast his gaze back towards his partner before the swirling mass of shrieking dancers carried him off into the throng. Fraser appeared to be scowling at Keith’s retreating back.

***

Ray flopped down onto a secluded bench, hidden from the ballroom French windows by a high wall surrounding the rose garden. He could still hear snatches of riotous music, but it was muted here, and he desperately needed a break from it.

Once he’d picked up the basics of Scottish Country Dancing there had been no stopping him, until his hair was plastered to his head and his lungs felt like they were half a dozen breaths away from bursting. He’d kept a weather eye on Fraser even as he whirled around the ballroom on the arm of one woman after another. His partner had remained in the shadows, watching him right back.

So Ray had snuck out, for some air and a quick puff. He pulled the crumpled pack and ancient zippo from the sporran and lit a cigarette, drawing deep until his lungs burned anew. He closed his eyes and leaned back on the bench, arms spread along the back. It was cold; the breeze rapidly cooling his sweat, but it felt good. Smelled good too. Although there were no roses at this time of year, the air was heavy with the smell of pine and gorse.

He found the autumnal aromas comforting. Chicago never smelled this good, not even when winter snow covered everything with a mantle of innocence. No matter how hard he listened, he could hear no traffic sounds, no dogs barking, no police sirens splitting the night. It was still, and quiet, and peaceful.

But Ray couldn’t switch off the cop in him completely. Even sitting alone on a bench with his eyes closed, he still listened intently for sounds of anything suspicious. Which was why he didn’t jump out of his skin when he heard voices approaching from behind.

He couldn’t make out what was being said, but he recognised the voice. deMarco seemed upset or angry about something. But one thing was certain. Neither deMarco or the person he was speaking to knew that Ray was there.

He was just wondering whether or not to make his presence know when the men drew close enough to hear properly.

"Shh. I hear something,” an American accented voice whispered. “Someone's coming.”

"Meet me at the stables tomorrow night at midnight, and bring the money,” deMarco hissed. There was some rustling and the sound of people making off into the night. Then Ray heard the approaching footsteps too.

“I thought you might need this,” Fraser said, holding out Ray’s overcoat. “You must be freezing.”

Ray opened his eyes slowly. Fraser was wearing his blue wool Mountie coat with the red lining. It looked strange with the kilt but as usual, Fraser managed to pull it off. Ray took another deep drag of his cigarette and hitched over to make room. “Take a load off, Frase,” he instructed, watching his friend though the smoky haze.

Fraser hesitated for a few seconds before settling on the bench next to Ray. “You’ve started smoking again?” he asked softly, eyes looking everywhere but at Ray.

Ray flicked the ash from the end of the cigarette and blew on the end, making it flare and spark. “Sometimes I just need… something,” he admitted, wishing he could tell Fraser what it was he really needed but knowing it was hopeless. “I got an obsessive personality. If it’s not cigs, it’s booze or sex.”

“Have you considered taking up a hobby?” Fraser finally turned to face him, a teasing grin playing with the corners of his mouth. “Philately for example?”

Ray took a final drag and flicked the butt away. It arced through the air and landed in with a mini-explosion of embers. “Sounds kinda kinky.”

“I suppose that would depend on what you do with the stamps, Ray.”

They sat in silence for a long time. Ray with his head tilted back, watching the dark clouds drift across the moon; Fraser staring at his own knees.

“You know, Frase; when you take away the weather and the insects and the fucking impossible to understand language…. It’s a really beautiful place.”

Fraser’s eyes were suddenly on him and he couldn’t ignore their pull.

“Yes. Yes it is.”

He looked into Fraser’s shining eyes and saw love there.

Pure, simple, unconditional love.

It hit Ray right between the eyes like a four by four. “So you, um… you think you might stay here?”

It wasn’t really a question. Fraser had as good as said there was nothing in Chicago for him to come back to. He braced himself mentally for Fraser’s reply, hoping like hell he was wrong, but knowing he wasn’t.

Fraser sighed and dropped his gaze to his knees once more. “Sebastian has offered to help me find my feet here and I really want to take him up of the offer. ”

Ray wondered how Fraser would react if he just blurted out all his suspicions, including the fact the Sebasstian was probably responsible for all the little accidents Ray kept having? He’d probably say that Ray was trying to put up barriers to Fraser staying behind. And the thing was, the thing that worried him? Fraser might just be right.

Not about Seb, Ray trusted his instincts about stuff like that. But the whole ‘putting up barriers’ thing? What if he was doing just that?

He wanted Fraser to be happy. But somewhere deep inside, he was almost glad that he would be able to expose deMarco and discredit him in front of Fraser, even if Fraser got hurt in the process. And that scared him.

“We should probably go in,” Fraser was saying.

Ray shook himself out of his black thoughts and forced a smile onto his face. “Yeah, I lost the feeling in my left testicle about ten minutes ago.” He got to his feet and began to walk towards the castle.

"Ray?"

He froze. The uncertainty of Fraser's tone gave him pause, but he knew his own face would betray him if he turned around. "Yeah?"

“Perhaps you would consider… I thought maybe…”

Fraser's voice trailed off, and for a moment Ray dared to hope. "What? What did you think, Frase?"

For long moments, the faint sound of music from the house was the only sound. Then Fraser sighed deeply. "Never mind, Ray. It's just a foolish fancy."

Ray squeezed his eyes shut and fought back the wave of disappointment that threatened to overcome him. Squaring his shoulders, he walked away.

***

Ray awoke with the hangover from hell.

After his little chat with Fraser the night before, he’d decided to get hammered, hoping it might dull the pain. Of course it hadn’t helped at all and now he had to add a headache and a rolling stomach to his list of woes.

Some kind soul had left a jug of water and some painkillers on his bedside table. Probably Fraser. He had a vague memory of Fraser propping him up in the elevator and depositing him on his bed. His clothes were gone, and it really bugged him that he couldn’t remember how it had felt to have Fraser strip him.

Ray swallowed the pills and got out of bed very slowly. Once the world stopped spinning, he took a shower, shaved and got dressed. Not that he felt much like eating, but it would probably be a good idea. He headed down to the kitchen, where Mrs Campbell was busy doing what she did best - cooking.

She took one look at him and shook her head. “Here,” she handed him a glass of something thick and orange. “Best hangover cure available.”

“What’s in it?” Ray asked, sniffing the concoction with distaste.

“Best not tae ask,” the cook grinned, turning back to the range.

By the time he’d forced the potion down his throat, Mrs Campbell had whipped up a plate of bacon and eggs and placed it in front of him. “I’ll make ye coffee, but not until ye have something solid inside ye,” she insisted. Ray didn’t argue. She could probably take him in a fair fight.

Through a forkful of scrambled egg, Ray asked, “Seen Fraser today?”

Mrs Campbell had begun polishing silver. “Aye. He took young Keith and the dogs up to the high moor at the crack o’ dawn. They’re looking for Capercaillie.”

“Caper-who?” Ray asked, shovelling in another forkful of eggs. They really were good, and his stomach had settled down nicely.

“It’s a bird, Mr Kowalski. There’s nae a lot of them left in the wild any more. It’ll be dusk afore ye see The Laird again.”

Ray finished up his breakfast and spent the rest of the day wandering around aimlessly. He checked out the stables for good hiding places, figuring he’d need a place where he could see what was going on, but still be hidden from sight himself. He thought about breaking into deMarco’s office to find evidence, but the two huge red-heads were stationed right outside so that was a no-go.

When it began to get dark, he returned to the suite to find a hand written note stuck to his bedroom door. It was from Keith who must have put it there before he left in the morning. Ray hadn’t noticed it but then, he’d been a little the worse for wear.

He tugged the note free from the tape and read it through twice. Keith was asking him to the village pub for drinks that night. So, a date? A proper date? He shoved open the door, and kicked off his shoes. He would be lying if he said he didn’t want to go. Fraser was all caught up in doing Lairdly stuff, which was fine. Ray didn’t need Fraser to entertain him 24/7, but still, it would be good to have someone look at him with more than just polite tolerance for once.

He picked up the phone and dialled zero. Keith answered. “About tonight?” Ray said without preamble. “What time?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Keith chuckled. “Does seven suit ye?”

“Seven is good. See you then.” Ray hung up the phone. He fully intended to be back here by midnight though, hidden among the hay bales in the stables and ready to pounce.

A few moments later, Fraser's head poked around the bedroom door. “Ah, here you are, Ray,” he said cheerily. "Packing already?"

Ray was sitting on the end of his bed staring into his empty suitcase. He glanced up. Fraser's face was as implacable as always, the Polite Mountie Mask firmly in place. "Nah, just looking for something to wear. I sorta said I would meet Keith later."

"Oh?" Fraser came more fully into the room. "You seem to be getting on very well with that young man. It's obvious that he's… fond of you, too."

“Um, yeah, about that…” Fraser had been going out of his way to ignore what he’d seen, but Ray really needed some kind of assurance from his partner that he was okay with it.

Fraser's eyes were suddenly on him, clear and blue and heart-stoppingly intense. "Ray, if you… I mean to say that if you and…. I'm sure that Deifenbaker and I could find a vacant room for the night if you need some… privacy?"

"What?"

"You and Keith. If you want… if you… if you…. Oh dear!" Fraser hung his head, letting out his breath in an exasperated whoosh. "I'm making a pigs ear of this."

Ray had no idea what to say. Fraser was not only okay with it, he was actively encouraging it? It didn’t sit right with Ray, which kinda pissed him off. He should be glad that his buddy was giving him the green light. Any other guy would say ‘thank you kindly,’ and take him up on his offer. So how come it felt a lot like disappointment? Ray shook his head.

"Um, thanks," he mumbled. "But it's only a couple of drinks. I don’t really know him well enough for that sort of shenanigans."

“Ah! I see. I’d hoped that you two might….”

Might what? What the hell was going on inside that head of Fraser’s? Ray couldn’t imagine what Fraser could have hoped for involving him and Keith. Unless he’d hoped Ray might invite him up to the room for a threesome? And that was so impossible to visualise, that Ray was left gaping like a fish out of water.

"Right! Well, if you should change your mind…" Fraser gushed way too cheerfully, bouncing to his feet. "Now, if you'd excuse me, Dief is waiting for me to accompany me on his nightly constitutional."

"His… con what?"

"Walkies, Ray."

"Right."

After Fraser left, Ray threw on a Bulls sweatshirt and baseball cap, and splashed on a little cologne. He didn’t want to make too much of an effort - didn’t want to seem too eager. He figured that casual would be a good way to go. A quick glance down at his watch told him that he was running late, so grabbing his waterproof jacket, he headed for the elevator.

He was somewhat surprised to see Fraser in the reception hall. "Hey, you still here?"

"Well, it appears that my half arctic wolf has developed an aversion to a little rain, Ray." His voice dripped scorn, and Ray almost felt sorry for the mutt who was steadfastly refusing to come out from behind the reception desk. "However, as he will no doubt see fit to wake me in the early hours of the morning if he should miss this opportunity to urinate, I have to insist that we do this now."

Dief whined and backed a little further away.

"Oh for heaven's sake, you're a wild animal. Start acting like one." Ray shook his head and began to shoulder into his coat. "Um, Ray? Is that what you're wearing?"

Ray looked down at his attire, and then at Fraser who was frowning disapprovingly. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"

"Oh, nothing. I like that sweatshirt. But it's more suitable for a night on the couch watching hockey and drinking beer than for a… date."

Ray felt the blush rising. It felt beyond weird to be discussing this with Fraser. It felt totally surreal to be discussing appropriate date attire with him too. "You think I should put something else on?"

Fraser looked him up and down and shrugged. "Entirely up to you, Ray."

While Ray was hesitating about what to do, Fraser strode to the front door and opened it, letting the driving rain and wind into the hall. Dief, obviously realizing that he wasn’t going to win this one, slunk around the reception desk and like a condemned man going to the gallows, he braved the elements, tail between his legs.

Making up his mind, Ray pulled off his baseball cap. "Frase, catch…" he tossed the cap and his heavy coat to his buddy. "I'll go find something more suitable."

"Thank you kindly," Fraser said, zipping up the coat and pulling the cap onto his head. "In case I don’t see you again this evening, have a nice time."

"Yeah, thanks." Ray decided to take the stairs back to the suite. He needed the time to get his head around this.

Fraser knew he liked guys. He'd all but given Ray his blessing to go ahead and have sex with a guy. He seemed happy that Ray was considering it. But still, it felt screwy. Something was wrong here. Very wrong, and Ray couldn’t figure it out.

***

It took Ray about ten minutes of pacing to work it out.

He’d expected Fraser to go green with envy and try to sweep him off his feet, not smile and tell him to go right ahead and screw the guy in their suite. He wanted Fraser to be jealous. He wanted Fraser to want him.

Sighing deeply, Ray flopped down on the bed. All this time, he’d been subconsciously looking for Fraser’s approval, but hoping he wouldn’t give it. One negative word from his partner, and Ray would have dropped Keith like a hot potato, which made Ray realise that he’d been using Keith to get a reaction out of Fraser, and that was not cool either.

What a fucking mess.

No way was he going to meet Keith now. It wasn’t like it would break the kids heart.

He was reaching for the door handle, to go find Fraser and drag him back here for a nice long soul searching session, when the phone rang.

"I have a call for you, Mr Kowalski.” the receptionist's voice informed him. “It's a lieutenant Harding Welsh?”

“Thanks,” Ray sighed a little theatrically, and threw himself down on the bed.

“That you?" Lieutenant Welsh's gruff voice enquired.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah, it's me."

"Kowalski listen up. You got big problems. I just found out that the mob put out a contract on you. Huey's snitch says they been speaking to someone overseas about it. I think they might come after you across there, Ray."

Ray flopped down onto the bed. "Crap! That confirms it. They already had a couple of tries."

"Damn! Ray, don’t let the Mountie out of your sight. He’s all you got right now!”

Ray wasn’t about to tell Welsh that right now, his sidekick was probably sleeping on a park bench so that Ray could get some. "Yeah, yeah sure. I'll keep you informed.”

“Yeah, you do that. I’m gonna see who I can speak to in local law enforcement. Get you some back up. Be careful, Ray.”

Ray hung up the phone. He had to find Fraser and fill him in. He was halfway out the door when the phone rang again.

"Ray, it's Keith."

"Oh! Shit! Yeah, Keith I'm real sorry about earlier…"

"Shut up and listen Kowalski. We've got your partner. Now either you meet us the shepherd's cottage on the moor at dawn, or he gets a bullet through the head. Capisce?"

Ray's mouth went dry. What the fuck?

“And Ray. No police. Come alone or he’s dead.”

“Yeah, I hear ya.”

Keith hung up and Ray stared at the receiver. His mind was whirring. Fucking bastard! Ray smacked himself on the forehead. And he was a fucking idiot to think that anyone that looked like Keith could find someone that looked like Ray even remotely attractive.

He’d been so wrapped up in finding out what deMarco had to hide, that he’d totally missed the danger right before his eyes. To say he felt like an idiot was a total understatement of his mental condition. Grabbing boots and another heavy parka, Ray headed for the moor.