Chapter 3
Chapter Three
T he suitcase lay open on the bed, surrounded by neat piles of clothing organized by category and color. Kate had been packing for three hours, which was ridiculous considering she was only going for two weeks. The problem wasn’t what to bring. Her color-coded packing list took care of that, but rather the nagging voice in her head that kept asking what the hell she was doing.
Spontaneous wasn’t in her vocabulary. It wasn’t even in her zip code. Yet here she was, about to fly across an ocean to surprise her boyfriend, who didn’t even know she was coming.
“This is what normal people do,” she told her reflection in the floor-length mirror propped against the wall as she folded another sweater. “Surprise visits. Grand gestures. Being impulsive.”
Her reflection looked skeptical.
Kate checked her list again. Passport? Check. Travel adapter? Check. Comfortable walking shoes, rain jacket, guidebook, toiletries? Check, check, check, check. She’d researched average temperatures on the Isle of Skye in June (cool and changeable), typical rainfall (frequent), and had even downloaded three different weather apps to monitor conditions.
So much for spontaneity.
Her phone buzzed with a text from Mandy.
Stopping by before my flight to the Keys! Got something for your trip!
Kate smiled. Normally, she’d never invite a client to her home. Professional boundaries were sacred, but Mandy wasn’t just any client anymore. Six months ago, after Mandy’s previous relationship imploded, Kate had found her sobbing and dangerously drunk at Velvet, a club downtown. She’d brought Mandy to her apartment, let her sleep it off on the couch, and they’d formed an odd friendship since then.
Door code is the same. I’m surrounded by luggage.
Twenty minutes later, she stared in horror at the lacy, barely there lingerie Mandy had dumped on top of her meticulously packed suitcase.
“I can’t wear that,” Kate protested. “It’s... It’s practically dental floss.”
Mandy, her blonde curls bouncing as she shook her head, looked much better than someone who’d just had their heart broken should. “Trust me, Angus will love it. All men do.”
“I’m not trying to seduce him,” Kate said, though even to her own ears, the protest sounded weak. “I’m just going to surprise him.”
“By flying thousands of miles? Honey, that’s not just a surprise, that’s a statement.” Mandy sat on the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb the packing piles. “And statements should be backed up with action. Preferably naked action.”
Kate couldn’t help but laugh. “How are you so chipper? Shouldn’t you be drowning in ice cream and tears right now?”
Something flickered across Mandy’s face, a flash of pain quickly masked by determination.
“I did that for the first twenty-four hours. Then I decided Peter wasn’t worth my tears.”
She shrugged. “Besides, I’m channeling all my romantic energy into you now. Someone deserves a happy ending.”
A pang of guilt rushed through her. Here was Mandy, fresh from heartbreak, pushing her toward happiness while she herself prepared to spend months on a remote island restoring a fort. “Are you sure about the Dry Tortugas? It’s pretty isolated.”
“That’s the point. No cell service, no dating apps, no chance of running into Peter and his supermodel.” Mandy glanced at her watch. “I should get going. My flight leaves in three hours.”
“I still can’t believe you’re just... leaving everything behind.”
Mandy picked up the lingerie and tucked it into a corner of Kate’s suitcase. “Sometimes you have to burn it all down to start fresh. Now, promise me you’ll wear this. At least once.”
“Fine,” Kate conceded, knowing it was easier than arguing.
After walking Mandy to the door with promises to stay in touch, she returned to her packing, adding a few more practical items to counterbalance the lingerie. As she worked, she pulled up information about the MacDonald Distillery on her tablet. The company website showed sweeping views of the rugged Skye coastline, ancient stone buildings nestled against dramatic cliffs, and rows of oak barrels aging fine whisky. According to the “About Us” section, the distillery had been in the MacDonald family for generations, producing award-winning single malts using traditional methods.
There was a photo of Angus standing proudly beside his father, both men wearing kilts and holding glasses of amber liquid. Kate zoomed in on Angus’s face, that familiar charming smile, the sandy blond hair ruffled by the wind, those green eyes that always seemed to be laughing at some private joke.
Five months. They’d been dating for five whole months, which was practically a lifetime in Kate’s relationship history. Things were good between them. Comfortable. Easy. He didn’t pressure her for more than she was ready to give, and he respected her need for space. They’d settled into a pleasant routine of weekend dates and occasional sleepovers, always at her place because his apartment was perpetually being renovated (or so he claimed).
If she were analyzing their relationship for Love Lasting, what would she say? The thought made her uncomfortable. She’d tried countless times to apply her “gift” to her own relationships, and much to her annoyance, it simply refused to work whenever she’d tried.
Then there was the downside of her job. Witnessing endless patterns of deception and betrayal had turned her into a jaded, suspicious woman, who scrutinized every romantic gesture. Perhaps it was better this way. She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing the truth about her own situation with the same clinical detachment she applied to strangers.
Kate closed the tablet and zipped her suitcase, making sure the AirTag was tucked away in an inner pocket since she was checking the bag. This trip was about taking a chance, stepping outside her comfort zone. About showing Angus, and herself, that she could be spontaneous and romantic.
“It’s going to be great,” she told herself firmly. “Totally worth the anxiety.”
Her flight left in six hours. She’d already arranged for a cab to the airport, had downloaded her boarding pass, and had set three alarms to make sure she wouldn’t lose track of the time. Everything was under control, except for the knot of uncertainty that had taken up residence in her stomach.
Kate tried to distract herself by reading more about the Isle of Skye. She’d bookmarked several sites online and the guidebook she’d purchased was filled with gorgeous photographs of misty mountains, crystal-clear pools, and ancient stone circles. One section detailed local legends, tales of faeries, shape-shifting selkies, and time-slips where unwary travelers found themselves transported to the past.
“The Isle of Skye is known for its thin places,” the book explained, “where the veil between worlds is believed to be especially permeable. The Fairy Glen, the Fairy Pools, and certain ancient stone circles are all said to be locations where one might encounter the Good Folk or experience supernatural phenomena.”
A snort escaped, along with a rather dramatic eye roll. The “Good Folk” sounded like a euphemism for something decidedly not good. She flipped to the practical section about food and accommodations.
By the time her cab arrived, Kate had convinced herself that this was a perfectly reasonable thing to do. People surprised their significant others all the time. It wasn’t weird or desperate or a sign that she was trying too hard. It was romantic.
The cab driver, a middle-aged man with coal black hair, hefted her suitcase into the back of the SUV. “Vacation?”
“Yes,” Kate said, settling into the back seat. “I’m going to Scotland.”
“Never been. My wife wants to go, see all those castles and stuff.” He pulled away from the curb. “You meeting someone there?”
“My boyfriend,” Kate said, then added, “He doesn’t know I’m coming.”
The driver chuckled. “Surprise, huh? Hope he’s not the jumpy type.”
“He’ll be fine,” she said, more to herself than to the driver. “He’s always saying I should be more spontaneous.”
“Well, flying across an ocean unannounced is about as spontaneous as it gets,” the driver said, catching her eye in the rearview mirror. “Good luck.”
The airport was crowded, but Kate navigated security and found her gate with plenty of time to spare. She settled into a seat and pulled out her phone, tempted to text Angus. Just a casual message, nothing that would give away her plans, but something to confirm he was still in Scotland, still at the distillery.
Her finger hovered over his name in her contacts. What would she even say?
Hey, just checking in. Still in Scotland?
Too obvious.
Miss you, how’s the family business?
Too needy.
Before she could decide, the gate agent announced boarding for first-class passengers. She gathered her carry-on and boarding pass, her heart racing with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.
The first-class cabin was everything Mandy had promised. Spacious seats that reclined into beds, personal entertainment systems, and attentive flight attendants offering champagne before takeoff. She accepted a glass, thinking she could use the liquid courage.
As the plane took off, she gazed out the window at Atlanta, growing smaller beneath her. For better or worse, she was committed now. In a little over eight hours, she’d be in Scotland, and shortly after that, she’d be face-to-face with Angus.
The champagne, combined with the gentle hum of the engines, soon lulled Kate into a drowsy state as she closed her eyes, letting her mind drift to thoughts of misty Scottish landscapes and the look of surprise on Angus’s face when he saw her.
She must have dozed off, because the next thing she knew, the voice of the flight attendant asking the man across the aisle what he wanted to drink with dinner woke her. Kate straightened her seat and accepted the meal, some kind of Thai chicken dish that was surprisingly good for airplane food.
After dinner, with the cabin lights dimmed and most passengers settling in for sleep, Kate pulled out her guidebook again. She flipped to a section about the history of the Isle of Skye, reading about clan warfare, ancient keeps, and legendary battles.
One passage in particular caught her attention.
“The ruins of Bronmuir Keep stand as a testament to one of Skye’s most tragic tales. In 1689, the laird of the clan was betrayed and murdered by his bride-to-be, a MacDonald. It was all part of a plot to end the MacLeod line. According to legend, the laird’s spirit still haunts the ruins, searching for justice and for the love that was denied him.”
Kate frowned. MacLeods and MacDonalds, two clans with a history of bitter rivalry, according to the book. According to the book, the main branch of the MacLeods still had a laird in residence in Dunvegan Castle on the island. Angus was a MacDonald. She wondered if these old feuds still resonated in modern Skye, or if they were just colorful stories for tourists.
She read on, learning a little about the Jacobite risings, the Highland Clearances, and the cultural renaissance that had revitalized Gaelic language and traditions in recent decades. The history was fascinating, but eventually, the gentle rocking of the plane and the soft drone of the engines lulled her to sleep.
Kate woke to the announcement that they were beginning their descent into Edinburgh. She blinked groggily, disoriented for a moment before remembering where she was and why. A glance at her watch told her it was early morning local time. She’d sleep through most of the flight.
After landing and making it through customs, she found herself in the arrivals hall of Edinburgh Airport, suddenly aware of the enormity of what she was doing. Pure panic flashed through her before she took a deep breath.
She was here, in Scotland. But instead of immediately traveling to Skye, she had decided on a more scenic route. A three-day guided tour through the Highlands. That way, if she changed her mind at any point, she could simply sightsee all around the country for the next two weeks and Angus would never know she’d flown all this way. And if, after the tour, she still wanted to be spontaneous, then she would arrive at the distillery to surprise him.
She checked her phone. No messages from Angus. She sent a quick text to Mandy to let her know she’d arrived safely, then headed over to meet her tour guide.
“Welcome to Scotland,” the cheerful guide smiled as she collected Kate and several other tourists.
“We’ll be taking a lovely scenic route to the Isle of Skye, including a ride on The Jacobite steam train, what you might know as the ‘Hogwarts Express’ from the Harry Potter films.”
Over the next two days, Kate found herself mesmerized by the breathtaking landscape of the Scottish Highlands. They journeyed across the haunting expanse of Rannoch Moor, through the dramatic valley of Glen Coe, and alongside the mysterious waters of Loch Ness. The steam train journey across the Glenfinnan Viaduct was everything she’d imagined from the films, the locomotive puffing clouds of steam against a backdrop of mountains and glens.
On the third day, they crossed the bridge to the Isle of Skye. Kate’s apprehension had transformed into excitement as they explored the Old Man of Storr and stopped for photos at the iconic Eilean Donan Castle.
When the tour finally concluded, a surge of confidence filled her. The island’s wild beauty, dramatic coastlines and misty mountains rising against pearl-gray skies, was even more stunning than Angus had described.
“Where to, lass?” the taxi driver asked, loading her suitcase into the trunk after she’d bid farewell to her tour group.
“The MacDonald Distillery, please,” Kate said, sliding into the back seat, feeling far more ready for her surprise reunion than she would have been three days ago.
The driver, an older man with a thick Scottish accent, nodded. “Aye, the distillery. Lovely place. You here for the tour?”
“Something like that,” Kate said, not wanting to explain the whole situation. “How long will it take to get there?”
“About thirty minutes, depending on the sheep,” the driver said with a chuckle. “They have a habit of blocking the road whenever they fancy.”
As they drove through the winding roads, Kate was captivated by the landscape, a patchwork of greens and purples, punctuated by rocky outcroppings and the occasional white-washed cottage. The sky was a constantly changing canvas of clouds and sunlight, casting dramatic shadows across the hills.
True to the driver’s prediction, they had to stop twice for sheep crossing the road. During the second stop, the driver pointed to a crumbling stone keep on a nearby cliff overlooking the water.
“That there’s the ruins of Bronmuir Keep,” he said. “Ancient MacLeod stronghold, it was. There’s a wee path up to it if you’re interested in having a look. Tourists love it.”
Kate recognized the name from her guidebook. “The one with the ghost story?”
The driver nodded, his expression serious. “Aye, that’s the one. They say Connor MacLeod, the laird, was murdered by his bride. Betrayed for love, he was.” He shook his head. “Some say his spirit still walks the ruins, searching for revenge.”
“Do you believe that?” Kate asked, intrigued despite her skepticism.
The driver shrugged. “I’ve lived on Skye all my life, lass. I’ve seen things that would make a person’s hair stand on end.”
He glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Would you like to stop and have a look? It’s on our way, more or less.”
Kate hesitated. She was eager to get to Angus, but the ruins looked hauntingly beautiful against the misty landscape. “Sure, why not? Just for a few minutes.”
The driver pulled over to a small gravel parking area and pointed to a narrow path winding up the hill. “Take your time. The distillery isn’t going anywhere.”
She climbed out of the taxi, zipping up her lightweight jacket against the cool breeze off the water. The path was steeper than it looked, and she was out of breath by the time she reached the ruins.
Bronmuir Keep must have been impressive in its day. Even now, the remaining walls stood tall against the sky, their weathered stones telling silent stories of battles and banquets, of lives lived and lost within these walls.
Kate wandered through what must have been the great hall, trying to imagine it filled with people. Fierce warriors in kilts, ladies in long dresses, servants hurrying about their duties. Had Connor MacLeod really been murdered here? Had his MacDonald bride truly betrayed him? According to what she’d read, he’d married the woman in order to bring peace between the two clans, and to free his brother whom the MacDonalds had taken for ransom.
A sudden gust of wind whistled through the ruins, carrying with it a mournful sound that raised goosebumps on Kate’s arms. Just the wind, she told herself firmly. Not a ghost, not a laird searching for justice.
She took a few photos with her phone, then headed back down the path to the waiting taxi. As she walked, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her. She glanced back at the ruins, half-expecting to see a figure standing among the stones.
There was nothing there, of course. Just ancient walls and the ever-present Skye mist.
Back in the taxi, she tried to focus on the excitement of seeing Angus, pushing aside the strange melancholy that had settled over her at the ruins. The driver seemed to sense her mood and kept quiet for the remainder of the journey, allowing her to gather her thoughts.
Finally, they turned onto a long driveway. At the end stood an impressive stone building with the words “MacDonald Distillery” emblazoned above the entrance. Several cars were parked in the lot, suggesting the place was busy.
“Here we are, lass,” the driver said, pulling up to the entrance. “The famous MacDonald Distillery. They make some of the finest whisky in Scotland, if you ask me.”
Kate paid the fare, adding a generous tip for the detour to the ruins. “Thank you for the tour,” she said, gathering her suitcase.
“My pleasure. Enjoy your stay.” The driver hesitated, then added, “And mind how you go. Some surprises aren’t always welcome.”
Before Kate could ask what he meant, he had driven away, leaving her standing alone in front of the distillery. She took a deep breath, smoothed her hair, and wheeled her suitcase toward the entrance.
The reception area was elegant, with polished wood floors, display cases showing the distillery’s award-winning whiskies, and large windows overlooking the production facilities. A young woman sat behind the desk, typing on a computer.
“Welcome to MacDonald Distillery,” she said with a bright smile. “Are you here for the tour?”
“Actually, I’m looking for Angus MacDonald,” Kate said. “Is he available?”
The receptionist’s smile faltered slightly. “Mr. MacDonald is quite busy today. Do you have an appointment?”
“No, I’m... I’m a friend. From America.” Kate realized how inadequate that sounded. “Could you just let him know Kate is here? I’d like to surprise him.”
The receptionist looked uncertain. “I’m not sure if?—”
“It’s alright, Fiona,” a male voice interrupted. “I’ll handle this.”
Kate turned to see an older man approaching. Tall, distinguished, with the same sandy hair as Angus, though liberally streaked with gray. Angus’s father, she realized, recognizing him from the website photo.
“You must be Kate,” he said, tone carefully neutral. “Angus mentioned you.”
“Mr. MacDonald,” Kate said, extending her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I hope you don’t mind the surprise visit. I came to see Angus.”
“Aye, well, that might be a bit complicated at the moment.” He glanced around the reception area, which had begun to fill with visitors. “Perhaps we should speak privately. This way, please.”
Confused by his reaction, Kate followed him down a hallway to a small office. The knot of uncertainty in her stomach had grown tighter. Why had she decided to be spontaneous? She was practical. This was what happened when one stepped outside of one’s normal behavior.
“Please, sit down,” Mr. MacDonald said, gesturing to a chair. He remained standing, his expression unreadable. “I’m afraid Angus isn’t here at the moment. He’s at the house, preparing for tonight’s celebration.”
“Celebration?” Kate echoed.
“Aye.” Mr. MacDonald hesitated, then sighed. “I’m sorry you’ve come all this way, but I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Angus is engaged to be married. The engagement party is tonight.”
The words hit Kate like a physical blow as she blinked. “Engaged? But that’s... That’s not possible. We’ve been dating for five months.”
Mr. MacDonald’s expression softened with what looked like genuine sympathy.
“I’m truly sorry, lass. Angus has been engaged to Amanda Albertson for years. The wedding is set for September.”
“There must be some mistake,” Kate said, her voice sounding distant to her own ears. “Angus and I... We’re together. He was just in Atlanta last week.”
“Angus travels frequently for business,” Mr. MacDonald said carefully. “I can’t speak to his... personal arrangements while abroad. But here, in Scotland, he is engaged to Amanda. Our families have been planning this union since they were small.”
The room tilted. This couldn’t be happening. It was too absurd, too cruel. She had flown across an ocean, only to discover that her boyfriend, her supposedly perfect, respectful boyfriend, was engaged to someone else?
“I think I need some air,” she managed to say, rising unsteadily to her feet.
Mr. MacDonald nodded. “Of course. Take all the time you need. There’s a garden behind the visitor center, quite peaceful. When you’re ready, I can arrange transportation to wherever you’d like to go.”
Kate mumbled her thanks and fled the office. The rolling suitcase clattered to the stone floor behind her. She was barely aware of where she was going before she found herself outside, in a small, manicured garden with a view of the sea. The beauty of it seemed to mock her as she sank onto a stone bench, her legs no longer able to support her.
Engaged. Angus was engaged. Apparently, had been engaged all along.
And the worst part? She hadn’t seen it coming. She, who could predict the end of any relationship, had been completely blindsided by her own.
The irony would have been funny if it weren’t so devastating.