Chapter Two
Kirk
I'm not the sort of man who believes in fate, but when you're dangling upside down from a medieval castle turret with nothing but a frayed rope between you and certain death, you start to wonder if the universe has a twisted sense of humor.
Well, I did volunteer for this stunt. And Rory MacTaggart did warn me about jumping off Dùndubhan.
But I haven't hit the ground yet, so I'd call this a semi-successful stunt.
"Kirk! For pity's sake, are ye trying to get yerself killed?" Tam's voice echoes from below, his concern wrapped in that uniquely Scottish blend of exasperation and brotherly terror.
"Just adding flare of drama for the cameras," I shout back, feeling the rope slip another inch.
The cold Highland wind whips around me, making the ancient stones of Dùndubhan Castle blur in my vision.
What was supposed to be a straightforward stunt for the whisky commercial has turned into something considerably more life-threatening.
Ahmno worried, though.
The cameras are still rolling, of course. Nothing sells whisky like a man risking his life for it, or so Rory's marketing team believes. I can practically hear the director salivating at this unexpected drama. Authentic danger sells better than staged peril.
"Hang on!" Tam bellows. "The safety team is coming up!"
"Tell them not to bother." I doubt he can hear me over the wind. My fingers are going numb, and not just from the cold. The blood rushing to my head makes my temples throb painfully. But this is the sort of risk I love to take.
When I glance down, I see Tam's broad figure as he gestures wildly to the crew. His bakery apron is still tied around his waist. He must have dropped everything when he got the call that his barmy brother was attempting to become a permanent fixture on the north face of Dùndubhan.
Something seems to shift in the rope, and I feel my body drop another few inches. The adrenaline surging through my veins throbs in my ears.
"If ye die, I'll kill ye myself!" Tam roars, his voice growing fainter as the wind picks up.
I can't help but laugh despite my precarious position. My brothers have always been protective, even when we were wee lads climbing the crags of Bidean nam Bian, the highest mountain in Argyll. Some things never change.
The director's voice crackles through someone's walkie-talkie below. "Keep rolling! This is gold!"
Of course it is. Nothing sells Sensual Secret whisky like a man dangling from a medieval turret with the sprawling Highlands as his backdrop.
I'd suggested this stunt myself, though admittedly, the part where the rope frays wasn't in the original plan.
But that's the story of my life, always pushing things further than intended.
The rope does another sickening lurch. I grit my teeth as I drop another foot.
"A Dhia!" someone shouts from below.
"Oh God" is the appropriate statement for this moment.
I twist my body, trying to get a better grip, but that only makes the rope spin.
The ancient stones of Dùndubhan swirl around me in a dizzying dance, and I briefly catch sight of Beann Dealgach looming in the background, its snow-dusted peak indifferent to my plight.
"Safety team's two minutes out!" It's a female voice this time, probably our production manager, Carmen Fierro. She's a sexy lass with a Spanish accent to match her fiery temperament.
Two minutes might as well be two hours in my current predicament. The rope continues to unravel strand by strand beneath my weight. I fix my eyes on the jagged silhouette of the mountains, refusing to look down again. If these are my last moments, at least the view is stunning.
"Kirk, ye bloody eejit!" Tam's voice grows more desperate. "Can ye reach the ledge to yer left?"
I swing my body, pendulum-like, toward the narrow stone outcropping he's spotted. It's barely wide enough for a bird to perch on, let alone a full-grown Scotsman, but it's all I've got. My fingertips graze the rough stone once, twice---
The rope snaps.
For one heart-stopping moment, I'm in free fall with the wind whistling past my ears.
Then my hand connects with something solid, and I scramble for purchase.
My muscles scream as I haul my body onto the ledge.
The sound of gasps and shouts rises from below, but I'm too busy clinging to the sliver of medieval masonry to respond.
"I'm all right!" I shout, though my voice has grown hoarse.
My heart hammers so hard I swear the ancient stones beneath me vibrate with each beat.
The ledge is narrower than it seemed from above, barely the width of my boots.
I press my back against the cold stone wall, gasping for breath.
The wind tugs at my kilt, reminding me that I'm putting on quite the show for the gathered crowd.
"Don't. Move. A. Muscle." Tam says, his voice imbued with that deadly calm quality it gets whenever he's truly terrified.
Last time I heard him sound that way was when I nearly set fire to his bakery trying to flambé some whisky-soaked scones. I stifle a laugh at the memory despite my predicament. I seem I have a talent for putting myself in mortal danger.
"The rescue team is coming up the north stairwell," Carmen shouts. "Just stay put!"
My chuckle reverberates off the trees. Before my brother can stop me, I take a deep breath and blow it out---then I leap off the ledge. Screams ensue. For pity's sake, everyone is making more of this moment than I do. My feet smack down on the grass, cushioned by the soft, damp soil.
And I raise my arms to shout, "Kirk Balfour has done it again! Defying all the laws of nature!"
Maybe I am laying it on rather thick. The crowd cheers, though, which means I've done my job well.
But now I'm limping. Slightly. Nothing to worry about.
My brothers race up to me.
I grin. "What a bloody amazing stunt, eh?"
Neil grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me, then drags me into a bear hug. "Ye absolute madman! What in the world were ye thinking, ye bod ceann?"
Maybe I am a dickhead, that's irrelevant right now.
"I was thinking this advert needs to go viral." I smirk, crossing my arms while trying not to wince as I put weight on my left ankle. "Nothing sells whisky like a brush with death."
"Nothing sells whisky like staying alive to drink it, ye numpty," Tam growls, his hands clenched into fists. "Ye promised me no more death-defying stunts after the incident with the caber at last year's Highland Games!"
I wave away his concern with a dismissive hand. "That was different. The caber was improperly balanced."
"And the rope was improperly secured," Neil points out.
"You two act like little old women clutching their Zimmer frames." I start walking toward my car, but my brothers catch up to me just as I'm opening the driver's door.
"One of these days," Tam growls, "your luck will run out."
Neil eyes me up and down. "Seems it's running out now. Tam, did ye notice Kirk's limping?"
I wave away my brother's statement, though he's right about that. "I'm heading back to Loch Fairbairn---alone."
Before my brothers can object, I jump onto my bike, racing down the drive with gravel spraying up behind me.
I pull out onto the paved road that will take me to the village of Loch Fairbairn.
Rather than going straight home, I stop in at the café for a wee piece and a dram of Thane Buchanan's best whisky.
I asked for Sensual Secret, naturally. Though many townsfolk insist that the whisky can make a man, or a woman, randy enough that they'll do things they've never tried before.
Och, that's rubbish.
My food arrives shortly, hot and delicious, within ten minutes of me walking into the café.
The whisky does make me feel...pleasantly warm.
I let the amber liquid percolate on my tongue, letting the smoky notes dance across my taste buds before I swallow.
There's a hint of heather and oak, with that distinctive Thane Buchanan finish that lingers like a lover's kiss.
"You're all over social media already," Moira, the café owner, declares while sliding her mobile across the counter to show me.
She wasn't lying. There I am, dangling from Dùndubhan's turret like a demented bat before making that spectacular leap. The video already has thousands of views. The comments range from "total lunatic" to "Scottish Superman" with a healthy sprinkling of marriage proposals thrown in.
"Thane Buchanan's marketing team will be pleased," I say, handing Moira's mobile back to her. "Glad they shifted some whisky."
"And what about that ankle?" Moira asks. "You were limping as you got onto your motorcycle."
"Never mind that. It was only a wee twinge."
She seems less than convinced, shaking her head at me. "Ye take too many extreme risks. Everyone says so."
I slide off my stool and grab my plate and drink. "Think I'll enjoy my meal alone."
Finding a lonely corner of the café, I settle in to eat without any further interruptions or complaints about my lifestyle. Just as I've finished my last bite, a figure catches my attention peripherally. I swivel my head and see...
A bonnie lass. Very bonnie. She has the sort of body that would make any man go hard in an instant.
Her hair cascades in waves of rich mahogany, catching the afternoon light that streams through the café windows.
She's dressed in a crisp white blouse and a pencil skirt that hugs curves in all the right places.
The lass is no local, that's for certain.
I know everyone in Loch Fairbairn, and I'd definitely remember her.
Bod an Donais, I must have that woman.
And if there's one thing Kirk Balfour excels at, it's seducing beautiful lasses.