Chapter 8
We pass a paddock with a wire fence. On the other side are some of the cutest creatures I’ve ever seen—the same Highland cows
that made up the knockers on Margaret MacIntyre’s front door.
“Oh my god, these cows. I’ve never seen one in real life,” I coo, approaching the fence. They’re a brown so warm they’re almost orange. Their horns
are on the dramatic side, but I don’t mind. The best thing about these babies is they have amazing uneven bangs hanging over
their eyes. “Do you ever want to pull their hair up and put it in a bow so they can see better?”
“Now you’re really stalling.” Finn drags me away from the cows toward the stables. “Why aren’t cows scary? They’re big.”
“Those babies are gentle, I can tell. Besides, I’m not trying to hop on one. I just want to style their hair.”
“If you get on a horse today, I promise to let you style the cows all you want.”
“How about if I just watch you ride a horse and cheer you on?”
“Rosie is very sweet. Not scary at all.”
“Anything that can kill you by stepping on you is scary,” I shoot back. “What time is it anyway? Isn’t it too late to go riding?
Probably the horses want to go to bed soon.”
“So thoughtful of you to worry about Rosie’s bedtime,” Finn says wryly, “but we have at least two more hours of broad daylight.”
“Are you sure?” I stop walking and pull out my phone. “I should slowly google it and find out.” But when my screen lights
up, I see a text from Gigi.
I know you’re avoiding me, but I still can’t believe you left for Scotland without even talking to me.
My hand is shaking as I darken the screen and put my phone back in my small crossbody bag.
Finn stares at me questioningly but thankfully doesn’t say a word.
We start walking again. We’re so close, I can hear the horses now.
The smell of hay fills my nostrils as we approach the stables.
The structure is made from the same light gray granite ashlar as the rest of the castle.
Outside, tied up, is an adorable spotted gray pony not much bigger than a golden retriever, contentedly chewing on some hay.
“Please tell me I get to ride that one.”
“You don’t.”
While Finn chats amiably with the stable hand and tells him to go enjoy a break, my fear grows and the text from Gigi plays
on repeat in my head. I know you’re avoiding me, but I still can’t believe you left for Scotland without even talking to me. I squeeze my eyes shut, shame and fury lighting up behind my lids. Life is unfair. Everything is unfair. And I don’t want
to ride a stupid horse.
Finn returns to me and we’re alone.
“Why do you get to make all the rules?” I say, crossing my arms. It’s immature, but I don’t care. I’m pissed. About everything. And now
that two-thousand-pound animals are involved, we’re going to talk about it.
“I beg your pardon?” Finn says, clearly bewildered by my sudden shift in tone.
“I know you think I’m over what you did, but I’m not. Maybe you didn’t need to tell me who you were at the pub—not when I
figured we’d never see each other again. But the next day?” I say, “That next day when you came by and told me you ‘had connections’
at the castle and could get me a job? Not telling me then was a real dick move.”
“I know.” He certainly doesn’t sound repentant. “Is this really what you’re upset about?”
I know you’re avoiding me, but I still can’t believe you left for Scotland without even talking to me.
“What are you talking about? Of course I’m upset about it,” I snap. “I’m also upset that Margaret, the woman who was my hero and the person I planned my summer and my life around ‘buggered off,’ as you Brits say, with some dude to another country. That is so messed up.”
“It is.” He’s not arguing with me, he’s agreeing with me, and it’s only making me feel worse.
“And now you’re going to make me ride a horse,” I cry. “You’re keeping me here for your own amusement and this will amuse you.”
“I—”
“That’s what this is, isn’t it?” The idea is becoming clearer to me. Saying it out loud makes it ring true. And it really
is coming out loud. “You invited me here to either sleep with me or to laugh at me. Well, both scenarios suck for me!”
It takes Finn a moment to recover from my tirade. When he does, he clears his throat. “First of all, if we had sex, I can
promise it would not suck for you. Not unless that’s what you requested,” he adds with a wink.
I let out a frustrated growl and whip around to walk back to my cottage, but he takes me by the arm and spins me back to face
him.
“Did it occur to you,” he says, his voice suddenly weary, “that I invited you here because I’m desperately and pathetically
lonely?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.
“Yes, I know,” he says, throwing his head back.
“The poor little prince has no one to play with. Well, that author may have ‘buggered off’ on you, but my entire family buggered off on me as a punishment. I humiliated them in the press and so they put me in a time-out here while they’re all spending weeks together in the South of France, pretending I don’t exist. We can debate whether I deserve the treatment, it’s still—”
“What about your friends?” I interrupt him because I’m starting to feel an inkling of pity, and I don’t want to. “Callum and
Mhairi and Bethany? They’re here for you.”
“Oh yes, they love having to babysit me. They love spending their twenties running from camera-happy people and paparazzi—who
are not technically people, by the way.” He takes a breath. “They love hiding in their summer flat in Edinburgh with me, getting
drunk in a living room instead of going out dancing. The other night, whilst hiding in the flat, we turned on the television
and played a game called ‘Anytime something happens, take a drink.’ Thrilling it was not.”
I remember how excited the three of them got when a song they liked came on at the pub, how happy they seemed just to be out.
Didn’t Mhairi say something about wanting the chance to finally hook up with someone? Clearly I’m not the only one whose summer
plans were derailed.
“They seem to really care about you, though,” I point out. “They wouldn’t do all that if they didn’t love you.”
“You’re right. They’ve sacrificed a lot for me during the course of our friendship, and right now I’m repaying them by doing what I’m supposed to: staying at Inveresk full-time.”
“You weren’t supposed to be in Edinburgh at all,” I say, putting everything together. That’s why they all freaked out when
someone tried to take a picture of Finn—not necessarily because he was getting into trouble, but because he was off castle
grounds.
“I wasn’t. Now I’m back here, behaving myself, which gives Bethany, Callum, and Mhairi time to actually enjoy their youth—something
I’m forbidden from doing.”
“Oh.” It isn’t enough, but I don’t know what else to say while I’m still processing everything.
The atmosphere begins to thaw as I look at things from his perspective. Most people get to make stupid choices in their youth
and not have those choices plastered on papers and the internet for the entire world to judge. Most people get to move through
the world without moving under a spotlight. It’s not like Finn chose any of this—he was born into it.
“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” I say, then add, “even if what I said was valid.”
There’s a pause. “I wasn’t trying to use you for my own entertainment,” Finn says quietly.
“I just didn’t want to be here by myself, and you needed a job.
The arrangement seemed to be beneficial for both of us.
” He sighs. “If this job isn’t the right fit, if you don’t want to spend the summer at Inveresk—or if you feel you should be back in America—I can help with travel arrangements. ”
I’ve made plenty of assumptions about Finn, but they’ve largely been based on media headlines. I’m starting to see there’s
more going on underneath the surface of his party boy facade.
“I don’t want to leave the castle or the job,” I tell him. Not just yet anyway. “But I do want to leave these stables. So. Good talk.”
“Not so fast, coward. Before you go, at least come and meet Rosie.”
Meeting a horse is much different than jumping on her back and galloping to my doom. It’s an interesting compromise.
“Rosie’s currently tied up? She can’t trample me?”
“Rosie would never trample you,” Finn promises. “She’s in her stall anyway.”
My curiosity gets the better of me and I follow him inside. The smell of horses and hay becomes overpowering, though not in
an unpleasant way. Stalls line each side of the narrow walkway, each affixed with a brass plaque bearing the occupant’s name.
Chester. Frodo. Wellington. As we pass, a few curious heads emerge to watch us, or even try to nuzzle our arms. I keep mine
firmly affixed to my sides.
As we approach Rosie’s stall, she extends her neck over the top and whickers in greeting. It’s almost—almost—kinda cute. “Hello there, gorgeous girl,” Finn murmurs, scratching her behind the ears. She closes her eyes and stretches
forward, as if guiding him to a particularly itchy spot.
Her coat is copper, nearly the same color as Finn’s hair, and there’s a strip of white down her nose that matches the stripes
on her legs I can just glimpse through the bars. She looks like she’s wearing knee socks.
“She’s very pretty,” I admit. “For a potential murderer.”
At the sound of my voice, Rosie’s head turns. Her eyes are large and dark and captivating. I swear she sees all the way through
me.
“You can pet her,” Finn says. “She’s gentle, I promise.”
I lift up a hand and tentatively stroke her nose.
Finn chuckles. “You’re petting the air, American Hannah. You’ll have to get a bit closer than that.”
Rosie’s holding very still, and I swear she nods at me in encouragement. I take half a step closer and reach my hand out farther
until it connects with her velvety muzzle. She pushes her nose up into my hand and I immediately pull away.