Chapter 14
Sage woke to pale sunlight filtering through the curtains. She stretched, yawning as joints popped and the burn in her stomach reminded her that she hadn't eaten since she'd stepped off the train.
A quick shower later, she was ready in a pair of dark leggings, a rustic knit sweater, and extra pads in her bag.
She grimaced as she swallowed more painkillers and muttered under her breath about how she would probably develop an ulcer if she didn't put food in her stomach soon. She packed her tote—kindle, purse, mobile, charger, and a few dozen other things that had disappeared in there over the months including David’s lost earpods—and glanced at the clock. Nine a.m.
Downstairs, the blonde receptionist greeted her with the same dazzling smile and pointed her towards the dining room. "Breakfas' is still bein' served. Help yerself"
The dining room turned out to be a converted ballroom; a chandelier, dulled by time but still magnificent, hung from its high ceiling. A brass plaque on the mantel announced its former glory. At the far end, a bar gleamed faintly in the morning light, waiting for evening customers.
No sign of Ms. Goth—Blair. Sage collected a plate, eyeing the spread of eggs, beans, bacon, sausage. Toast felt the safest. She stacked two slices and reached for butter—
"No haggis?" a voice rumbled from behind her.
She looked up and up. Euan stood there, looming, easily six-foot-three, if not taller.
She forced a smile. "Maybe later," she said, then gagged a little to herself at the thought. "On second thought, probably never."
One dark brow rose, but he said nothing, simply reached past her and loaded eggs, sausage, and a generous helping of haggis onto his plate.
Then, as though it were decided mutually, he carried both their trays to a table by the window and gave her a look over his shoulder. "Well? Ye're sittin' here."
It didn't sound like a request.
Sage muttered under her breath, "Since you said please," but followed, perching opposite him.
She focused on her toast while he dug in with obvious relish, every mouthful of haggis savoured like it was a delicacy.
She tried not to watch him, but she couldn't help noticing the satisfied way his jaw worked, the faint sound of appreciation he made when he chewed.
She looked back down at her eggs, suddenly queasy. Fruit. She should have stuck to fruit.
Unable to stop herself, she blurted, "You do realise that's...sheep offal, right?"
Euan didn't even pause, just forked another mouthful and raised a brow. "Aye. And?"
"And you're eating it like it's crème br?lée." She gagged a little, chasing her eggs around her plate with her fork. "Honestly, I don't know how anyone gets that down voluntarily."
He gave a low chuckle, the sound rough but amused. "That's because ye've never had it done right. Folk think haggis is just guts, but it's oats, spice, pepper...proper food. Keeps ye alive in the cold; that's what Gran always said."
"Mm-hmm." She wrinkled her nose. "I'll take toast and maybe a banana, thanks. At least those don't look like they belong in an autopsy report."
His mouth curved, not quite a smile but close. "Ye'd last maybe five minutes north of Perth, lass. Five."
She leaned back, raising her brows. "Then it's a good thing I wasn't planning to move to Perth, isn't it?"
For a moment, their eyes caught across the table, his blue glinting with challenge, her soft greys with stubborn defiance, and she felt an unfamiliar zing of attraction. Then he went back to his haggis, clearly enjoying himself all the more for her discomfort.
Sage focused grimly on her toast, determined not to gag as she chewed.
Breakfast ended much the same way it began, like a fencing match.
Euan had a talent to turn any conversation into a fencing match.
Every word between them seemed edged because neither quite wanted to concede ground.
It was a novel experience for Sage who always ended up conceding to Ronin and later to David.
When she pushed her empty plate away, Euan leaned back in his chair. "I've a couple of rooms I rent out in my place in town," he said casually, like he was mentioning the weather.
Her eyes widened. "You? No thanks. I'll look around."
He only shrugged, clearly unbothered, and went back to his coffee.
It took her the rest of the day to admit defeat.
She wandered the streets of Pitlochry, asking at inns and B there was an unspoken awareness between them, a quiet that needed no filling.
They passed beneath the shadow of the town clock tower, old stone buildings dark with age and rain, and then crossed the ancient bridge that spanned the river, its weathered arches reflected in the current below.
Beyond, the road curved through a stretch of woodlands, the trunks rising tall and close, dappling the light across the bonnet of the car.
Everything was green—lush, alive with a touch of autumn, as though the Highlands had wrapped themselves around her.
When the car finally turned up the long,winding drive, Sage caught her first clear view of Euan's house.
The lodge-style house stood against the backdrop of the hills, timbered and modern, yet softened by the sweep of the land around it.
Behind, the woodland climbed in dark green tiers, while the River Tummel glimmered close enough for its song to be carried on the breeze.
Two caravans sat tucked near the trees, pale against the shadow of the pines, as if waiting for summer visitors or storms that might force them into use.
The garden stretched wide and open, the shrubs bending in the wind, their reflections wavering in the still mirror of the pond.
The whole place had an untamed beauty to it, the house not so much dominating the land as belonging to it.
Sage felt the peace seep into her chest as Euan pulled the car to a stop.
Inside, he showed her to a self-contained space—a small bedroom with an attached bath, and a neat little sitting room. It had its own entry, separate from the rest of the house. It was more comfortable than anywhere she'd seen all day.
"Wi-Fi password's there," he said, tapping a slip of paper tacked under a shelf. "Kitchen's yours to use. Och, just so ye’re no’ losin’ sleep, the lad by the low wall’s a polisman. Yer honour’s safe…"
She nodded, wondering what possessed her to go off into the unknown with a man she just met yesterday. "You didn't say how much this was going to cost me."
He told her, and her eyes widened again. Fifty pounds less than the last place, and there weren’t too many curious neighbours about. Of course, she didn't know if Euan was a serial killer hiding behind a pretty face. And all she felt about that was, Oh well, time will tell.
"Do you want to have lunch with me?" he asked abruptly.
Suspicion flickered again. "That included in the rent?"
He gave a grunt that might have been amusement. "If ye make dinner, I'll make lunch."
"Fine."