Chapter 9
FINN
The McGregor Tribunal
(Or How to Try Saving Your Own Skin)
“You’ll be dining with us tonight at seven o’clock, Doctor. The entire family will be delighted to meet you.”
This morning, Maggie McGregor somehow managed to make a simple dinner invitation sound like a court summons.
There was no question in her sentence, no room for a polite refusal, just an order disguised as Scottish politeness.
I should’ve refused.
Or invented a medical emergency.
Anything would’ve been better than facing yet another public tribunal I already know I won’t walk away from unscathed.
But Maggie McGregor isn’t the kind of woman people say no to.
Especially when she’s housing you for free in one of her castle cottages.
I heard myself reply politely:
“You can count on me.”
Then I fled.
Which is how I end up standing in front of the castle doors at six fifty-eight, wearing the only decent sweater I own that’s neither stained nor wrinkled, wondering exactly how I’m supposed to survive this evening.
The rain has finally stopped, replaced by threatening skies.
Even Scottish weather enjoys maintaining suspense.
I knock on the door.
Jamison opens it before I even have time to lower my hand.
“Doctor McLeod. You’re punctual. Mrs. McGregor will appreciate that.”
He says it as though being on time is some rare and precious quality.
Which, in the Highlands, might actually be true.
“Good evening, Jamison.”
He takes my coat with one fluid movement and guides me toward the drawing room, where voices and laughter spill out.
A lot of voices.
And a lot of laughter.
I pause in the doorway long enough to assess the situation.
The room is packed.
Entirely full of McGregors.
Maggie reigns from an armchair near the fireplace, looking like a queen observing her loyal subjects.
To her right sits a couple in their thirties: him tall and dark-haired; her chestnut-haired with a warm smile and several months pregnant.
On the couch sits another couple: fiery auburn hair for her, an impressive build for him.
In an armchair by the window, another couple speaks quietly together.
And then there’s Mary.
She’s perched on the armrest of Maggie’s chair, wineglass in hand, laughing at something someone just said.
She’s wearing a dark green sweater that makes her auburn hair stand out.
She looks relaxed.
Everything I’m not.
“Ah! Doctor McLeod!” Maggie exclaims when she notices me. “Come in, come in!”
Every head turns toward me.
Fantastic.
I walk into the room with all the enthusiasm of a condemned man heading toward the gallows.
“Good evening.”
“Good evening,” the tall brunet replies, standing to shake my hand. “Callum McGregor. Nice to finally meet you.”
His handshake is firm.
The kind of handshake that says I’m evaluating you and will decide afterward whether you’re trustworthy.
“Finn McLeod.”
“And this is my wife, Jane.”
Jane rises with difficulty, one hand resting on her rounded stomach.
“You don’t need to stand,” I say automatically.
“I’m not sick, Doctor,” she replies with an amused smile. “Just pregnant. There’s a difference.”
I feel my ears heat slightly.
“Of course. Sorry.”
“I’m Keira McKenzie,” the auburn-haired woman says from the couch. “And this is my husband, Alistair. Owner of the McKenzie distillery.”
“Pleasure to meet you.”
“Lachlan McGregor,” says the last man. “And this is my wife, Emma. She owns the village dry cleaner’s.”
“Hello.”
Emma gives me a little wave.
Her smile is sincere.
Warm.
The kind of smile that immediately puts people at ease.
“And of course, you already know Mary,” Maggie says with a smile dangerously reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat.
Mary lifts her wineglass toward me.
“My new roommate. Who knew Grandma’s cottages were so popular?”
Her tone is light, teasing, but there’s something in her eyes suggesting she’s not entirely comfortable with the situation either.
“Sit down, Doctor,” Maggie orders, pointing toward the only empty armchair. “Right there beside Mary. Jamison will bring you a drink.”
I sit.
The armchair is comfortable.
The kind of seat you sink into and can’t easily escape afterward.
Jamison appears with a glass of Scotch, which I accept gratefully.
“So, Doctor McLeod,” Callum begins as he sits back down, “how are you finding Glenfield?”
Trapped by the very first question.
If I tell the truth—that the village hates me, that everyone compares me to a saint currently sunbathing on a beach somewhere, and that I was formally evicted from my bed and breakfast this morning—I’ll look pathetic.
If I lie—the village is charming, the locals welcoming, I already feel at home—I won’t fool anyone.
“It’s… different from Edinburgh,” I answer evasively.
I take a sip of whisky, satisfied with my diplomatic response: neutral and impossible to attack.
“Different how?” Lachlan asks with what seems like genuine curiosity.
“Smaller. More intimate.”
Mary coughs into her wineglass.
I glance sideways at her.
She’s smirking.
“That’s a polite way of saying everyone’s involved in everyone else’s business,” she translates.
“Exactly.”
“That’s the charm of the Highlands,” Alistair says. “Community. People helping one another.”
Helping one another.
Right.
Like when six people gather at seven in the morning to vote on your eviction.
I clear my throat.
“Indeed.”
“And how’s your integration going?” Keira asks. “Are the patients accepting you?”
She’s direct.
Normally, I appreciate that.
Not tonight.
“It’s a process that takes time.”
Which is a generous euphemism for not at all.
“McKinnon was very loved,” Jane says softly. “His departure was a shock for many people.”
Even here, in this room, his shadow hangs over me.
“Yes, that’s been made very clear to me.”
I’m aware I sound guarded.
Maybe even defensive.
An uncomfortable silence settles in.
Maggie breaks it with the subtlety of a jackhammer.
“Mary’s also having trouble taking over the clinic after Jamie Fraser’s sudden departure. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”
Beside me, Mary visibly stiffens.
“Grandma…”
“Jamie was so devoted,” Maggie continues as though she heard nothing. “Always available. Always smiling. The animals adored him. And then one day, he simply left. No explanation.”
“He had his reasons,” Mary says in a tone clearly indicating the subject is closed.
Maggie ignores her.
“It was strange, though. A handsome, competent, single young man suddenly leaving a stable position in a charming village. Everyone had questions.”
“The heart wants what it wants,” Keira comments quietly.
Not quietly enough to go unnoticed.
I feel the tension rising in Mary.
Her fingers tighten slightly around her glass.
“Maybe he simply wanted something else,” I suggest.
Every head turns toward me.
I spoke without thinking.
Tactical error.
“Something else?” Maggie repeats with sudden interest.
“A change. A new opportunity. Some people need to move on.”
Or move very far away from home to start over…
“Like you?” she asks with a smile far too innocent to be genuine.
I feel trapped again.
“In a way.”
“And what made you leave Edinburgh, Doctor McLeod? You worked at a major hospital, your career was promising… why give all that up for a small rural practice?”
The words lodge in my throat.
I can’t tell the truth.
Not here.
Not now.
Not in front of strangers already judging me.
“I needed a change of pace.”
“Hm,” Maggie hums.
That single sound contains a remarkable amount of polite disbelief.
“And you, Mary,” suddenly interjects Isobel, Callum and Keira’s mother, whom I hadn’t noticed sitting near the bookshelves. “When are you finally going to introduce someone to us? You haven’t decided to become an old maid, I hope?”
Mary nearly chokes on her wine.
“Mom!” Keira protests.
“What? It’s a legitimate question. At your age, I was already married with two children.”
“Times have changed, Aunt Isobel,” Lachlan says with amusement.
“Not that much,” she shoots back. “Jane and Callum. Keira and Alistair. Emma and you. Everyone found someone. Except Mary.”
“I’m perfectly fine on my own, thank you,” Mary replies tightly.
“Of course, of course,” Maggie says soothingly, though the tone sounds entirely fake. “But you must admit it would be nice to have someone to share your life with. Someone who understands you.”
I feel like I should intervene.
Say something.
Anything to redirect attention.
But what exactly can I say?
I don’t know Mary.
I don’t know anyone here.
“And Jamie?” Maggie suddenly asks, like a cat toying with a mouse. “There wasn’t something between the two of you?”
Mary turns very pale.
Then very red.
“No.”
“Really?” Maggie presses. “Because Moira MacTavish told me she saw you together at the pub several times.”
“Moira MacTavish should mind her own business,” Mary mutters.
Amen to that.
I take a long drink from my glass.
“It’s just that it would explain his sudden departure,” Maggie continues as though thinking out loud. “A broken heart, perhaps?”
“Grandma, enough,” Callum says firmly.
Maggie tilts her head innocently.
“I’m only asking questions. Curiosity isn’t a crime, as far as I know. It’s perfectly natural for me to worry about my granddaughter.”
“I’m going outside,” Mary announces abruptly, standing up.
She leaves the drawing room before anyone can protest.
An awkward silence settles over the room.
Everyone avoids looking at Maggie, who sips her drink with obvious satisfaction.
“Well then,” she finally says. “Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes. Jamison, would you go fetch Mary?”
“I’ll go,” I hear myself say.
Why did I say that?
Maggie looks at me with a smile that seems dangerously satisfied.
“How thoughtful of you, Doctor McLeod.”
I stand and leave the room, fully aware that eight pairs of eyes are following me to the door.
I find Mary outside, leaning against the castle wall, arms crossed, staring at the horizon as though trying to make it disappear through sheer force of will.
“Do you want to talk about what just happened?” I ask as I approach.
“No.”