Chapter 9 #2
“All right.”
I lean against the wall beside her.
Not too close.
Just enough for her to know I’m there.
The silence stretches between us.
It isn’t comfortable, but it isn’t hostile either.
“Does she always do that?” I finally ask.
“Do what?”
“Interrogate you about your love life in front of everyone?”
Mary lets out a humorless laugh.
“Since I was eighteen. She’s convinced I’m going to die alone and get eaten by cats.”
“You have cats?”
“No. But she’s convinced I eventually will. Lots of them.”
The corner of my mouth lifts despite myself.
“She already interrogated me during consultations, you know. About Edinburgh. About why I left.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“The same thing I said tonight.”
“She didn’t believe you.”
“No one believes me.”
Mary turns toward me.
“Why did you really leave?”
For a moment, I lose myself in her gaze.
There’s genuine interest in her eyes.
Nothing invasive.
Nothing malicious.
Just sincere curiosity.
The thought of telling her the truth brushes against my mind, but I immediately shove it away.
I have to remember that in the Highlands, no one is my ally.
Least of all Maggie McGregor’s granddaughter.
“It’s complicated,” I evade.
“It’s always complicated.”
I don’t answer.
She doesn’t push.
Point for her.
“I’m not responsible for Jamie leaving,” she suddenly says. “In case you were wondering.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Liar.”
“All right. Maybe a little.”
She smiles.
A real smile this time.
“He had his reasons, but Maggie prefers imagining romantic drama everywhere.”
“She’s intense.”
“That’s a polite way of putting it.”
We remain there a few more minutes, side by side, watching clouds move across the horizon.
“We should go back inside,” Mary finally says. “Otherwise she’ll send out a search party.”
“Or worse: come herself.”
Mary lets out a small laugh, and the softness of the sound catches me off guard.
“Exactly,” she replies.
We head toward the castle entrance.
Mary stops on the threshold.
She looks like she wants to say something, then changes her mind.
She studies me for one second longer, as though trying to understand something.
Then she shakes her head and pushes open the door.
I follow her, fully aware that this evening is far from over.
Dinner is served in the grand dining room.
The table could easily seat twenty people, but there are only ten of us.
Maggie sits at the head of the table, naturally.
I end up seated between Mary and Lachlan, directly across from Keira, who watches me with undisguised curiosity.
The food arrives: vegetable soup to start, followed by roasted salmon with potatoes, all prepared by the castle cook, Mrs. Finley, whose culinary talents are, I must admit, remarkable.
“So, Doctor,” Keira says while passing me the butter, “have you met the twins yet?”
“The twins?”
“Cameron and Connor. Our cousins. They’re twenty-three and possess an impressive talent for making people uncomfortable.”
“They’re not that bad,” Mary protests.
“Yes, they are,” Callum counters. “Remember what they did to Lachlan when he started dating Emma.”
“I’d rather not think about it,” Lachlan mutters.
“What did they do?” I ask despite myself.
“They tested him,” Emma explains, adding air quotes. “To see whether he was truly in love.”
“And?”
“I survived. Barely.”
“They’re coming for the Highland Games,” Maggie announces with a smile that makes me want to flee the country immediately. “I’m sure they’ll be delighted to meet you, Doctor McLeod.”
Wonderful.
Exactly what I needed.
Two young McGregors determined to make my life miserable.
“I’m looking forward to it,” I lie.
Mary coughs into her napkin.
I’m fairly certain she’s hiding laughter.
The rest of dinner proceeds in relative peace.
People ask me questions about Edinburgh, my studies, my professional experience.
I answer with the bare minimum of detail required.
Then, right as dessert arrives—a heavenly-smelling apple crumble—the dining room door suddenly swings open.
Ragnar trots inside, closely followed by Hamish.
Ragnar scans the room, spots me, and marches straight toward me with fierce determination.
“Oh no,” Mary murmurs.
Ragnar settles at my feet, rests his head on my shoe, and lets out a contented sigh.
Everyone stares at me.
“The animals like you,” Maggie observes with satisfaction. “That’s a good sign.”
“Not animals. Just this sheep,” I correct. “And I have no idea why.”
“Ragnar is difficult,” Alistair says. “He doesn’t get attached to anyone. The fact that he chose you…”
He lets the sentence trail off, but the implication is obvious:
If Ragnar likes me, I can’t be entirely terrible.
Meanwhile, Hamish watches from the doorway.
He looks at Ragnar.
Then at me.
Then at Mary.
Then back at Ragnar.
And finally lets out a bleat that sounds suspiciously like mocking laughter.
“What’s wrong with him?” I ask.
“No idea,” Mary replies. “But Hamish always looks like he knows something we don’t.”
“Jamison?” Maggie calls.
“Yes, madam.”
“Please remove Hamish.”
“Very good, madam.”
While the butler attempts to usher the sheep outside, Hamish keeps throwing offended looks at Ragnar.
Ragnar stubbornly refuses to move.
When Jamison finally succeeds in getting Hamish out and it becomes obvious Ragnar isn’t going anywhere, Maggie intervenes.
“Leave him, Jamison.”
Then she adds toward the sheep:
“But one suspicious move and you’re out.”
Only when I finally stand to leave does Ragnar deign to exit the dining room.
“He really likes you,” Mary comments as we leave the castle together.
“Apparently.”
“That’s rare. Ragnar hates everyone. Except you.”
“How lucky for me.”
She smiles.
“You handled my family well tonight.”
“I survived. That’s different.”
“In this family, it’s the same thing.”
“You know she’s manipulating us, right?”
The abrupt subject change catches me off guard.
“Excuse me?”
“My grandmother,” she clarifies. “She’s manipulating us. You and me. This dinner. The cohabitation. None of this is accidental.”
I frown.
“What do you mean?”
“Mary?”
Maggie’s voice carries from somewhere behind us.
“I have to go back. We’ll talk about this another time,” Mary replies, glancing over her shoulder toward the castle.
She looks back at me and shakes her head.
Her ponytail sways behind her.
“My grandmother is going to be the death of me… Good night, Doctor McLeod.”
“Finn,” I correct.
Her smile creates a slight dimple in her left cheek.
“Good night, Finn.”