Chapter 23
FINN
The Organized Apocalypse
(Or How Ragnar and I Discovered We Share the Same Opinions About Certain People)
There’s only one way to describe what’s happening this morning at McGregor Castle:
The apocalypse.
It started before dawn with noise.
Gone are the birdsong and peaceful Highland silence I’d started getting used to. No. Now there’s only the sound of engines, slamming car doors, shouting voices, and—because apparently the universe hates me—a bagpipe.
This entire circus started at five in the morning.
While drinking my coffee, I stare out the kitchen window at the endless stream of cars and seriously wonder if it’s too late to flee back to Edinburgh.
Then I remember that’s exactly what I always do.
Run.
I set my mug in the sink with a sigh and decide to go outside.
The moment I step out, chaos slams into me.
Cars have invaded every inch of the castle grounds, parked across every available patch of grass. Men in kilts unload clan banners I’ve never seen before. Women carry coolers and crates of supplies. Children sprint around screaming at the top of their lungs.
And in the middle of all of it, Hamish trots proudly past with a floral garland hanging from his mouth.
“No, no, no!” Fergus, one of the castle employees, yells while chasing after him. “Those flowers cost a fortune!”
Hamish speeds up, clearly delighted with himself.
I shut the door again.
Too late.
Someone knocks immediately.
I open it to find Jamison standing there, immaculate as always despite the surrounding disaster, a walkie-talkie in hand.
“Dr. McLeod. Mrs. McGregor requires your immediate presence.”
“I’m supposed to supervise the medical station, not—”
“The medical station won’t open until nine. Until then, we require all available hands.”
He hands me the walkie-talkie with a smile that isn’t really a smile.
“Welcome to the Highland Games, Doctor.”
Thirty minutes later, I still haven’t managed to fight my way through the human tidal wave to reach the castle, and instead I’m hauling metal barricades across the grounds.
Around me, men twice my size lift the same barricades like they weigh three pounds. I’m already sweating.
“A little farther left!” someone I don’t know shouts.
I shove the barrier.
It doesn’t move.
“Left!” the voice repeats.
“That is what I’m doing,” I growl through clenched teeth.
A guy wearing a red-and-black kilt strolls over, grabs the other end of the barricade, and shifts it effortlessly with one hand.
“Like that,” he says with a patronizing smile.
I turn, searching for Mary.
She’s supposed to be managing the animal pens somewhere on the east side of the estate, but spotting her in this crowd is impossible.
The castle is crawling with McGregors I don’t recognize, rival clans yelling cheerful insults at each other in Gaelic, and musicians tuning bagpipes at deafening volume.
This is hell.
Or at least a loud, folkloric version of hell.
“Dr. McLeod!”
I turn around.
Maggie McGregor cuts through the crowd with her cane, smiling like a queen surveying her kingdom. She’s wearing a shawl in McGregor tartan colors and an antique brooch that glitters in the morning light.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” she says, gesturing proudly toward the organized chaos.
“It’s… uh, yes, I suppose.”
She laughs.
“Don’t look so horrified, my boy. The Highland Games are sacred. Tradition, honor, community.”
“And a tremendous amount of noise.”
“Obviously. How else are you supposed to honor your ancestors?”
She pats my arm affectionately.
“I need you helping direct incoming cars. Some of these idiots are parking in front of the stables and blocking everything.”
“I’m a doctor, not a traffic officer.”
“Today, you are whatever we need you to be.”
She walks away before I can argue, leaving behind the scent of lavender and absolute authority.
For the next two hours, I effectively become a traffic cop.
I direct SUVs toward improvised parking lots, explain to lost tourists where the bathrooms are, and stop Hamish from devouring the remaining floral decorations.
“Drop it!” I order while trying to tug a rose from his mouth.
He stares at me with blatant defiance and chews harder.
“Hamish!”
He swallows.
“You are insufferable.”
He bleats proudly, then trots toward another flower arrangement.
I sigh.
Even the sheep are challenging me now.
I run into Cameron and Connor unloading beer barrels with suspicious efficiency.
“Finn!” Cameron calls, waving me over. “Come help!”
“I’m supposed to—”
“Come on, we need muscle.”
Connor snorts.
“Well. Relatively speaking.”
I glare at them but walk over anyway.
The barrel weighs a damn ton. We somehow wrestle it toward Ewan’s temporary pub tent.
“Seen Mary?” I ask as casually as possible.
The twins exchange a look.
“She’s swamped over by the animal pens,” Cameron replies. “Why? Worried?”
“No. Just asking.”
“Sure,” Connor says with a knowing grin.
I leave them to their setup.
By noon, I still haven’t seen Mary.
The castle grounds continue filling with people. Entire clans are setting up makeshift camps across the estate. Children race between tents while bagpipes echo nonstop, somehow forming a cacophony that’s not entirely unpleasant.
I collapse beside the stables in the shade of a stone wall and close my eyes.
Just two minutes of peace.
That’s all I want.
I think I drift off because suddenly I wake to the feeling of something beside me.
I open my eyes.
Ragnar has curled up against my leg like some oversized woolly guard dog, apparently standing watch.
Then laughter catches my attention.
Bright.
Joyful.
Familiar.
Mary.
I turn my head.
She’s standing about twenty yards away near the paddock entrance.
And she isn’t alone.
A man is hugging her.
Tall. Athletic. Dark hair. Blinding smile. His sleeves are rolled to the elbows, and his jeans look criminally well-fitted. He says something I can’t hear, and Mary laughs again.
That laugh.
The one I haven’t heard in days.
Not since the catastrophic dinner with her family. Not since everything between us became complicated.
Something twists violently in my chest.
Something ugly and irrational.
“Who the hell is that?” I mutter.
“Jamie MacNeil. The village’s old vet.”
I hadn’t even realized Ewan had approached carrying two crates of beer.
My stomach tightens.
“The old vet,” I repeat.
“Yeah. Ran the clinic before Mary. Left six months ago. Nobody really knows why.”
Ewan watches me curiously.
“You didn’t know he was coming back for the Games?”
“No.”
Why would I know the former village veterinarian was returning home?
Ewan shrugs.
“Well, gotta go.”
He walks off, leaving me alone with Ragnar and a jealousy I absolutely refuse to acknowledge.
I stare at Jamie MacNeil.
His hand is still resting on Mary’s shoulder.
The touch is familiar. Comfortable.
Intimate.
Ragnar lets out a deeply disapproving bleat.
“You hate him too, huh?” I mutter.
The sheep looks at me with what feels suspiciously like masculine solidarity.
I should leave.
Go check the medical station. Inventory supplies. Do something useful.
Instead, I stay where I am and keep watching them.
Jamie and Mary start walking toward the stables.
Toward me.
They’re so busy talking and laughing they don’t notice me hidden in the shadows against the stone wall.
“It’s honestly impressive what you’ve done with the clinic,” Jamie says. “In such a short time.”
“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” Mary reminds him. “You disappeared without warning.”
There’s accusation in her voice.
But something else too.
Disappointment?
Sadness?
Jamie runs a hand through his hair.
“I know. It was… complicated.”
“Complicated?”
“I’ll explain. I promise. But right now…”
He stops only a few feet away from me.
I hold my breath.
“I missed you. A lot.”
The silence after those words crashes through my skull.
I can’t see Mary’s face.
And I don’t want to know what she says back.
I walk away quietly like a coward, Ragnar following close behind me.
I wander aimlessly through the crowd while my brain replays his words over and over.
I missed you.
What the hell does that mean?
And more importantly—
What did Mary answer?
Did she miss him too?
I have no right to be jealous.
Our relationship is fake. Just an arrangement. A lie to satisfy Maggie and help me integrate into village life.
Nothing more.
So why do I suddenly want to march back there and—
No.
I clench my fists and inhale deeply.
I’m a doctor.
I know how to stay rational and professional.
I do not fight over women like some pathetic romance novel hero.
Even if this woman makes my heart race faster than it should.
Even if I miss her laugh when I don’t hear it.
Even if the idea of losing her terrifies me more than any medical emergency ever has.
Even if I told her the truth:
I can’t keep pretending anymore.
“Dr. McLeod!”
I look up.
Jamison strides toward me, his walkie-talkie crackling.
“Is your medical station operational?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Excellent. We’ll need you this afternoon. Trial events begin in an hour.”
He hands me a paper covered in schedules and notes.
“Familiarize yourself with the program. And remain available.”
Then he disappears again.
I glance at the schedule.
Hammer throw. Caber toss. Tug-of-war. Other delightful opportunities for people to injure themselves in spectacularly stupid ways.
Surprisingly, the afternoon passes in a blur of minor medical issues.
A sprained ankle. Sunburn. A kid who got his finger stuck in a gate.
Nothing serious.
Nothing demanding my full attention.
Which leaves far too much room for my brain to think about Mary.
And Jamie MacNeil.
I haven’t seen either of them since this morning.
I don’t know where they are.
What they’re doing.
What they’re saying to each other.
And I hate it.
Ragnar stays near the medical tent the entire afternoon, stretched out in the shade like a loyal bodyguard.
“At least you’re on my side.”
He bleats in response, which could mean absolutely anything.
Around four o’clock, while I’m packing supplies after treating a minor burn, a figure appears beneath the tent.
Mary.
She’s breathless, dusty, hair falling out of her ponytail.
She’s beautiful.
“Finn. We need to talk.”
My heart jumps.
Then immediately crashes.
“About what?”
She exhales slowly.
“Finn, listen…”
A sharp scream cuts her off.
It comes from the training arena.
I grab my medical bag before I even think.
Mary takes off running, and I follow.
Chaos erupts inside the arena.
A man is lying on the ground surrounded by a crowd. A throwing hammer rests several feet away, its handle split in half.
“Move!” I shout, pushing through the people.
The man is conscious but groaning in pain.
His left arm bends at an angle arms should never bend.
Fracture.
I kneel and assess quickly.
No external bleeding. No visible bone through the skin.
Closed fracture. Probably radius and ulna.
“Don’t move,” I order. “What’s your name?”
“Dylan.”
“Okay, Dylan. I’m Finn. I’m a doctor. I’m going to take care of you.”
I pull out supplies.
Splint. Bandages. Pain medication.
Mary kneels beside me.
“What happened?” she asks the crowd.
“The hammer handle snapped during the throw,” someone answers. “He lost his balance.”
“We need to stabilize the arm before moving him,” I say.
She nods.
“How can I help?”
“Hold his shoulder. Gently.”
She obeys immediately.
Our hands brush as I position the splint.
I focus on my patient.
Not on the warmth of her closeness.
Not on how naturally we work together.
I need to stay professional.
Detached.
“You’re gonna be okay, Dylan,” I assure him while securing the splint. “We’ll get you to the hospital for X-rays.”
“The Games…”
“Forget the Games this year. Your arm needs rest.”
Jamison appears with a phone pressed to his ear, already calling an ambulance.
I stay with Dylan until it arrives.
Mary stays too.
Neither of us speaks.
The ambulance finally leaves with Dylan and his wife.
The crowd disperses.
The sun begins sinking lower across the Highlands. The official Games begin tomorrow, but the excitement already hums through the air.
Mary stands a few feet away from me.
She opens her mouth to speak when Jamie suddenly appears.
“Mary, I need your help. One of the horses is injured.”
“I’m coming.”
She throws me one last glance before following the veterinarian away.
Maggie appears moments later, radiant smile firmly in place, followed by half a dozen McGregors if their tartans are anything to judge by.
“You did excellent work, Doctor!” she exclaims. “Dylan will recover thanks to you.”
I struggle to drag my eyes away from Mary disappearing into the crowd.
“It was just a fracture,” I mutter. “I didn’t do much.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. You were marvelous.”
I stare at the McGregor matriarch for a moment and suddenly feel like a complete outsider here.
Unbothered by the direction of my thoughts, Maggie raises her voice and announces:
“A welcome dinner will be served shortly for all clans!”
Cheerful applause and excited voices erupt nearby.
Maggie smiles before turning back to me.
“We’ll see you later, Doctor.”
I don’t even have the presence of mind to tell her I don’t want to go.
I just stand there with Ragnar as my only company and one question circling endlessly through my head:
Who exactly is Jamie MacNeil to Mary?