Chapter 30
MARY
The Interview
(Or How a Stubborn Sheep Has More Common Sense Than a Licensed Veterinarian)
Standing in front of the mirror in this castle bedroom that isn’t mine, I button my blazer with mechanical movements.
I study my reflection.
White blouse. Gray pencil skirt. Sensible heels.
In other words, my personal version of a woman who has her life together and makes rational decisions.
I sigh.
If only that were true.
I slept three hours.
Maybe four.
The rest of the night I spent staring at the ceiling, repeating the same thing over and over in my head:
You made the right choice.
Leaving is the only logical option.
You can’t stay here and keep running into Finn every day pretending your heart doesn’t break a little more each time.
My reflection stares back at me with eyes I barely recognize.
Dark circles.
Red-rimmed eyes.
Tight jaw.
I look like someone who lost something important.
Stop it. Focus.
I turn away from the mirror and grab my purse along with the notes for my interview at the veterinary clinic in Perthshire.
Their facilities are modern.
The staff is highly respected.
The salary is good, and the position comes with housing.
Basically everything I need for a fresh start.
Far away from here.
Far away from him.
I head downstairs, my heels clicking against the wooden staircase in a rhythm that sounds dangerously close to a funeral march.
The castle feels strangely quiet now that the Highland Games are over.
No more noisy visitors.
No more rival clans teasing each other over breakfast.
No more bagpipes screaming at dawn.
Just emptiness.
“Mary?”
I freeze halfway down the stairs.
Callum stands at the bottom holding a mug of coffee.
He’s wearing his usual dark sweater and that protective big-brother expression he somehow perfected despite technically being my cousin.
“Hey,” I say, trying to smile.
It probably looks more like a grimace.
“Going somewhere?”
His eyes sweep over my blazer, purse, and heels.
“I have a job interview.”
The words come out sharper than I intended.
Callum stays silent for a long moment.
“You should have coffee first.”
“I don’t have time, I—”
“Mary.”
His voice is gentle but firm.
“You’re not really leaving for an interview,” he says quietly. “You’re leaving because you’re scared.”
“I’m not—”
“I know that look. I wore it for months before I admitted how I felt about Jane.”
I look away.
“This is different.”
“Is it? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like someone running away because she’s too afraid to stay and fight.”
My fingers tighten around the edge of my blazer.
“I’m not running. I’m surviving.”
“Go survive somewhere else if you want. But don’t lie to yourself about why.”
He pauses.
“If you’re leaving because it’s truly what you want, I’ll be the first one helping you pack. But if you’re leaving because you’re hurting…”
His voice softens.
“That’s not survival. That’s cowardice.”
The words hit hard.
Violently.
I want to argue.
Tell him he’s wrong.
But nothing comes out.
“Think carefully, Mary. Sometimes you don’t get back what you walk away from.”
Then he disappears down the hallway.
I stay frozen on the staircase, my heartbeat suddenly too fast.
No.
He’s wrong.
I’m not a coward.
I’m practical.
I’m protecting my heart.
I’m making responsible adult decisions.
I straighten my shoulders and keep walking with renewed determination.
Which lasts approximately thirty seconds.
“Mary, darling!” Maggie calls warmly from down the corridor. “I’m so glad to see you this morning.”
I turn and find my grandmother standing in the doorway of the dining room.
“Morning, Gran.”
“Come join us. We haven’t had breakfast together in ages.”
Clearly, this is not a request.
I follow her into the dining room and immediately pour myself coffee exactly the way I like it: too much sugar and a splash of cream.
The room is already occupied.
Maggie presides at the head of the table, naturally, while Jamison pours tea nearby and Mrs. Finley carries in pastries fresh from the oven.
“You look beautiful this morning,” Maggie says. “Special occasion?”
Her eyes sparkle with curiosity.
I take a sip of coffee.
“I have an interview.”
“Oh? For what exactly?”
“A position. Somewhere else.”
Silence drops over the table like a heavy curtain.
Maggie sets down her teacup carefully.
“Somewhere else?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
Her tone remains perfectly neutral, but I’m not fooled.
I spread jam over a scone with slightly too much force.
“The Highlands are very large, Mary. Where exactly is this ‘somewhere else’?”
“Perthshire.”
“Ah. Quite far.”
“Yes.”
“What exactly are you trying to get away from?”
I look up at her.
Her gaze is sharp.
Calculating.
She knows exactly what I’m running from.
“My mistakes,” I answer calmly.
Maggie opens her mouth to reply, but the dining room doors burst open.
Cameron and Connor storm inside like a two-headed disaster arguing over who won their morning race.
“I won!” Connor announces triumphantly.
“You cheated!”
“I did not cheat. You just run like a crab!”
They stop dead the second they spot me.
“Mary! Damn, you look incredible this morning,” Cameron whistles.
“She has an interview,” Maggie explains smoothly. “She’s leaving.”
“I’m considering my options,” I correct.
“What?”
The twins speak in perfect unison, which is both impressive and mildly terrifying.
“You mean not leaving leaving?” Cameron asks carefully. “Just… leaving for a few hours for the interview?”
I don’t answer.
Connor collapses dramatically into a chair.
“Oh hell. She’s actually leaving.”
“Language,” Maggie snaps automatically.
“But why?” Cameron asks, genuinely confused. “You just took over the clinic. You have…”
He cuts himself off and bites his lip.
“I have what?” I ask, fully aware of where that sentence was going.
“Finn,” Connor blurts out. “You have Finn.”
“I do not have Finn.”
My voice comes out harsh.
“It’s over. That’s all.”
The twins exchange a glance.
“But you love him,” Cameron says like it’s obvious.
“And he loves you,” Connor adds. “Everybody can see it.”
“He doesn’t love me,” I argue immediately.
“How do you know?”
“Because he told me.”
Bitterness coats every word.
Cameron leans forward.
“Wait. Did he literally say, ‘Mary, I don’t love you’?”
“Well… not exactly, but—”
“Then he didn’t say it,” Connor concludes triumphantly.
“Men are terrible at talking about feelings,” Cameron explains. “Like, catastrophically terrible. Dad took months to tell Mom he loved her.”
“Months,” Connor repeats. “And they were already married!”
“Your father had extenuating circumstances,” Maggie mutters.
“Finn does too,” Cameron argues. “He’s a doctor. Doctors are trained not to feel anything.”
“That is absolutely not how medicine works,” I mutter.
“See?” Connor says immediately. “You’re defending him. You love him.”
“That changes nothing. He doesn’t want me.”
“Or he thinks he doesn’t deserve you,” Cameron suggests.
“Or he’s scared,” Connor adds.
“Or he’s just an idiot,” they finish together.
Despite everything, I laugh.
A small helpless laugh, but still.
“You two are impossible.”
“That’s part of our charm,” Cameron says with a grin.
I stand and smooth down my skirt.
“I have to go.”
“You’re really leaving?” Cameron asks quietly now.
“If they offer me the position, probably.”
Connor shakes his head.
“This is the worst decision of your life.”
“Maybe. But it’s my decision.”
I grab my purse and head for the door.
And nearly collide with someone in the hallway.
Hamish.
The sheep stands directly in my path blocking the corridor.
He looks at me with an expression I’ve never seen before.
Sadness.
“Hamish? What are you doing here?”
He lets out a soft bleat.
The sound twists painfully in my chest.
“I know. But I can’t stay.”
I kneel down in front of him and stroke his rough wool.
“I’m going to miss you, you ridiculous sock thief.”
Hamish presses his muzzle gently against my hand.
A rare gesture of affection.
I stand again, throat tight, and continue toward the exit.
The sheep follows me.
I cross the castle courtyard with Hamish trotting behind me like a furry little shadow full of existential disappointment.
My car is parked near the front steps.
I unlock it and toss my purse into the passenger seat.
That’s when I see Ragnar.
The sheep sits perfectly still on the castle steps near the front entrance.
Stoic.
Silent.
His dark eyes lock onto mine with unsettling intensity.
“What are you doing here?”
I approach cautiously.
Ragnar doesn’t move.
“You should be with Finn.”
Still nothing.
I stop a few feet away.
“I know what you think. But this is better. For everyone.”
Ragnar rises slowly.
His eyes never leave mine.
Then he starts walking toward my car.
“Ragnar, no. You cannot—”
He speeds up.
Not charging.
Just marching with terrifying determination toward my vehicle.
“Ragnar!”
I hurry toward the car.
The sheep reaches it at the exact same moment I do.
Then he calmly lies down directly in front of the hood.
I stare at him.
“You cannot be serious.”
Ragnar bleats once.
Low.
Firm.
Absolutely final.
“I have to leave. I have an interview. You can’t stay there!”
The sheep deliberately turns his head away and ignores me.
“Ragnar. Move. I do not have time for your games.”
Hamish arrives behind me and bleats too.
The sound somehow translates perfectly into: Good luck with that.
I climb into my car and start the engine.
Ragnar doesn’t so much as blink.
I can’t move forward.
I can’t back up.
Desperate, I honk the horn.
Nothing.
I honk again.
Longer this time.
The sheep yawns.
“You are unbelievable!” I shout through the windshield.
I climb back out and march toward him, pointing an accusing finger.
“Listen to me carefully, you authoritarian wool blanket. I have a very important interview. I need to drive thirty minutes to get there. If you do not move immediately, I swear I will—”