Chapter 6
KEIRA
Revelations and bleating
I walk down the grand staircase of the castle with all the enthusiasm of someone heading to their own execution.
Each step brings me closer to the confrontation I’ve managed to avoid all afternoon.
Three urgent work calls, a “critical” issue with my cultural center plans, and even a completely fictional conference call with the heritage council have kept me safely locked in my room since I got back from McKenzie Distillery.
But dinner time has arrived, and even a McGregor can’t ignore family tradition forever—especially when it involves Mrs. Finley’s legendary rosemary lamb roast.
I chose a midnight-blue dress—simple, elegant, and, in my opinion, appropriate for informing my brother that I’m engaged to the heir of our family’s greatest rivals. Then again, what is the appropriate outfit for triggering a twenty-first-century clan war? No one ever prepared me for that.
Voices drift from the dining room. Callum is telling a story that has everyone laughing. I take a deep breath, paste on a smile, and walk in like I haven’t spent the last three hours mentally rehearsing different versions of By the way, I’m marrying a McKenzie.
“Ah, there’s our young fiancée!” Maggie announces, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Every head turns.
Callum—tall, broad, and currently very relaxed—looks at me with curiosity. Jane, beside him, offers a warm, encouraging smile. My mother looks equal parts anxious and amused. Lachlan, meanwhile, is deeply invested in his whisky and appears blissfully unaware of the chaos about to unfold.
“Hi, everyone,” I say, forcing cheer into my voice. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Fiancée?” Callum repeats, raising an eyebrow as his gaze shifts between Maggie and me. “Did I miss something?”
I take my usual seat. Jamison appears instantly to pour my wine.
“Thank you. And… maybe a little more than usual tonight.”
He obliges with a knowing look.
“Keira’s had a busy day,” my mother says smoothly, slicing into her roast.
“Really?” Jane leans forward. “Tell us everything.”
I take a long sip of wine. Then another.
“How was Edinburgh?” I ask, blatantly dodging the question.
“Nice try,” Callum says, that familiar teasing edge creeping into his voice. “Grandmother called you fiancée. Unless she’s reinventing language again?”
“I never said that,” Maggie protests. “I simply suggested that the birds in the garden deserve to be called ‘distinguished avians.’”
“So,” Callum says, fixing me with a look, “you have something to tell us?”
This is it.
I glance at my mother. She gives me a small, steady nod.
I set down my glass, straighten my shoulders, and—
“Yes. I’m engaged.”
Silence.
“Really?” Jane lights up. “That’s amazing! Since when? To whom? Why didn’t you tell us?”
“It’s recent,” I say carefully. “Very recent.”
“And the lucky man is…?” she prompts.
I take another sip of wine.
No easing into this.
Rip the bandage off.
“Alistair McKenzie.”
Time freezes.
Callum’s face goes through at least five shades of red, like a particularly aggressive Highland sunset.
“I must have misheard,” he says slowly. “Because I thought you just said Alistair McKenzie.”
“That is exactly what she said,” Maggie adds calmly, sipping her wine like she’s watching a stage play.
Callum turns back to me.
“Alistair McKenzie. The McKenzie. The one whose grandfather tried to buy our land when ours was ill? The one trying to turn our heritage into a tourist theme park? That McKenzie?”
“There aren’t that many of them,” I mutter. “They don’t reproduce like rabbits.”
“This is not funny, Keira!” he snaps, jumping to his feet so abruptly his chair nearly topples. “Tell me this is a joke.”
“Callum,” Jane says gently, placing a hand on his arm. “Sit down. Let her explain.”
“Explain?” he explodes. “How exactly does she justify marrying the enemy?”
“You might be exaggerating slightly,” my mother says mildly. “We haven’t formally declared war. We haven’t had catapults for at least two centuries.”
“Speak for yourself,” Maggie mutters. “I still have one in the north barn.”
“Maggie!”
“It’s for the marmots,” she says defensively. “Those creatures are terrorists.”
I bite back a laugh.
Callum does not.
“You cannot be serious, Keira. This is impossible. He’s a McKenzie.”
“I noticed,” I snap, my patience wearing thin. “And despite his last name, he’s actually a decent human being.”
“Decent? A McKenzie? The only time he behaved decently was at our wedding—”
“Maybe stop saying his name like it’s a curse,” Jane suggests. “The staff might think we’re summoning something.”
“Oh, we are,” Callum mutters, pacing. “Demons in kilts.”
“You’re being dramatic,” I sigh. “The last poisoning attempt was in 1897.”
“Your great-uncle claimed his back pain in 1983 was caused by a sabotaged chair,” Maggie adds.
“He also believed aliens used his garden as a landing strip,” I point out.
Callum finally sits, dragging a hand through his hair.
“How did this happen?” he asks, more controlled now. “Last I heard, you were threatening to strangle him with his own kilt.”
I launch into the carefully crafted version of events—the tension, the arguments, the slow shift into something more, the hidden understanding beneath the conflict.
“So you expect me to believe you went from ‘I hate you’ to ‘marry me’ in… what? Three weeks?” he says flatly.
“Love doesn’t follow a schedule,” I shrug. “Right, Jane?”
Jane chokes slightly on her wine.
“Yes. Absolutely,” she says after recovering. “We’re living proof.”
Callum narrows his eyes at me.
“You’re hiding something.”
I open my mouth to deny it—
The door bursts open.
Jamison stands there, visibly shaken.
“My apologies, but there is a situation in the garden.”
“What kind of situation?” my mother asks.
“A sheep, Madam. A ewe, to be precise. It appeared out of nowhere and is currently… consuming the rose bushes.”
“Another sheep?” my mother groans. “Isn’t Hamish enough?”
“This one is… different,” Jamison says carefully. “Smaller. Whiter. More… elegant.”
“Elegant?” Maggie perks up.
“Very much so.”
We all rush to the window.
And there she is.
A pristine white ewe, balancing gracefully along the stone wall like a tightrope walker.
“How elegant!” Maggie sighs. “Like a dancer.”
“It’s a sheep,” Callum mutters.
“There is something special about her,” Jane says softly. “Look at the way she moves.”
“Where did it come from?” my mother asks.
I stare at it—small, graceful, almost delicate.
And then—
“Apologies, I have another announcement,” Jamison says.
We turn.
“A visitor has arrived.”
“At this hour?” Lachlan finally looks up. “Who?”
Jamison inhales like he’s about to announce a natural disaster.
“Mr. Alistair McKenzie.”
Silence crashes over the room.
“Excuse me?” Callum says faintly.
“Mr. McKenzie,” Jamison repeats.
Every head turns toward me.
My blood runs cold.
Alistair? Here? Now?
We did not plan this.
“Tell me this is a joke,” Callum says.
“I… wasn’t expecting him,” I admit.
“Shall I let him in, Miss?” Jamison asks.
Before I can answer—
“Oh, absolutely!” Maggie claps her hands. “My granddaughter’s fiancé is always welcome. Send him in!”
Callum steps forward slowly.
I recognize that stance.
The last time he stood like that, someone ended up in a pond.
“Callum,” I whisper. “Don’t—”
The door opens.
Alistair McKenzie steps inside.
Perfectly dressed. Navy suit. A bouquet of wildflowers in one hand, a bottle of whisky in the other. Calm. Confident. Controlled.
Only the tension in his shoulders betrays him.
Our eyes meet.
What are you doing here?
Run while you still can.
He winks.
Actually winks.
Then turns to my family.
“Good evening,” he says smoothly. “Apologies for the unannounced visit. I thought it was time I properly met my fiancée’s family. And—I brought Hamish back.”
“Hamish was missing?” my mother asks.
“Long story,” I mutter.
Callum steps closer.
The silence is suffocating.
Jane’s hand tightens on my arm, stopping me from intervening.
Alistair and Callum now stand face-to-face.
Two heirs. Two rivals. Two men who look very capable of violence.
My heart pounds.
Time slows.
And then—
The door bursts open again.
The elegant white ewe trots into the dining room, bleating cheerfully—
Followed by Hamish.
With a red rose in his mouth.