Chapter 14 #2
My mother looks between us, her expression hovering somewhere between confusion and what looks suspiciously like amusement.
“I see,” she says at last. “You’re exploring your feelings. In the archives. With whisky. After midnight.”
“That’s exactly it,” Alistair confirms with impressive seriousness, though he looks just as desperate as I feel.
Another silence stretches, during which I briefly consider throwing myself out the window to escape. Unfortunately, we’re on the second floor, and I’d likely end up with broken bones and more explaining to do.
Finally, my mother sighs.
“Look,” she begins, surprisingly calm, “I’m not going to judge. Young love can be… impulsive. And creative.”
I open my mouth to protest—we were not doing anything inappropriate—but she raises a hand to stop me.
“Keira, you’re twenty-four, not sixteen. You’re engaged, for heaven’s sake. I completely understand that you and your fiancé might need private moments.”
“But we weren’t—”
Alistair nudges me lightly.
“However,” she continues as if I hadn’t spoken, “I must insist on one point: the family archives are not the most appropriate setting for this kind of exploration.”
My face burns hotter than I thought humanly possible. Beside me, Alistair seems deeply fascinated by his shoes.
“Mrs. McGregor,” he starts bravely, “I assure you we had absolutely no intention of disrespecting your family’s traditions or—”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that, Alistair,” my mother interrupts with a strangely knowing smile. “And please, call me Isobel. After all, you’re practically family now.”
The ease with which she says that—to a McKenzie—leaves me speechless.
“In fact,” she continues, stepping closer to examine the whisky bottle, “I’m impressed by your… creativity. Bringing whisky—what a romantic touch.”
She studies the label with keen interest.
“That’s an interesting bottle,” she notes. “I’ve never seen this label before.”
“It’s a very limited edition,” Alistair explains, visibly relieved to talk about something—anything—else. “An experimental project.”
“Fascinating,” my mother murmurs, her gaze shifting from the bottle to the documents spread across the table. “And these journals? Were they also part of your romantic evening?”
I quickly gather the papers.
“Just background ambiance reading. You know how Alistair is—passionate about history.”
“Especially McGregor history, apparently,” my mother adds with an enigmatic smile. “What a coincidence.”
She picks up one of the journals—the very one mentioning Elspeth and Archibald.
“The McGregors and McKenzies have always been drawn to each other like magnets, even when they claimed otherwise. History does have a way of repeating itself, doesn’t it?”
I exchange a confused glance with Alistair. Has she read the same passages? Does she know about Elspeth and Archibald?
“Mary would certainly understand,” she adds, almost to herself.
“Mary?” Alistair repeats. “My mother?”
My mother blinks, then smiles too innocently.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just an old story. Now, about your situation—I’d suggest that next time you’re looking for privacy, you might consider the hunting lodge by the lake.
Much more romantic, and no one goes there anymore since your father claimed to see Uncle Archibald’s ghost.”
She heads for the door, then pauses and turns back.
“Or you could simply use your bedroom, Keira. The walls are thick, and Jamison has strict instructions never to enter without knocking three times—a lesson your father and I learned the hard way.”
With that—words that make me want to bury myself alive—she winks (she actually winks) and leaves.
Alistair and I remain frozen in stunned silence, unable to even look at each other. Then a small, nervous laugh escapes me—quickly joined by his—until we’re both laughing like idiots, the tension dissolving into shared hysteria.
“The walls are thick,” I gasp between laughs. “Oh my God, I will never be able to look my mother in the eye again.”
“At least she didn’t throw us out,” Alistair points out. “I half expected her to call Callum to come skin me alive.”
“She was strangely understanding. Almost like…”
“Like she approves,” he finishes, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that brings me right back to that moment in the hallway—just before we fell.
I look away, suddenly unsettled.
“We should probably leave before someone else finds us. Jamison usually does another round around one.”
“You’re right,” Alistair agrees. “The last thing we need is someone else catching us in a compromising position.”
That word instantly drags my thoughts back to how I’d been sprawled on top of him. An image I firmly try to banish.
The walk back through the castle is far more tense than our arrival. We move in silence, listening to every creak. I jump at the slightest sound. Our hands brush accidentally more than once in the dark, each contact sending an inexplicable warmth up my arm.
When we finally reach the secret entrance, I let out a breath of relief.
“We survived,” I whisper, carefully opening the door.
“For now,” Alistair replies with a crooked smile. “I suppose our next research session will have to be at the McKenzies’.”
“You’re assuming there’ll be a next time?”
He pauses on the threshold, his expression turning serious.
“I certainly hope so. We’ve barely scratched the surface of this mystery, Keira. And I don’t know about you, but I’m determined to find out what those artifacts were—and why our families kept this secret for so long.”
I study his face in the soft moonlight. There’s a fire in his eyes that has nothing to do with our business arrangement or fake engagement. Something more real. More personal.
“Fine. But next time, we come up with a more believable alibi.”
His laugh carries into the night.
“You didn’t like our ‘exploring our feelings’ story?” he teases.
“It was a disaster, and you know it.”
But I can’t stop myself from smiling.
“Your mother believed us—that’s what matters.”
“I’m not sure she believed us,” I admit. “I think she just chose to pretend she did, which is even stranger.”
We reach his car, still parked where we left it at the edge of the estate. He stops, turning to me one last time.
“Thank you for tonight, Keira. As chaotic as it was… it meant something.”
There’s something in his voice—disarming, sincere—that makes all my carefully built defenses waver.
“It was just a research mission, McKenzie,” I reply lightly. “Don’t get it into your head that I’ll be inviting you to my bedroom next time.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize how terrible that sounds—especially after my mother’s implications.
Alistair lifts a brow, a teasing smile playing at his lips.
“I wouldn’t dare assume. Though apparently, your walls are thick.”
“Good night, Alistair,” I cut in firmly, feeling my cheeks heat all over again.
“Good night, Keira. Sweet dreams.”
It’s only when his taillights disappear into the distance that I allow myself to admit—just to me—that our professional arrangement is turning into something far more complicated.