Chapter 15 #2
I consider that for a second, then attempt, “Alright… head of… moldy haggis?”
Lachlan bursts out laughing. “Not bad for a beginner! There might be hope for you yet, McKenzie.”
Back in the drawing room, dressed in McGregor tartan and the single so-called lucky sock, I feel… not quite as ridiculous as I expected.
Keira’s eyes widen slightly when she sees me, and I catch something that looks suspiciously like approval in her gaze.
“The McGregor tartan suits you,” she comments. “Almost better than your own.”
“That’s borderline treason.”
The “traditions” continue at a relentless pace. After the kilt comes a culinary trial, where I’m tasked with preparing haggis under Maggie’s watchful eye and Lachlan’s merciless commentary.
“You chop those onions like an arthritic seal head!” he exclaims. “My one-eyed grandmother did better—and she’s been dead for fifteen years!”
Keira quietly steps in to help, subtly taking over certain tasks. Our coordination is unexpectedly seamless, as if we’ve been working side by side for years. Our hands brush, our movements sync, and I catch Lachlan exchanging a knowing look with Maggie.
Next comes “the ancestors’ recital,” where I’m expected to memorize the McGregor family tree and recite it. Lachlan delights in slipping in fake names to trip me up.
“And don’t forget Archibald McGregor the Flatulent, hero of Culloden, whose gas alone drove off ten English soldiers!”
But I’m not completely unprepared. Thanks to my research in the McKenzie archives, I know enough about McGregor history to surprise them.
“In 1743, Hamish McGregor did save his village from an epidemic using a whisky remedy distilled with herbs provided by his friend, Duncan McKenzie.”
A stunned silence follows. Even Maggie looks surprised.
“How do you know that?” Callum asks, suspicious.
“The McKenzie archives are surprisingly thorough when it comes to Highland history,” I reply with a casual shrug, carefully avoiding Keira’s gaze—she knows exactly how recent my research really is.
The highlight of these traditions turns out to be a Scottish dance I’m required to learn and perform with Keira. Lachlan, appointed as instructor, takes a perverse pleasure in adding impossible steps just to watch me fail.
“No, no, no!” he exclaims as I stumble for the third time. “You have to pivot, then jump, then move left—all without crushing my cousin’s feet! Even Hamish dances better than that!”
I tangle my feet and end up pulling Keira down with me. We collapse into a heap in the middle of the room, laughter erupting around us.
“He’s doing better than you did at your first ceilidh, badly coordinated parsnip head!” Keira fires back at Lachlan.
She’s still in my arms. Our faces are close—too close. Her eyes sparkle with laughter and something else, something that makes my pulse spike.
For a moment, I forget everything—our audience, the act we’re supposed to be putting on, the centuries-old rivalry between our families.
Then Maggie claps her hands, breaking the moment.
“A break seems necessary!” she declares. “Alistair, come help me fetch something from the library.”
I follow her, intrigued by the sudden request. Once inside, she closes the door and turns to me with an unreadable expression.
“You’re doing well, young man,” she says at last. “Better than I expected.”
“These traditions are… interesting,” I reply diplomatically.
She lets out a surprisingly youthful laugh.
“At least half of them are made up—and you know it.”
“I had my suspicions,” I admit with a small smile.
“The real traditions are the ones we create together,” she continues. “Like that ridiculous nickname game Lachlan and Keira invented as children. You’d think they hate each other—but it’s quite the opposite.”
She walks to a shelf and takes down a finely carved wooden box.
“Lachlan is the best judge of character in this family,” she says, handling the box with care. “If he accepts you, it means you have something special. And he seems to have accepted you—which is surprising for a McKenzie.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is,” she confirms. “Now, for the final trial of the day: the McGregor treasure hunt.”
I go still, my thoughts immediately jumping to the treasure Keira and I have been investigating. But of course, Maggie has no idea about that—and that’s not what she’s referring to.
She explains that I must find an object hidden somewhere in the castle, guided only by clues. Lachlan will be my official guide, which does not bode well.
Back in the drawing room, Lachlan greets me with a grin that promises trouble.
“Ready for the treasure hunt? It starts left after the portrait of the old bearded guy. Or right. I forgot.”
What follows is a chaotic, borderline absurd journey through McGregor Castle. Lachlan feeds me deliberately contradictory directions, while Keira—technically forbidden from helping—guides me with subtle glances and gestures.
Strangely, as we progress, Lachlan seems to warm to me. His insults soften, almost affectionate, and eventually he starts giving me real clues.
“You’re not as useless as you look, McKenzie,” he admits as we near the end. “And you make Keira happy—which is what matters.”
His final clue leads me to a small room adjacent to the archives. Inside, on a shelf, sits an old wooden box.
My pulse quickens as I open it.
Inside lies an antique flask—one half bearing the McGregor tartan, the other McKenzie. Exactly like the whisky label Keira and I discovered.
Maggie and Keira have joined us, and the old woman studies my reaction carefully.
“What is this?” I ask, unsettled.
“Some family mysteries aren’t meant to be explained,” Lachlan says with a wink.
Later, once the “traditions” are officially over, I’ve changed back into my own clothes, and everyone is relaxing in the drawing room with a glass of McGregor whisky, Lachlan pulls me aside.
“If you make my cousin cry, I’ll turn you into a living kilt,” he says, his tone suddenly serious.
Then, softer, “But I don’t think you will. You look at her like she’s your own Highland treasure.”
His words unsettle me more than I care to admit.
The evening ends with a toast from Lachlan:
“To our new McKenzie specimen—who turns out to be slightly less terrible than expected!”
Everyone laughs, and even Callum seems less cold toward me.
Before I leave, I find a moment alone with Keira.
“So, what’s the verdict on my family of lunatics?” she asks with a smile.
I take a second to answer.
“They’re loud, intrusive, and completely unreasonable.”
Her laugh—spontaneous and genuine—is probably the best thing I’ve heard all day.
On the drive home, I replay the day in my mind. The McGregors, whom I always saw as nothing more than rivals, revealed themselves to be complex, even warm in their own chaotic way. Lachlan, whom I expected to despise, might well become an ally—maybe even a friend.
And Keira…
Keira is no longer just the McGregor I have a business arrangement with.
She’s become something more.
As I pull into my driveway, I catch myself smiling at the thought of her.
A McKenzie smiling because of a McGregor.
The world has definitely gone mad.