Chapter 18
KEIRA
When a surprise guest crashes the moment
If someone had told me a month ago that I’d wake up in a king-size bed draped in red tartan next to Alistair, I would’ve suggested they see a psychiatrist. Or lay off Uncle Fergus’s bootleg whisky.
And yet… here I am, staring up at the exposed beams of our honeymoon suite while Alistair sleeps peacefully beside me. And by peacefully, I mean he’s softly snoring—which is both mildly irritating and, annoyingly, kind of comforting.
The storm died down sometime during the night, replaced by that particular early-morning Highland silence, broken only by birdsong and… yes, definitely snoring.
I roll onto my side to watch him. Asleep, Alistair loses that faint edge of arrogance he wears like armor. His dark hair is tousled, his features relaxed, and there’s something unexpectedly vulnerable about him like this.
My heart does that strange little thing again—the one it seems to love doing whenever he’s around lately. Like it’s waltzing while my brain is yelling at it to stick to a proper, disciplined march.
I slip out of bed with all the grace of a cat… or, judging by the creaking floorboards, an elephant in a china shop. Alistair mutters something unintelligible, rolls over, and keeps sleeping.
The ridiculously ornate bathroom—with its two-person tub practically begging for scandal—is completely ignored in favor of a quick shower. The hot water feels incredible after a night where I barely slept, hyper-aware of him just inches away.
When I step back out, dressed in jeans and a cozy sweater, Alistair is sitting on the edge of the bed, hair even more disheveled, scrolling through his phone.
“Morning,” I say, aiming for casual. “Sleep well?”
He looks up, eyes still a little heavy with sleep—and unfairly attractive.
“Like a baby,” he says with a smile. “You?”
“Great,” I lie smoothly, impressing even myself.
“Good. Roads are clear,” he adds, lifting his phone slightly. “We can head back whenever we want.”
A small, inconvenient part of me—the one I’d rather not analyze too closely—is disappointed. Like I’d secretly hoped we’d be stuck here a little longer.
“Great,” I repeat, with slightly less conviction.
He gives me a curious look but doesn’t comment. Instead, he stands and stretches, and I very deliberately look away from the way his T-shirt pulls across his muscles. Apparently, my brain has clocked out and left my hormones in charge.
Breakfast at the lodge is a full traditional Scottish spread that briefly restores my faith in the universe—eggs, bacon, black pudding, haggis, and those little oatcakes my grandmother insists on calling bannocks.
Alistair and I eat in comfortable silence, watching the other guests—fellow storm refugees.
The elderly couple from last night waves us over from their table.
“So, how was your first almost-honeymoon night?” the woman asks with a conspiratorial wink.
I nearly choke on my tea. Alistair, of course, remains perfectly composed.
“Very restful, thank you,” he says smoothly, flashing that devastating smile. “The suite is beautiful.”
“Oh, we know!” Rory chimes in. “We stayed there for our anniversary last year. And that bathtub—” he adds with a knowing look.
My face burns. Of course they think we used that ridiculous two-person tub.
“We… mostly enjoyed the view,” I manage.
“Oh, the view is spectacular,” the woman agrees. “Especially from the bathtub!”
Alistair coughs into his napkin, shoulders shaking. He’s enjoying this far too much.
“We should probably get going,” I say, standing abruptly. “Long drive ahead.”
“Of course, of course,” she says. “But before you leave, you must take a walk to the loch. It’s stunning after a storm—and there’s an old shepherd’s shelter with the most romantic view.”
Twenty minutes later, I’m hiking along a narrow path beside Alistair, breathing in crisp Highland air that smells like heather and wet grass.
The landscape is breathtaking—lush green hills glowing under a deep blue sky, streaked with fast-moving clouds.
“She was right,” Alistair says, taking it all in. “It’s incredible.”
“Mmh,” I murmur, trying not to notice how close we’re walking—close enough that our hands occasionally brush.
After a few minutes of silence, he speaks again.
“I’ve been thinking about what we talked about last night. And about those documents I found.”
“Oh?”
“I think we should keep digging—together. There’s something we’re missing. That whole treasure reference… it doesn’t feel like a coincidence.”
I turn to him, surprised by his tone.
“You really think there was something between our families? Something bigger than a business feud?”
“I’m sure of it. The pieces don’t fit the official version of events.”
We reach the top of a small hill, and the loch stretches out before us, perfectly still—like a mirror reflecting the sky. The old stone shelter stands nearby, half-covered in moss.
“There,” I say, pointing.
“Want to check it out?”
The shelter is larger than it looked from afar—dry inside, with a worn wooden bench and table. The stone walls are etched with decades of carved initials.
I stand there, suddenly very aware of how close we are in the confined space.
“You know,” Alistair says, looking out at the loch, “I’m starting to wonder if our… arrangement… was meant to happen.”
My heart stumbles into that now-familiar waltz.
“What do you mean?”
He turns to me, his gaze intense—the same look he had last night by the fire.
“I mean… maybe our families were always meant to be connected. Maybe the rivalry is just a misunderstanding that’s lasted too long.”
“Alistair…”
“And maybe,” he continues, stepping a little closer, “you and I are just fixing something that broke a long time ago.”
The air between us shifts—charged, electric. This isn’t about our fake engagement anymore. This is something far more dangerous.
“You really believe that?”
“Yes.”
He takes my hand. I don’t pull away. His fingers lace with mine, gentle and sure, and something inside me melts.
Then, suddenly, the sky darkens and rain starts drumming against the roof.
“Of course,” I mutter, trying to steady my voice.
“At least we’re under shelter this time,” he says with a soft smile.
The rain intensifies, turning the world outside into a curtain of water. We’re trapped again—but this time, it feels different. More intimate. More charged.
Alistair tightens his hold on my hand.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
“A little.”
His arm slips around my shoulders, and I lean into him without thinking. His warmth wraps around me, his scent—cedar and Highland air—filling my senses.
“Better?” he murmurs.
“Much.”
We stay like that, listening to the rain. The moment slowly shifts, soft and dangerous all at once—his hand in my hair, the way he looks at me when I tilt my head up…
“Keira,” he says, voice rough.
“Yes?”
“I think we’re crossing a line.”
“I know.”
“Does that scare you?”
“It terrifies me,” I whisper.
He lets out a quiet laugh—and it does something to my chest.
“Me too.”
His face moves closer to mine. I feel his breath against my lips, my heart racing so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. His eyes search mine, asking a question I’m dangerously close to answering.
“Keira,” he whispers again.
“Alistair…”
We’re inches apart. The world narrows to this moment—rain, time, logic—all suspended as we hover on the edge of something irreversible.
Then—
A loud thud at the entrance.
We freeze.
“What was that?” I whisper.
Alistair frowns, glancing toward the doorway.
“I don’t know…”
THUMP. THUMP.
The door swings open, revealing—
“Is that—”
“Hamish?” Alistair finishes, just as stunned as I am.
The soaked animal stares at us.
“Hamish!” I call, scandalized.
Alistair runs a hand through his hair. “How did he even follow us here?”
“He’s smarter than he looks,” I say. “And apparently has the worst timing in existence.”
The animal disappears again.
We step toward the entrance cautiously.
“Hamish?” I call.
When it reappears, I blink.
Not Hamish.
Just… a sheep.
A perfectly ordinary Highland sheep with rain-matted wool, chewing grass like it didn’t just interrupt the most romantic moment of my life.
We both stand there, processing.
“That’s not Hamish,” I say slowly.
“No,” Alistair agrees. “That’s just… a sheep.”
“A completely normal sheep.”
“A completely normal sheep we somehow mistook for your sheep.”
We look at each other.
The absurdity hits.
The sheep keeps chewing.
I crack first—a small laugh escaping, then another. Alistair’s lips twitch, and suddenly we’re both laughing.
“I cannot believe we just got interrupted by a sheep,” I gasp.
“A sheep we thought was your emotional support sheep!” he adds, laughing hard enough his eyes water.
“Hamish is going to be deeply offended!”
“‘Excuse me, I have a unique personality, I am not just livestock!’” he mimics indignantly.
We’re laughing so hard it hurts. The sheep watches us, probably wondering if we’ve lost our minds.
“He looks concerned,” I say, wiping my eyes.
“Maybe we have,” Alistair replies, catching his breath. “Maybe that’s what happens when I’m around you, Keira. I lose all sense.”
His tone shifts—softer now, more serious beneath the laughter.
“Alistair…”
“I know this wasn’t part of the plan,” he says, stepping closer. “I know we’re supposed to keep things professional. But I can’t pretend anymore that what I feel for you is just an act.”
My heart spins into that reckless waltz again—and this time, I don’t fight it.
“Neither can I,” I admit quietly.
“So what do we do?”
Good question. A terrifying one.
“I don’t know. Everything’s getting complicated.”
“Or maybe it’s finally simple,” he suggests.
The sheep chooses that exact moment to bleat loudly, as if offering commentary.
We both burst out laughing again.
“Apparently our romance consultant approves,” Alistair says.
“Or he’s telling us to get it together and go before we catch pneumonia.”
The rain has softened now, and the sheep is already wandering off, apparently bored with us.
“He might have a point,” Alistair sighs. “We should head back.”
“Yeah. We should.”
But neither of us moves.
We just stand there, in that small shelter where countless others may have had moments like this—looking at each other with something new between us.
“This conversation isn’t over,” he says finally.
“No. It’s not.”
“But for now…”
“For now, we go back and… keep going.”
“Exactly.”
We step out into the damp air, and I glance back at the shelter one last time.
The walk back is quiet—but heavy with everything unsaid. Our hands brush occasionally, each touch sending sparks through me.
When we reach the lodge parking lot, Alistair stops beside his Range Rover and turns to me.
“Keira?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever happens… I don’t regret this weekend.”
“Neither do I.”
“Even the sheep incident?”
“Especially the sheep incident,” I say with a smile. “It’s officially one of our most romantic moments—ruined by livestock.”
He laughs, that warm, effortless sound melting something in me all over again.
“Come on,” he says, opening the passenger door. “Let’s get home before Maggie sends out a search party.”
“Or before Hamish gets offended he’s been replaced by a random sheep,” I add, climbing in.
As we pull out of the lodge parking lot, I take one last look at the landscape.
Something has changed.
Something important. Something irreversible.
And for the first time since this whole charade began… I’m not sure I want it to be temporary anymore.
The problem is—I don’t know if Alistair feels the same.
Even after everything he said in that shelter… even after that almost-kiss… we still haven’t defined what this is between us.