Chapter 23
KEIRA
The Great Escape
When I walk through the doors of the McKenzie distillery this morning, I have a simple plan: talk to Alistair about the recent discoveries regarding our ancestors, avoid any prolonged contact that might reignite the emotional turmoil that’s been chasing me since our stay at the castle, and leave with my dignity intact.
Apparently, the universe has other plans.
The first thing that should have tipped me off—if I’d been in my usual state—is Martha’s absence from her desk. Martha, the immovable sentinel guarding access to Alistair with more zeal than a dragon protecting its treasure. The second is the commotion spilling out of the main office.
— I’m telling you, it’s impossible! a voice exclaims—one I recognize as the foreman’s. She can’t have just evaporated!
— Sheep don’t evaporate, Ian, Alistair shoots back, his voice tight. They move on four legs. Usually leaving tracks. A lot of tracks.
I stop in the doorway and take in the scene.
Alistair—normally so composed—has his hair completely disheveled, his tie hanging loose and half undone, like he’s spent the entire morning tugging at it.
Around him, three employees are gesturing wildly, pointing at what looks like a map of the distillery.
— Hello? I venture.
Alistair looks up, and for a split second, his face lights up before settling back into a strained expression.
— Keira, he says, tense. This really isn’t a good time.
— What’s going on?
— Rosita’s missing.
— Missing?
— We haven’t been able to find her anywhere since this morning, he adds with a sigh.
— She probably just… I don’t know, found a way out of her enclosure?
All four men look at me like I just suggested she flew off on a broomstick.
— We’ve checked every inch of the property, the foreman explains. The fences are intact. It’s like she just—
— Vanished underground, Alistair finishes.
His gaze meets mine, and I can tell his mind is somewhere else.
— The passage, he murmurs.
— What passage? I ask, confused.
But he isn’t listening anymore. He turns to his employees.
— Get back to your stations. I’ll handle Rosita.
Alistair strides toward me, then guides me firmly out of the room.
— No time to waste.
Once we’re in the hallway, he pulls me toward the back of the distillery. His touch sends a wave of heat down my arm—one I pointedly ignore.
— Did Callum tell you about the passage? he asks.
— What passage? Callum didn’t tell me anything. I just got here to show you what I found in the municipal archives.
He stops short.
— Wait. You don’t know about the secret passage?
— What secret passage? I repeat, despite myself intrigued.
Alistair runs a hand through his already messy hair, making it worse. That gesture should not be as attractive as it is.
— Callum came by yesterday. Hamish had escaped again, and we found him in the fermentation building. He got in through an old underground conduit that seems to connect our properties.
— A secret passage between the McKenzie and McGregor estates? That’s… that’s exactly what I was trying to confirm!
I pull the document from my bag and wave it excitedly.
— Look! It’s a layout plan from 1830, for a project to merge the properties into a single estate. It specifically mentions a covered passage allowing grain to be transported between the farm buildings and the distillery—even in bad weather.
Alistair studies the document.
— So it wasn’t just a ventilation shaft… it was a proper utility passage they intended to build.
He pauses, thinking.
— And if Hamish used it to get in yesterday…
— Then Rosita used it to get out today. She’s probably—
— At the McGregors’, he finishes. With Hamish.
We exchange a look—a moment of shared understanding that feels almost intimate. I glance away, suddenly aware of how close we’re standing.
— We should go, I say quickly. Just to check.
— By road or—
— Through the passage, obviously.
A spark of adventure lights up his eyes, and my heart kicks up a notch.
It’s just the excitement of the historical discovery. Nothing else.
The underground tunnel is larger than I imagined. High enough for us to walk hunched, and wide enough to move side by side. Alistair holds a flashlight, its beam sweeping over old stone walls covered in moss.
— This is incredible, I whisper, running my hand along the wall. To think our ancestors planned to use this every day…
— And that our families spent a hundred and fifty years ignoring each other while being literally connected underground, Alistair adds, dryly.
— The metaphor’s a little too obvious, don’t you think?
He shoots me an amused look.
— What do you mean?
— Two families linked by secret passages they pretend don’t exist? Buried feelings? It sounds like a TV drama.
Alistair laughs, the warm sound echoing off the stone walls.
— Keira McGregor criticizing the narrative structure of her own life. Why am I not surprised?
— I prefer to think of it as analytical insight.
— Of course. Like when you analyzed the situation and decided we should get engaged to solve all your problems?
I bump my shoulder lightly into his, forgetting for a moment my resolve to keep things professional between us.
— It was a perfectly logical plan.
— Mm-hmm. And how’s that logical plan working out?
I don’t know how to answer that. How do I tell him that what was supposed to be a simple facade has turned into something that keeps me up at night? That every time he touches me—even by accident—my body reacts like it’s been waiting for it all its life?
Thankfully, I’m saved by a fork in the tunnel.
— Which way now? Alistair asks.
I study the plan in the glow of his flashlight.
— Right, I think. That should take us directly beneath the main barn on the McGregor estate.
We turn right, and almost immediately, the passage begins to slope upward.
— We’re close, Alistair says. I can feel a draft.
A few meters ahead, the tunnel widens in front of a door. I look up at him, suddenly nervous.
— Do you think it still opens?
— Only one way to find out.
He switches off the flashlight, tucks it into his pocket, and starts pushing. I follow, trying very hard not to notice how perfectly his jeans mold over his broad shoulders.
Focus, Keira.
Alistair pushes against the door. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, with a protesting creak, it gives. Bright light floods the passage, making me blink.
— Looks like it opens right into your barn, he says as he steps through.
He turns back and offers me his hand. I take it, ignoring the electric jolt that shoots up my arm, and let him pull me up.
We emerge in a corner of the old McGregor barn, behind stacked hay bales that must have hidden the door for decades. I look around. The place where I played as a child suddenly feels entirely different.
— I can’t believe this passage was here all this time and no one ever noticed.
Alistair brushes off his pants, just as disoriented as I am.
— People only see what they expect to see. No one was looking for a secret passage between our properties, so no one found it.
I mull over his words, wondering what other obvious truths we’ve missed simply because we never thought to look.
A distant bleat snaps us back to our mission.
— You think that’s her? Alistair asks.
— Or him. Let’s go see.
We step out of the barn—and straight into chaos.
Chickens are running everywhere, chased by Lachlan and two farmhands.
The orchard gate is wide open, and Maggie’s goats seem to have decided that the young apple trees make an excellent lunch.
And in the middle of it all, up on the hill overlooking the property, two woolly silhouettes stand watching the destruction with what looks suspiciously like satisfaction.
— Oh my God, I breathe. It looks like they’ve freed every animal on the farm.
— An ovine revolution, Alistair remarks dryly. Led by Hamish and his Juliet.
— Rosita and her Romeo, you mean.
— Not bad.
We share an amused look.
Lachlan spots us and storms over, furious.
— Keira! Where the hell did you two come from? And what is he doing here?
— Nice to see you too, Lachlan, I reply calmly. Alistair came to get Rosita.
— Rosita? The McKenzie ewe? She’s here?
— Clearly, I say, pointing toward the hill where the two sheep are now nuzzling each other affectionately. And apparently, they decided to share their happiness by freeing every other animal.
Lachlan follows my gaze and swears under his breath.
— Those two… I swear, Keira, if your fiancé doesn’t take his demonic sheep out of here immediately, I’m making stew out of both of them!
— Calm down, you turnip, I shoot back. It’s not their fault they’re in love.
— In love? Lachlan chokes. They’re sheep! Demons sent to destroy this property!
With that, he takes off after a particularly agile chicken that seems to be mocking him.
— I think your cousin likes me more every day, Alistair says with a smirk.
— He’s just jealous of your natural charm with animals, I reply before I can stop myself.
— You think I have charm, Keira McGregor?
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I quickly look away.
— I meant even sheep seem to like you. Which isn’t exactly a high compliment, given their limited intelligence.
— Of course, he says, his smile widening. Let’s go get our runaway lovers.
Catching Hamish and Rosita proves far more difficult than expected. The two sheep—clearly delighted with their forbidden union—seem to have developed a sixth sense for detecting our approach and bolting at the last second.
After an hour of fruitless chasing across the McGregor estate, we end up back in the barn, breathless, staring at our failure.
— They’re too smart for us, Alistair pants, leaning against a bale of hay.
— Or we’re too stupid for them, I counter, collapsing beside him. I’m starting to think this whole ovine romance is some kind of cosmic payback for our own arrangement.