Chapter 4
Cameron
The Day I Became a Kidnapper
On the screen, the sequence opens with a wide shot of rolling hills that seem to stretch endlessly into the distance, bathed in the amber glow of late afternoon.
The image glides slowly toward the cottage nestled in a small valley, its gray stone warmed by the setting sun.
Smoke drifts lazily from the chimney—I asked the owners to light a fire for the effect, and it worked perfectly.
The next shot focuses on the bench beneath the window, the one I pointed out to the prospective buyers during the viewing. Sunlight streams through the glass, casting soft shadows across the weathered wood. I framed it wide enough to include the view of the pastures beyond.
The transition arrives, but it’s too abrupt for my liking.
I test another option.
A fade, maybe.
No.
Too slow.
It kills the rhythm.
I eventually settle on a subtle lateral slide that follows the natural movement of the eye, as though the viewer is discovering the space organically.
There.
That’s much better.
The sequence continues with the stone fireplace, filmed from a low angle to emphasize its solidity.
A close-up of the exposed beams where the light catches every ridge and groove of the aged wood.
Then a slow tracking shot along the wall, stopping at a small window framed by white linen curtains that ripple gently in the draft.
I replay the video from the beginning.
Yes.
That’s it.
It tells exactly the story I want to tell: this cottage isn’t simply a house.
It’s a refuge.
The kind of place people move into and never want to leave.
If all goes according to plan, this video will showcase my work perfectly, especially since the cottage will soon be sold.
My phone vibrates on the desk, pulling me out of my concentration, but I ignore it.
I’m sitting in the small office I use at the castle, editing an Instagram video for the cottage. I filmed the footage last night just before sunset, and the light was perfect.
Golden.
Warm.
Exactly what’s needed to sell the dream of a peaceful life in the Highlands.
I’m hoping to add a short interview with the buyers at the end.
My phone vibrates again.
I glance at the screen.
A message in the McGregor Clan group chat.
Maggie
Family meeting this morning. Grand sitting room. 10:30.
I frown.
A family meeting at this hour?
I type a quick reply.
Cameron
I can’t. I’m working.
The response arrives almost immediately.
Maggie
You’ll have a scheduling conflict.
I sigh.
Cameron
I can’t cancel. I have three viewings scheduled.
Maggie
You can move them.
I type a response.
Delete it.
Type another.
Cameron
Is it really urgent?
Maggie
Yes.
I stare at the screen, hesitating.
The group chat comes alive.
Finn
Do I have to come too?
Finn McLeod is my cousin Mary’s boyfriend. He’s also the village doctor, and I know perfectly well how busy his schedule is. He has patients to see...
Maggie
Yes.
Mary
Should we bring anything?
Maggie
No. Just yourselves.
I shake my head in resignation and save my editing project.
When Maggie McGregor—my grandmother—calls a family meeting, there isn’t really any room for negotiation.
A few minutes later, I shut down my computer, slip my phone into my pocket, and leave the office.
The corridor leading to the grand sitting room is silent.
I stop in front of the door, take a deep breath, and push it open.
The room is already occupied.
Maggie is seated in the large armchair beside the fireplace, her hands folded in her lap, wearing the regal posture she always adopts whenever she’s about to announce something important.
My Aunt Isobel sits on the sofa with a cup of tea in hand, looking perfectly serene.
Finn is sprawled in a leather armchair, legs crossed, looking thoroughly miserable.
Mary sits beside him, an amused smile tugging at her lips.
And then there’s Hamish.
The sheep is stretched out beside the fireplace, his head resting on his front legs, eyes half-closed.
At first glance, he looks like a dog.
Keeping a pet sheep would seem bizarre anywhere else, but not at McGregor Castle.
Here, Hamish has become the clan mascot—much to the annoyance of certain family members. What should have remained a funny anecdote has turned into ongoing chaos because that infernal sheep does whatever he pleases.
The worst part is that he influences the rest of the flock.
I freeze in the doorway.
“Why is Hamish here?”
Maggie looks up at me.
“Good morning, Cameron.”
“Good morning, Grandma. Why is Hamish here?” I repeat.
“Because he decided to come inside,” she replies simply, as though that’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.
I rub my temples.
“We can’t just let a sheep wander into the castle. It’s... unsanitary.”
Isobel sets her teacup down.
“Hamish is very clean, you know.”
“That’s not the point.”
Finn shifts slightly in his chair.
There’s a smirk on his face—rare for someone usually so reserved—and I immediately distrust it.
“Relax, Cameron,” Finn says. “He’s just a sheep.”
“A sheep currently occupying our sitting room.”
And a sheep who, incidentally, has made my life miserable for weeks without any clear reason.
The demonic beast has already lifted his head, and the moment I step into the room, we lock eyes.
Mary laughs softly.
“He’s not occupying anything. He’s resting. Besides, he lives here.”
I shake my head and walk farther into the room.
“Alright. You summoned me. I’m here. What’s this about?”
Maggie gestures toward a chair.
“Sit down, Cameron.”
“No thanks. I’d rather stand.”
And keep an eye on Hamish.
“Sit down,” my grandmother orders.
She points to the armchair directly across from her.
Which also happens to place Hamish behind me.
My gaze shifts from the sheep to my grandmother as I assess the level of danger they both represent.
Finally, I sigh and lower myself into the chair opposite Maggie.
My grandmother studies me in silence for several seconds, as though considering the best way to approach the subject.
Meanwhile, I’m fighting the instinct screaming at me to turn around and see what Hamish is doing.
Because while I can’t keep both my grandmother and the sheep in my field of vision simultaneously, I can definitely hear that he’s gotten up and is moving around the room.
Maggie leans forward slightly.
“You saw Ewan yesterday, didn’t you?”
I become suspicious immediately.
There’s no point lying.
My grandmother has her own network of informants and somehow knows everything that happens in the area.
Possibly beyond it, for all I know.
“Yes,” I answer cautiously. “Why?”
“His cousin arrived yesterday. I’ve been told she’s a charming young woman. And French.”
I nod slowly.
“Yes. Ewan mentioned her. She’s inheriting Fraser Manor.”
Maggie nods, satisfied.
“Exactly. A well-brought-up young woman, from everything I’ve heard.”
I inhale deeply, already sensing I’m not going to enjoy this conversation.
“And?”
I glance toward Finn and Mary, whose expressions reveal entirely too much interest for my comfort.
Maggie folds her hands together.
“I invited her to tea this afternoon.”
“That was kind of you,” I reply diplomatically.
“She refused.”
A deep silence settles over the room.
Even Hamish has stopped moving.
I can no longer hear his hooves on the hardwood floor.
Where did he go?
I tilt my head slightly, trying to spot him in my peripheral vision.
Nothing moves near the windows, though I can’t be sure from where I’m sitting.
“Uh... okay,” I mutter. “And?”
“And?” Maggie repeats. “Did you hear what I just said? And stop squinting, if you please.”
I straighten instantly as though someone jabbed me with a pin through the chair cushion.
The kind of trick Hamish would absolutely be capable of.
“A Fraser refusing an invitation from a McGregor is absurd!” Maggie exclaims.
I shrug.
“She just got here. She probably wants to do her work in peace.”
Maggie looks at me as though I’ve just uttered the most ridiculous thing she’s ever heard.
Finn speaks up.
“That’s what I thought too.”
Maggie shoots him a look that silences him immediately before turning back to me.
“This isn’t about work, Cameron. It’s about manners. Village courtesy.”
Mary joins in gently.
“She must feel lonely out there in that old manor. It would be nice if she met some people and felt welcome.”
Isobel nods.
“And Fraser Manor isn’t exactly the most welcoming place. Especially for someone who doesn’t know anyone.”
I’m beginning to understand exactly where this conversation is heading.
I turn toward Finn, hoping for some male solidarity.
“You’re not saying anything?”
He shrugs with a grin.
“I’m just here for the tea.”
“And the show. Traitor.”
Finn hides his smile behind his teacup.
Maggie taps the armrest of her chair, reclaiming my attention.
“Cameron, I need a favor.”
I close my eyes for half a second.
I already know I’m going to regret this.
“What kind of favor?”
“I’d like you to go get Clementine and bring her here. This afternoon.”
I go completely still.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
I look around the room, searching for some sign that someone else finds this request as absurd as I do.
Finn is smiling.
Mary nods encouragingly.
Isobel calmly sips her tea.
I turn back to Maggie.
“She declined your invitation. That’s her right. Nobody died.”
Maggie fixes me with a look that leaves absolutely no room for debate.
“It is not her right. It’s rude.”
I rub a hand over my face.
“And what exactly do you want me to do? Kidnap her?”
Maggie doesn’t even blink.
“If necessary.”
I stare at her.
“You’re serious?”
Finn laughs.
“She’s not actually asking you to kidnap her, Cameron. Just convince her to come.”
Mary adds with a smile far too innocent to be trusted:
“You’re a real estate agent. Persuasion is literally your job.”
I look at all of them in turn.
“You do realize this is completely insane?”
Maggie rises from her chair, walks over, and places a hand on my shoulder.
“Cameron, my boy, that young woman is new here. She doesn’t know anyone. She’s alone in a manor the entire village claims is haunted. She needs to see some friendly faces.”
“But she said no...”
“Because she doesn’t know me. But you can explain. Tell her it isn’t an obligation. Just a friendly invitation.”
I let out a long sigh.
“And if she refuses again?”
Maggie pats my shoulder.
“She won’t. Not if you’re the one asking.”
I turn toward Finn.
“Help me.”
He shakes his head, smiling.
“Sorry, old man. I tried saying no to Maggie once. It didn’t work.”
Mary laughs softly.
“Nobody says no to Maggie McGregor.”
Isobel adds with an affectionate smile:
“And besides, Cameron, it might be good for you too. You spend all your time selling houses. When do you ever take time to meet people?”
“I meet people every day!”
“Clients,” she corrects. “That’s not the same thing.”
I raise both hands in surrender.
“Fine. Fine. I’ll go talk to her. But I’m not promising anything.”
Maggie smiles triumphantly.
“That’s all I’m asking.”
I stand and head for the door.
“Oh, and Cameron?”
I turn back.
“Yes?”
“Be charming. Smile. Be polite.”
“I’m always charming.”
“I know,” she says with a mysterious smile. “That’s why I’m giving you this mission.”
I leave the sitting room and walk a few steps down the corridor.
Suddenly, Hamish appears beside me.
“You’re going to cause trouble, aren’t you?” I ask him.
Hamish stares at me.
“Obviously,” I mutter.
I continue walking.
“You really think you own the place, don’t you?” I toss over my shoulder as I leave the castle.
Hamish stops and sits down on the front steps, perfectly calm.
I, on the other hand, am considerably less relaxed.
I climb into my car and start the engine.
One last glance toward Hamish.
He hasn’t moved.
I shake my head.
One problem at a time.
Since the infernal sheep has apparently decided to leave me alone today, I shouldn’t waste energy worrying about him.
Especially when the mission Maggie just assigned me is a thousand times worse than any prank Hamish could pull.
I sigh and head toward the manor.
Driving slowly, hands tight on the steering wheel, I wonder how exactly I agreed to this.
I can already imagine the conversation.
Hello. I know we’ve never met, but my grandmother sent me because you refused her invitation for tea, and apparently that’s considered high treason in this village.
No.
Too direct.
Hi, I’m Cameron. I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay and, while I’m here, convince you to come have tea with my grandmother.
No.
Too weird.
Hello. I’m a real estate agent and, apparently, a part-time kidnapper.
No.
Ridiculous.
I let out another long sigh.
“Come on, Cameron. It’s just a conversation. You can do this.”