Chapter 6
JANE
I’d always assumed the Scottish Highlands in movies were heavily edited—enhanced by filters and CGI. No sane person could believe a place could be that breathtaking and that soaked at the same time.
And yet here I am, sitting in a luxury SUV with my face practically pressed to the window as we drive through scenery that doesn’t feel real.
Valleys stretch endlessly in impossible shades of green, streams wind through rolling hills like silver ribbons, and a soft, ghostlike mist clings to the distant peaks.
It’s like I stepped through a portal the second I left the plane. Straight into some alternate dimension called Outlander: The Return.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Callum says, his hands steady on the wheel.
“That’s because my brain is trying to figure out how a place can be this beautiful and this wild at the same time.”
He shoots me an amused glance. “The Highlands aren’t for everyone. Some people only see the rain and the isolation.”
“Oh, I noticed the rain,” I say dryly. “Hard to miss when it’s falling sideways.”
“It’s just a light, refreshing drizzle,” he replies, completely serious. “You’ll get used to it.”
I turn so fast my neck cracks. “A light drizzle? Callum, it’s raining so hard I swear I saw a fish swimming through the air earlier.”
The corner of his mouth lifts. After a week in Los Angeles “building our relationship” for the paparazzi and orchestrating what might be the most elaborate whirlwind wedding in history, I’ve learned to recognize those rare moments when his unshakable businessman mask slips.
“That was probably a salmon,” he says. “They’re known for jumping out of the water during mating season.”
I can’t help it—I smile.
“We’re here,” he adds.
He turns onto a road lined with ancient trees, and my stomach tightens. Meeting Callum’s family—especially his formidable grandmother—is the part I’ve been dreading the most. Pretending in front of cameras is one thing. Fooling a sharp-eyed Scottish matriarch? That’s another level entirely.
“Remind me again what your grandmother knows?” I ask.
He slows the car, and I can’t tell if it’s because the road is slick or because he’s putting off the inevitable.
“Very little, actually.”
“She doesn’t know we’re planning to divorce in a year.”
“Correct.”
I nod, mentally rehearsing our story. We met during one of Callum’s business trips to LA. Instant chemistry. Long-distance romance. A spontaneous decision to get married when he returned. Romantic, improbable—but believable. Hopefully.
“And your sister? Keira?”
“She knows everything. She’ll be your strongest ally in this castle. No one understands my grandmother better than she does.”
I’m about to ask something else when the castle appears—and every word leaves me.
Castle McGregor isn’t just a building. It’s a statement carved in stone. Towers rise toward the sky like they’re daring the elements to challenge them, gray walls whispering centuries of stories. Its presence is undeniable, almost defiant—we’ve been here forever, and we’re not going anywhere.
“This is your home?” I whisper.
“It’s our home now,” Callum corrects as he pulls up to the entrance.
Our. The word lands strangely inside me. This fairytale castle is—temporarily—mine. For a girl who grew up in a Los Angeles apartment where you could hear your neighbors sneeze through the walls, this feels unreal.
The moment the car stops, the massive wooden doors swing open and several people step out. A young woman with blazing red hair practically runs toward us, her grin bright and mischievous.
“The bride has arrived!” she announces, yanking my door open before Callum even turns off the engine.
“Hello to you too, Keira,” Callum sighs.
She gives me a thorough once-over, then nods approvingly. “Good choice, big brother. She’s gorgeous.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. “Uh, thank you? I’m Jane.”
“Oh, I know exactly who you are! I’ve seen all your movies. Even Vengeance Under the Coconut Trees, which—let’s be honest—was absolutely terrible.”
“Keira,” Callum warns.
I laugh, already charmed by this whirlwind of a woman. “No, she’s right. It was awful. I spent three months with sand in places sand should never be for a movie even my mom refused to watch twice.”
Keira hooks her arm through mine like we’ve known each other for years. “I knew it! You’re going to fit in perfectly here. Come on—Grandmother’s waiting in the drawing room. She’s so excited she brought out the special china and the reserve whisky.”
My anxiety spikes at the mention of Maggie McGregor. Callum must sense it, because his hand settles reassuringly at the small of my back.
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs near my ear. “She doesn’t bite. At least not during the first meeting.”
“Very comforting. Thanks.”
An older man approaches and inclines his head. “Welcome to Castle McGregor, Miss Carter. I am Jamison, the butler.”
“Nice to meet you, Jamison. Please—call me Jane.”
He exchanges a glance with Callum, as if sharing a private joke. “That would be inappropriate, Miss. But I appreciate your kindness.”
Inside, my breath catches all over again. If the exterior was impressive, the interior is staggering—soaring ceilings with intricate moldings, sweeping stone staircases, ancient tapestries lining the walls, and windows that frame the Highlands like living paintings.
“It’s incredible,” I whisper, turning slowly to take it all in.
“Isn’t it?” Keira says. “This old pile of stones has its charm. Even if it’s impossible to heat in winter and the Wi-Fi used to be a disaster.”
“The Wi-Fi is perfectly functional now,” Callum interjects behind us. “I had repeaters installed.”
Keira rolls her eyes. “He’s so practical. How do you deal with him?”
“Oh, I find ways,” I shoot back with a playful wink, leaning fully into my role.
Callum clears his throat, visibly uncomfortable, which only makes Keira laugh harder. “I already love having a sister-in-law.”
We pass through a maze of hallways and rooms, each more lavish than the last, until we reach what must be the main drawing room. In front of a massive fireplace, where a warm fire crackles, sits an elderly woman in a chair that might as well be a throne.
Maggie McGregor. In the flesh.
I recognize her instantly—thank you, Google. You can never be too prepared when meeting your fake fiancé’s family.
Even seated, she commands the entire room. Dressed in elegant tweed, pearls at her throat, silver hair perfectly styled, she looks like royalty in exile. Her blue eyes—Callum’s eyes—lock onto me immediately.
“So this is your American actress,” she says to Callum without looking away from me.
The word actress sounds dangerously close to con artist.
“Grandmother, this is Jane Carter, my fiancée,” Callum says evenly. “Jane, my grandmother, Margaret McGregor.”
I step forward, offering my hand with what I hope is a confident smile. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. McGregor. Callum has told me so much about you.”
She ignores my hand and pats the sofa beside her. “Sit, child. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, and I want a closer look at the woman my grandson intends to marry.”
I shoot Callum a panicked glance. He nods. I sit.
She studies me like a jeweler inspecting a questionable diamond.
“An American,” she says, as if delivering a diagnosis. “From Los Angeles, no less. Do you know it rains here over three hundred days a year?”
“I got a preview on the way in.”
“And I see your shoes are already soaked. Those dainty city boots won’t take you far in the Highlands, my dear.”
I glance down at my suede ankle boots—completely drenched. “I’ll buy something more suitable.”
“Hmm. That ring suits you. My daughter-in-law had slender hands as well.”
I look at the engagement ring Callum gave me. “It’s beautiful. I’m honored to wear it.”
Something flickers in her gaze—approval? Doubt?
“Callum explained the circumstances of your meeting.”
I swallow. First test.
“It all happened very quickly,” I say carefully. “But I assure you, my feelings for your grandson are sincere.”
Not entirely a lie. I do admire him—his determination, his intelligence. The fact that it’s not love… that’s a detail I’m keeping to myself.
She narrows her eyes. “Love cannot be commanded, child. It grows with time, like a fine whisky.”
“Grandmother,” Callum cuts in, “we didn’t come here for an interrogation. Jane is tired from her journey.”
“Silence. I am speaking with my future granddaughter-in-law.” She turns back to me. “Tell me, Jane, are you familiar with Scottish traditions?”
“Not as much as I’d like to be. But I learn quickly.”
“Excellent!” Her face lights up. “Because the wedding is in three days, and there are several rituals you must master before then.”
“Rituals?” I repeat, alarmed.
“Nothing complicated. A simple traditional dance, a few words of Gaelic, and of course, the quaich ceremony.”
I glance at Callum in horror. None of this was in the briefing.
“Grandmother, Jane will have plenty of time to learn after the wedding—”
“Nonsense! A true McGregor bride must know our customs before joining the family. Keira will teach her tomorrow.”
Keira winks at me from across the room. “It’ll be fun. The dance is easy. You just have to avoid tripping over your partner’s kilt.”
“The kilt?” I squeak. “You’re wearing a kilt?”
Callum looks faintly amused. “It’s tradition.”
“How long is it exactly, if I’m supposed to trip on it?”
He raises a brow. “I was joking, Jane.”
The mental image of him in a kilt is distracting enough to briefly override my panic.
“Now,” Maggie continues, “you must be exhausted. Jamison will show you to your rooms.”
“Thank you, Mrs. McGregor.”
“Call me Maggie, dear. We’re almost family now.”
Almost. It sounds like a warning.
Jamison leads us through a labyrinth of corridors and staircases. I’m already certain I’ll get lost at least three times a day.
“Your luggage has been brought up, Miss,” he says. “Dinner will be served at seven in the main dining room. Semi-formal attire.”