Chapter 8
CALLUM
Jane lets out a high-pitched scream that startles everyone at the table. She bolts to her feet, knocking over her glass, water spilling across the antique lace tablecloth.
“Oh my God—what is that? A sheep? Inside the house?!”
Her eyes are wide with horror as she stumbles backward, colliding with the sideboard. A porcelain plate wobbles dangerously.
“It’s just Hamish,” I say, rising quickly to step between her and the animal.
“He’s part of the family,” Keira adds, far too cheerfully.
“In the dining room?” Jane stammers, her expression shifting from shock to outright disgust. “But that’s a farm animal! It’s covered in… in—”
“In what, exactly, dear?” my mother asks sweetly. “Wool?”
Hamish, perhaps sensing Jane’s fear, strolls further into the room, his hooves clicking against the polished wood. Jane climbs straight onto her chair, her elegant dress riding scandalously high above her knees.
“Get it away from me! It’s going to bite!”
“Sheep don’t bite, Jane,” Keira says patiently, clearly enjoying herself.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Lachlan cuts in with a wicked grin. “This one’s tried to take a chunk out of me more than once. He’s particularly sensitive to… how shall I put it… people who aren’t entirely sincere.”
Jane shoots me a panicked look as Hamish approaches her chair, sniffing curiously.
“In Los Angeles, we don’t exactly keep animals like this in our homes,” she tries, her voice climbing higher with every word.
“Not even movie stars with their exotic pets?” my mother asks innocently.
“Celebrities have chihuahuas or Persian cats! Not… creatures that smell like manure!”
The room goes ice cold.
I close my eyes briefly. Of all the things she could have said, insulting the smell of livestock in a family of Scottish sheep breeders might be the worst possible choice.
My grandmother straightens in her chair, her gaze turning as cold as a winter loch.
“Our family has raised sheep for eight generations, Miss Carter. The smell you find so offensive is the scent of the animals that have fed, clothed, and educated every McGregor seated at this table.”
As if personally offended, Hamish steps even closer. Jane lets out a whimper, scrambling higher on her chair—which tilts dangerously.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—AAAH!”
The chair tips.
With a spectacular crash, Jane goes down, taking part of the tablecloth—and several pieces of porcelain—with her.
Hamish startles, jumps back… and then, as if in revenge, drops a neat cluster of perfectly round black pellets right beside her sprawled form.
I rush forward to help her up.
Lachlan is the first to burst out laughing, quickly followed by Keira. My mother watches with thinly veiled satisfaction, while my grandmother lets out a long, weary sigh.
Jane’s beautiful dress is now stained with red wine and sauce, her hair in complete disarray, and her expression—
If I had to describe it, I’d say it hovers somewhere between total humiliation and barely contained murder.
I’ve never been a superstitious man, but I’m starting to suspect this evening is cursed. Or maybe I am—for ever thinking it was a good idea to marry an American actress to save the family business.
At this exact moment, watching Jane try to gather what remains of her dignity while managing a full-blown diplomatic disaster, I find myself wondering if letting Lachlan take over the company might have been the lesser evil.
“Welcome to the McGregor family,” Lachlan drawls with a smug grin. “Americans usually find our hospitality… overwhelming.”
Jane shoots him a look that promises violence.
And just like that, I realize my already fragile plan is collapsing as spectacularly as my fiancée just did onto the McGregor ancestral floor.
“Told you,” Keira adds. “He used to try and bite Heather every time she got close.”
“Heather?” Jane asks, shooting me a sharp look.
“A family friend,” I say quickly, sending my sister a warning glare.
“My ex,” Keira clarifies with obvious delight. “The one who hated the rain, the isolation, and everything that makes the Highlands what they are.”
Jane’s eyes light up with a kind of curiosity that feels… dangerous.
“It seems Hamish has better instincts than some of us when it comes to judging character,” my grandmother says thoughtfully. “Jamison, would you kindly escort our guest back to his enclosure—and have someone clean up this mess?”
The butler inclines his head with the same dignity he brings to everything—even this.
“Of course, Madam. Come along, Hamish. Time to go.”
Miraculously, the sheep follows him without protest—though not before casting one last look at Jane, as if promising this isn’t over.
“I think you have an admirer,” I murmur, blotting wine from Jane’s dress with my napkin.
My hand accidentally brushes the curve of her breast.
I freeze.
Jane doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy fixing her hair.
“I’ve always had a talent for attracting stubborn creatures,” she says, meeting my eyes with something that feels a little too pointed.
Keira bursts out laughing. Even my mother struggles to maintain her composure.
I right Jane’s chair, and we both sit again.
“Well,” my grandmother announces, clapping her hands lightly, “since our dinner has been interrupted in such a… picturesque manner, I suggest we retire to the drawing room for coffee. Jane must be exhausted after her journey, and tomorrow will be a busy day.”
“Busy?” Jane echoes, alarmed.
“Of course, dear. You need to learn the traditional dance, oversee the banquet preparations, attend your final dress fittings—”
“My dress?” Jane interrupts. “I was planning to wear the one I brought from Los Angeles.”
My grandmother looks at her as if she just suggested getting married in a swimsuit.
“Certainly not. A McGregor bride wears a gown that reflects our heritage. I’ve taken the liberty of contacting the finest dressmaker in Edinburgh. She arrives tomorrow morning.”
Jane pales slightly. Without thinking, I slip my hand over hers beneath the table.
“Grandmother, Jane is exhausted. Perhaps we can discuss details tomorrow.”
“Nonsense! A bride should be excited about her wedding preparations. Shouldn’t you, Jane?”
Cornered, Jane nods with forced enthusiasm. “Absolutely. I can’t wait.”
Eventually, the dinner ends. After surviving coffee—and several more probing questions from my mother—we’re finally released.
I guide Jane through the maze of corridors back to our room, acutely aware she’s hanging on by a thread.
“I’m sorry,” I say quietly once the door closes behind us. “For all of it. The haggis, the interrogation… Hamish.”
To my surprise, she bursts out laughing—real, bright laughter that transforms her tired face.
“That was the most surreal dinner of my life,” she says, collapsing onto the bed. “I lied through my teeth, ate sheep organs, and made an enemy out of a rogue sheep. All in one night.”
“You handled it well,” I say honestly, sitting beside her. “Better than I expected.”
“Really? Even with the gin story?”
“That was… creative.”
“I panicked!” she groans, covering her face. “Your mother was looking at me like she was deciding whether to poison me or bury me in the moors.”
“That’s her usual expression. Don’t take it personally.”
She lowers her hands, suddenly serious.
“Your family matters to you. I don’t want to ruin this.”
There’s something in her voice—something real—that catches me off guard.
“You’re not ruining anything. If anything… I think my grandmother is starting to like you.”
“Seriously?”
“I think surviving Hamish counts as a rite of passage. In this house, that’s almost as important as her approval.”
She gestures helplessly at her ruined dress. “My dress is destroyed…”
“It’s just fabric. I’ll buy you another.”
She blinks, biting back what looks like a sharp response, then lets it go.
“These next few days are going to be intense, aren’t they?”
“You have no idea,” I admit.
I grab an extra blanket from the wardrobe. “You should get some sleep. I’ll take the couch, like I said.”
“Callum?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For saving me from your mother.”
Before I can answer, she gathers her things and disappears into the bathroom.
I’m left alone, staring at the closed door behind the woman who is about to become my wife.
Against all odds—despite the chaos, the lies, the disasters—tonight wasn’t a complete failure.
Jane held her own. In her own unpredictable way.
And tomorrow, the real challenge begins: pulling off a traditional Scottish wedding in less than three days… with an American bride who only just learned what haggis is.
What could possibly go wrong?