Chapter 28
CALLUM
I’ve never believed in signs or fate. Life is a matter of careful planning, not mystical intervention.
But watching Jane now—bow drawn, her focus sharper than I’ve ever seen—I find myself questioning everything I thought I knew.
If it isn’t fate that placed this unlikely woman in my life, then the universe has a particularly twisted sense of humor.
—Ladies and gentlemen, the final shot of the McGregor Archery Championship!
Cousin Lachlan’s voice carries through the evening air.
The crowd—family members and villagers alike—holds its breath.
My mother stands with her bow lowered, studying Jane with an unreadable expression.
Six targets ago, no one would have bet a penny on this outcome: Jane Carter, the American actress, tied for first place with Isobel McGregor at the end of the family championship.
Jane inhales deeply. This shot will decide everything.
A few steps away, Ewan throws me a knowing look. He hasn’t stopped ribbing me since our little conversation about the slightly too hands-on archery lessons he’d been giving my wife.
—She’s going to make it, Keira murmurs beside me. I can feel it.
—You also bet twenty pounds on her winning with the cousins, I remind her without taking my eyes off Jane.
—Financial incentives in no way diminish my sincere belief in her abilities, my sister replies with mock dignity.
Jane releases the string in one smooth motion that seems to suspend time itself. The arrow slices through the air and lands—almost impossibly—dead center.
A stunned silence follows, quickly shattered by cheers. Jane’s face lights up with disbelief and joy as Maggie steps forward to officially declare her victory.
—This is unprecedented in recent McGregor history! my grandmother announces, clearly delighted. A newcomer winning the championship on her very first try!
My mother’s expression is a masterpiece of contradiction—family pride in tradition upheld, shock at her own defeat, and a reluctant but undeniable respect for Jane.
A few steps away, Heather looks like she’s just bitten into the sourest lemon imaginable, her frozen smile barely masking her irritation.
Jane is quickly surrounded by family members congratulating her. Ewan is the first to pull her into an enthusiastic hug, and that unfamiliar feeling from earlier creeps back in—jealousy, I finally admit to myself. I step forward to offer my own congratulations.
—Impressive, Jane McGregor, I say when she turns to me. It seems I married a female Robin Hood without even realizing it.
—Robin Hood in a skirt, she corrects with that smile that always derails my thoughts. I’m just as surprised as you are, believe me.
—I don’t doubt it. As for me, I’m not surprised. You’re always full of surprises.
A faint blush colors her cheeks, and before she can respond, my mother approaches, holding a small antique silver brooch.
—This brooch is traditionally awarded to the tournament winner, she explains, her solemn tone failing to fully conceal her emotion. It represents an arrow entwined with a thistle—a symbol of precision and strength.
A tradition I’ve known since childhood suddenly takes on new meaning as my mother pins the brooch onto Jane’s shawl herself.
—Welcome to the family, Jane, she adds, leaving me speechless.
Those words, spoken by a woman who’s treated Jane with all the warmth of an iceberg since her arrival, mark a turning point. Jane looks as stunned as I feel, but her smile is radiant.
—Thank you, Isobel, she replies sincerely. It’s a great honor.
Behind them, my grandmother watches the scene with undisguised satisfaction, as though everything has unfolded exactly according to a plan only she knew.
The Highland Games wind down under the soft glow of a rare Scottish summer evening—clear skies, perfectly tempered air. Guests begin to disperse, some heading back to the village, others drifting toward the large tent where an informal dinner is being served.
—Do you want to go eat? I ask Jane, who’s still staring at the silver brooch in her hand, looking slightly dazed.
—Honestly? I need a quiet moment after all that, she admits. Some fresh air would help.
—A walk, then? I suggest. I know a path with a beautiful view of the estate.
—That sounds perfect.
We slip away unnoticed amid the general bustle. I lead her along a winding trail that cuts through the hills, away from the castle and the festivities. The silence between us is easy, comfortable.
—How does it feel, being an archery champion now? I ask after a while.
She laughs, and the sound sparks something warm and unfamiliar inside me.
—Like an imposter who got incredibly lucky, she says. But also… strangely proud. I’ve never been good at sports. In high school, I was always the last one picked for gym.
—Hard to believe after today’s performance.
—Right? Maybe Scotland has some kind of magical effect on me. Or maybe Ewan is just an exceptional coach.
I can’t stop the slight grimace at the mention of my friend, which doesn’t escape her notice. Her smile widens.
—Keira told me you were jealous, she says, teasing.
—Keira talks too much, I mutter, feeling my ears heat. I wasn’t jealous. I was… concerned about Ewan’s teaching methods.
—Of course, she agrees solemnly. That’s exactly what concerned men do—they glare at their best friend when he touches their wife’s shoulders.
—I did not glare.
—You looked at him like he’d just suggested turning the castle into a theme park.
—Typical Hollywood exaggeration, I grumble, though I can’t help smiling.
The path climbs gently, revealing an increasingly sweeping view of the McGregor lands. The sun begins to dip, painting the horizon in shades of amber. I’ve seen this view a thousand times, but today it feels different—like I’m seeing it through Jane’s eyes.
—It’s beautiful, she breathes, stopping to take in the valley.
—Yes, I agree, though my gaze is fixed on her rather than the landscape.
—I understand why you love this place so much, she continues. There’s something timeless about it.
—Exactly. Every generation of McGregors has stood here, looking out at this same view. It’s both a privilege and a responsibility.
—A heavy one sometimes, she guesses, her insight catching me off guard.
—Sometimes, I admit. But today, it felt lighter.
She looks at me, curious.
—Why today?
—Because you were here.
The words hang between us, simple yet heavy with meaning. Jane blushes faintly and turns her gaze back to the horizon, but a small smile plays on her lips.
—Look, I say, breaking the moment, that cabin over there.
I point to a small stone structure halfway up the hillside.
—It used to be a guard post, built centuries ago to watch for rival clans. I used to spend hours there as a kid, imagining myself as a Highland warrior defending our land.
—Show me, she says, her enthusiasm reminding me exactly why her presence has become so essential to me.
We head toward the cabin, but halfway there, the Scottish weather reminds us of its unpredictable nature. Dark clouds gather as if conjured from thin air, swallowing the sun.
—I don’t like the look of that, I mutter, scanning the sky. Storms roll in fast here.
—Are we far from the castle? Jane asks, suddenly uneasy.
—Too far to make it back before the rain starts. But the cabin’s close—we can take shelter there.
The first heavy drops fall before I’ve even finished speaking. Within seconds, the drizzle turns into a downpour. Jane lets out a small cry. I grab her hand, and we run toward the stone shelter.
The wind rises sharply, turning the rain into horizontal sheets.
Lightning splits the sky, thunder cracking close behind.
Jane slips on the soaked grass, and I catch her instinctively, my arm wrapping around her waist. We make the rest of the way like that—half running, half stumbling—until we finally reach the cabin door.
I shove it open. It creaks in protest. Inside, it’s simple but dry: a single room with a small fireplace, a rustic table, two chairs, and what looks like a wooden bench along one wall.
—It’s not the Ritz, but it’ll do until the storm passes, I say, closing the door behind us, cutting off the howl of the wind.
Jane is soaked, her hair plastered to her face, her clothes clinging to her in a way that forces me to look away. I’m not in much better shape myself.
—I didn’t expect to relive Titanic today, she says, wringing out her hair. Though the cabin’s slightly less luxurious than the ship.
—Let’s hope it floats better—and that I don’t share poor Jack’s fate, I reply, trying to get my lighter to work as I reach for the candle on the table.
—Not a chance, she shoots back. I would’ve made room for you on that door…
I laugh under my breath.
The flame flickers, then catches, casting a soft glow into the growing dimness. Jane looks around the cabin, curious.
—Did you come here often?
—As a teenager, yes. It was my refuge when I wanted to escape my father’s expectations or my mother’s lectures.
—A secret hideout, she smiles. I wish I’d had something like that.
—You didn’t have one in Los Angeles?
—In a standard California house with a mother who barely understood the concept of privacy? she laughs. My refuge was my closet. I’d lock myself in there to rehearse my lines.
I picture a younger Jane curled up in a closet, whispering dialogue into the dark, and the image stirs something unexpectedly tender in me.
—There’s wood by the fireplace, I note. I should be able to get a fire going. You’ll freeze otherwise.
—Always so practical, she says, rubbing her arms. It’s a quality I’ve come to appreciate since knowing you.
I focus on building the fire, grateful for something concrete to do. Outside, the storm intensifies—the wind howling like a living thing, lightning flashing through the single window.
—Do you think it’ll last long? Jane asks, moving closer to the growing fire, her arms still wrapped around herself.