Chapter 30
JANE
I have the distinct feeling my eyebrows may never come down from the “permanent defense” position they’ve been stuck in ever since I caught Heather telling Isobel about how she and Callum worked together on last year’s Highland cultural festival.
“Remarkable teamwork,” she’d said with that perfect smile that makes me want to throw a snowball at her… filled with tiny rocks… in August.
—Stop it, Jane, I mutter under my breath. She’s not worth it.
The castle is unusually quiet this morning.
Callum left early for Edinburgh for a full-day business meeting, leaving me to my own devices with only Hamish for company—who followed me all the way to the castle door before being gently but firmly redirected back to his enclosure by Jamison—and potentially Heather, who seems to have developed the gift of ubiquity, always appearing exactly where I am.
In theory, she’s no longer on McGregor land, but with her, who really knows?
I head down to the kitchen, hoping to find Mrs. Finley and her legendary scones, which could definitely lift my mood. To my great disappointment, the kitchen is empty, save for a note on the counter informing me that Mrs. Finley has gone into the village to run an errand.
—Perfect. I’m officially abandoned, I murmur as I open the refrigerator in search of something to snack on.
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Callum
The meeting is running long. Don’t wait for me before this evening. I love you. C.
I smile despite myself. Those three little words have the power to melt me like ice cream on a Malibu beach. Our relationship has changed so much since that cabin in the storm. What began as a practical arrangement has turned into something deep, something real.
My phone vibrates again. This time, it’s a number I don’t recognize.
Unknown
Hello, Jane, this is Alistair McKenzie. Callum gave me your number. I would be honored to give you a tour of my distillery today. A perfect opportunity to discover another side of Scottish culture. Are you available?
Alistair McKenzie? The name rings a vague bell…
Ah, right. A businessman Keira mentioned at our last family dinner.
I’m surprised he’s contacting me directly, but then again, why not?
Callum is gone all day, Heather may be lurking somewhere, and the alternative is counting castle stones until my husband returns.
Hello Alistair. Thank you for the invitation. Callum is indeed away today. What time were you thinking?
I try to sound polite, but not overly eager.
The reply comes almost immediately.
Unknown
Perfect! I can come pick you up in an hour, if that works for you.
I hesitate for a moment. Is it strange to accept an invitation from a man I barely know? Probably. But on the other hand, it’s an opportunity to show that I take my role as a member of the McGregor family seriously.
I send a confirmation and head upstairs to change.
I choose something casual but elegant—jeans, ankle boots, and a white cashmere sweater that, according to Callum, inspires thoroughly indecent thoughts. A touch of light makeup, and I’m ready.
As I make my way down to the hall, I run into Jamison, who observes me with his usual neutrality, though I detect a flicker of surprise in his gaze.
—Madam is going out? he asks politely.
—Yes, Jamison. Mr. McKenzie invited me to visit his distillery. I’ll be back for dinner.
Something passes through his eyes—concern?—but his expression returns to impassive so quickly I wonder if I imagined it.
—Very good, Madam. Would you like me to inform Sir of your plans?
—That won’t be necessary, thank you, I reply quickly. He’s in meetings all day. I’ll tell him myself this evening.
Jamison nods, but I can tell he isn’t entirely convinced. I step outside to wait on the front steps, enjoying a rare stretch of Scottish sunshine that has decided to make an appearance today.
A sleek black Jaguar glides up the castle drive exactly one hour after our exchange.
The car stops in front of me, and an elegant man steps out.
Tall, dark hair perfectly styled, wearing a tailored suit that practically announces I’m rich and I know it—not exactly the typical look of the distillers I’ve met so far.
—Jane McGregor, he says, approaching with a confident smile. Alistair McKenzie. A pleasure to meet you.
—The pleasure is mine, I reply, shaking his hand. Thank you for the invitation.
—All mine, he assures me, opening the passenger door. I must admit, I was curious to meet the woman who managed to capture the heart of the unflappable Callum McGregor.
His tone is light, but there’s something beneath it I can’t quite decipher.
—Oh, I don’t know if I’ve captured his heart, I say as I slide into the car. Let’s just say we found each other at the right time.
Alistair gets behind the wheel and pulls away.
—Modesty is a rare quality these days, he comments as we leave the castle grounds. Especially in the world you come from.
—The world I come from?
—Hollywood, he clarifies. I did some research, of course. Jane Carter, promising actress until that unfortunate incident with that director. And then, as if by magic, you find yourself married to one of Scotland’s most eligible businessmen. It’s almost like a movie, isn’t it?
I try not to stiffen. His tone is casual, but his words hit like a small explosion.
—Life has a way of surprising you, I say simply. And you, Mr. McKenzie? What exactly do you do, aside from owning a distillery?
—Alistair, please. I run McKenzie Industries. We operate in the same sector as the McGregors—exporting luxury Scottish goods, with a specialization in whisky and textiles. We are, let’s say, cordial competitors.
His smile suggests cordial may not be entirely accurate.
—I see, I reply carefully. And what made you want to invite me to your distillery today?
—Let’s just say I like to know all the players in my professional environment, he explains, taking a sharp turn along the winding road. And I’ve always believed it’s important for spouses to understand the world their partner operates in. Callum hasn’t shown you his yet?
—We haven’t had the opportunity, I answer, suddenly wondering if I should have mentioned this outing to Callum before accepting.
—That’s surprising, Alistair remarks. The McGregor distillery is one of the oldest in Scotland. An impressive family legacy. One would think it would be one of the first things he’d want to show you.
A flicker of irritation sparks inside me. Is he trying to plant doubt?
—We’ve been busy, I say, turning my gaze to the window. Between my adjustment to Scottish life and his professional responsibilities, some things take a back seat.
—Of course, of course, he agrees with a small smile. Here we are.
The McKenzie distillery is nestled in a picturesque valley, surrounded by rolling green hills. The main building is stone, with a slate roof and a chimney releasing a thin plume of smoke. It’s charming in a deeply Scottish way, yet clearly modern and well maintained.
—It’s beautiful, I say. How long has it been here?
—The original distillery dates back to the 18th century, Alistair explains, guiding me toward the entrance. But I renovated everything five years ago to combine tradition with modern technology. Unlike some people, I don’t believe clinging to the past is the best way to honor a legacy.
I can’t help thinking that comment is aimed squarely at Callum.
Inside, the distillery is impressive. Massive copper stills gleam under natural light pouring through large windows, workers move with focused efficiency, and the air is rich with the scent of fermented grain and wood.
—This is where the magic happens, Alistair says, walking me through the different stages of production. We start with malting the barley, then…
I listen with genuine interest as he explains the whisky-making process. He’s passionate, his explanations clear and engaging. Despite my initial reservations, I relax and begin to enjoy the visit.
After touring the production area, Alistair leads me into an elegant tasting room where several glasses of whisky await.
—The most enjoyable part of the tour, he says, inviting me to sit. A tasting of our finest selections. Don’t worry, just samples. Enough to appreciate the nuances, not enough to impair your judgment.
Something about the way he phrases that unsettles me slightly, but I sit anyway. I came here to learn.
He explains how to properly taste whisky—observe the color, inhale the aromas, let it roll across the tongue to appreciate its complexity. I have to admit, it’s fascinating, and some of the whiskies are delicious, even to my inexperienced palate.
—So, Jane, he says after several tastings, how are you finding life as a Scottish lady of the manor? Quite different from Los Angeles, I imagine.
—It requires some adjustment, I reply cautiously. But I like the quiet, the beauty of the landscape.
—And the McGregor family? Isobel isn’t known for her warmth toward outsiders.
I can’t help laughing.
—That’s putting it mildly. But we’re making progress. Slowly.
—And Callum? Is he the attentive husband everyone hopes for, or does he remain the cold, calculating businessman even in private?
The question, asked with an affable smile but sharp eyes, catches me off guard with its intimacy.
—If you’re looking for gossip about my marriage, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed, I reply firmly. Callum is an excellent husband.
—Of course, of course, he says, raising his hands in mock surrender. Just curiosity. It’s just that… Callum McGregor married—it’s a difficult concept to grasp for those who’ve known him a long time.
—People change, I counter.
—Do they? he asks, his gaze sharpening. Do you know why Callum and Heather broke up?
My stomach tightens at the mention of Heather.
—I fail to see how that concerns me. Or you, for that matter.
—Perhaps it should concern you, he insists. Understanding a man’s past can shed light on his present—and likely his future.