I think back to our kiss on the moor, to that new, deepening connection between us.
— It’s not Callum I need to prove anything to. It’s myself, I say finally. And maybe a little to your mother. And thataristocratic snob Heather. And every single McGregor who looks at me like I’m an alien who crash-landed in their tartan.
— So, in summary, everyone except Callum, Keira concludes with a teasing smile.
— Exactly.
I take a deep breath and turn to her.
— On a scale of one to ten, how badly am I about to embarrass myself?
— Oh, a solid twelve, she replies with brutal honesty that makes me burst out laughing. But it’ll be memorable, and that’s what counts, right?
The McGregor estatehas been transformed for the occasion. Colorful tents dot the grounds, stalls offer local specialties, and at the center, several areas have been set up for the different events. The atmosphere is festive—a blend of traditional village fair and athletic competition.
I spot Callum talking with a group of men I assume are organizers. He looks devastating in his kilt, his long, muscular legs fully on display (which continues to distract me in a way that’s honestly a little embarrassing). He glances up, sees me, and his face lights up in a way that still makes me question whether any of this is real.
— Ready for the big day? he asks, walking over to me.
— As ready as one can be when about to throw tree trunks in front of their in-laws, I reply with a tight smile. How does this work, exactly? Do I sign up somewhere?
— You don’t need to sign up, he explains. It’s a family event. But are you sure you want to participate? It’s not mandatory.
— I know, I say, squaring my shoulders. But I want to. For me.
He studies me for a long moment, and I see pride flicker in his eyes.
— In that case, let me introduce you to your coach for the day.
He gestures behind me, and I turn to see Ewan approaching with a wide grin. Ewan is the kind of man who seems perpetually amused by everything around him, like he’s living inside a private comedy only he fully understands.
— Lady Jane! he calls out in his thick Scottish accent. Ready to become a true Highlander?
— I’m not sure that’s something you can achieve in a single day, but I’m willing to try, I reply.
— Perfect! Callum told me you needed a coach, and I’m just the man for the job. I won the caber toss three years in a row before this idiot beat me last year.
He nudges Callum playfully, who just shakes his head with a smile.
— Pure luck, Callum replies. But I’m not competing this year—I have to oversee the event.
— Oversee all you want, mister director, I’m turning your wife into a champion, Ewan declares with infectious enthusiasm. First stop: the weight throw. Just to warm up.
Callum shoots me an apologetic look.
— I need to go check on the obstacle course setup. Ewan will take good care of you.
— Don’t worry, I say with a confidence I definitely don’t feel. What could possibly go wrong?
Callum and Ewan exchange a look that is not reassuring in the slightest.
— I’ll be back soon, Callum promises before walking away.
Ewan turns to me, hands on his hips.
— So, what’s your experience level with traditional Scottish sports?
— Absolutely zero. Unless drinking whiskey counts as a sport. In that case, I’m starting to get pretty good.
