My heart skips at that fateful word. In love. We haven’t said those words yet, even though what we shared in the cabin went far beyond simple physical desire.
—Exactly, I say, choosing to embrace that truth. Who would have thought an arranged marriage would turn into the most real thing I’ve ever known?
Callum stops, pulling me against him for a kiss that makes me forget we’re standing in the middle of a muddy path, probably being watched by several sheep (Hamish has most likely spread rumors about us in the local ovine community).
—We should hurry back now, he murmurs against my lips. Or I might be tempted to take you back to that cabin.
—That would be tragic, I tease as we start walking again. Especially since we have a very comfortable bed waiting for us at the castle.
—That is indeed a compelling argument.
A shiver runs through me as sensual thoughts flicker through my mind.
We continue walking, the imposing silhouette of McGregor Castle materializing on the horizon. Despite the beauty of the moment, a small thread of anxiety begins to form in my mind.
—Cal?
—Hmm?
—How are we going to explain… this? I ask, gesturing vaguely to our disheveled appearance. I mean, we left for a simple walk and we’re coming back several hours later, soaked, windblown and…
—Satisfied? he suggests, a crooked smile tugging at his lips that makes me want to kiss him again.
—I was going to say visibly different, but yes, very satisfied.
He thinks for a moment.
—We’ll tell the truth, he finally decides. That we were caught in the storm and took shelter in the old guard cabin.
—Just that? Nothing about what happened in said cabin?
—What happened between us belongs only to us, he replies softly. The rest, they can guess if they want.
I nod, reassured by his answer. A part of me is tempted to keep this new evolution of our relationship secret, like a precious treasure to protect. But another part, bolder, wants the entire world to know that Callum McGregor and I are no longer simply bound by a contract, but by something far deeper.
—In that case, I say, lowering my gaze to my outfit, I should maybe try to look a little less… devastated.
I attempt to smooth my hair and adjust my clothes. My efforts feel futile—no brush, no mirror, and my damp clothes are now wrinkled.
—I think this is a lost cause, Callum concludes after observing me with obvious amusement. But if it reassures you, you’re beautiful even like this.
—Your opinion is biased, I shoot back. You’ve seen what’s under these clothes.
—That’s true, he agrees, his gaze instantly reigniting that heat in my belly. And I can’t wait to see it again.
—Focus, McGregor. We need to survive getting back into the castle first.
We approach the back gardens, and I begin to relax slightly. Maybe we’ll be able to slip inside and head straight to our room without being seen.
That hope vanishes the moment we reach the terrace. The castle is lit up from every angle, and through the large dining room windows, I can see a crowd gathered inside.
—What the… I begin, confused.
—The Highland Games dinner, Callum replies with a grimace. I completely forgot.
—The dinner of what? No one told me about a dinner!
—It’s a tradition, he explains. After the games, participants who have come from far away stay the night, and we organize a formal dinner.
