I scan the space and spot a door. “And that?”
“Dressing room. There’s an en-suite bathroom beyond it.”
I sit on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. “Your grandmother is… intense.”
Callum smiles faintly. “You handled her well. She let you call her Maggie on the first meeting. It took my mother six months.”
“That’s supposed to reassure me?”
“She’s watching you. Deciding if you’re sincere. If you’re worthy of the McGregor name.”
I look up at him, genuinely worried. “What if I’m not? What if I mess up the dance or butcher the Gaelic?”
“Jane, you’re a professional actress. You’ve memorized entire scripts. A few Gaelic words won’t defeat you.”
“But I’ve never played a role this important.”
He sits beside me. “You’re not alone in this. I’ll be there every step of the way.”
There’s something in his voice—something softer than usual—that steadies me.
“Okay. But if I completely crash and burn, you’re saving me.”
“Deal.”
We sit there for a moment, taking in the room. Dark wood paneling, aged with time. A carved stone fireplace casting flickering shadows across a thick, plush rug. Exposed beams overhead. The air carries the faint scent of cedar and smoke—strangely comforting.
My gaze drifts back to the bed. Massive. Draped in white linen, embroidered with Celtic patterns. The carved posts tell stories I can’t quite decipher.
“It’s incredible,” I murmur.
“It is,” Callum agrees. “One of the oldest rooms in the castle. My grandmother likes to say an ancestor signed an important treaty here—or hid in it after losing a battle. Depends on her mood.”
I smile softly, but the weight of history in this place is undeniable.
“And that wardrobe?” I ask, pointing.
“Hand-carved. It belonged to my great-great-grandfather. Legend says he hid love letters in it for a woman he was never allowed to marry.”
I walk over, brushing my fingers along the polished wood, imagining the secrets hidden in these walls.
“Your ancestors built something remarkable.”
“They built something freezing,” he laughs. “You’ll understand in winter.”
I smile, still absorbing everything. This isn’t just a room—it’s a time capsule. And somehow, I’m part of its story now.
I move to the window, peering out at the misty hills.
“Is that a sheep in your garden?”
Callum joins me. “Ah—Hamish. Our semi-domesticated sheep. He has a habit of escaping.”
“You have a pet sheep named Hamish?”
“Not exactly a pet. He has… a special status.”
I watch the woolly creature peacefully munching on rose bushes.
