“Our family has raised sheep for eight generations, Miss Carter. The smell you find so offensive is the scent of the animals that have fed, clothed, and educated every McGregor seated at this table.”
As if personally offended, Hamish steps even closer. Jane lets out a whimper, scrambling higher on her chair—which tilts dangerously.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—AAAH!”
The chair tips.
With a spectacular crash, Jane goes down, taking part of the tablecloth—and several pieces of porcelain—with her.
Hamish startles, jumps back… and then, as if in revenge, drops a neat cluster of perfectly round black pellets right beside her sprawled form.
I rush forward to help her up.
Lachlan is the first to burst out laughing, quickly followed by Keira. My mother watches with thinly veiled satisfaction, while my grandmother lets out a long, weary sigh.
Jane’s beautiful dress is now stained with red wine and sauce, her hair in complete disarray, and her expression?—
If I had to describe it, I’d say it hovers somewhere between total humiliation and barely contained murder.
I’ve never been a superstitious man, but I’m starting to suspect this evening is cursed. Or maybe I am—for ever thinking it was a good idea to marry an American actress to save the family business.
At this exact moment, watching Jane try to gather what remains of her dignity while managing a full-blown diplomatic disaster, I find myself wondering if letting Lachlan take over the company might have been the lesser evil.
“Welcome to the McGregor family,” Lachlan drawls with a smug grin. “Americans usually find our hospitality… overwhelming.”
Jane shoots him a look that promises violence.
And just like that, I realize my already fragile plan is collapsing as spectacularly as my fiancée just did onto the McGregor ancestral floor.
“Told you,” Keira adds. “He used to try and bite Heather every time she got close.”
“Heather?” Jane asks, shooting me a sharp look.
“A family friend,” I say quickly, sending my sister a warning glare.
“My ex,” Keira clarifies with obvious delight. “The one who hated the rain, the isolation, and everything that makes the Highlands what they are.”
Jane’s eyes light up with a kind of curiosity that feels… dangerous.
“It seems Hamish has better instincts than some of us when it comes to judging character,” my grandmother says thoughtfully. “Jamison, would you kindly escort our guest back to his enclosure—and have someone clean up this mess?”
The butler inclines his head with the same dignity he brings to everything—even this.
“Of course, Madam. Come along, Hamish. Time to go.”
Miraculously, the sheep follows him without protest—though not before casting one last look at Jane, as if promisingthis isn’t over.
“I think you have an admirer,” I murmur, blotting wine from Jane’s dress with my napkin.
My hand accidentally brushes the curve of her breast.
I freeze.
Jane doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy fixing her hair.
“I’ve always had a talent for attracting stubborn creatures,” she says, meeting my eyes with something that feels a little too pointed.
Keira bursts out laughing. Even my mother struggles to maintain her composure.
