— I think your cousin likes me more every day, Alistair says with a smirk.
— He’s just jealous of your natural charm with animals, I reply before I can stop myself.
— You think I have charm, Keira McGregor?
Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I quickly look away.
— I meant even sheep seem to like you. Which isn’t exactly a high compliment, given their limited intelligence.
— Of course, he says, his smile widening. Let’s go get our runaway lovers.
CatchingHamish and Rosita proves far more difficult than expected. The two sheep—clearly delighted with their forbidden union—seem to have developed a sixth sense for detecting our approach and bolting at the last second.
After an hour of fruitless chasing across the McGregor estate, we end up back in the barn, breathless, staring at our failure.
— They’re too smart for us, Alistair pants, leaning against a bale of hay.
— Or we’re too stupid for them, I counter, collapsing beside him. I’m starting to think this whole ovine romance is some kind of cosmic payback for our own arrangement.
The moment the words leave my mouth, I regret them. We’ve been avoiding talking about the nature of our relationship, and now I’ve just dragged it into the open.
Alistair glances at me.
— You think the universe is getting back at us for our fake engagement through lovestruck sheep?
I can’t help laughing.
— When you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous.
— When you put it like that, it sounds exactly like the kind of theory a rational historian like you would never come up with, he shoots back with a grin.
I nudge him, and he clutches his side in exaggerated pain.
— Help! A McGregor is assaulting me in her own barn. I should’ve expected it.
— Oh, shut up. If I wanted to attack you, I’d pick something far more effective than an elbow.
— Like what?
— Like letting you chase Hamish and Rosita alone while I have tea with Maggie.
He presses a hand to his heart, feigning injury.
— You’d abandon me to my fate?
— In a heartbeat.
— You’re lying, and we both know it.
Our eyes meet—and suddenly, something shifts. Alistair’s smile softens into something quieter, deeper, more real than our usual banter.
— You wouldn’t leave me, he says, lower now. Not any more than I’d leave you.
My heart starts pounding, and I look away, suddenly unable to hold his gaze.
— That’s what partners do, I mutter. They support each other.
— Partners, he repeats, like he’s testing the word. Is that what we are, Keira? Partners?
