With that, she leaves me alone—with my thoughts, and my decision.
I look down at the box again.
These aren’t just relics.
They’re a warning.
I won’t make the same mistake.
I won’t let my father—or anyone else—decide my future. Or my heart.
Somewhere on the McGregor estate, Keira might have the other half of this story. The other half of the map. The missing piece.
Together… we could finish what Archibald and Elspeth never could.
I pick up my phone and call my father.
It’s time.
History won’t repeat itself.
Not this time. Not with us.
CHAPITRE 27
KEIRA
The Price of Pride
The castle library has always been my refuge. As a child, I used to hide there to escape piano lessons. As a teenager, I filled notebooks with every rebellious thought that crossed my mind. And today, I find myself here again, desperately trying to focus on restoration plans for an old church in Inverness instead of the gaping emptiness that’s taken over my heart since my breakup with Alistair.
Well… since I ended our arrangement.
I’ve spent days telling myself it was the right decision, but no matter how hard I try to believe it, I just can’t.
— So this is how historians work? Head in the clouds and pencil untouched for twenty minutes?
I glance up to find Lachlan leaning against a bookshelf, watching me with that familiar teasing smile. In my currentstate, his presence is a quiet comfort. He’s always had a way of making me smile—even when I feel like falling apart.
— At least I pretend to work, you blockhead, I shoot back, tossing a pencil at him. He catches it effortlessly. Which is more than I can say for certain landowners who spend their days terrorizing innocent sheep.
— Hamish is anything but innocent, he counters, dropping into the chair across from me. That sheep is going to be the Highlands’ most wanted criminal someday, and you know it.
A comfortable silence settles between us as Lachlan flips idly through one of the books on the table. I notice, though, that he seems unusually thoughtful—almost… melancholic.
— What’s wrong? I ask at last.
He shrugs, avoiding my gaze.
— What makes you think something’s wrong?
— The fact that you haven’t made a single comment about my outfit or my dark circles. You’re losing your edge, featherbrain.
That earns me half a smile, but his eyes remain serious.
— I’m thinking about leaving, he says finally.
— Leaving? Going where?
