A flicker of amusement crosses his face. “Ah. The boy in blue overalls. You landed in the bramble bush.”
“I still have the scar,” I confirm with a grin.
“And here you are again,” he notes evenly. “Still crossing boundaries, I see.”
With that, he disappears, leaving me facing a table full of McGregors studying me like a rare specimen in a museum.
Behind us, Hamish seems to have decided intimidation isn’t his style. With the rose still between his teeth, he begins circling Rosita in what I can only describe as a sheep’s version of confident swagger. She watches, blinking slowly, clearly impressed.
“I’ve never seen Hamish act like this,” Keira murmurs. “He usually just knocks things over and chews on whatever he finds.”
“Rosita has that effect on the entire flock,” I say. “She’s… one of a kind.”
“Like her owner, I suppose,” Callum mutters, sawing into his meat with the intensity of a medieval interrogation.
“I wouldn’t dare compare myself to Rosita’s natural elegance,” I reply modestly. “Though I do strive to maintain a certain standard when it comes to destroying gardens.”
That earns a small laugh from Jane—and even the ghost of a smile from Maggie.
“So, Alistair,” Isobel begins, clearly attempting diplomacy, “Keira tells us your engagement is fairly recent.”
“It is,” I say.
I rest my hand lightly over Keira’s. It’s meant to look affectionate. She responds with a subtle warning squeeze. Across the table, Callum’s grip tightens on his cutlery like he’s imagining it’s my throat.
“We chose to keep things quiet at first,” I continue, “given the… colorful history between our families.”
“Colorful,” Callum repeats. “Like the blood-red of McGregor claymores after meeting a McKenzie?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of McGregor green—with envy—when our whisky won gold at the Edinburgh Festival in 1952,” I reply pleasantly. “But yours has more flair.”
“And how exactly,” Callum presses slowly, “did two people who could barely stand each other a few weeks ago end up engaged?”
I feel Keira’s gaze on me, tense as if I’m defusing a bomb.
“It’s quite simple,” I say, taking a bite of the excellent roast. “We discovered that beneath our disagreements… we shared a passion.”
“For preserving Scottish heritage,” Keira adds smoothly.
“Exactly. Our visions differ—but they complement each other. Keira has a deep understanding of tradition and history that I admire immensely.”
“And Alistair brings a pragmatic perspective on how those traditions can evolve without being lost,” she continues, playing her role perfectly.
“Fascinating,” Maggie murmurs, eyes sharp as she studies us. “And this realization happened during one of your legendary council arguments?”
“Not exactly,” I say with a slight smile. “Afterward. We were both so frustrated, we kept arguing in the parking lot.”
“It was raining,” Keira adds, unexpectedly romantic.
“And she was so passionate defending that old washhouse that I couldn’t help but…”
I pause, glancing at her as she suddenly looks wary.
“…invite her to visit my distillery,” I finish, giving her a reassuring wink. “To show her that tradition and modernity can coexist.”
“How practical,” Callum drawls. “Nothing sparks romance like a distillery tour.”
“Depends on the distillery,” Lachlan mutters.
