“Maggie called me this morning about table arrangements and flowers. I knew you’d find a way to disappear.”
I can’t help but smile.
“You’re starting to know me a little too well for our own good, McKenzie.”
“It’s my job as your fiancé, McGregor,” he replies, a playful glint in his eyes, “to know your escape habits.”
We fall silent, watching Hamish and Rosita, who—indifferent to our presence—simply enjoy the moment. No pretending. No hiding.
“They’re so… themselves,” I murmur. “No pretense.”
Alistair nods thoughtfully.
“They follow their instincts without worrying about consequences. About image. About reputation.”
“And without caring about centuries-old family feuds.”
A comfortable silence settles between us. Above, the sun still plays hide-and-seek with the clouds. And despite everything, I feel… good. At ease.
“Do you want to share my picnic?” I offer suddenly. “I brought far too much food for one person. It would be a shame to waste Mrs. Finley’s scones.”
“Mrs. Finley’s scones?” Alistair repeats, placing a hand over his heart in mock solemnity. “How could I possibly refuse such an offer?”
I laugh and stand, brushing off my trousers.
“Come on. My basket is a little further over.”
As we walk away, I cast one last glance at Hamish and Rosita. They’ve curled up together beneath a low branch, perfectly at ease in their little sanctuary.
A thought crosses my mind?—
Maybe our sheep are wiser than we are.
Maybe they’ve understood something we, with all our human complications, have forgotten.
That sometimes… you simply have to follow your heart.
Even when it leads you across the border.
CHAPITRE 11
ALISTAIR
The Skeletons in the McKenzie Closet Are Surprisingly Well Dressed
I can’t get the image of Keira out of my head.
The light in her eyes as she watched our sheep, her expression caught somewhere between amused and softened. The clear, bright sound of her laughter when I told her how Rosita had terrorized an entire group of Japanese tourists after escaping during a distillery tour. The way she looked at me over the rim of her teacup—almost surprised that we could share a moment like that. Something calm. Something normal. Between two people who aren’t supposed to like each other.
“You seem rather thoughtful this morning, sir,” Martha remarks as she sets a stack of documents on my desk.
I straighten, faintly embarrassed to have been caught drifting.
“Yesterday’s meeting with the investors ran long,” I deflect.
It’s not entirely untrue. The meeting did last an hour longer than expected—but it’s certainly not the reason for my distraction. Two days have passed since that impromptu picnic in the hills with Keira, and I haven’t managed to focus properly on my work since.
“Of course, sir,” Martha replies, with a knowing smile that makes me wonder just how transparent my lie is.
