Keira exhales sharply. “Don’t be childish, Alistair.”
“Says the woman who organized a full-blown espionage mission.”
She doesn’t answer—just keeps walking.
“Keira McGregor, are you smuggling a McKenzie into your family’s inner sanctum?”
“Let’s say I’m interpreting the ‘collaboration’ clause in our engagement contract… creatively.”
“You do realize that if your brother finds me there, he’ll probably turn my skin into a new sporran?”
A metallic clinking suddenly rings out in the night. Keira freezes, then grabs my arm and yanks me behind a thick bush. I hit the damp ground, Keira practically sprawled on top of me, her hand clamped over my mouth.
The sound gets closer, rhythmic and melodic. A familiar bleat confirms my suspicion as Hamish strolls into view. The sheep pauses, as if sensing us, then continues on his way with purpose.
Once he’s gone, Keira removes her hand.
“Looks like your gift works perfectly,” she murmurs, a smile in her voice.
“Clearly. Should I assume our friend is heading to a romantic rendezvous?”
“Rosita’s probably waiting in their love nest. Those two are more reliable than the Prague astronomical clock.”
She stands and offers me a hand. For a brief second, as our fingers intertwine, I feel a strange warmth that has nothing to do with the exertion.
“Would you like to go?” I ask.
Keira peers over the hedge. “Where?”
“Prague.”
She turns back—and suddenly steps closer. Her hands settle at the nape of my neck before sliding up to the top of my head.
I catch her scent, her closeness doing things to me I’m not prepared to analyze.
“Keira… what are you doing?”
“I’m checking you didn’t crack your head when you fell, because you’re making no sense.”
I grab her forearms to stop her from inspecting my scalp.
Her eyes meet mine, and for a second, time stills.
I only realize my gaze has drifted to her mouth when she speaks.
“We should go.”
We continue, soon catching sight of McGregor Castle. Unlike the newer McKenzie estate, this place is a true medieval fortress, with thick walls and turrets cutting into the night sky—impressive, and just a little intimidating. Much like its owners.
Instead of heading for the main entrance, Keira follows the west wall to a small ivy-covered door.
“Secret entrance,” she explains, pulling an antique key from her pocket. “Used for centuries to dodge tax collectors, English invaders, and—more recently—my grandmother’s surprise dates.”
The lock creaks as she turns the key. The door opens onto a narrow, shadowy passage.
“After you,” she says with mocking elegance.
“McKenzies first, to test for traps?”
