“The McGregors and McKenzies have always been drawn to each other like magnets, even when they claimed otherwise. History does have a way of repeating itself, doesn’t it?”
I exchange a confused glance with Alistair. Has she read the same passages? Does she know about Elspeth and Archibald?
“Mary would certainly understand,” she adds, almost to herself.
“Mary?” Alistair repeats. “My mother?”
My mother blinks, then smiles too innocently. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just an old story. Now, about your situation—I’d suggest that next time you’re looking for privacy, you might consider the hunting lodge by the lake. Much more romantic, and no one goes there anymore since your father claimed to see Uncle Archibald’s ghost.”
She heads for the door, then pauses and turns back.
“Or you could simply use your bedroom, Keira. The walls are thick, and Jamison has strict instructions never to enter without knocking three times—a lesson your father and I learned the hard way.”
With that—words that make me want to bury myself alive—shewinks(she actually winks) and leaves.
Alistair and I remain frozen in stunned silence, unable to even look at each other. Then a small, nervous laugh escapes me—quickly joined by his—until we’re both laughing like idiots, the tension dissolving into shared hysteria.
“The walls are thick,” I gasp between laughs. “Oh my God, I will never be able to look my mother in the eye again.”
“At least she didn’t throw us out,” Alistair points out. “I half expected her to call Callum to come skin me alive.”
“She was strangely understanding. Almost like…”
“Like she approves,” he finishes, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that brings me right back to that moment in the hallway—just before we fell.
I look away, suddenly unsettled.
“We should probably leave before someone else finds us. Jamison usually does another round around one.”
“You’re right,” Alistair agrees. “The last thing we need is someone else catching us in a compromising position.”
That word instantly drags my thoughts back to how I’d been sprawled on top of him. An image I firmly try to banish.
The walk back through the castle is far more tense than our arrival. We move in silence, listening to every creak. I jump at the slightest sound. Our hands brush accidentally more than once in the dark, each contact sending an inexplicable warmth up my arm.
When we finally reach the secret entrance, I let out a breath of relief.
“We survived,” I whisper, carefully opening the door.
“For now,” Alistair replies with a crooked smile. “I suppose our next research session will have to be at the McKenzies’.”
“You’re assuming there’ll be a next time?”
He pauses on the threshold, his expression turning serious.
“I certainly hope so. We’ve barely scratched the surface of this mystery, Keira. And I don’t know about you, but I’m determined to find out what those artifacts were—and why our families kept this secret for so long.”
I study his face in the soft moonlight. There’s a fire in his eyes that has nothing to do with our business arrangement or fake engagement. Something more real. More personal.
“Fine. But next time, we come up with a more believable alibi.”
His laugh carries into the night.
“You didn’t like our ‘exploring our feelings’ story?” he teases.
“It was a disaster, and you know it.”
But I can’t stop myself from smiling.
