“Your mother believed us—that’s what matters.”
“I’m not sure she believed us,” I admit. “I think she just chose to pretend she did, which is even stranger.”
We reach his car, still parked where we left it at the edge of the estate. He stops, turning to me one last time.
“Thank you for tonight, Keira. As chaotic as it was… it meant something.”
There’s something in his voice—disarming, sincere—that makes all my carefully built defenses waver.
“It was just a research mission, McKenzie,” I reply lightly. “Don’t get it into your head that I’ll be inviting you to my bedroom next time.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I realize how terrible that sounds—especially after my mother’s implications.
Alistair lifts a brow, a teasing smile playing at his lips.
“I wouldn’t dare assume. Though apparently, your walls are thick.”
“Good night, Alistair,” I cut in firmly, feeling my cheeks heat all over again.
“Good night, Keira. Sweet dreams.”
It’s only when his taillights disappear into the distance that I allow myself to admit—just to me—that our professional arrangement is turning into something far more complicated.
CHAPITRE 15
ALISTAIR
Haggis, Kilts, and Insults: Welcome to the Family
I stare at the cream-colored envelope on my desk as if it might explode. In a way, it probably will. The elegant, old-fashioned calligraphy simply readsAlistair McKenzie, and the red wax seal proudly bears the McGregor crest.
No need to guess who sent it.
Margaret “Maggie” McGregor. The matriarch of the rival clan. The woman who, according to my father, once threatened to turn a McKenzie into a sporran if he ever set foot on her land again.
And, incidentally, the grandmother of my supposed fiancée.
I finally open the envelope, pulling out a thick card.
Your presence is required at McGregor Castle this Saturday at precisely 2:00 p.m. to participate in Scottishengagement traditions. Punctuality is considered a virtue. Absence will be interpreted as a lack of seriousness regarding your commitment.
This is not an invitation.
It’s a summons.
I immediately grab my phone and call the only person who can shed light on what exactly these “traditions” entail.
“Tell me this is a joke,” I say the second Keira picks up.
“Good morning to you too, McKenzie,” she replies, clearly amused. “I take it you received Maggie’s invitation?”
“Invitation? That’s a barely disguised ultimatum! What is this ‘Scottish engagement traditions’ nonsense?”
A resigned sigh comes through the line.
“Maggie dug that up. Apparently, the McGregors have always put suitors through a series of trials to test their worth.”
“And you couldn’t have warned me?”
