“By a sheep,” she confirms with impressive composure.
“And now you’re acting like none of it happened. Like you didn’t say your feelings went beyond our arrangement.”
“Alistair, please…”
She straightens—and I recognize that look. The McGregor war mask.
“I said a lot of things in a moment of temporary lapse. The rain, the isolation, the atmosphere… those things can affect anyone.”
“A temporary lapse,” I echo, irritation creeping in.
“Exactly. We have a professional arrangement, Alistair. It would be dangerous to blur personal feelings with contractual obligations.”
Her reasoning is flawless. Logical.
And it makes me want to throw something out the window.
“Of course,” I say lightly. “You’re absolutely right. Let’s keep things professional.”
“Good,” she replies—but her fingers tighten around her pen.
“In that case, let’s get back to the labels. And the family history.”
She nods, visibly relieved to return to safer ground.
“I continued digging through the archives. I found something interesting.”
Despite herself, her eyes light up. The historian in her can’t resist a mystery.
“What is it?”
I pull a folder from my drawer and spread the photocopied documents across the desk.
“Look at this,” I say, pointing to a letter dated 1808. “Correspondence between Archibald McKenzie and E. McGregor.”
Keira leans in to read—and I catch the faint scent of her perfume. The closeness knocks the breath out of me for a second.
“The current tensions between our families trouble me deeply. I remain convinced that our shared treasure deserves better than these petty disputes…” she reads aloud.
She stops and looks up at me.
“Shared treasure? What is he talking about?”
“That’s exactly what I’d like to know. It’s not the first time it’s been mentioned. And look at the signature.”
She scans the bottom of the page.
“With all my affection, A. McKenzie.Your great-great-grandfather?”
“Most likely. And the recipient?”
“E. McGregor… Elspeth McGregor,” she breathes.
“Exactly. History has a way of repeating itself in our families.”
She shoots me a sharp look. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing at all. Just a historical observation.”
