Page 56 of Scotlander

Chapter Twenty-One

To say Willa’s morning shower had been bracing would have been putting it mildly. Cryogenic preservation just might’ve about covered it. Reminding herself that the world’s sexiest celebrities paid to be submerged in ice baths for the express purpose of getting their glow on, Willa forced a positive spin on the arctic rejuvenation after what had been a fitful night’s sleep. Answering emails and texts from or about Bryony were not the tonic she’d hoped they would be.

The Zendaya body double hadn’t been at TiTs forty-eight hours and was already personal shopping for Aubrey, dating off-limits celebs and – overnight news flash! – going on a week-long juicing break in Italy with the show’s exec producer after sweeps. Charlie’s warning about watching her back felt real. Too real.

Choosing not to acknowledge the muck and dirt on her dress (and now her sheets), she tugged on her outfit, petticoats and all, plotting how to talk things out with Gabe and then, with his blessing, get on the soonest flight back to LA. Finn wouldn’t care. He’d probably be relieved. The man clearly had better things to do than hang out with Outlander buffs he had pre-ordained as idiots. The one thing that didn’t sit right about leaving early was Val.

She had built up an image of Val in heaven. She could see her perfectly, lounging upon a lavender-coloured velvet sofa that was floating on a fluffy white cloud. There’d be a bowl of popcorn in her lap and a blissed out expression on her face as she enjoyed the show down on earth. Leaving now would mean failing Val, destroying the image and being crushed under a tsunami of guilt that would destroy the letter she’d written and leave Willa living in a purgatory of unanswered questions.

With this in mind, she went down to join everyone as the morning porridge bell sounded. She couldn’t help but smile. It truly did look as if she’d stepped back in time. Her fellow guests were coming out of their rooms, stretching, yawning, tweaking one another’s corset ties. Complaints of creaky bones and tight muscles were minimal compared to the excited chatter of how beautiful it was and how well everyone had slept. Outlander fan or not, this was kind of cool. And also? It felt real.

She scanned the area for Finn and then, when she couldn’t find him, Gabe.

‘Looking for your hubby?’ Rosa appeared beside her, shawl wrapped round her shoulders against the morning chill.

‘Gabe, actually.’

‘He and Lachlan already ate,’ Jules shouted over the noise of whacking her boots together before sitting down to tug them over her skull and crossbones stockings.

Jules caught her looking and threw her a wink. ‘You like?’

Willa gave her a thumbs-up. ‘Very chic.’

‘How’re you getting on with your kilt then, Jeff?’ Orla, porridge pan on hip, appeared in the courtyard, warily eyeing the straining waist straps of Jeff’s age-battered kilt. ‘Will you be wanting a wee extension on those straps?’

Jeff patted his tummy. ‘Probably shouldn’t have had second helpings of the cottage pie last night, but you’re one helluva cook!’ He gave a big, happy guffaw. ‘Longer straps would be great.’ He began unbuckling his kilt right there in the stable yard.

When Orla protested, he flicked up the edges of the kilt to show he was wearing a pair of hillbilly long johns. ‘I’m comfortable enough with my masculinity to strut about in my turkey legs, so long as it offends no one’s sensibilities.’

‘The only offensive thing is that you don’t know how to sew, laddie!’ a newly arrived Alastair heckled good naturedly. He was, to be fair, literally darning a sock.

‘No one wants to have Jeff sew anything,’ Rosa said. ‘Building infrastructure? He’s your man. See to a bit of hemming? You’d be better off asking a porcupine to do the job for you.’

‘We’ve not got porcupines round these parts, but we can probably rustle up a stag for you.’ Trevor feigned getting some antlers up his jacksie.

Fenella thanked god ChiChi had switched grooms with her today. ChiChi looked scared.

In desperate need of some caffeine, Willa headed over to where Dougie was pouring steaming mugs of tea from the largest teapot she’d seen outside of the countless Alice in Wonderland remakes she’d covered. Amidst a speckling of blue stars, ‘Balcraigie Castle’ was painted in a lovely, hand-crafted yesteryear script.

‘Fancy,’ she said.

‘A present,’ Dougie winked, filling her mug with a flourish. ‘We only use it for our extra special guests.’

Willa curtseyed her thanks. ‘I am humbled, m’lord.’

Dougie let out a huge bark of laughter. ‘Did you hear that, Orla? This one here just called me a lord! She clearly hasn’t divined that the likes of me are common as muck.’

‘What?’ Willa protested. ‘You own a farm with a castle on it.’

‘Aye.’ Dougie and Orla shared a look. ‘Well.’

Feeling very much as if she’d put her foot in it, Willa thanked him for the strong, sweet tea, then went over to where Orla was folding Jeff’s kilt into a large wicker basket.

Fatigue shadowed Orla’s features until their eyes caught and her smile brightened. ‘Good morning to you, Willa. Can I get you some porridge? We’ve got stewed apples to go alongside it today, if you like?’

‘Definitely.’ Willa patted her grumbling tummy. ‘I never used to be an oatmeal kind of girl, but you’ve converted me.’ She pointed at her filthy dress. ‘I’m so sorry, but—’

Orla cut in. ‘It’s easy enough to get mucky out here on the farm.’