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“Another?” Graham all but purred, leaning over the bar and tapping my hand gently with his finger. Lachlan bristled next to me.
“Lay off, would ya? The lass just got here,” Lachlan grumbled.
“Even better.” Graham grinned at me and, I’ll admit, there was a little flutter of interest that danced through me. “You fools haven’t had a chance to turn her against me yet.”
“Because your charming disposition on the car ride over was meant to win me over?” I asked. Graham threw his head back and laughed.
“Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen.” He took my empty glass and began mixing me another drink.
“Oh please, would you listen to this one? And that is why I’ll never be dating the likes of you.” Agnes blew out a breath and, leaning over Lachlan, she grabbed my arm. “Don’t be taking up with that man, Sophie. I’m warning you, it’s a heartbreaker he is.”
“You have to have a heart first for me to be breaking it,” Graham said easily, placing a fresh pink gin drink in front of me. His tone was easy, but I noticed a glint of something else in his eyes when he looked at Agnes.
“Lachlan, what time for the games tomorrow?” the tall man who had raised his glass to me earlier called from across the pub, interrupting the conversation.
“Games? What games?” I asked, turning to Lachlan. Ilovedgames. They spoke to my rule-follower heart.
“It’s the Highland Games,” Lachlan said and raised his voice. “Half ten for tomorrow.”
The man threw his fist in the air and whooped, and everyone else in the pub clapped.
“That sounds like something we must go to.” Matthew leaned forward. “Will there be kilts?”
“Aye,” Lachlan said, his lips twitching.
“It’s settled, then. We’re going to have us a proper Scottish weekend, aren’t we, Sophie?” Matthew clinked his glass against mine.
Too many pink gin drinks to count later, Matthew and I stumbled our way home to the castle. Lachlan had left much earlier to prep for the games that weekend, which left the two of us to traipse precariously up the gravel road that led to the castle. Once we’d passed through the gates, the streetlights no longer lit our way, and we were at the mercy of the wan light from the half-moon that hung low in the sky. Still, it was enough to see the road and the trees that lined it. A flash of white caught my eye.
“Matthew.” I hiccupped as I grabbed his arm, catching my toe on a rock and stumbling a bit. “Look!”
“Is that…?” Matthew squinted, hooking my arm and pulling me closer to him.
“It’s Clyde,” I hissed, though I’m sure they could probably hear me in the next village.
Sure enough, Clyde, the mysterious ghost coo from the night before, poked his head from among the trees.
“Moo,” Clyde bellowed, causing me to jump. A snort escaped me.
“I think…” There was no way I was going to keep my laughter down. “I think…that’s his version of…”
“Don’t say it,” Matthew warned. His shoulders shook with laughter.
“He’s…I think he’s…” Tears ran down my face. “He’s yellingboo. But it’s…”
“Moo!” Matthew and I screamed together. Clyde danced forward, clearly delighted that we understood his cow joke, and followed us the whole way back to the castle.
CHAPTERTWELVE
lachlan
It wasn’t the turnout that I had been hoping for.
Twice a year, I helped to host a Highland Games on a grassy field behind the local school in Loren Brae. Typically, the event was a huge draw for the community, with people coming from all over to partake in the games or to enjoy a day spectating. But now, as I looked at the smattering of people who milled around the field, my heart fell. I could no longer ignore the fact that the Scots held tightly to their superstitions. The word was out—the Kelpies had returned—and people weren’t going to risk visiting here. Archie had been right. It didn’t matter that it was more comfortable for me to try to ignore the legend. What had Matthew said last night? A blind man can still listen? Something of that nature. Either way, it was time for me to be a leader.
Which meant I needed to train a knight.
As though my thoughts had conjured her, Sophie wandered onto the field wearing her leggings and threadbare jumper again. She’d plaited her hair into pigtails and wore no makeup, and something about the way she looked around the field with wide searching eyes made me want to cross to her and put my arm around her shoulders. There was something earnest and appealing about the way she handled herself, and I couldn’t help but admire how she’d held her own with a bit of banter the night before. As Scots, there was no faster way to our hearts than being able to have a proper banter with our mates.
