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I took dozens of pictures as we moved on, stopping every few feet to get a slightly different view of the castle, zooming in for close-ups of birds in the trees that grew through the broken walls.
Duncan paused next to me as I snapped away with my fancy camera. “Are you usually such a keen photographer?”
“No, but I’m not usually in Scotland.”
“Looks like you’ve remedied both with enthusiasm.” One side of his mouth quirked up as he skirted by me on the path.
Maybe taking a lot of photos was a touristy thing to do, but Iwasa tourist. Goggling open-mouthed at Scotland was my right—nay, my duty—for the entire ten days I would be in the country.
Leaving the flooded castle behind seemed an insult to its beauty, but Lewis shepherded us up a hillside. I kept peering over my shoulder for last glimpses until I completely lost sight of the ruins. The detour led us up a grassy slope where trees turned into low heather. Atop the hill, we gazed at the Cairngorm mountains in the distance—a swath of green stretching for miles in all directions punctuated only by white clouds hovering low in the sky.
This. This was why I had come here. I needed this distance from everything familiar and routine and hectic back home. I needed this soaring, glowing excitement that filled my heart.
Looking out over the gorgeous scenery, I swore the countryside whispered,Welcome to Scotland.
By the time we finished our walk along the lake’s edge and returned to the lodge, exhaustion had me teetering on the edge of a crash, possibly literally. My body felt leaden, from my bones to my eyelids, and every move I made took extra effort, as though my limbs would really rather just stay put, thanks. Sleepiness had taken hold, but my stomach ached from having had nothing for lunch but coffee and a scone. If I didn’t tough it out through dinner, I’d risk collapsing from hunger.
After changing into a fresh T-shirt and checking on Harlow lightly snoring in her bed, I joined the others in the lodge’s homey dining room just as Brenda brought out a giant tureen of stew and platters of boiled potatoes. The rest of my body might have been half asleep, but the warm smells coming from the crockery had my mouth watering and my stomach growling its eagerness.
Jet lag must have messed with my senses, because the simple meal of meat and potatoes with thick, fresh bread tasted better than any high-priced restaurant dinner in Seattle. I’d been so focused on gobbling down the delicious food, it took me a second to realize Bea had spoken to me.
I patted a napkin across my mouth, mildly mortified to see several of the others watching me. Did this have something to do with breaking British table manners? I casually switched my fork and knife. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”
Bea’s mouth pulled into a patronizing smile, and I already regretted asking.
“I was just saying it’s a real delight to see single women in their forties traveling alone like you are. It shows how far we’ve come.”
I stared, my hunger forgotten. “I’m thirty-eight.”
“When I was thirty-eight my children were teenagers.”
Rupert nodded confirmation over his stew, and she went right on staring at me like she expected a gold star.
“It’s a different time for women these days,” she persisted. “You don’t need a man to provide for you. You’re free to flit from one relationship to the next without the burden of a husband or children.”
Backhanded compliments over dinner. So fun. I was suddenly wide awake. “I’m sorry, was there a question in there?”
The men’s eyes flickered from me to Bea while they chewed in silence.
Bea considered me with a mix of sorrow and scorn. “I’m just saying that you’re lucky. A single woman your age isn’t seen as the persona non grata she once was.”
Hoo boy. Persona non grata. At least she hadn’t gone straight for pariah. “No, and we’re never made to feel uncomfortable in conversation with strangers, either.”
She nodded as if she hadn’t heard me. “Though, of course, the biological clock keeps ticking. That hasn’t changed.”
I couldn’t even come up with a smart remark. My brain had absolutely shut down over the wordsbiological clockbeing thrown at me. Not even my mother would have stooped so low. I was trying to come up with the most polite way to say Bea needed to keep her nose in her own business when Duncan spoke up.
“How many children do you have, Bea?” he asked.
She launched into a description of her three children and their various successes, detailing their careers, spouses, and accomplishments from birth to present. My unseemly singleness became all but forgotten in the flow of praise for her family.
Duncan’s gaze flickered to me, his mouth turned up at the corners.
I smiled back in silent thanks. He might look like the tough alpha, but I was starting to suspect he had some cinnamon roll in him, too.
five
When I crawled into bed,I felt like my muscles had been replaced with cement. Not just from the jet lag, or the hike, or even the extra time I’d spent after dinner answering Lincoln’s questions until my eyes had turned into dried husks.
