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“London.”
“Really? I thought your accent was Scottish.” Pretty sure his deep, rolling cadence didn’t match any London accent I’d ever heard, but I probably wasn’t the best authority there.
“You’re not wrong. I was born and raised outside of Edinburgh. I’ve only lived in London the last ten years.”
“What took you there? Work?”
He nodded, his gait steady on the dirt path. “I had an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. But I’ve been wanting to get back to my roots lately, and so—the Highland tour.”
“Couldn’t you just drive up here and do all this yourself?”
“I could, but I’ve never been a tourist in my own country before.”
“Aha.” I pointed an accusatory finger at him. “You want that medal for helping the economy, too.”
He exhaled laughter. “I think it’s all yours. What brought you out here?”
“Oh. I just needed a vacation.” I hadn’t thought I’d needed a cover story for my trip, but I wasn’t eager to share the factors that had combined to bring me here, either.
“Yes, I heard that much.”
He waited, his clear blue eyes watching me like he had no doubt I’d spill my guts. Less alpha motorcycle man and more mafia don right now.
No—I needed to stop casting this guy in my romance novels.
I wasn’t ready to open up about my tale of woe, so I opted for the most direct answer. “I wanted a place to get away from it all, but nothing too exotic. Trekking through the Scottish Highlands seemed more my speed than a trip to Tahiti or something like that.”
“You wouldn’t like Tahiti?”
“Not alone.”
“Fair enough.”
“Alone in Tahiti is sad and pathetic, but alone in Scotland is rugged and endearing.” Or so I’d been telling myself these last few months. “A triumph of the human…something or other.”
“Humans triumphing over something or other is our nation’s motto.”
I laughed, pleased to see the humor that lay beneath his stern appearance. Maybe he wasn’t as annoyed by me as I’d initially thought. “I don’t remember that in the pamphlet.”
“You have to be told by a Scotsman. More dramatic that way.”
Carlos and Spencer walked ahead of us, Carlos chattering away while Spencer carried himself like every step hurt. The two men couldn’t have been more different. Carlos looked at everything with satisfaction as though he had partial ownership of it, while Spencer seemed physically pained by the views.
Personally, I thought the views were the most incredible thing I’d ever seen.
We came to a clearing in the woods where another group of walkers stood gazing across the lake. Following their lead, I turned my head, and a jolt of excitement stopped my feet.
A ruined castle stood in the middle of the water. An actual, factual castle. Water came right up the sides of the stone walls, the roof was gone, and the surrounding shrubs looked about five minutes from tearing it down completely—but it was acastle.
“That is amazing,” I whispered. “How old is it?”
“It was built sometime in the twelve-hundreds.” Lewis’s normal speaking voice felt too loud for the reverential awe the castle deserved.
“Wow.” It would have been forbidding to see in its prime, but now, ruined and flooded, it was mysterious and enchanting. The afternoon light cast a golden glow over the stones, making the castle stand out unnaturally against the still lake.
“A shame they let it get into such a state.”
I couldn’t tell whose neglect Bea meant to criticize, but clearly she blamed someone for the castle’s downfall.
