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Ah-hah. Finally, I have a solid clue. "Have you seriously never been turned down by a woman?"
"Only a girl or two I pursued when I was a randy teenager."
"Since then, every time you go after a woman, she falls into your arms."
He straightens and gives me a sheepish smile. "Well, yes. My dating fortunes improved vastly after I became Lord Sommerleigh. You wouldn't believe how many women want to shag a viscount."
"Uh-huh. I'm beginning to understand you at last."
"No woman has ever claimed to do that before."
"I'm a psychologist, Hugh. How many of those have you 'shagged'?"
He sighs, and his shoulders deflate. "None. I gave it my best shot, but you weren't having any of it."
"So, for the first time in all your adult life, you didn't get the girl."
"Yes." He bows his head and rubs his neck. "And the girl I lost turned out to be the only one I've ever wanted for more than a few good shags."
He means me, but he can't be saying he…loves me. I've given him no reason to feel that way, but then, emotions rarely involve logic. God, I feel horrible for him. I shouldn't have let him talk me into walks along the River Ness and picnics along its banks. But the therapist in me knows I did nothing wrong and I can't blame myself for this. It's no one's fault. As for healing the rift between Hugh and Callum, that might take a Herculean effort. I'll need more than my psychology skills to get this done. I need help from the American Wives Club, but I have a suspicion they're already working on it.
My cell phone rings. I excavate it from my pocket and answer the call.
"It's Emery, sweetie. I hope you had a good chat with Hugh because the radical intervention is about to shift into overdrive."
"Okay. Should Hugh and I go downstairs?"
"Come out to the green."
I say goodbye and stuff the phone back in my pocket. "Let's go. The American Wives Club has summoned us."
Hugh grimaces. "Do you have any idea what that lot are up to?"
"Nope. We'll find out together."
We make our way downstairs and out the vestibule door, heading straight through the walled garden and the open doorway on the other side. A crowd of people has gathered in the open, grassy area, including folks I don't recognize. I see MacTaggarts, Dixons, and Hunters who I had met on my first full day at Dùndubhan. Damian and Heidi Petrescu are here too, but they're Americans. New faces turn toward me and Hugh when we enter the green.
I notice what looks like chalk lines drawn on the grass to our left.
As we reach the small group gathered in front of the crowd, Hugh glances to our right and stops dead. His face goes blank. "Is that a shinty pitch?"
Jack MacTaggart chuckles. "Aye. Do ye know how to play shinty?"
"No. I'm British. Why in hell would I know about a Scottish sport?"
"Because you're best mates with a Scot."
"We never played shinty."
Jack approaches Hugh and thumps him on the back. "Donnae worry. We'll give you a crash course. But first, we have other events arranged for you and Callum."
"Events?"
Hugh looks genuinely nervous, and I can't blame him. If shinty is for later, what on earth do they plan on doing with Callum and Hugh right now?
Jack keeps a hand on Hugh's back as he urges the Brit to follow him into the crowd. Men and women move aside to make room for them. They move aside quite a bit. I wonder what they're about to do that needs a lot of space, but then I see what's going on. The crowd has spread out to reveal furniture set up on the grass—two tables, one long and rectangular and another small and round. Some kind of partition has been set up in the center of the long table, but the smaller one has a crimson velvet tablecloth spread over it and a crystal ball seated at its center. Two chairs flank the round table. Another chair sits at the nearest end of the long table, but two seats have been positioned at the opposite end on either side.
Kirsty MacTaggart and Damian Petrescu approach the small table, each taking a seat.
