“When? How?”

“Before she left, I told her to go home. Back to the States.”

Mac drew to an abrupt stop. Lachlan sighed inwardly at the anger on his face. “You what?”

He held up his hands in apology. “It was wrong. I’m sorry. I’m just worried about you. But I shouldn’t have done it. Not that she seems to be easily intimidated.”

A smirk of pride cut through Mac’s annoyance. “Well, she wouldn’t be, would she? That girl has more of me in her than she realizes.”

“Woman,” Lachlan reminded him. “Woman, Mac. She’s not a girl anymore. She’s twenty-eight. Remember, she’s here on her own agenda, and that might not be in your best interests.”

“But it is my business. I appreciate the sentiment behind why you said what you said …” Mac took a step toward him. “We’re family. But she’s my family, too, and if you drive her away before she and I have the chance to talk, that’s not something I’ll easily forgive.”

Lachlan gave him a curt nod. “Understood.”

“Now.” Mac stepped back, giving him a wry, unamused look. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a sick stalker to find.”

The reminder put his teeth on edge. “I’ll have another think on any slights I might have caused to staff or members over the years.”

“Aye, well, you might be thinking awhile.” The cheeky fucker walked away before Lachlan could retort.

4

Robyn

The village of Ardnoch shared Boston’s pride for history, except the Scots’ history went even further back.

Otherwise, Ardnoch was unlike any place I’d ever visited.

For a start, it was tiny.

The nineteenth-century hotel and restaurant I was staying in sat on the square with a huge parking lot for visitors. But from what I’d gathered during my wanderings around the place yesterday, the shops, restaurants, and bed-and-breakfasts were scattered throughout the village on quaint row streets.

The historical architecture and design of the village was beautiful. Everything predated the mid-twentieth century, and dominating it all, not far from the Gloaming, sat a medieval cathedral. I’d taken a ton of photos and spent the night uploading them to my laptop for a little editing before adding them to my Instagram. Once I returned to Boston, I’d resume printing and selling.

Another reason I couldn’t stay in Ardnoch too long. To my delight, I had just over fifty-thousand followers since my work started circulating the social media platform nine months ago. It was great advertising for my online store, but once I uploaded the Ardnoch shots, customers would complain if I didn’t get them up on the store soon after.

Planning on losing myself at the beach for a few hours with my camera, I took Gordon’s advice and walked west down Castle Street (the main road off the square that led right out of Ardnoch toward Ardnoch Castle and Estate), an avenue of identical nineteenth-century, terraced houses with dormer windows. Most of the homes had been converted into boutiques, cafés, and inns. In among them was Morag’s, a small grocery store. According to Gordon, Morag ran a sandwich counter where she sold delicious, fresh homemade sandwiches.

I was an early riser, so Morag’s had barely opened when I stepped inside. Stands at the window displayed beach products, such as kids’ sand buckets and shovels. Neat rows of shelves stocked with groceries were situated up front, and a refrigerator containing dairy products and a freezer with all manner of frozen foods lined the back walls.

A bright-faced, middle-aged woman with pink-rinsed hair stood behind a counter at the back of the shop. Inside the chilled case were fresh ingredients for custom sandwiches, along with preprepared ones.

“Morning,” she called to me.

“Good morning,” I replied, offering her a smile as I paused at the refrigerator for bottled water. My eyes flicked between her and the sandwiches as I approached her counter. “Wow, those look great.”

“Thank you. We have …” She rattled off the different fixings. I could listen to her talk all day. I’d noted the villagers spoke with a slightly more anglicized accent than Mac who was originally from Glasgow. The locals had more of a lilting brogue, like Adair’s.

When she finished, I asked, “Could you make me one? I’d just like a plain tuna and mayo with red onion.”

“No problem at all.” She moved around the mini deli section. “Any grand plans today? May I recommend places to visit?”

“I’m just heading to the beach.”

“Oh, we’re a good month or two away from good beach weather,” she warned. “The water is cold even in the summer.”

Grinning, I nodded. “I’ve been duly warned by Gordon.”

“You’re staying at the Gloaming. Very nice. Here long?”

“Probably not.”

She shot me a bemused look, presumably at my vague answer. “Well, it’s nice to have you here. I’m Morag Sutherland.”

“Like the area?” Ardnoch was in the county of Sutherland.

“Yes. My family has been here a long time. Dating as far back as the twelfth century. I’m distantly related to the current Earl of Sutherland. Distantly, mind you. Still …” She beamed proudly.