“I’m mainly worried that my bad luck doesn’t kill it somehow, so I guess that counts.”
He looks over again, so handsome in his Ray Bans. “What are you talking about?”
“I told you! I’m bad luck. My name means ‘death,’ remember?”
“You know that all that nasty shite is from your father, right? There’s nothing wrong with you, lass.” Cameron expertly makes another turn, nearly losing the two SUVs following us.
“What about your Bugatti? I killed your Bugatti,” I persist.
“A tree fell on my Bugatti,” he sighs.
“The flat tire when you kidnapped me? How do all your brand-new cars keep dying for no reason?”
“You’re not bad luck, Morana! If anything, you’re good luck. Thanks to you, we found that fucker Stepanov’s last stand, his hidden compound. We are almost done with a battle that’s raged on for over five years. Because of you, honey.” He puts his big, warm hand on my thigh and I scream.
“Look out!”
Cursing, he swerves just in time to avoid five sheep casually crossing the road. The Jaguar nearly spins out, but the tires catch in time.
“See?”
“God-damnitit’s not your fault!” Cameron roars.
The cloudy skies open up, dumping rain down on us and he hits the button to bring the ragtop up on the convertible.
Nothing.
Growling, he pushes it again and again, and I sigh, hoping the vintage camel tan leather interior isn’t ruined by the time we get to the estate.
“Thanks for the clothes.”
“You’re welcome.” Sorcha, Cameron’s little sister is lounging on her bed, grinning at me.
When we showed up for dinner, soaking wet, there was an acutely uncomfortable moment as they all stood in the grand hall, beautifully dressed.
Staring at me.
“Sorcha darling,” Lady Elspeth said, “do take Morana up to your room for some dry things?”
I like this girl, she’s sassy and funny. As she shares her clothes with me and I attempt to look more presentable, she keeps up a stream of cheerful chatter about the family and their most embarrassing moments. Sorcha’s only eighteen, but she’s wildly beautiful, with thick waves of auburn hair and that perfect, pale skin that you can only find here in Scotland.
And she’s refused to leave the estate since she was kidnapped when she was twelve.
“So, is it as awkward as you were expecting?” she asks, looking at me upside down as she hangs her head over the mattress.
Surprised into a laugh, I nod, drying my hair. “Pretty much what I was expecting. It’s still nice to meet you, though.”
“Oh, we’re all fun, aside from the towering presence of Ma,” she says, “even Da is so much more relaxed since giving the Chieftain title over to Cormac. Besides, you are not the most awkward wifey introduction we’ve had.”
“What do you mean?”
A knock on the door interrupts us and Mala slips in. “She means me. I showed up at midnight and Cormac announced that he was going to marry me. Lady Elspeth had a wedding for one hundred people ready on the grounds here at the estate by five o’clock the next afternoon. I think I win this round.”
“That’s impressive,” I admit, “and much more elegant than essentially being held down by your brother while your parish priest reluctantly pronounces us husband and wife.”
“I did wonder how that happened!” Sorcha says happily. “Tell me more!”
“Later,” Mala warns, “Lady Elspeth is becoming displeased. Also, Cameron is chasing my twins around and getting them all riled up. He’s still a child himself, I swear.”
