“Miss Mary. Welcome. Mrs. McGregor is expecting you.”
“Where is she?”
“In the sitting room. But allow me to take you directly to your apartments. She asked me to make sure you’re comfortably settled.”
My apartments.
The word feels pretentious for what’s probably a servant’s room, but at this point, I’d gladly take a broom closet as long as it’s not above a metal-loving baker.
To my surprise, Jamison heads toward the castle entrance.
When he notices I haven’t followed him, he turns back toward me.
“The castle will soon be full because of the upcoming Highland Games,” he informs me. “Your cousins are all on their way. You’ll be staying in one of the cottages, which will offer both peace and privacy.”
Am I truly surprised by this latest twist of fate?
Honestly, not at all.
I probably should’ve seen it coming.
My life has become a living illustration of Murphy’s Law: everything that can go wrong will go wrong.
Jamison leads me through the castle grounds.
The late afternoon sun illuminates the gray stone, and despite my exhaustion, I have to admit the place has charm.
My gaze lands on an animal.
Hamish.
The family’s legendary sheep is standing near a tree, staring at me.
Not like a normal sheep.
No.
He’s looking at me like he knows something I don’t.
“Hello, Hamish,” I say as I walk past.
He lets out a bleat, then falls into step behind us.
“Hamish, no. I’m tired. I don’t have the energy for your nonsense.”
He keeps following me, trotting along with determination.
Jamison, walking ahead of me, doesn’t seem to notice.
Or pretends not to notice.
With him, you never really know.
We reach the cottage, a charming stone building with small-paned windows and a polished wooden door.
“This will be your accommodation, Miss Mary. You’ll be sharing the space with our other new temporary resident.”
I stop dead.
