Page 36 of Scotlander

Her eyes narrowed, clearly trying to figure out if he meant it. Or maybe she didn’t know what a numpty was.

‘If you like,’ Finn continued, ‘I’ll step aside. Make the switch back to the original plan.’

Orla sucked in a breath, clearly about to launch into some other fixer-upper option, but before she could, Finn put up his hand. If she began speaking, he knew she was pretty much guaranteeing they’d be reported to the tourist board for fraud. Or mass bigamy. ‘We need to let Willa decide. This is her journey. Her choice.’

Willa stared at him, her eyes occasionally flicking across to Orla, and then, with the aura of a princess who’d just been told she wouldn’t be receiving her usual slippers this week owing to a mix-up at the silkworm factory but that she could have these scrubby, velour house shoes instead, gave him a quick up-and-down scan, then said, ‘You’ll do.’

Orla took a step towards them.

The moment was fragile. She wasn’t reading it. Willa’s phone buzzed and as she tugged it out of her bodice and began tapping away, Finn pulled Orla aside and asked, ‘Can you give us ten minutes?’

She began panic-talking him through her extensive and exacting timeline for the day, her voice actually shaking as she admitted if everything didn’t run precisely to plan, they would be ruined. They agreed to start the handfasting ceremonies with the guests they did have when Willa approached them with a terse, ‘Hey. No more plotting behind my back.’

‘Fair enough,’ Finn said, then, before either woman could protest, he pointed Willa towards the main yard outside the barns. ‘C’mon.’

‘What?’

‘We’re going to find your mate.’

‘I thought that was you.’

‘The other one. Gabe.’

She scowled at him but started walking.

The best thing he could think to do to keep Orla’s guests from demanding instant refunds was to get Willa and Gabe to talk. It was how he regularly dealt with any ‘warring’ teens over at the agricultural college. Usually whatever beef they were embroiled in had begun as a misunderstanding and the only path to resolution was speaking to one another.

As they left his stepsister in their wake, he lowered his voice and confided, ‘I’ve not read the booking notes, but Orla said Lachlan knew Gabe already. That they’d met as teens. This was meant to be a reunion. Does his name ring any bells?’

‘Lachlan? No.’ Her brow furrowed as she hoicked up her skirts and powerwalked alongside him. ‘How could he know Gabe if he’s Scottish? Gabe’s not been to—’ She stopped abruptly and then, almost to herself said, ‘What is going on, Val?’

Val? Who was Val?

Willa looked up at him, her Bambi brown eyes actively seeking something from him. Comfort? Reassurance? Unlikely. She’d made it clear she thought he was on a par with cow dung, but . . . something about the things she said and the way she behaved didn’t match up. As if beneath all of the bluster was a genuinely kind soul who’d decided to put on a grouchy suit to hide how she really felt: scared, undesired and alone.

His fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and sweep some of that long dark hair of hers away from her face. But with their brief, tumultuous history, he guessed she’d probably slap his hand away and start screaming for help.

He focused on the task at hand. Finding Gabe and Lachlan. He pointed to their left. ‘They’ve probably gone over to the castle. Unless you think he’s heading out to the main road to try hitch-hiking or something?’

She shook her head. ‘I honestly don’t know. Gabe’s more of a mystery than I had originally given him credit for.’

‘What do you mean?’

She heaved a dramatic sigh and gave an unexpectedly comedic eyeroll. ‘How much time have you got?’

‘Well . . .’ He looked at his bare wrist and pretended to read the time. ‘We are meant to be fake married for the fortnight so . . .’

‘Two weeks might not be long enough,’ she quipped, a hint of humour still glinting in her eyes. ‘Even if we’re fastened at the hand.’ She made a sucking noise and smashed the backs of her hands together.

‘You know what one is, right?’

She bristled, then begrudgingly admitted she didn’t.

‘It’s a traditional element of a Scots wedding ceremony from pagan times. It’s tribal, really. Obviously, this one isn’t legally binding. It’s part of your “authentic experience”, but that should’ve been made clear in the paperwork. I think Orla had it all detailed in your bookings?’

‘Yeahhhh.’ Willa let the word pour out of her long and slow as she ran her index finger along her full, lower lip. ‘I think you’re referring to the bookings neither Gabe nor I ever saw.’

‘What?’