Page 44 of Scotlander

The moment may have only been the blink of an eye. Possibly longer. She had no idea. All she knew was that from the moment Finn’s lips had touched hers, she had been completely and utterly transported.

It was, hands down, the best kiss she’d ever experienced. So perfect, it had felt preordained. As if Finlay Jamieson had been put here on this earth, on this farm, in that kilt, for the express purpose of cupping her face in those incredible hands of his and showing her what a real kiss was meant to feel like.

From the moment their lips had touched, she’d known nothing and everything all at once. Fireworks, possession, protection and heat. Actual washes of the stuff, pouring like sexy lava through her nervous system. And they hadn’t even tongued each other.

She’d genuinely thought she was levitating by the end of it.

‘Here you are, lass.’ A steaming mug of tea appeared before her. She followed the arm holding it out to her, up and along the increasingly familiar shoulder line, then up to her new fake husband’s face. ‘Get that down your gob.’ He nodded at the mug. ‘You’ll need your strength for the day ahead.’

And just like that her picture-perfect Cinderella balloon popped.

‘Is everything okay?’ she asked, taking the tea. It was strong and milky and sweet all at once. The kind of thing you’d give someone after they’d had a shock.

‘Aye. Fine.’

He didn’t look fine.

He was scanning all the happy, giggling guests with an expression that suggested it was just as well they were enjoying themselves now because they wouldn’t be for much longer.

Before she could ask him what was going on, the dinner bell in the stable yard rang. Finn beckoned for her to follow him to the yard. ‘You’ll have to change,’ he said. ‘Make sure you put proper work boots on. And wool socks.’

‘What?’

He glanced back at her. ‘You’ve packed some outdoor gear, right?’

Err . . . ‘I’ve got a puffa jacket that could double as a sleeping bag and pants you can unzip at the knee.’ She’d been assured they were very, very cool.

‘No boots? Hiking? Walking? Something like that?’

She pulled a face. Nope. Nothing like that in her luggage. ‘I did bring an excellent day cream with SPF.’

He shook his head and walked away.

She pulled up her skirt and glanced down at her old, comfortable Uggs, the stitching coming dangerously close to unravelling. They’d been a gift from Valentina years ago and she’d always equated the comfort they gave with their friendship. They were the only boot-type shoes she’d packed, and she wasn’t prepared to sacrifice them.

Before Willa could decide whether her Converses or the running shoes she’d packed back when she thought there might be a gym here would work, Orla bustled into the centre of the stable yard and stood next to a table piled high with brown hessian cloth.

‘Right you are, my lovelies.’ She grinned, but not as brightly as she had earlier when she’d wished them well and sent them off to be married.

Finn reappeared at the edge of the courtyard. Something about his thin-set grimace told her he and Orla had had words.

Orla continued, ‘Now that you’ve all got your Jamie . . . or Claire . . . it’s time to truly immerse yourselves in Highland life.’

They all threw one another giddy looks. Jennifer let out a little whinny she was so excited.

Orla held up one of the brown pieces of fabric and snapped it out. It was a dung-coloured pinafore. She handed it to Jennifer. ‘Here you are, lassie. Put that on over your travel dress and perhaps something else to keep you war-um. And make sure you wear your waterproof footwear.’

Willa shot a look in Gabe’s direction. They really hadn’t prepared for this during their Pretty Woman shopping trip. Before she looked away Gabe mouthed, Can we talk later?

There was a part of her that didn’t want to, but the only thing that had really changed about Gabe was that he looked happier. As lonely as it made her feel, she knew taking things out on him would only make her feel worse.

She gave him a quick nod, then turned back as Jennifer accepted her smock with a curtsey before disappearing into her room to change.

Half an hour later, the group had all changed into the repurposed potato-sack outfits (complete with Balcraigie branding) and reassembled in a line. A ragtag group of wannabe Jacobites awaiting their call to battle.

‘Well, don’t you all look a picture?’ Orla took up her clipboard and ran her finger down it. She looked up with a bright, openly anxious smile. ‘Okay. Jules and Blair? You two are in the castle today.’

Jules’s face brightened. ‘Ace. What’re we doing? Preparing the bed chambers in advance of our wedding nights?’ She made as if to start chasing Blair round the yard.