Chapter 8

Willow

The Tipsy Thistle oozed charm and made me feel both welcomed and at home. Already, I itched to take endless photos of every nook and cranny of the building. The layering of textures here was something that interior designers would kill for, yet I suspected the design worked simply due to its authenticity. This was a place that had become what it was through decades of existing, not because it was carefully curated at the hands of a designer. It was a hodge-podge sort of space, like rooms had been added through the decades as an afterthought, and worn wood beams, stone walls, and a cheerful fire crackling in the wide fireplace dispelled some of the cold that seeped in from outside. A heavy wooden bar anchored the room, and one of the most handsome men I'd ever seen in my life gave me a slow smile designed to make a woman drop her panties at ten paces.

"Holy shit," I breathed.

"Och, admire him from afar but don't let him know it," Agnes advised me, "or we'll never hear the end of it. He's like a puppy—if you give him a treat he'll never leave you alone."

"Do I want him to leave me alone?" I wondered out loud.

"Yes," Ramsay growled at my ear and then stomped across the room to take a seat at the end of the bar.

"Do what you like." Agnes shrugged, but I caught a whiff of something there. She turned to walk to the bar and Sophie grabbed my arm. Meeting my eyes, she shook her head once, and then nodded at Agnes's back.

Ah. Message received.

I'd much rather make friends here than toy with the men, so I filed the hot bartender into the "Don't Touch" category and followed Sophie to sit next to Agnes at the bar.

"Och, there's a trio of bonnie lasses to warm my cold, dead heart on a blustery evening. I see you've brought a friend with you. To what do I owe this pleasure?" The bartender, with wicked eyes, a mouth made for sinful dreams, and muscular arms, leaned onto the bar in front of me and offered another unhurried smile. I'll admit, my inner hussy that had been momentarily considering wrapping herself around Ramsay now sashayed right over to the bar and fluttered her lashes at the bartender. It was hard not to be attracted to this man, who basically oozed sex appeal, and I realized he'd chosen the perfect profession if he enjoyed being ogled every night.

"Graham, this is Willow. She's come to work for MacAlpine Castle to design a customized line of clothing for the gift shop. She'll also be interning at Ramsay Kilts."

"Nope," Ramsay interjected from down the bar, and I turned to see him, arms crossed and staring at a sports game on a television screen.

"A few small details to be worked out," Sophie continued through gritted teeth. A look that I couldn't quite identify passed between Graham and Sophie, and then Graham turned the full power of his attention upon me.

"Well, now, sure and it's grand to have a bonnie lass such as yourself joining us in Loren Brae. It's been a particularly … cold winter … and you're like the sunshine peeking through storm clouds."

Oh man. This one knew what he was about. I blew out a shaky breath.

"Is it poetry you're spouting these days, Graham? For someone who never reads, that's certainly a new twist."

"What's life if you aren't growing, my sweet Agnes?" Graham shot her a honey-sweet smile before offering a hand. "I'm Graham, and I am the proprietor of this fine establishment."

"Which will go out of business soon if you forget to get your patrons drinks," Ramsay said. Graham's grin widened as he held my hand a moment longer.

"It's lovely to meet you, Willow. What are you drinking tonight?"

"Um, a gin and tonic would be great, thanks."

"We do a lovely pink gin and tonic with pomegranate seeds and a sprig of rosemary."

"Oh, yum. Sounds great. Thanks."

Graham slid me a leatherbound food menu and busied himself with drinks, working his way neatly down the bar and collecting orders from the other patrons who had gathered to watch the game.

"What's going on with Ramsay and not wanting you to work at his shop?" Agnes asked, her voice pitched lower than the game on the screen.

"He knows he needs to hire someone." Sophie leaned over, bending her head close. "His place is a nightmare when it comes to actually functioning. Maybe he just can't admit he needs help?"

"Or maybe my brother is making Ramsay report back to him."

"Your brother?" Agnes tilted her head at me.

"He's friends with Ramsay. We grew up coming to the area because my mum is from two villages over. Somehow Miles and Ramsay stayed close through the years. Now it feels like my brother managed to put this whole thing together and is just using it as a way to control me."

Whoops, I hadn't meant to say that last bit out loud. And I hadn't even had a drink yet. I'd have to be careful to watch my words with my new employer if jet lag was making me this loose with my tongue.

"Is that what you're worried about?" Sophie asked. "I can promise you that your brother had nothing to do with your job offer. I mean, I can't say whether he spoke to Ramsay or not, but on my end, I've never heard of Miles. I promise you we had our own reasons for hiring you."

A quick look between Agnes and Sophie had a question rising in my brain.

"Here you go, lass. Made with Common Gin, owned by that gentleman, Munroe himself, so if you hate it, be sure to say so loudly." Graham nodded to the man I'd seen with Lachlan in MacAlpine Castle's parking lot but hadn't met yet. He, too, was handsome in his own way, with gilded locks and broad shoulders, and I blinked as Lachlan entered the bar.

"Jesus." I turned to the women. "What is with the men here? They all could be models."

"Do you hear that, honey? You could be a model," Sophie said, wrapping an arm around Lachlan's waist as he leaned in for a kiss.

"You already made us model for your marketing campaign. What else am I modeling for now?"

"Did someone say model?" Graham brought his arm up and flexed his muscles, all while delivering a sultry, scowling look.

"You look constipated," Agnes said cheerfully. "A wee bit of fiber in your diet should sort you out."

"The only thing that needs sorting is?—"

"A pint, please, Graham. BrewDog, ah, the Modern Mutiny please." Lachlan nodded toward the taps.

"The food looks good." I scanned the menu, trying to change the subject before Agnes and Graham got into it. "Oh, tough call. Steak pie or baked mac and cheese? I don't think I've ever had a steak pie before. Maybe when I was younger?"

"Seriously?" Agnes turned to me, distracted from scowling at Graham.

"Really. Meat pies aren't all that common in the States."

"Then you should give it a go. Unless you want to give the haggis a try?" Agnes winked at me.

"Nope. Tried it when I was thirteen. Not for me." I shuddered at the memory. Ramsay snorted, and I turned to him, though his eyes were still on the game.

"Something funny?"

"You spit it in the poor dug's face. Though he was pretty delighted about the situation."

My face heated. I'd forgotten that Ramsay had been there the first time I'd tried haggis. Honestly, it probably hadn't been as bad as I'd made it out to be, but everyone had revved me up so much for it to be this wild experience, so when I'd taken a bite, my first instinct had been to turn and spit it out. Which, I'll admit, was a pretty gross response. Particularly when it landed on the face of the poor dog who had been waiting for table scraps.

"It was a dog, Ramsay."

"That's what I said. A dug."

"No, a dog," I enunciated carefully, turning toward him.

"Och, lass. He was more than half the size of you. That was a dug if I've ever seen one."

"A dog," I insisted.

"A dug." Ramsay slid a glance my way, and the heat of his look made me want to rise to the challenge.

"Let me clear this up," Lachlan said, drawing my attention back from Ramsay. "Sir Buster is a wee dog. But the mastiff that Fergus our sheep farmer has? That's a dug. It's a fine distinction."

"Oh, so you can say dog. You're just saying dug when it's bigger? Is this like where you call a thin woman beautiful, but a fat woman is just curvy?"

"I reckon I can't answer this correctly." Lachlan raised an eyebrow, glancing down at Sophie, as Graham passed him a pint. "I'm just going to watch the match, love." With a quick kiss he exited the conversation and joined Ramsay and Munroe at the end of the bar.

"I think I scared him away."

"To be fair, Lachlan is the least sizeist person I know." Sophie pointed a finger at her own large body. "He loves me exactly as I am and has never once made me feel insecure about my size."

"I don't doubt it. You can see the man is besotted with you. I was just trying to understand why the little dogs get to be called dog, but the big dogs are called dugs. It's like … painting them in a poor light."

"Och, not at all, lass. Dug's a good word. A strong word. Trust me, Sir Buster wishes he was a dug." Graham held out his hand and made a fist, lowering his voice into a growl. "Now that's a dug."

"Hmm." I did appreciate his delivery.

"See the difference? A dug is a good thing, much fiercer than a wee dog. You ken?"

The men shouted, interrupting anything I was going to say, and we all turned to look at the screen.

"What is this? Rugby?" I asked.

"Yup." Agnes leaned over and picked up her cider. "Six Nations. Do you know rugby?"

"Not really. I mean, I've seen it on TV a few times, but don't know the rules."

"Go on, lads!" Ramsay shouted, banging his fist on the bar. It was the most animated I'd seen him yet.

"Push forward!" Lachlan shouted.

A bunch of men clenched in what looked like a group hug on the screen, inching slowly forward. Their shorts rode up thick tree-trunk like muscular legs, and there was a lot of grunting.

"Oh, my." I fanned my face and Agnes laughed.

"There's some perks to rugby, that's the truth of it."

"I see that. This is a game I could get into. Who are we rooting for?"

"The blue jerseys. With the tartan stripe down the side."

Something happened on the screen, a ball was tossed about, and everyone groaned.

"Och, get it out wide to Finn, you know better." Ramsay drained his pint and motioned to Graham for another. The men grappled once more on screen, and there were lots of beautiful shots of flexing muscles and sweaty skin. Oh yeah, I definitely could get into this game.

"I think I need to learn more about rugby."

"There's a local match next week. I'm happy to take you," Graham said.

"Back off," Ramsay ordered before I could even open my mouth. I whirled toward him and slapped my hand on the bar.

"Excuse me?"

"He knows better." Ramsay nodded at Graham, returning his eyes to the screen.

"Och, it's like that, is it, mate? Understood." Graham held his hands in the air.

"It's not." Ramsay shook his head.

"Like what? It's not like anything," I argued to Graham.

"I'm just looking out for her." Ramsay's tone put me on edge.

"Looking out for me?" My voice rose as anger snaked through me. The last thing I needed was another overprotective brother hovering over my every move. If I wanted to go to a rugby match with a hot bartender, then I could do so. Not that I'd really go, since I wanted Agnes to like me, but the point was about being controlled, not about being able to date. "I don't need you to look out for me."

Ramsay ignored me, his arms crossed, concentrating on the game.

"Excuse me? Hello? You don't get a say in my life, sir." Turning, I looked askance at Agnes and Sophie. "Can you believe him?"

"Unbelievable," Sophie agreed.

"Do you care if I say yes to this rugby match? Just to prove a point to Ramsay? I just got out of a bad breakup, so I promise I'm not looking to date anyone," I whispered.

"By all means, have at it." Agnes spread her hands out. "I hate men telling me what to do about as much as I hate loose men who date every woman that blows through town."

"Got it. No touching of Graham."

"I didn't say?—"

"Graham?" I smiled sweetly at the bartender. "I'd love to go to the rugby match. Thanks for asking."

"No." Ramsay shook his head at Graham, completely ignoring me. My blood heated.

"Um, hmm." Graham looked between the two of us, a worried look on his face.

"Och, you've stepped in it now." Agnes hooted.

"Well? You did ask me on a date, didn't you? Are you not a man of your word?"

"Of course I am. The Scots pride themselves on honoring their word. I'd love to take you to the match, Willow."

"Did you hear that, Ramsay?" Sophie raised her voice, injecting a syrupy sweet note. "The Scots are known to be men of their words."

"Bloody hell." Ramsay rose and stormed toward the bathroom.

I looked around the bar.

"I missed something, didn't I?"

"Nothing that won't sort itself out in due time, lass. Now, was it steak pie you were thinking then?" Graham leaned in, tapping a finger on the menu in front of me. Confused about the undercurrents here, but needing food and a good night of sleep, I nodded and turned to Sophie.

"I think I'm going to need to crash after this. I'm dead on my feet. Plus, I'm not sure how much more I can take of Grumpy McJerkface tonight."

"Aww, you just reminded me of when Matthew and I called Lachlan Grumpy McHottie." Sophie sighed. "Matthew's my best friend. You'll meet him at some point if you stick around. He flies out when he can."

"I love Matthew," Agnes agreed.

Ramsay returned, ignoring us, and posted up at the bar again to watch the game. What was his deal anyway? There was no reason for him to step into this brotherly role. I didn't ask for it and I certainly didn't need it. I was tired of being treated like I was just a child. I was almost twenty-seven years old, had a fashion design degree, and had been in several relationships. It was all so ridiculous. What was Ramsay's deal? Had he already tattled to Miles? Already been given the lowdown of my disastrous life?

Thankfully, not long after, my delicious steak pie arrived, and I dug in with gusto. It was the perfect combination of soft pastry, thick sauce, and melt-in-your mouth steak. Perfect for a cold night, that was for sure. Conversation had been fun and easy between Agnes and Sophie, I could see us becoming fast friends, which was welcome given the last few months of my life. I'd needed this type of inclusion.

By eight o'clock, as much as I'd loved the atmosphere of the pub—except for the belligerent, green-eyed Scot—I was ready to leave. My annoyance with Ramsay had grown into full-blown anxiety. He'd roundly ignored me for the rest of the match, abstaining from joining in any more conversation that involved me. For being a family friend, he certainly wasn't acting like one. And now I supposedly had to work with this man?

"I don't see how I can work with Ramsay," I told Sophie on the walk home.

She sighed, nodding her head. "Yeah, he's being an absolute prick, isn't he?"

"Really is," I agreed, glumly. My fatigue clung to me like a heavy blanket as we plodded up the hill toward the castle, and all I wanted to do was go face first into a pillow and worry about everything tomorrow.

"Give it time. If it's any consolation, he really is known to be quite tetchy. It's not just you."

"Tetchy?"

"Um, crabby, grumpy, annoyed at everything. It's one of my favorite Scottish words."

"So, it's not just me who feels that way?" I heaved a sigh of relief when we got to the castle. The building looked lovely at night, with floodlights angled to light the four towers, and various windows lit from within. It would take some time to accept that I actually lived in a place as stately as this. It felt like I had an apartment in Grand Central Station or something.

"Get some rest. Everything's better after sleep. Keep an eye out for Clyde on the walk up."

"Thank you for taking me tonight. I had fun."

With that, I made my way carefully to my room, on high alert for any ghostly capers, but made it without any trouble. After a quick scrub of my face, I changed into some sweats and dove into bed, pulling the thick comforter over my head and dropping instantly into sleep.

I awoke with a start, hours later, and blinked into the darkness.

What had jolted me awake?

My brain felt fuzzy, as though my thoughts couldn't catch up with my reality, and when an otherworldly shriek sounded from outside, I did the first thing that came to mind.

I pulled the comforter back over my head.

Trembling, I took a few deep breaths, my brain finally waking up as another shriek rattled the window.

What the hell was that?

I couldn't wrap my head around any natural animal that would make such a sound, and steeling myself, I crept from beneath the comforter and pressed myself flat against the wall. Edging closer to the window, I tried to regulate my breathing as my heart hammered in my chest. Shaking, I paused at the edge of the window, scared that if I peeked out, I might become a target for the wrath of whatever that thing was.

In the end, curiosity won out.

Yeah, I know. I'd probably be the first to get picked off in a scary movie.

Dropping to my knees, I peered over the bottom of the window frame. Hopefully, since my room was dark, whatever was out there wouldn't be able to see me.

A sliver of moon hung low over the loch, shedding dim light across the dark surface of the water, trees swaying in the wind. Movement caught my attention, and my eyes widened to see Sophie, a sword in hand, walking the battlements with Lachlan at her side.

Whatever was out there, Sophie knew about, and if she needed a sword to keep it at bay, well, then it was something serious. But what? And why a sword?

Easing back from the window, I stood and dove back into bed, pulling the comforter over my head. Whatever was out there was not my problem for the moment. I need sleep. Next time I fly business class, I am definitely going to forego the ice cream treat and go for sleep instead. They do say that sleep deprivation messes with your brain.

"This is your adventure,Willow. Sleep now and ask questions tomorrow," I whispered to myself, hoping that would help calm my racing heart.

I needed answers, because if it wasn't Ramsay sending me home, that creature screaming in the night might just do the trick.