Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

Finlay

" N one of the workers will go in there."

"Seriously?" I scratched my jaw, casting my gaze across the land behind the construction site to where a worn stone outbuilding stood, shrouded in trees, and looking for all the world like a witch's cottage from a childhood fairy tale. MacAlpine Castle loomed in the distance, a stately presence towering over our building operation, and I could almost imagine a highlander appearing between the trees, sword in hand.

The more I looked at the cottage, the more I got an impression that it wanted to be left alone, and the very idea that an inanimate object could project a feeling like that piqued my interest. Was it Munroe's comment that the workers avoided this building that made me feel that way? Scotland was full of abandoned outbuildings and ruins. It wasn't all that unusual to stumble across one, so what made this one so different?

"Aye. A superstitious lot, they are. Claim it's haunted. Once one of them refused to go in, the rest followed suit."

"Bloody hell." I sighed. Turning, I scanned the busy site behind me. Orla seemed to run a tight ship. I'd only been on-site for two days now, but I hadn't come across a worker that wasn't busy with one task or another once. I'd worked on enough of Munroe's buildouts, from retail stores to distilleries, to learn that this wasn't always the case with job sites. I had to hand it to the pint-sized powerhouse. She seemed to run things efficiently and her crew respected her.

She was also breathtaking.

Auburn hair tucked into plaits, wide sky-blue eyes, and a mouth made for kissing was a stark juxtaposition against the canvas overalls that seemed to be Orla's daily uniform. Her overalls were navy-blue today, and loose enough that identifying any particular aspect of her shape was largely impossible. I wondered if that was a deliberate choice, helping to keep unwanted advances at bay, or if she just enjoyed the comfort.

I'd steered a wide berth from her after I'd neatly insulted her by insinuating she was the cleaner, embarrassment still making it difficult for me to fully bridge that gap I'd created by my assumption. I would have to address it soon, as Munroe wanted me working closely with her. He needed to oversee the launch of his newest flavor of gin and wouldn't be as widely available on-site.

"Your thought was to use it for a tasting room?"

"Aye, just a wee spot for a sample of gin flights, and maybe the merch shop could go in there as well. That way people could have a separate destination after the tour is finished, so we can utilize the space in the distillery for the actual operations."

"What does Orla say about it?"

"I asked her to focus on other areas for now. But I'd like to get an idea if this is an option or if I'd have to hire another crew in to deal with it."

"Right then. I'll crack on and have a look. When are you off?"

"Heading out now. I'll be through to Edinburgh for the next few days, so I'm sorry I won't be here to introduce you around. Lia's invited you for dinner anytime, she's asked me to tell you. Or if you pop down to the pub, there's good scran on there as well."

"Aye, right. That's you on then. I'll fend for myself well enough."

"Don't forget. We've got this charity gala coming up soon."

"Och, don't remind me. Mum's on me about bringing a date."

My uptight mother, who had thrown herself into every charity under the sun when my father had passed on, was co-chairing a gala in Edinburgh focused on aiding the reduction of child hunger in Scotland.

"Do you have one? Lia's making annoyed noises about having to find a dress." Munroe grinned. I liked his fiancée, a highly talented chef at Grasshopper, a rustic elevated comfort food restaurant located inside MacAlpine Castle. She was down-to-earth, beautiful, and clearly most comfortable in the kitchen. Outside of it, she was a jeans and leather jacket kind of woman, but I imagined she would be stunning in a ballgown as well.

"Remind me again when I have the time to date?" I raised an eyebrow at Munroe, and he grinned.

"You're the only one forcing yourself to work this hard, Finlay. Not that I don't appreciate it. But you're no use to anyone if you burn yourself out."

"Work doesn't burn me out. It lights me up."

Which was only partially true, but Munroe didn't really need to know the ins and outs of all that. We were friends, but it was a friendship based on our business dealings, and I'd never opened up to him about what drove me to work as hard as I did.

It was nobody's business but my own, after all.

"Can't say I'm complaining. I'm lucky to have you on my team. Why don't you ask Orla?"

"Ask her what?"

"To be your date to the gala? You could just go as business partners. But she might get a kick out of it and you'd both be representing Common Gin."

"I doubt a gala falls within her duties as project manager."

"Fair enough. Just a thought. All right, that's me off then." Munroe squeezed my shoulder before turning.

"Oh, speaking of… if you're heading through the site, can you send Orla out to meet me at the outbuilding if she's not too busy? I'll just pop through and see if I can get an idea what's got the lads spooked."

"Not all lads," Munroe gently reminded me, and I laughed.

"Damn it, I've already stuck my foot in it once." Orla's team was made up of both men and women, and I needed to adjust my language quickly, so I didn't insult someone else. I didn't like making mistakes like that, not ones that tarnished my image, so I not only made a mental note to do better, but I also keyed a quick reminder into my phone to put it as a calendar alert. "It's habit. I've just worked on so many job sites that were mainly men."

"I like that she's challenging stereotypes. Her work backs it up."

"I don't doubt it. From what I can see, she's highly talented."

"Her crew love her as well. That's always a good sign. Right, I'm off. I'll send her your way."

"Safe drive." I was already turning back to the cottage, wondering what had the crew so nervous. I took my time wandering in the direction of the outbuilding, scanning the site for any inconsistencies or areas of concern.

The stone building was beneath a canopy of trees, with leaves and old branches collected in piles on the slate roof and moss clambering up the sides. As usual for Scotland, it was a cloudy day, but the light around the cottage seemed to darken the closer I got. Was it a trick of my mind or just the fact that the canopy of trees was thicker here? A ripple of unease shifted through me as I stopped in front of the worn wood door with an ornate knob. Bending, I squinted at the scratches embedded in the wood around the handle. What had been trying to get inside here?

The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I jumped when a crow cawed loudly over me. Looking up, I squinted at three crows sitting in a row on a branch above the cottage .

"Well, isn't that perfect?" Like I needed anything else to spook me out. Shaking my head, because I was clearly just winding myself up, I turned the knob and stepped carefully inside the building, my eyes immediately going to the ceiling to see if the space was structurally sound.

Right, okay. Yeah, this place was creepy.

Yet, also intriguing. The door opened directly into a main room, but I could see that the building itself stretched much farther back as part of the wall across from me had crumbled. If that was a supporting wall, it was best that I not explore much farther into the room, because I wasn't the least bit interested in having the roof cave in on my head. Murky light filtered through dirty windows, and a musty breeze wafted through the broken panes. The floor was dirt, whatever wood that had once covered it long gone now, and a few broken chairs were piled in the corner by a massive stone fireplace.

Were those bones in the fireplace?

Intrigued, I stepped gingerly forward, my eyes narrowed on the pile in the fireplace grate.

The door slammed behind me.

Whirling, I held my hands up as the temperature of the room dropped to frigid, ice crystals forming on the windowpanes, and my breath came out in visible puffs in front of my face. Icicles dripped from the ceiling, a virtual ice cave forming around me, and I dug my nails into my palms just to feel the pain.

This isn't real.

Whatever was happening was a figment of my imagination—too much work and too little sleep, that was all. Keeping calm, I eased myself toward the door, reaching out for the handle.

A shriek, more demonic than human, reverberated off the walls of the room, and I froze as an icicle shot directly at my head. I recovered my wits seconds before it hit my face, ducking and pivoting to avoid the blow. When it shattered against the wall at my side, the fragments piercing my cheeks with their icy cold, I'd decided I'd had enough.

Maybe it wasn't real. But it sure as hell felt real and I needed out. Now.

Grabbing the knob, panic rose as I struggled to open the door, something blocking me from moving. Another icicle shattered near my head, and I ducked, throwing my arms up to protect myself as they pummeled against my back.

"Stop!" I shouted, grabbing the knob, pulling as hard as I could, but the door was wedged securely shut. "Help!"

Another shriek sounded, fear lodged in the very marrow of my bones, and I realized I could very well die here. What the hell was wrong with this door? No matter how hard I tugged, turned, or pushed, it was lodged tightly shut. Ice crusted over the hinges, and I tried to chip it away with my hands, scratching at the door, but to no avail.

"Please, help," I begged.

Turning, certain that I was about to meet my maker, I gasped as a woman in a green dress, hooves poking out from the bottom, flitted through the window. Tossing a rock at the door behind me, she gave me a lingering look, as though she was sizing up my very soul, before the ice cave disintegrated around me. The shriek came again, lessened in its power now, and the floating woman nodded to the door behind me, urging me to go.

I didn't need to be told twice. Turning, I grabbed the knob, wrenching the door open before tumbling outside, gasping for air.

"Whoa there, lad. What's wrong?"

Orla sprung from where she crouched on the ground, cuddling two dogs, and I bent at the waist and gasped for air. The panic that had grasped me now thickened around my neck, making it difficult for me to take a full breath, and I sincerely thought I might pass out as I struggled for air. Sweat dripped down my back as Orla took my arms in her hands.

Her work shoes had hearts on them.

I hadn't noticed before that her worn leather steel-toe boots had tiny hearts etched into the leather, but it was all I could focus on as I struggled to breathe, staring down at the ground. What the hell just happened?

And what was I supposed to say?

That the cottage was haunted?

She'd laugh in my face.

One of the dogs, a corgi-type mix, a fat tartan bow at her neck, waddled forward into my line of sight and bumped her head against my leg, looking up at me with her tongue lolling out.

"Here then, just breathe, lad. In and out. Nice and slow." Orla basically cooed at me, rubbing her hands up and down my arms, her warmth and nearness soothing me. My legs shook, and she must have noticed because she insisted on easing me to the ground. "Sit here. Just sit."

"My trousers." Of all things to be worried about now. But I had this innate need to take care of my things. I worked hard for everything I had, and I didn't like when my clothes got dirty.

"I'm sure you can afford another pair." Orla sat with me on the damp ground, at ease in her overalls, and kept quiet. Her shoulder touched mine, companionable, but not overbearing, and I reached out to run my hand across the dog that was currently trying to clamber into my lap.

"Is she yours?" I asked, needing to distract myself from the icy panic that was still lodged in my core.

"Lady Lola is the woman of the castle. The one growling over there is Sir Buster. He puts on a tough show, but he'll get jealous of you giving attention to Lola soon enough and make his way over to fuss at us."

I glanced to the chihuahua in a tartan collar who was currently pretending he wasn't the least bit interested in either of us, occasionally shooting us a glare and raising his lip in a growl.

"Is that right?" I increased my attention to Lady Lola, whose chunky bum wiggled in delight at my scratches, and sure enough Sir Buster approached.

"See? He's pretending he doesn't care, but he wants in, you ken?"

Once close, Orla scooped up the trembling chihuahua, and we sat in silence, a dog each, until my heart stopped thundering in my chest. I appreciated that we could sit like this, in quiet, while I tried to gather my thoughts. Many other people would have been yammering at me to tell them what happened, but Orla seemed to innately understand what I needed in that moment. Which was to claw myself back from the edge of a full-fledged panic attack and get my footing under myself again.

Lady Lola flopped her body onto my thighs, and I sighed, automatically brushing the dog hair from the wool.

"Don't like dogs?" Orla's tone suggested I must also like murdering babies then, and I slid a glance her way.

"Don't like dog hair," I corrected.

"Allergies?"

"Not particularly. Just…messy." I didn't have it in me to explain that even though I bought expensive things, I didn't buy a lot of them, and took care of what I had.

"Messy can be worth it for the joy they bring." Orla made kissy noises at Sir Buster, who now looked like he worshipped the woman, and I couldn't say I blamed him. When she pursed those pretty lips of hers and blew kisses, I wanted to lean over and have a taste. "I've always wanted a dog."

"Why don't you get one?" How were we having such a normal conversation after I was almost murdered by flying ice knives?

"I'm worried I wouldn't be home enough for a puppy." Orla shrugged. "Want to tell me what happened in there?"

"Not particularly." What was I supposed to say? That I'd had a hallucination brought on by too much caffeine and too many nights of little sleep?

"Right then." Orla stood, depositing Sir Buster on the ground, and dusted off the seat of her overalls. "I'll just check it out myself."

Panic returned, and I jumped up, catching her before she opened the door. Wrapping my arms around her short body, I pulled her back tightly against my chest, imprisoning her.

"Don't go in there," I begged.

"Finlay." Orla's tone held a note of warning, and I immediately realized how inappropriate I was being. Her body was imprisoned against mine, and I was struck with our size differences. I could sense the strength in her, and how she'd instantly gone on alert when my arms had come around her. It wasn't unlikely that she'd been harassed more than once on the job, and here I was trapping her against my body.

"Please don't go in there," I amended, easing slowly back, but keeping one hand on her arm. "I don't think it's safe."

Orla turned, giving me an assessing look.

"So it's true then."

"What's true?"

"What my team told me about this building."

"What did they tell you?" Was I just going to parrot questions back at her to delay telling her what I'd seen? Absolutely. I was so far outside my comfort zone in this moment that I needed to somehow restore order to my world. If that meant a verbal rally with Orla, so be it.

"Why don't you tell me what happened first?"

"Tell me what your workers said."

"Are you always this difficult?" Orla demanded, hands at her hips.

"I'm just trying to get a clear answer."

"So am I." Orla's expression grew frustrated.

"Just tell me then."

" You tell me first." Orla threw up her hands, turning to look at the cottage again. Her brow furrowed, and her face took on an expression as though she was very far away for a moment, her eyes seeing something that I couldn't.

"Not much to say."

"That's it? You came barreling out of here like the devil himself was chasing you and that's all you can say?" Orla arched a brow at me.

"Yes?" I asked.

"Och, not gonna fly, lad. Give it up."

"I don't want to talk about it. I'm fine," I promised. It was true enough. I was already embarrassed about how she'd seen me, in a sheer panic, on top of the fact that I'd insulted her the other day. Last thing I needed to do was make her think I was delusional too.

"Och, is that the way of it then?" Orla's temper peaked. "You look like you've been chased by a banshee, not a drop of color in your face and hands so cold they're like ice. Yet you say it's fine. Right, then. That's just grand, isn't it? Nothing to see here? Is that right?"

"I'm sorry I was rude to you the other day." I neatly changed the subject, walking backward away from the cottage, hoping to draw her with me. Orla's eyes narrowed, seeming to understand what I was doing, and after one lingering glance back at the front door, she fell in step beside me, the dogs racing in front of us back toward the castle.

"Don't bother yourself. I'm used to it," Orla said, hands in her pockets as we wandered back to the job site.

"Still. Doesn't mean I should have assumed your role on-site. I'm sorry for it and I'll work on being better."

"Well, now. That's refreshing." Orla's grin was like the sun splitting the clouds. "Didn't take you for one to humble yourself."

"I have my moments."

"Aye, I see that. Or maybe whatever happened in that cottage scared you enough to be apologizing."

"No, I wanted to apologize before then."

"Will you tell me what happened?"

"Tell me what the workers say."

"They say the place is haunted." Someone called Orla's name, drawing her attention away, and she stood before me, torn between our conversation and the job.

"It might well be." There, that was all I was going to say about it. The last thing I needed to do was relive the harrowing experience that still made my gut churn.

"If that's the case, I'll invite you to stay away from it, Mr. Thompson. I'll sort it out soon enough."

"Wait, what? That's not your job—" I made to grab her arm as she turned to walk away but then stopped, reminding myself that I'd already touched her without her permission once today.

"It's my site. Which means it's my problem. Good day, Mr. Thompson." With that, Orla returned to her workers, and I was left wondering when I'd gone from Finlay to Mr. Thompson to her. Turning, I glanced back at the cold and foreboding cottage, and now I had a new thing to worry about.

How was I going to keep Orla Clarke away from that cottage?