Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Finlay

I had to walk away before I scared her.

My temper was a rare thing to behold, and I knew, particularly because of Orla's past, that showing it to her would potentially make her feel unsafe. So I left.

I walked away before I lost it.

I wasn't just mad at her for lying to me.

I was furious that something, some thing that I couldn't fight or do anything about, had hurt her. It had taken everything in my power not to rush to her, to check her head wound, to make sure she wasn't hurt more deeply. Only when I realized that she was practicing magick had the other shoe dropped.

Orla was a witch.

And she'd been hiding it from me all along.

It was such a blow to my heart, the one that had been singing love songs and mapping out a careful future for Orla and me. I trusted her, or so I'd thought, and she'd hidden something monumental from me.

Just like my father had.

It all came crashing back. Once more the person that I'd put on a pedestal had shown me their true colors, and I was left with my heart broken in bits, trying to find a way to tape it back together. Maybe I'd been stupid to believe in love, if even my own father couldn't stay in a committed relationship, maybe the world didn't revolve around love.

"Finlay—what's wrong?"

Footsteps crunched on the gravel behind me, and I sighed, passing a hand across my face. I'd almost made it to my lorry without being seen.

"It's nothing."

"It doesn't look to be nothing. Mate, you look shattered." Munroe put a hand on my shoulder, and I kept my eyes on the ground, unable to look up at him.

"I need to go."

"Nope, not a chance. Come on."

"No, Munroe."

"It's an order."

"Bloody hell," I shouted, needing him away from me.

"Och, you're definitely not driving. Get inside. I have whisky." Munroe, for all of his easygoing manner, had a steely determination to him that I rarely butted heads with. One time, we'd almost come to blows at university, and from there on we'd acknowledged that we both had a side to us that we rarely showed the world.

But we respected it.

Now, I let him push me toward the castle, fury making my blood heat. I wanted to punch something, anything, and I stomped down the dark corridor toward the games room where I'd enjoyed a game of pool a time or two with Lachlan and Munroe.

When the apparition of a coo—a ghost coo—jumped out in front of me, I didn't even pause.

"No!" I shouted, once, and sharply, and breezed right through the ghost, no longer caring if it would take me to my death. What did it matter anyway? The woman I loved, that I'd uprooted my whole life for, hadn't been truthful to me. She'd hidden such an important part of herself, so what else did I not know about her? Is she like my dad too? Thinks I'm a pushover, someone who doesn't mean shite to her? Did she think concealing her lies was acceptable?

"It's okay, Clyde. Just a bad time," I heard Munroe murmur from behind me, and my eyebrows winged up. Were ghosts just the usual thing for him? Was everyone else in on this whole magick thing other than me? If so, that made me even more furious, since I considered Munroe to be one of my very best friends. If he'd lied to me as well…bloody hell.

The games room was a classic room with a fireplace, tartan lounge chairs, and a sidebar stocked with whisky. Striding over to it, I chose a bottle at random and poured myself a dram, swallowing it in one gulp so the liquid burned down my throat.

At least I wasn't entirely numb.

"So you're in on it too then?" I poured myself another dram, gesturing with it as Munroe walked slowly to me, like a man approaching someone with a gun.

"Please clarify. "

"The ghost coo. Magick. All of this?" My mind flitted back to the day I'd seen the unicorn. Then even further back to being trapped in that cottage with the scary ghost who tried to kill me.

The same ghost that had bloodied Orla.

"Bloody hell," I hissed, taking a sip, and Munroe poured his own glass.

"Sit with me?" Munroe gestured to the armchairs and crossing the room, I dropped into one, running a hand through my hair. Finally, I faced him, my expression mulish.

"Well? It's a simple question. Aye or nae? You knew about the magick here or not?"

"Aye, I do, Finlay."

"Of course. Just fecking grand. All of you, just running around behind my back, laughing at me."

"Nobody was laughing, Fin."

"Easy for you to say when you're in on the game."

"It's also not a game." Munroe sighed, stretching his legs out, and pushed his glasses up his nose. "It's deadly serious."

"Oh, don't I know it. Kelpies shrieking in the night. Ghosts trying to kill me. Yeah, it's great fun for all." I shook my head, clenching my jaw, and looked out the window to the placid waters of Loch Mirren. "Would have been nice to be let in on the secret."

"Orla didn't tell you?"

"You fecking knew she was a witch?" My eyes widened and I gaped at Munroe. He'd known before me and hadn't said a damn word. My fury intensified. "That's real class, Munroe. Thanks for that."

"I can explain if you'll calm down enough to listen. "

"Oh, I'm calm. Perfectly calm. See?" I waved my hand holding the glass in front of me and whisky slopped close to the rim but didn't spill.

"I know you're about two seconds away from burying your fist in my face."

"There's that too." I tipped the glass at him in acknowledgement and then took another long searing sip.

"Lia is also a witch."

I paused mid-sip, the liquid sloshing against my lips, and stared at him over the rim of my glass.

"Um…" Pretty Lia who ran an extraordinary restaurant? "A witch?"

"Aye, mate. It's a lot to take in, but it's also really amazing and beautiful. She's a kitchen witch, a member of?—"

"The Order of Caledonia," I said faintly, recalling Orla's words.

"That's it. There's more of them here, Fin. They're protecting the town and the people here. Orla just found out and she's learning."

"She didn't know she had magick?"

"No. Many don't until they join the Order. It's a whole thing."

I blew out a breath.

"When did this all happen?"

"Recently. Over the last couple of months. At least for Orla. For Lia, when she arrived here."

"I don't know what to say."

"Tell me what happened?"

I gave him a quick rundown of what I'd seen in the cottage, and how I'd walked in on Orla, bloodied and working her magick, shock and fear igniting my anger.

"Is she still there?" Munroe's face creased with worry.

"I made her leave the cottage. She's safe."

"Still." Munroe pulled his phone from his pocket, tapping a message out.

"She lied to me. You lied to me."

"Aye. And no. For me? My choice was to protect Lia. It's her story to share, you ken? I trust you with my life, Fin, but it's her decision who she tells. It wasn't about lying to you, it was just about respecting my fiancée's story. I don't see why she wouldn't tell you, other than we've all been so busy lately you've barely seen her."

That was true enough and I nodded, accepting his words.

"Plus, when is a good time to drop that on someone? Guess what, Fin? My woman's a witch? We already had enough drama at the gala, which is one of the few times you've even had to hang with Lia lately."

"Point taken." I sighed, feeling my shoulders relax slightly.

"As for Orla, I can't say why she didn't tell you. She's still learning about it all, I'm told, so maybe she wanted to figure it out for herself first?"

"She lied to me. I love her and she lied to me. I put her on a damn pedestal, Munroe. Just like—" My voice broke. "Just like my father."

"And he knocked himself off that pedestal, didn't he? Aye, it was a shite thing he did, Fin. To you and your mum. But this is not the same."

"How is it not? "

"Because when are you going to realize that everyone has faults?"

I froze, staring into the dregs of amber liquid left in my glass.

"Of course they do," I said automatically.

"You say that, but I don't think you mean it. You were taught to idolize those you love by a hard and controlling father who insisted you live up to his standards. I know this, because I had much the same, remember? The problem is because your father never showed weakness, at least not until his death, you were gutted when the illusion fell to pieces. But he made it black and white, Fin. When in reality, we all exist in shades of gray. Orla is not your father, and she had every right to be careful with her story as she figured herself out. You can't go around putting people on pedestals and then freaking out when they fail you. Because they will. Every damn time. It's only human."

"I—"

I didn't really know what to say. He was right. Damn him, but he was fecking right.

"Don't. Just let that sit for a moment." Munroe stood and crossed the room, bringing the bottle back and topping up our glasses. I stretched my legs out, confusion whirling inside me.

"It's clear Orla came from a tough upbringing. Don't you think that would make it hard to trust?"

"Aye." Nerves kicked up as I began to see how I'd treated her.

"And maybe she was right not to trust you. Because, what did you do?"

"I yelled at her, and I left her. "

"Just like everyone else before her," Munroe finished for me, and a wave of shame crashed over me. Here I was supposed to be the one to show up for her, and instead I just did the one thing she knew to be true of people in this world.

They left her.

"Bloody hell. Och, I've royally screwed this up. I need to go?—"

"No, not now. Lia's with her. Just…give this a moment to settle." Munroe checked his phone. "Lia said that Orla went home. She wants to be alone."

"I could go there."

"Not after three whiskies you're not. She needs more from you than a drunken apology."

"You're right." It went against my Scottish stubbornness to admit that, but I couldn't fault the man's logic. Lia is a witch . How did he process that when he found out? And more than that, was he right about how I love people?

"You were taught to idolize those you love by a hard and controlling father who insisted you live up to his standards. You can't go around putting people on pedestals and then freaking out when they fail you. Because they will. Every damn time. It's only human."

In other words, I love…conditionally. Was that why it had taken years for me to see my mother for who she truly was? Had I been blinded by my father's deceit but not really considered that he'd never been perfect and worth idolizing in the first place?

Was that why I'd reacted to Orla as I had?

"Orla is not your father, and she had every right to be careful with her story as she figured herself out. "

Fecking hell. Orla didn't need me to put her on a pedestal, not in an unhelpful way. But she still deserved to be loved and adored. Believed in , no matter what it was about her that needed to be championed.

I just had to figure out how to communicate to her…after groveling and begging for forgiveness. Sighing, I sipped my whisky.

"So a ghost coo, huh?"

"Clyde's the best. Let me tell you…he made Lia pee her pants one time."

"Is that right?" I smiled faintly, but my heart wasn't in it.

What I needed was a plan. A good one.

And it had to start with regaining Orla's trust.