Me sprawled across the table.
His companion fleeing with the lamb.
And then he makes a sound.
A bleat.
But not just any bleat.
One that sounds disturbingly like mocking laughter.
Then he calmly walks away as though he’s seen exactly what he came for.
I slowly climb down from the table, smoothing my pants and trying to salvage what little dignity I have left.
“Well,” Maggie finally says in a perfectly unbothered tone, “at least you’ve met Ragnar.”
“Ragnar?” I repeat faintly.
“The sheep who just stole our dinner,” Keira explains, visibly seconds away from bursting into laughter. “He’s rather… temperamental. We learned pretty quickly it’s best not to upset him.”
“Temperamental,” I mutter, staring toward the doorway where the meat thief vanished. “That’s one way to put it…”
“He hates everyone,” Lachlan adds, “except apparently roast lamb.”
“Sheep don’t eat meat,” I point out.
“Yeah, it’s definitely strange, but he’s been stealing meat for days now,” Alistair says. “Nobody knows what he actually does with it…”
“We figured out pretty fast it’s safer to let him do whatever he wants instead of getting in his way,” Emma informs me. “He can get pretty brutal when he’s determined.”
I sink back into my chair, accepting the glass of wine Jane hands me with a sympathetic smile.
“Since when do sheep run this castle?” I mutter to no one in particular.
“Welcome home, Mary,” Maggie says with a broad smile.
I drain my wine in one gulp and wonder whether it’s too late to book that ticket to Madrid.
CHAPTER 3
FINN
The Grumpy Sheep
(Or How to Become Public Enemy Number One)
The sign for the pub, The Grumpy Sheep, creaks overhead as it swings in the wind. The name fits my current mood perfectly.
Three appointments this afternoon.
Three slammed doors.
The first was Mrs. Campbell, who finally decided to give me a chance after canceling yesterday. She opened the door, looked me up and down, and announced, “You’re far too young to be a real doctor,” before shutting it in my face.
I’m thirty-five years old.
I’m not too young.
