Page 163 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
I glare at them but walk over anyway.
The barrel weighs a damn ton. We somehow wrestle it toward Ewan’s temporary pub tent.
“Seen Mary?” I ask as casually as possible.
The twins exchange a look.
“She’s swamped over by the animal pens,” Cameron replies. “Why? Worried?”
“No. Just asking.”
“Sure,” Connor says with a knowing grin.
I leave them to their setup.
By noon, I still haven’t seen Mary.
The castle grounds continue filling with people. Entire clans are setting up makeshift camps across the estate. Children race between tents while bagpipes echo nonstop, somehow forming a cacophony that’s not entirely unpleasant.
I collapse beside the stables in the shade of a stone wall and close my eyes.
Just two minutes of peace.
That’s all I want.
I think I drift off because suddenly I wake to the feeling of something beside me.
I open my eyes.
Ragnar has curled up against my leg like some oversized woolly guard dog, apparently standing watch.
Then laughter catches my attention.
Bright.
Joyful.
Familiar.
Mary.
I turn my head.
She’s standing about twenty yards away near the paddock entrance.
And she isn’t alone.
A man is hugging her.
Tall. Athletic. Dark hair. Blinding smile. His sleeves are rolled to the elbows, and his jeans look criminally well-fitted. He says something I can’t hear, and Mary laughs again.
That laugh.
The one I haven’t heard in days.
Not since the catastrophic dinner with her family. Not since everything between us became complicated.
Something twists violently in my chest.
