Page 232 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
And then I see it.
Beneath Ragnar.
Trembling.
Dirty.
Skinny enough to break your heart.
A tiny dog.
A Highland terrier.
Its once-white fur is now gray with dirt, and its ears flatten nervously against its head.
The terrified look in its eyes hits me straight in the chest.
Mary slowly kneels beside them, her voice soft as velvet.
“Well… what do we have here? How did you end up here?”
The dog lets out a weak whine.
Ragnar doesn’t move.
He’s positioned directly between us and the puppy.
I stay completely still.
“He’s… protecting him?”
My brain struggles to process the information.
A sheep.
Protecting a dog.
Deliberately.
Around them, scattered across the floor, are the stolen loaf of bread torn into pieces, cheese, ham, and several other supplies that must have been collected over days.
And beneath them is the blanket Ragnar stole during our picnic.
Mary turns toward me, eyes shining.
“He wasn’t stealing for himself. He was stealing for the dog.”
Of course.
Suddenly everything makes sense.
The missing food.
Ragnar’s strange behavior.
Why he always stayed near this side of the castle.
“How long has he been hiding him here?” I murmur.
