Page 6 of First Light

“Don’t be a bully.” Carys had come to the smithworks feeling timid, but now she was furious. “Why are you being a bully?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Duncan crossed his arms again.

“You order me around. You bark at your secretary. You imply that Lachlan is a… a liar. You’re acting like everything about this is normal. It’s not! I know Lachlan, and he wouldn’t just?—”

“You knew a part of Lachlan,” Duncan said quietly. “And that’s all any of us knows in this world.” He stepped away from her car. “Go home, Carys Morgan. Live your life. Leave my brother in your memories because that’s all he’ll ever be.”

“I’m not done with this.” She opened her car door, spitting mad. “Do not think for a second that I am leaving this country without talking to your brother.”

Duncan didn’t say anything else. He walked back into the office and shut the door behind him, leaving Carys alone by her car.

She looked up, over the top of the barn where a hill rose sharply behind the building, dotted with dark grey crags. A bright red fox perched on a boulder, watching her from a distance, but when Carys stood up straight and walked toward it, the animal darted away.

CHAPTER THREE

Carys was drunk, and she was rarely drunk. But the Four Crowns public house was right next to her hotel, and it had seemed like a good idea when she arrived back in town at three in the afternoon to start drinking to calm down.

Now she was calm.

Very, very calm.

“Can I get you another, dove?” The bartender was an intriguing dark-haired man with an angular face, a fine jaw, and brilliant blue eyes that looked at her like he could see into her soul. He had a line of fine gold rings climbing up his left ear, and his hair fell over the right side of his face like a golden-brown waterfall.

God, she was really drunk.

Carys squinted. “Is everyone in this country attractive?”

The bartender flashed her a wicked smile. “I guarantee you no.”

As if to prove his point, a group of three old men with overgrown beards walked into the bar, laughing raucously and shouting at the woman behind the bar to get them three pints.

“See?” The man’s eyebrows went up.

She smiled and raised her empty glass. “Point made.”

“You’re visiting from America.” He narrowed his eyes and looked at her, then leaned down and stared into her eyes, his mouth falling open a little.

“What?” She looked down at her shirt. Had she spilled something? It was highly possible. “What are you?—”

“Youaren’tAmerican, are you?”

Carys frowned. “I think I know where I’m from.” What a strange man. The gorgeous cheekbones were not making up for the intrusive questions and the staring.

“But you were born on this side of the ocean, weren’t you?” The man kept his eyes on hers. “In Cymru.”

“Wales.” She blinked. “I was born in Wales. How did you know?—”

“Oh yes.Wales.” The man’s shock melted away, and a glorious smile spread over his face. “So you’re visiting this side of the waters. Isn’t this delicious?”

“Visiting?” Carys sighed. “Kind of. It’s not exactly a vacation.”

The long-legged man slid into the booth across from her. “Do you mind? I love a good story.” He leaned forward. “In fact, Ilivefor them.”

His cheekbones were high, and his jaw was dusted with black stubble. Blue eyes shone out from arching black eyebrows that reminded Carys of blackbird wings. His lips were full and red, as if he’d been eating blackberries in the summer. She tasted the sweetness just looking at his lips. The tart burst of blackberry juice?—

Carys blinked. “I should probably get a coffee and not another whiskey.”

“Should you?” The dark man pulled a whiskey bottle seemingly out of nowhere and refilled her glass, then the glass that was suddenly in front of him. “Why did you come to Scone?”

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