Page 20 of Wild Scottish Rose

“Nope, I’m all good. Nice to see you again, Shona.” I froze as Owen reached out and brushed his finger across my face.

I was right. As soon as he’d invaded my space, my senses had gone on high alert, my skin tingling beneath the smallest of touches.

“An eyelash.” Owen held his finger in front of my lips. “Make a wish, Shona.”

My eyes held his as I blew automatically.I want you.

That wasnotwhat I needed to be wishing. Scolding my wayward inner hussy, who had clearly not gotten any action in a while, I shuttered my eyes, breaking the moment and brushing past where Owen stood, his hand still outstretched.

“If you need anything or run into any trouble, call me.”

“I’ll do that. Have a nice day, Shona.”

“You as well.” I gave a cheerful wave and all but ran for my car, desperate to leave before he asked me something that would reveal what a horrible liar I was.

On the drive to MacAlpine Castle, my thoughts whirled as I tried to calm my racing heart. First off, it seemed like I had one of these “familiars” that the ladies had been talking about. Of course, I’d get the swearing grumpy gnome. Of all things! What about a sweet cat or something less aggressive? In order to grow my plants the way I did, I needed to give out love and light and joy. Not be harassed by a gnome who scurried through the plants and threw outflower curses.

No, this would not do.

Though it was a brisk day, the sun filtered through moody grey clouds, the promise of rain ever close. If I had to choose a season as a favorite, it would be autumn. Even though most gardeners loved the spring when tender shoots poked above the dirt, unfurling their little green leaves to the sky, I couldn’t help but love the cozy moodiness of the season settling in for a nice long sleep. Nights turned cool, fires were built, and the sun always took on this wan light, as though it too understood that it was time for a rest. Now, as the light speared Loch Mirren in long, straight rays, the moody dark water rippling against the wind that gusted over the hills, I sighed in contentment. I was never unaffected by the beauty of where I lived.

Turning up the long drive that led to MacAlpine Castle, I tried to calm the nerves that tumbled low in my stomach. I really had no idea what I was about to walk into, but I drew the line at anything involving blood. The only rituals that I was familiar with were the kinds they did in the movies where they’d cut their palms and press bloody hands together under the light of a full moon. Seeing as how the sun was doing its best to shine through the blanket of clouds, and neither Sophie nor Agnes had mentioned the need for medical care, I had high hopes for a blood-free afternoon.

MacAlpine Castle was imposing and heightened my nerves, a grand dame of a building that appropriately demanded your respect. Built in a rectangular shape, with a tower on each of the four corners, and cheerful saltire flags fluttering in the breeze, the smooth grey stone of the castle mixed nicely with the luscious green gardens and oldgrowth forest that hugged it. Archie and Hilda, the main castle caretakers, were rigorous in their upkeep, with Archie maintaining the gardens and the grounds while Hilda ran the interior with ruthless efficiency. The castle was open for tours on the weekends, with half of it kept historically accurate as a museum, while the other half had been modernized into various flats and lounge areas for the caretakers and staff to live in. Sophie, the new owner of MacAlpine, lived there with her boyfriend Lachlan, who directed all things tourism when it came to the castle and Loren Brae as a whole.

I always enjoyed my visits, though more often than not, Archie would pull me away to discuss garden-related things, and I always left with new inspiration for my own plantings. That being said, Archie was working with a far bigger budget than I, and he was lucky enough to be able to test out new designs for the tourists to enjoy each year. We got along famously, and often Sophie had to drag me away from Archie for a moment of girl time. Otherwise, we’d be talking mulch blends all evening.

Two furballs raced across the lawn when I got out of my car, and I grinned as Lady Lola, a corgi-mix with an adorable bum that she couldn’t seem to maneuver well, and Sir Buster, a chihuahua who was regularly sporting a kilt, raced toward me. With very different manners of greeting, Sir Buster snarled, while Lady Lola licked my ankle and smiled up at me. Once I’d appropriately given Lady Lola her due respect, Sir Buster had worked himself up into enough of an annoyance at the attention she was getting to deign to allow me to give him a few scratches behind the ear before he sniffed in disdain and stalkedaway.

“There’s a lovely lass on a fine autumn day.”

I smiled as Archie approached, his shock of white hair rumpled by the wind, with worn denim pants and a heather-grey sweater. Bending, he pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, and squeezed my shoulder.

“Archie, how are you getting on?”

“Well enough. Better now that you’re here. The girls tell me that you’ve come for the ritual?”

I sucked in a breath, lifting my eyes to scan the clouds, my heartbeat picking up once more.

“I am.”

“Nervous?” Archie, never one to mince words, asked.

“Can’t say I’m excited. Maybe it’s the word ritual? Sounds kind of cultish, no?”

“Sophie will tell you that the only cult she’d join is one dedicated to cheese.”

“The man’s not wrong. In fact, if there isn’t already a cheese cult, I may need to start one,” Sophie said, joining us on the lawn and catching the tail end of Archie’s comment.

“What would your tag line be? How would you convince people to join?”

“Like I need to convince people to eat cheese,” Sophie scoffed. “You know all those free samples at the market? Nobody turns those down. I’d recruit those people first, as they’re already pushing the goods. Tag line? In Gouda we trust?”

“You are the cheesen one?” I asked. Sophie’s eyes lit.

“Cheesy does it,” Sophie offered.

“That’s enough, ladies. We’ve got more pressing matters to attend to.” Archie glared between the two of us, his thick brows drawn low over his face.

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