Page 11 of Wild Scottish Fortune

If you were alone, nobody could hurt you by leaving.

But now,now, Sophie wasn’t just asking that I believe her wild tale about the Order of Caledonia. She was asking me to join. To pledge. To accept my role to protect Loren Brae, to step into the magick that was granted with the role, and to be a part of something so much more.

My inner child jumped at the chance.

Adult me had severe misgivings.

So far, the Order consisted of women. Several of whom I already knew. Groups of women made me nervous. Fabulous foreign beings with their makeup and fancy purses and innate femininity, none of which I grasped or understood. Frankly, groups of womenterrifiedme. I had no idea how to navigate the nuances of sisterhood, let alone listening to conversations of little concern to me. How could I careabout the latest fashions when every pound I earned went toward ensuring the security of my future?

Granted, I knew I was being unfair to women in general. I’d met several, particularly since coming to Loren Brae, who didn’t seem to give a hoot about fashion, instead preferring to discuss their favorite hobbies like gardening or hiking, something that I could at least carry on a basic conversation about. Even Willow, an actual fashion designer, who basically sparkled her way through life, had never made me feel uncomfortable. Instead, once she and Ramsay had hired me to oversee their rebuild after the fire, she’d made an extra effort to get to know me.

It appeared I still had a lot of my own shite to unpack if I wanted to change how I viewed sisterhoods.

And that was what this was, truly, at its core. Hilda had even told me that the Order was at its strongest when filled by women.

You’re a house witch.

The words floated through my brain as I pulled my lorry to a stop in the spot next to my wee cottage, a long breath escaping me as it did every time I returned to my home.

It had taken me years to save enough to purchase this wee place and I’d gotten it at a steal because of the amount of work it had, well,still, needed. After I’d closed on the property, I’d bought myself a bottle of wine, made a small charcuterie board, and had sat on the bare floor. I’d lit a candle, looked around the space that nobody else could call their own but me, and had cried like a baby.

I’d given myself six precious weeks off work, my first real holiday, and I’d sanded, cleaned, built, andworked myself into exhaustion. The result was a livable space that shone with love. Unlocking the door, I stepped into the cottage, tension easing from my shoulders the minute I closed and locked the door behind me—always locked, mind you—and stood in my space.

Mine.

I’d never take this for granted.

On the far end of the room, a woodburning stove doubled as one of the main heating elements in winter. A deep-set love seat in soft earthy tones sat along the wall under the front window, pulled close to enjoy the warmth of the fire, and a soft tufted rug in muted greens had been placed across the hardwood floors. Directly across from the sofa, a kitchen cooktop and range of cabinets were tucked under the window that looked out to the back garden. I’d opted for roughhewn shelves above the counter, allowing the softness of the stone walls to show and keeping a lightness to the room that you wouldn’t get with heavy cabinetry. A few of my pretty dishes were stacked neatly on the shelves, including my favorite mug.

It was a mug with a drawing of Batman and Robin on it that read“Yer ma wee pal.”

Jacob had given it to me the week before he’d gotten in a fight outside the pub. He’d fallen badly, his head not standing a chance against the steps. Pronounced brain dead shortly thereafter, I’d lost the only real friend I’d ever had.

Grandpa Lou had followed six months later, and I’d promised myself to work hard in his honor.I’d never felt so alone as I did in that moment.Since that awful time, I’d buried myself in my job and hadn’t looked up until now, ona random Tuesday, when an American woman pulled me aside and invited me to join a magickal Order.

It was an opportunity to be a part of something more.

To help the people of Loren Brae.

Where some people might jump at the chance to be a hero, I had to admit, at least to myself, that the very thought scared me.

Being a part of something more, a family, a group of friends, an Order—well, that meant I was responsible to them. For their feelings. For my actions. My words. Everything I did or didn’t do would affect others. And while that may come naturally to many, to me it was a terrifying burden.

The only people I currently wanted to be responsible to were my crew. My team. I’d handpicked them, giving some a chance when many others hadn’t, and their loyalty was something I didn’t take for granted.

I stored my boots neatly by the door and automatically crossed to the fire to throw a few small logs on. Though spring was at our doorstep, the nights were still cold. Luckily, I didn’t need to think about scrounging up food tonight. Hilda not only fed me a delightful dinner of chunky vegetable stew, but also sent me home with extras. I sensed she had an innate need to nurture, and I was never sure how to act around those types. Mothering was such a foreign concept to me that I often felt out of my element around women that tried to do that for me.

Once the fire was lit, I crossed to my sleeping area, separated from the room by a see-through bookshelf that I’d built myself. Modeled after a popular style from IKEA, I’d scraped together enough spare wood to createa beautiful design, with open-wood boxes stacked on top of each other, and had filled the shelves with secondhand shop finds and some of my favorite books. I’d flirted with the idea of building an actual wall between the bed and the rest of the room, but this open bookshelf design had allowed for a separation of space without having to frame it off completely. The result allowed for the flickering light and warmth from the fire to filter through to my bed, and the space was cohesive and airy.

On one shelf sat a bowl with a goldfish in it, who perked up when I walked closer.

“Sorry I’m a wee bit late tonight, Goldie.”

Goldie, as in Goldie Hawn, was a goldfish that I’d bought on a whim because my very soul ached for a companion of some kind. I desperately wanted a dog but had resigned myself to spending time with them as a volunteer at the shelter instead, and so a goldfish had been the compromise I’d made with myself. I’d known next to nothing about fish, but I’d been surprised how much I’d grown attached to Goldie. She, or he, I wasn’t entirely sure, always perked up when I came home, swimming in excited circles around the bowl, and would follow me as I walked around the room.

Now I grinned down at her as I tapped some flakes of fish food into the bowl, happy to be important to at least one thing in this world.

Which was a silly and morose thought to have, I told myself, as I stripped and tucked myself into the shower in the narrow bathroom attached to the corner of the cottage. I was important to my crew, wasn’t I? They relied on me topick projects that would give them solid work. They relied onmeandmydecisions.

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