21
Keyanna
I wake up on the morning before the games still exhausted and slightly hungover; last night Finlay roped me into a card tournament with him and Brodie, and whatever I’d let him slip into my tea to “spice it up” had slowly crept up on me, leaving me much tipsier than I meant to get. The resulting headache at the breakfast table is a fair reminder of why I don’t drink much. I didn’t even sneak into Lachlan’s place last night, stumbling upstairs and crashing in my own bed instead.
“You look about as hinging as I feel,” Brodie rumbles from the doorway, shuffling into the kitchen and moving to the fridge.
I rub my temples. “Does hinging mean hungover as fuck?”
“Aye, pretty much,” he chuckles. “Where’s the bloody orange juice?”
“You’re drinking orange juice after last night?”
“Always did well for an upset stomach,” he tells me. “Don’t know why, but it’s a sure fix for me.”
“I’ll stick to tea that isn’t spiked with whatever Grandpa put in it last night.”
“That’ll be The Famous Grouse,” Brodie tells me.
“What?”
“Finlay’s favorite whiskey,” he explains, pulling a carton of orange juice from the fridge. Just looking at it makes my stomach turn. “He likes to make toddies with it, but they’re deadly.”
“Obviously,” I snort.
The man in question strolls into the kitchen as if summoned, looking entirely too chipper for my tastes. “Morning,” Finlay says cordially. “How are we all feeling on this fine day?”
Brodie glares at my grandpa as he drinks straight from the carton, and I have to say that as much as I’ve come to adore Finlay, I’m tempted to do a bit of glaring myself.
“How are you fine?” I ask him. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
“Aye, that’ll be your delicate American sensibilities,” Finlay laughs.
Brodie makes a disgruntled sound. “That doesn’t explain why my head is throbbing.”
“You’ve always been a lightweight,” Finlay tells him with a wave of his hand.
Rhona enters the kitchen then, clucking her tongue at Brodie, who’s still holding his orange juice. “What have I told you about drinking from the carton?”
“Sorry,” Brodie offers with a wince. He shoots another withered look toward Finlay. “Your husband tried to poison us last night.”
“I told the both of you to go on to bed,” Rhona scoffs. “It isn’t Finlay’s fault you don’t listen.”
Brodie settles into one of the chairs at the table, groaning softly. He leans in closer to me, lowering his voice. “He got us steamin’ so he could win at cards.”
“I heard that,” Finlay calls from across the kitchen. “Don’t need you to be steamin’ to beat you at cards.” He gives me a pointed look. “Brodie is terrible at cards. No poker face, that one.”
“I’ve got a perfectly good poker face,” my cousin grumbles.
I laugh despite the fresh throbbing it sets off in my temples, and graciously accept the cup of tea Rhona offers even though it comes with a disapproving look.
“Drink it slow,” she says softly. “Don’t upset your stomach.”
I give her a shy smile. “Thank you.”
Our relationship still isn’t flowers and rainbows after the talk we had, but I’m happy to be able to say that it has improved, at least. I can tell with every interaction between my granny and me that she’s trying her best, and honestly, that’s more than enough for me.
I’ll need to find Lachlan after I finish my tea; given that he’s found me in his bed every morning for the last three in a row, I’m sure he’ll be wondering where I am when he gets back from his night at the loch. It occurs to me that I don’t even have his phone number. Hell, I haven’t even seen him with a phone. It’s so strange to be in a position where I haven’t found myself checking it consistently, a far cry from life back in New York, to be sure. I actually kind of like it.
I hear a door open and shut from the front of the house just as Rhona is asking me how I like my eggs, and within seconds, the kitchen entry is filled with a very frazzled-looking Lachlan, appearing as if summoned by my thoughts. His hair is windswept and his blue eyes are wide when they land on me, but there is an instant softening in them when they meet mine, like a tension ebbing out of them. Was he worried about me?
“Lachlan,” Rhona greets. “Come for breakfast?”
He blinks twice as if coming out of a daze, tearing his gaze from mine and turning to Rhona. “What? Oh. No. I was just…” His mouth closes before opening again, struggling to come up with a good reason for being here, no doubt. “I was—”
“Sorry,” I offer, saving him. “I know I told you I’d meet you at the barn this morning, but someone”—I give my grandpa a scathing look—“got me drunk while playing cards last night.”
Lachlan looks confused for only a moment before it seems to dawn on him. “Oh. Right.” He shuffles his weight from one foot to the other. “It’s no issue. I can teach you how to move the hay another time.”
“Well, you’re here,” Rhona says gruffly. “You might as well stay and eat.”
“No, I wouldn’t want to impose—”
Rhona furrows her brow, causing Lachlan to let whatever objections he’d been about to offer die on his tongue. He gives her a clipped nod instead, moving farther into the kitchen and taking a seat on the opposite side of the table from me. His eyes furtively seek mine, and I give him a smile that I hope conveys my apology for getting him into this mess. I know he’s still uneasy around my family.
Finlay drops into the chair beside Lachlan. “You were going to show Keyanna how to use the tractor, then?”
“Ah…Yeah.” Lachlan clears his throat. “She was curious.”
Finlay beams at me. “Practically an auld hand at this now, aren’t ya?”
“Hardly,” I scoff. “The cows still sort of terrify me.”
Lachlan’s lips twitch. “She’s convinced they’re going to eat her.”
“Well, maybe if someone hadn’t implied that the very first time I saw one…”
His mouth curls into a full-blown grin now. “Can’t help it that you’re so gullible, princess.”
I narrow my eyes at him, wanting to chide him about the dumb nickname, but unfortunately, it’s started to have the opposite effect on me. Now instead of filling me with flushed irritation, it warms me for a different reason altogether. Reasons we’d probably be exploring right now had he found me in his bed instead of my grandparents’ kitchen table.
“I was scared of the cows when I was a lad,” Brodie tells me. “Course, I thought they would trample me. I eventually grew out of it.”
“I can’t tell if you’re on my side or not,” I say grumpily.
Brodie shrugs. “I’m on no one’s side. Just making conversation.”
Lachlan is eyeing my cousin with a look that barely contains his wariness, and I remember how he’d said he’d consider it, the idea of letting Brodie help us. We haven’t talked about it since that day behind the pub, and I wonder if now is a good time to warm him to the idea.
“Has Brodie told everyone about his side project?”
Rhona turns from the stove to eye us from over her shoulder. “What?”
“He’s been researching the MacKay family tree,” I clarify.
Brodie blushes slightly, averting his eyes. “S’just a silly way to pass the time.”
“I think it’s a wonderful idea!” Finlay exclaims, ever the optimist. “There’s all sorts of good stories from our family.” He nudges Lachlan in the ribs gently, chuckling. “Why, Lachlan’s family and ours used to be mortal enemies once upon a time!”
I try to contain my wince as I watch Lachlan’s expression go blank, like he’s forcing it. This definitely backfired quickly.
Lachlan’s voice is flat when he says, “Is that so?”
“Oh, aye,” Finlay barrels on. “Don’t know the details meself, but my grandpa told me a story once of some skirmish over land. Apparently, the first parcel the MacKays settled on was Greer land at the time!”
Lachlan’s jaw ticks, and I know he’s doing his best to contain his discomfort, given that it’s obvious Finlay has no idea what sort of wound he’s poking at, and knowing that makes my stomach clench in sympathy.
“I’ve heard something similar,” Brodie comments.
Trying to save the situation, I chime in, “It’s too bad Lachlan’s family records burnt up. It would be neat to know the real story.” I pause a beat, trying to appear casual as I add, “I wonder if there are MacKay records that would clarify?”
“I haven’t seen much mention of the Greers in what I’ve been able to get my hands on,” Brodie admits.
“Could be a fun side quest for your project,” I urge. “Maybe we could take a trip to Inverness! Do some digging.” I smile in Lachlan’s direction, noticing his face is still carefully blank. “Would be very Indiana Jones of us.”
Brodie shifts in his chair, clearing his throat. “I don’t think there’d be anything there I haven’t already sorted through,” he says. “Besides, it’s a very boring place. Don’t know if it would be worth the trip.”
“Still, you never know. Maybe there’s something you missed? A fresh set of eyes always—”
“Not really up for travel right now,” Brodie cuts me off stiffly. “Sorry.”
I rear back at the slight harshness of his tone; Brodie has never been anything but friendly with me, so this sudden burst of clear irritation with my prodding comes as a bit of a shock.
Brodie’s mouth parts in surprise as if realizing the same thing, frowning right after before rising from the table. “Sorry. Still feeling a bit peely-wally. Think I should probably go lay down for a spell.”
We’re all quiet as Brodie leaves the room after stowing the carton he’d been nursing back in the fridge, and no one speaks until the sounds of his footsteps climbing up the stairs can be heard.
“Forgive him,” Rhona says after a beat. “I think there’s been some tension at his job. He’s never come out and said, but he never seems keen to talk about it.”
“He did say he was on sabbatical,” I say.
Rhona nods. “I suspect there’s more to that story than he lets on, but I don’t want to press him. He’s always been a soft boy, Brodie. Clung to his mother’s legs like a wee limpet, that one did.”
“A limpet?”
“It’s like a barnacle,” Lachlan snorts.
Rhona shoots him a look. “Finlay’s brother wasn’t exactly the most supportive of fathers to him. His brothers are carbon copies of Seamus, so that didn’t make things easier.”
“I should apologize,” I tell her.
Rhona shakes her head. “No need, lass. Brodie isn’t one to hold a grudge. He’ll be right as rain later. He might even come after you with a sorry of his own, knowing him.”
I notice then that Lachlan looks perplexed by the entire exchange, his brow furrowed in thought as he stares at the empty seat Brodie had been occupying. Maybe he’s seeing him in a different light.
“I do hope he’ll still want to talk about his project,” I say. “I’d like to know more about our history also. I mean, since my dad never talked about anything.”
Rhona chuckles softly, dumping the eggs she’s just finished onto a plate. “Duncan was always fascinated by it too. I remember he and Lachlan’s father actually took a trip out to Inverness once. They stayed up that way for days looking into our family tree. I think Duncan felt bad for your da”—Rhona nods her head at Lachlan—“since he didn’t have any records of his own to sift through.”
Lachlan’s mouth parts in surprise, and I feel the same emotion mirrored on my face. I know Lachlan mentioned that his dad and mine had been friends, and had even suggested that my dad might have abandoned him when he left for America—but now I realize that there might be more to the story.
“Lachlan mentioned they were friends,” I prod.
Rhona flips some bacon in another skillet, bobbing her head. “Aye, they were thick as thieves for a number of years. Always running off together on one adventure or another.”
“I have pictures of him,” Lachlan mutters. “Holding me as a baby.”
Finlay chuckles. “You were a fat wee one. Healthy as an ox, your da used to say.”
“It’s odd that my dad never mentioned him,” I venture. “I mean, I get that things were weird between you guys, but if he and Lachlan’s dad were so close…”
“That is strange,” Rhona answers. “I always assumed they’d kept in touch when he left. At least until Callum up and disap—” Her mouth snaps shut as she peeks over at Lachlan, who visibly tenses. “I’m sorry, lad.”
Lachlan shakes his head. “It’s fine.”
“How is your mum, by the way?” Finlay asks.
Lachlan looks even more tense, if that’s possible. “We don’t…talk much. It’s hard for her. I look a lot like my da, after all.”
“Och, lad.” Finlay pats Lachlan’s hand, and unless I imagine it, the action seems to drain some of the tension from Lachlan’s shoulders. “I’m sorry to hear that. I’m glad you came back home, then. S’good to be around people that care about you.”
Lachlan’s eyes meet mine, and I feel warmth blooming in my chest.
“Aye,” he says quietly. “I’m starting to think so.”
“It’s too bad Brodie isn’t up for a trip to Inverness,” I say, trying to take the focus off Lachlan.
“It’s public record,” Finlay says with a shrug. “You could technically still go. Although I don’t know what you’d find that he hasn’t already sorted himself. You’d have an easier time just talking to Brodie himself, I think. He’s always had a nose for that sort of thing.”
“Too bad we don’t have that auld journal anymore,” Rhona mentions casually, starting to take bacon from the pan and let it rest on a plate. She eyes Finlay. “You remember the one?”
“Oh, aye!” Finlay’s eyes round. “I’d forgotten all about it.”
I find myself leaning in. “What journal?”
“Some auld weathered thing,” Rhona says. “Duncan found it hidden away in the barn years ago. It was buried in this auld trunk.”
I feel my mouth fall open. “Really?”
“Mhm.” Rhona nods as she starts putting food onto plates. “Convinced himself it would lead to some sort of treasure for a bit there.”
Finlay chuckles. “He said it turned out to be nothing more than some boring day-to-day account.”
“You never read it?” Lachlan’s voice has an edge to it, like excitement that he’s trying to contain.
Finlay shakes his head. “Not much for history, really. I gave it a look-see when he found the thing, but I’m not much of a reader.”
“Not that you could ever get him to give it up long enough for anyone else to read it,” Rhona snorts. “I’m surprised he never showed it to you.” She frowns at me. “Although I suppose if he never spoke of us…it makes sense.”
Lachlan’s eyes find mine, and I can see the same urgency in them that I feel coursing through me. What was in the journal? Where is it now? Is it back in America, or is it here somewhere? Hidden away?
Rhona starts handing out food, breaking the spell as I tear my eyes away to utter a thank-you, taking a plate from her as hunger seems to hit me out of nowhere.
“This smells amazing,” I tell her.
She grunts. “It isn’t much.”
“It’s great,” Lachlan says, tucking in.
“My Rhona is the best cook in all of Scotland,” Finlay sighs.
Rhona rolls her eyes. “Stop with your sweet talk and eat your breakfast.”
I watch as Lachlan eats quietly, wanting more than anything to reach across the table and cover his hand with mine, if only to offer him some semblance of comfort. I hold back, not knowing if he’s actually ready to air…whatever this is out in the open, instead extending my leg to rub his ankle with the toe of my sock.
He peeks up at me and I give him a soft smile, one that he returns as he mouths, It’s fine.
I nod as I dig into my own breakfast, listening to the quiet conversation he makes with my grandpa and granny, feeling an odd warmth settling in my chest at the simplicity of it all. With everything I know about our family history, it seems almost special, for MacKays and a Greer to be doing something as easy as sharing a meal.
I shake off the silly thought.
It takes a bit to extricate ourselves from my grandparents’ kitchen table, Lachlan offering up some excuse about needing to get to the cows finally so that we can both sneak away. He tells me he’ll wait for me outside, and sure enough, I find him standing not far from the front door after I finish changing clothes, leaning against the house and gazing out at the rolling hills with a contemplative expression.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him immediately. “I didn’t mean to get you trapped in that situation.”
He shakes his head. “S’fine. It wasn’t so bad.”
“My grandparents…” I consider the words before I say them, not wanting to offend him somehow. Not with everything he’s endured. “I don’t think they’re like the MacKays you’ve heard of. I think you can trust them.”
He turns his head to look at me, his eyes roaming over my face. He reaches out to brush an errant curl behind my ear, his lips turning up slightly at the corners. “Maybe I can.”
“Lachlan,” I say firmly. “I don’t think the journal Rhona mentioned ever made it to America.”
His brow furrows. “What makes you say that?”
“Because I went through every single thing my father owned when he died, and I would have seen it.”
“Could he have stored it someplace else?”
“I never saw any paperwork suggesting he had anything stored anywhere.”
“So where would it be?”
“I think…” I nod to myself, convinced more and more that I’m right. “I think it must still be here.”
Lachlan looks unsure. “I’ve combed over this property for months, Key. Don’t you think I’d have found it?”
“You’d combed over the castle too, remember?”
He smiles at that. “Bloody hound.”
“Face it,” I laugh. “I’m your good luck charm.”
“Aye,” he answers quietly, leaning to press his lips to my cheek. “Maybe you are.” He still looks thoughtful when he straightens, his brow knitted and his mouth pursed. “Don’t get too excited, though. It could be nothing.”
“It’s not,” I tell him resolutely. “It’s not nothing. I can feel it.”
He gestures for me to follow him then, no doubt needing the distraction of the morning farm duties, and I can tell that he’s still not convinced. That he’s not allowing himself to hope that this means something. That we can even find the damned thing if it does. And that’s okay, I think.
Maybe I can have enough hope for the both of us.