Chapter Three

A Christmas wreath made of white lavender and sprigs of pine and fir hung over the entrance to the Matchmaker Café. Irene opened the door with only a slight turn of the handle. Celtic music played in the background. The notes of the flute echoed as though played in a vast cavern and tugged at her memories.

She hovered on the threshold, feeling like an outsider observing a play. Well-loved leather chairs were pulled close to a roaring fire, and lampshades were fringed with crystal beads. Plush velvet-draped wooden chairs hugged tables that were topped with red and green votive candles. Despite the cold outside, the mood in the café was warm and inviting.

The café was crowded with those waiting for the tours to begin. Couples snuggled in various corners drinking hot spiced cider, a group of women Irene guessed might be writers discussed plotlines for their novels, while at another table a family—mother, father, and young son—sat bent over their cell phones and tablets. Two men and a woman about Irene’s age were grouped in one corner, laughing over a shared joke. Someone who had the look of a tour guide instructed families on the history of the castle and its connection to William Wallace and the movie Braveheart.

The same trio of men Irene had seen earlier at the ticket booth argued with their waitress in the same manner they had with Fiona. They looked even more alike in the café than they had outside in the storm, with their moon-shaped faces, narrow eyes, and red-splotched cheeks.

The woman they were harassing looked even less impressed than Fiona had. Her straight blond hair was piled on top of her head in a loose knot and threatened to escape every time she shook her head. She wore a white sweater and wool slacks that reminded Irene of the shade of fresh snow, as well as charm-like earrings so long they skimmed her shoulders.

“We don’t serve alcohol at the Matchmaker Café,” the woman said as she folded her arms. “But you could check if the castle’s restaurant is still open. If my sister wouldn’t sell you tickets, she had her reasons. You need to leave.”

The tallest of the three shoved past his comrades to hover over her. Irene couldn’t hear what he said, but the woman first cringed, then pressed her lips together and turned to leave. Before she had a chance to get away, he grabbed her arm.

Irene ground her teeth. How dare they bully her? She moved toward them, but before she had the chance to intervene, a man appeared out of nowhere and stepped between the waitress and the bullies.

He towered over the trio as he clamped his hand on the shoulder of the one who’d threatened the woman. His knuckles whitened as he leveled his gaze on all three. He seemed unconcerned that he was outnumbered. She didn’t doubt he could defend himself, but he was not the only one in the café.

She appreciated his intervention, but she’d seen firsthand in her court cases what happened when fights spiraled out of control. The innocent sometimes got injured. Irene moved closer until she was a few feet away, keeping her voice calm and under control. “There are children in the café. Do you really want them to witness a fight, or worse, accidentally get hurt?”

He turned toward her in slow motion. His jawline was as rigid as stone and his eyes the shade of blue ice. Time held its breath. He pulled his gaze away as he scanned the room, focusing on the families. He paused on an elderly, distinguished couple sitting in a far corner.

When his gaze returned to hers, there was a slight nod and an upward turn on the corner of his mouth. Was he smiling? “You’re a brave one,” he said with a faint Scottish brogue. “But I’ve got this.” He refocused on the man he still held by the shoulder and his comrades, then said something under his breath. They snapped to attention, tripping over each other as they raced outside.

The man glanced once more in her direction and gave a nod before joining the elderly couple.

It looked like few if any had witnessed the exchange, or else they’d chosen not to get involved. In either case, everything went on as though nothing had happened.

The waitress who’d been harassed by the trio let out a long breath and approached Irene. “Whew, well, that sure got the heart pumping. Normally the guests who come here are well behaved. Would you like a table,” she said with a grin, “or would you like me to call you a taxi so you can make a hasty exit?”

Irene returned the smile. “I’m fine. I don’t give up that easily.” She cast a glance toward the rescuer. “Do you know what he said?”

The waitress bit back a smile. “He gave them a choice. Stay in the café and he’d use them as practice dummies, or leave. I overheard one of the men say he recognized the guy as a rugby player, which, given his appearance, is not surprising. Not everyone would have stepped in to help these days.”

Irene couldn’t help but smile as she followed the waitress to a table not far from the rugby player. “Good for him.”

“I couldn’t agree more. My name’s Bridget, by the way.”

“I’m Irene,” she said, holding out her hand. She was starting to feel more relaxed.

“Very pleased to meet you. Hot cocoa, then? You look chilled to the bone.”

Irene nodded as she settled on the bench seat and began to unwrap her scarf. She paused. “Oh, could you add sprinkles?”

Bridget turned around so suddenly her earrings sang like wind chimes.

Irene pulled the scarf slowly from her neck. “Sorry. That sounded silly. Never mind. Sprinkles are for children. I’m not sure why I asked,” Irene said in a rush, fingering the snowflake charm on her necklace. “The young woman at the ticket booth suggested it, and for some reason it sounded fun. No worries if you don’t have any. Plus, sprinkles are for children.”

Bridget’s smile broadened. “Ah, now, that would be my sister Fiona who suggested the sprinkles. We have a saying in our family: never lose the child within. I’ll be sure to add a generous dash on your whipped cream. I love your locket, by the way. Did you purchase it in Scotland?”

Irene felt her voice catch. “It’s not a locket. It was actually a set of earrings our mother converted into pendants for my sister and me a long time ago.” Irene held it toward Bridget. “See, the snowflake is soldered to a silver disk.”

Bridget raised an eyebrow. “Of course. My mistake. I’ll bring your hot cocoa straight away.”