Cowboy in a Kilt

Chapter 1-2

Zeke pulled out his phone. “I’ll make the arrangements for boxes and storage.”

As his friend stepped away, Raleigh took Charlotte by the shoulders. “I don’t know where I’m gonna land with all this, but wherever it is, you’ll have a place there. Always. You’re family.”

She cupped his cheek. “You’re a good boy, Raleigh, and you grew into a fine man. Your mama would be proud. Now, let’s go get to work.”

* * *

“Maybe no one will notice.”

Kyla MacKean briefly shot her brother some side eye. “Aye. Right. No one will notice the six-foot-wide chunk of plaster that’s crumbled off the wall.” The remains of that plaster lay in a heap on the scarred hardwood floors she’d only just waxed and polished for the wedding reception set to be held here in a matter of days.

Connor shrugged with his usual insouciance. “It’s a six-hundred-year-old castle. We’ll say it’s part of the ambiance.”

“Be serious, Con. This is important. We can’t afford for anything else to go wrong. Too much is riding on this weekend.”

The reality of living in a centuries-old castle in the Highlands of Scotland was nowhere near as romantic as books and movies made it out to be. It was cold, drafty, and often wet. Parts of the castle were fully uninhabitable. The estimates they’d received from various contractors for truly weatherproofing the place were astronomical. Every single problem they discovered was usually a sign of a bigger, deeper issue that called for bigger, deeper pockets than they had. The truth was, they were land rich and house poor, and without a massive influx of cash, the home they both loved would fall to ruin. And while Scots did love their ruins, Kyla wasn’t keen on living in one.

She had a plan. One that involved using her brother’s wedding as an opportunity to show the world that Ardinmuir could be a premier wedding destination. People paid big money for that sort of thing. But not if the bloody walls of the great hall were falling down around their ears.

“Dinna fash yourself. It’s stood for this long. It’s no’ gonna crash onto our heads this weekend.”

“So say you.”

He swung an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Aye, I do.”

“Oh good. You’ve got your line down.” She teased him out of long habit, but in truth, she was worried.

“That’s right. Until I do my bit as the sacrificial groom, your bit hardly matters.”

Kyla spun into him, clutching his shirt. “You’re not thinking of backing out, are you?”

His beleaguered sigh didn’t make her feel any better.

“No. I know my duty. I’ve had a lifetime to accept it. This wedding will happen, and the terms of the marriage pact will finally be satisfied.”

Then the axe hovering over all their heads because of an agreement made by ancestors who’d long since turned to dust would be gone, and they could get down to the serious business of actually saving the estate.

“I hope you know how much it means to me that you’re doing this. I know Afton isn’t who you’d have chosen.”

“I’m certain I’m not her first choice, either. But it is what it is. We’re friends. That’s a far better basis than many have in arranged marriages.”

Afton Lennox was the remaining heir to the barony of Lochmara, the neighboring estate. Her legacy fell under the same threat as their own, and Kyla could only thank God that she was willing to adhere to the terms of the pact. Then again, if she didn’t, both their estates were forfeit to the Crown. Kyla would never stop cursing their ancestors for the addition of that little failsafe to the agreement meant to ensure the alliance between their families actually happened.

Knowing there was no changing their situation, she shook off the frustration. “We need to get someone out to look at it to make sure it’s not going to get worse before the wedding. I don’t want to have this place full of guests only to have plaster crashing down onto plates at the reception.” Already feeling the beginnings of a headache, Kyla headed for the door. There was no getting a mobile reception inside three- to four-foot-thick stone walls. “Maybe we can have a quick patch job done to get us through, then deal with the more permanent repair after.”

It wasn’t ideal, but she simply didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with more disasters right now.

Connor followed her out. “I’m gonna go check in on Uncle Angus. The latest iteration of the wedding cake should be about ready.”

“But the cake was decided on weeks ago! Why is he mucking around with it?”

“He reckons it’ll be good practice for his audition for the Great British Baking Show, and who am I to turn down more cake?”

Kyla closed her eyes and prayed for patience. She loved her great uncle and her brother, both, but sometimes dealing with them felt like wrangling a couple of cheerful puppies rather than grown adults. At least if Angus was baking, he wasn’t out getting into some other sort of trouble. And, really, she wasn’t going to turn down more cake, either, given how the day was shaping up.

It took longer than she wanted to get ahold of Theo Gordon, the contractor who’d done the most work on Ardinmuir. And longer still to convince him to come out today, after he finished up the job he was working the next village over. If a batch of Angus’s jaffa cakes had been promised as a bribe, well, she’d run into Glenlaig to pick up ingredients herself, if she had to. It wasn’t like they could finish setup until this was sorted, anyway.

Satisfied that she’d done all that could be done for the moment, Kyla made her way down to the kitchen, which was housed in the newer portion of the castle. New being relative, having been added on in the nineteenth century, when James MacKean, head of the family at the time, had been flush with cash from a shipping empire that later collapsed. But at least that part of the house had been comparatively modernized.

As she stepped into the kitchen, Angus straightened at the heavy wooden island, lifting his piping bag in triumph from a truly lovely confection of swirls and flowers.

Kyla sniffed the air and caught the tang of citrus. “If that’s a lemon chiffon cake, I just might fall to my knees and weep with gratitude.”

Angus’s blue eyes twinkled. “Then ready your tissues, lass. But you’ll have to wait until I take a picture for my blog.”

“We have a deal. Although you may take that back when I tell you that the only way I could get Theo out today to look at the wall in the great hall was to promise him a batch of your jaffa cakes.”

One white brow winged up. “And what’ll you trade me in this bargain?”

“My undying gratitude.” Kyla slid her arm around him, and pressed a smacking kiss to his leathery cheek, feeling a bit of a pang as she realized he’d gotten a little more frail over the winter. Other than Connor, Uncle Angus was the last of her immediate family. When had he last gotten a checkup? She added that to the never-ending list in the back of her brain. Something to address after the wedding.

Connor snagged an Irn Bru from the avocado green refrigerator and kicked back against one of the long stone counters, smirking. “That disnae sound like much of a deal to me.”

She pointed a finger at him in warning. “You stay out of this.”

Angus considered. “You do the second round of dishes, and we have an agreement.”

“Done.”

As they shook on it, someone knocked on the door.

Connor pulled it open. “Malcolm! Welcome. Did you come to help with the setup for the reception, or did you hear a rumor that there’s more cake?”

The brawny, fifty-something man stepped into the kitchen, kilt swinging, his thick-soled boots thumping on the hardwood floors. His hazel gaze slid over the cake on the island, but his expression didn’t change. There were some in Glenlaig who believed Lochmara’s estate manager to be surly, but Kyla knew the truth. He just preferred animals to people. In social settings, he tended to be a man of few words. Still, the prospect of cake usually would have garnered at least some interest.

A frisson of unease traveled down her spine as she registered the tension in his burly shoulders and jaw. “Is everything all right, Malcolm?”

“No.” His throat worked. “Afton is gone.”

The words hit Kyla like a well-aimed stone to the gut. “Gone? What do you mean she’s gone? The wedding is in less than a week. She can’t be gone.”

“I found a note.”

“Saying what?” Connor asked.

“That she’s sorry.”

“That’s it?” Kyla knew her voice was edging into the realm of shrill, but couldn’t seem to control it.

“That’s it.”

Like a puppet with cut strings, she dropped into a nearby chair. “You can’t be telling me what I think you’re telling me. If she’s gone… If she doesn’t go through with this wedding, we’re all screwed. The Crown has been watching since we filed the paperwork for the marriage. We have to find her.”

“Her car is still in the village. I tracked her that far before I came here. But she’s gone. She could be anywhere.”

“What about the police?” Angus asked.

“Since she left a note, we have no reason to get them involved. She’s not a missing person since she left voluntarily.” Malcolm spread his hands. “Unless you want to pour money into a private investigator to track her down…”

That was money they didn’t have.

This was terrible. Disastrous.

Connor tunneled a hand through his mop of blond hair. “Maybe she’ll come back.”

Kyla shot a hard stare in his direction. “Are you willing to wait until the eleventh hour to see? I’m not. We all need to turn our efforts to tracking her down. She has to go down that aisle if I have to march her there in handcuffs myself.”