Page 37

Keyanna

I don’t go back to my grandparents’ house after the encounter with Lachlan. A part of me wanted to chase after him, but realistically, I can’t even be sure that he went back himself. Not to mention the fact that I’m not quite ready to face Rhona again after hearing her blatantly say that she didn’t want me there. Which leaves me sitting on one of the barstools at Blair and Rory’s pub, sipping at a glass of water despite their assurances that eleven in the morning is a perfectly suitable time for a beer and waiting on food that Blair insisted on making for me.

“Here we go,” Blair says as she sets a basket in front of me. “That’s my grandpa’s recipe there. Best fish and chips you’ll have in all of Scotland.”

“Or at least this side of Inverness,” Rory adds.

Blair frowns at him, clucking her tongue. “Never mind him.” She nods toward the basket. “Eat up, and tell us what’s got you looking all peely-wally.”

I glance down at my wrinkled clothes, which have gone stiff with the loch water, and I can’t even imagine how bad my hair looks after sleeping on the shore all night. I don’t know whatpeely-wallymeans,but if I had to guess, I’d imagine it’s got to be pretty close to “like shit.”

“It was…” I reach for a fry, nibbling on the end. “It was a rough night.”

“Aye, if we weren’t the only pub in town, I’d think you got good and steamin’ last night,” Rory notes.

I shove the rest of the fry—chip, whatever it’s called—in my mouth. It reallyisgood, or maybe I’m just starving. “Definitely not that,” I tell them.

“Well, come on,” Blair prods. “Tell us your woes. It’s what a bartender is good for, yeah?”

I narrow my eyes. “The last time I opened up to a bartender, they sent me to a bogus kids’ attraction.”

“Och,” Blair tuts. “That was just a bit of harmless fun. You learned something, didn’t you?”

“I learned not to trust the bartenders,” I grumble.

Rory shoves Blair’s shoulder. “It was your idea.”

“You went right along with it,” Blair argues.

“It’s because you’re aulder,” he says matter-of-factly. “Just respecting my elders.”

“I’ll show you ‘elder,’ you damned—”

“Stop fighting,” I huff. “I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“We’re real sorry,” they both say in unison, which is downright creepy, truth be told.

“Make it up to me by getting me that beer.”

Rory’s face lights up. “That’s the spirit!”

“Youreallymust have had quite the night,” Blair says, leaning on her elbows over the top of the bar. “You’ve got a bit of…” She reaches to pluck something from my hair, pulling away what looks to be dried bits of some leafy vine that I’m sure made a home there whileI was swimming for my life last night. “Is this crowfoot?” She cocks her head at me. “Did you go swimming in the loch last night?”

I feel my cheeks heat, turning my face down to my basket of food as I stab a plastic fork into my fish. I try to shrug one shoulder in what I hope is a casual gesture, but I can feel Blair’s eyes on me.

“Who went swimming?” Rory sidles up with my tankard, sliding it across the bar toward me. “You didn’t go back to the cove, did you?”

“It really isn’t safe,” Blair grouses, twirling the weed between her fingers. “Especially at night.”

Without thinking, I mutter, “You can say that again.” I pause with a fry halfway to my mouth, my eyes widening a bit as I try to backpedal. “I mean—I just meant—”

“She knows,” Rory says, looking at me as if seeing me properly for the first time. “Do you know?”

I try to keep my tone casual. “Do I know…what?”

“Rory,” Blair says evenly. “Shut your hole, would you?”

The three of us stare at one another for a long moment, one where the only sound that can be heard is the occasional scraping of Fergus’s chair at what seems to be his staple booth behind us. Blair glances at the plant—she called it crowfoot—in her hands, then back to my rumpled outfit and even up to my disheveled hair.