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She narrows her eyes at me, and for the first time, I notice the sparkling green color of them, glinting in the sunlight—bright and viridescent—and paired with the fiery, wild curls whipping in the breeze, making her appear as if she was brought up here. She certainly doesn’tlooklike an American at first glance.

“I’m notclumsy,” she huffs, interrupting my study of her. “And I’m not a tourist. I’m here visiting family.”

My brows shoot up.

Family?

I know everyone within fifty miles of here, and would certainly have remembered her had I met her before.

“Is that right? And who might that be?”

“Notthat it’s any of your business,” she tuts, “but I’m here to see my grandmother. Rhona MacKay.”

I bristle immediately upon hearing the name. My fists clench against my sides beneath my crossed arms, studying her in a new light. I can see the resemblance now, faintly—Rhona’s hair has long turned gray, but there’s a similarity in the shape of her eyes, her nose—even the curve of her mouth turned down in a frown is familiar.

I hear my da’s words drift through my thoughts like the whispers of an old ghost story, a warning that, until now, held no weight. A shiver runs down my spine, but I don’t let my wariness show. My entire life, I have been told to fear this woman, the one I didn’t know existed until just now—but she certainly doesn’tlooklike the end of the world as I know it.

“Is that right,” I mutter, hoping I look composed. “You’re a ways from the MacKay farm. You lost?”

“No, I’m not,” she huffs. “I was just going to…” Her lips squeeze together, and her hands press the black vase in her hands closer to her body. “It’s none of your business what I was doing, really.”

“Aye, I reckon you’re right,” I agree, “but again—someone had to keep you from falling on your arse.”

“I wasn’t going to fall on my—” She makes a frustrated sound, reaching to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Look. I just needed to see the cove, all right? It’s personal.”

“Personal,” I echo. “Right. Well, best move along now. The weather is supposed to turn.”

She peers up into the sun with a hand over her eyes, frowning. “It’s sunny out.”

“Welcome to Scotland,” I chuckle. “The weather has a mind of its own.”

“I still need to…” She looks out at the water, something in her expression that seems almost akin to sadness. “Whatever. I can do it later.” She casts a suspicious glance my way. “Is it really going to rain? Or are you just chasing me off?”

I shrug. “You’re welcome to sit here and find out.” I glance down at her tightly laced gutties, noting that they’d do her no good in the muck of a proper Scottish rain. “But since you aren’t even wearing a decent pair of wellies, you’d be more keen on help, I’ll bet. Once you’re knee-deep in mud, that is.”

She follows my gaze to her shoes, looking thrown for a second.

“Wellies are—”

“I know what wellies are,” she scoffs.

“Ah, so you’re not accidentally ignorant, but purposefully so?”

She tucks the vase into her side, throwing up her other hand. “Who the fuck even are you? The shore police?”

“Something like that,” I snort. I give her a mock bow, feeling fully amused now by her disdainful expression. It isn’t often I get to vex a MacKay. Especially one I’ve been taught to fear my entire life. “Lachlan Greer, at your service, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” she huffs. “My name is Key.”

My brow arches. “Key? That’s your name?”

“Keyanna,” she amends, making a face. “But no one calls me that. Key is fine.”

“Key,” I try, deciding it suits her, for whatever reason. “Well, today is your lucky day.”

“Oh?” She narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Why is that?”

“Because you’ve just found yourself an escort to the MacKay farm.”