Page 4 of A Scot for All Time (A Scots Through Time #2)
Chapter Four
“W hat the actual?—”
Kate slumped over on the stone bench in the garden, staring across the green at the MacDonald Distillery, trying to make sense of the impossible. Her mind kept circling back to the same bewildering fact. Angus was engaged. Had been engaged. The entire time they were dating.
Five months of dinners and weekend trips and lazy Sunday mornings. Five months of what she’d thought was the beginning of something real. Sure, it wasn’t love at first sight, but she’d thought they were good together, and she cared for him. A great deal. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have dragged herself across the ocean to surprise him.
“Bloody stupid.” She muttered, liking the phrase she’d heard at baggage claim.
It had all been a lie.
She pulled out her phone with trembling hands and scrolled through her photos. There they were. Angus and Kate at a Braves game, Angus and Kate hiking in North Georgia, Angus and Kate at her company Valentine’s party. He looked so genuine in every picture, his arm around her shoulders, his smile warm and inviting.
Had any of it been real?
A text notification from Mandy popped up on her screen.
Have you surprised him yet? Details, please!
Her throat tightened. Poor Mandy, so invested in her romantic adventure when Mandy’s own had just imploded. And now she would have to tell her that they’d both been played for fools.
Before she could respond, a commotion near the distillery entrance caught her attention. A sleek black Range Rover had pulled up, and a small crowd was gathering. She watched as Angus stepped out of the driver’s side, looking exactly as she remembered. Tall, handsome, with that easy confidence that had first attracted her to him.
Then he walked around to the passenger side and opened the door with a flourish. A woman emerged. Slender, elegant, with shoulder-length auburn hair and the kind of effortless beauty that made Kate instantly conscious of her travel-rumpled appearance. The woman slipped her hand into his, and they shared a quick, intimate kiss before turning toward the entrance.
Kate’s heart stuttered. That had to be Amanda. The fiancée.
Without thinking, she stood and moved toward them, drawn by some masochistic need to confirm what she already knew. Gravel crunched beneath her feet with each determined step. The rusted iron gate creaked in protest as she pushed it open, a salt-scented breeze carried the distant cry of a seagull across the yard.
As she approached, Angus looked up and saw her. The color drained from his face.
“Kate?” His voice was strangled. “What are you doing here?”
The woman, Amanda, turned to look at Kate with polite curiosity. “Angus, darling, who’s this?”
Years of professional composure kicked in, despite the emotional earthquake happening inside her, as Kate straightened her spine.
“I’m Kate Adams,” she said, extending her hand with practiced ease. “Angus’s girlfriend from Atlanta.”
Amanda’s perfectly shaped brows rose slightly, but her smile never faltered as she took Kate’s hand.
“Ah, yes. Kate.”
Her voice was soft, melodic, with a refined Scottish lilt. “I suspected there might be someone.”
Angus made a choking sound. “Amanda, I can explain?—”
The stunning woman squeezed his arm gently. “No need, darling. We’ve discussed this.”
She turned back to Kate, her eyes surprisingly kind. “Men like Angus often need to... sow their wild oats before settling down. I’ve always known that about him.”
It was as if she’d stepped into some bizarre alternate reality. The analytical part of her brain, the part that wasn’t screaming in betrayal, noted the calm calculation behind Amanda’s words. This wasn’t news to her. She’d known all along.
“Our engagement has been arranged since we were children,” Amanda continued, voice matter-of-fact.
“It’s as much a business merger as a marriage. The MacDonalds and the Albertsons have been planning to unite our distilleries since before I was born.” She smiled at Angus with genuine affection.
“That we happen to care for each other is a fortunate bonus.”
Kate’s mind raced, processing this new information with clinical detachment even as her heart crumbled. She’d been the side piece. The foreign fling. The last hurrah before Angus settled into his predestined life.
“I see,” she said, voice surprisingly steady. “And when were you planning to mention this arrangement to me, Angus?”
Angus looked trapped, his gaze darting between the two women. “Kate, it’s complicated. What we had was real, but?—”
“What you had was temporary,” Amanda finished for him, not unkindly. “As was always intended.”
She turned to Kate. “I don’t blame you, you know. Angus can be quite charming when he wants to be. And I imagine he never explicitly mentioned his engagement.”
“No,” Kate said, the word bitter on her tongue. “He most certainly did not.”
She turned and walked away before either of them could respond, her back straight, her steps measured. Only when she was certain she was out of sight did she allow her composure to crumble.
She ducked behind a storage building, pressed her back against the cool stone wall, and slid to the ground. The tears came then, hot and furious, her body shaking with silent sobs. How could she have been so stupid? So blind? So utterly, pathetically na?ve?
When the first wave of grief had passed, leaving her hollow and exhausted, Kate wiped her face with her sleeve and tried to think logically. She needed to get away from here. Find a hotel, change her flight to go home, and pretend this humiliating disaster had never happened.
But first, she needed her suitcase, which she’d left at reception.
With a sniff, Kate pulled herself to her feet and made her way back to the visitor center, taking a detour to avoid any chance of running into Angus and Amanda again. She found a restroom and splashed cold water on her face, wincing at her reflection. Red-rimmed eyes, blotchy cheeks, and hair a tangled mess from running her hands through it.
“You’re fine,” she told her reflection sternly. “This is not the end of the world. Men are trash. They lie all the time. You knew that already.”
But Angus hadn’t seemed like trash. He’d seemed genuine, considerate, respectful. The perfect boyfriend.
The perfect liar.
Kate reapplied her pale pink lip gloss, squared her shoulders, and headed back to reception. The young woman behind the desk, Fiona, looked up with a sympathetic smile that suggested news traveled fast in the distillery.
“I’ve called a taxi for you, Miss Adams,” she said gently. “It should be here in about ten minutes. Mr. MacDonald suggested the Skye Lodge Hotel in Portree. It’s quite lovely, and they usually have rooms available, even in high season.”
“Thank you,” Kate said, touched by the woman’s kindness. “And my suitcase?”
“Right here,” Fiona said, gesturing to where it stood beside the desk. “Would you like some tea while you wait? Or perhaps something stronger? We do offer whisky tastings.”
She almost laughed at the absurdity of it all. “Whisky might be appropriate, but I think I’ll pass. Thank you, though.”
Once settled into one of the comfortable chairs in the reception area, she tried to ignore the curious glances from the staff and visitors. Her phone buzzed again, another text from Mandy.
Helloooo? Did you find him? Is he surprised? Are you guys having hot reunion sex right now?
Kate sighed, and with a single sniff, typed a response.
He’s engaged. To someone else. Will call when I can.
She hit send, then turned off her phone before Mandy could respond. No way could she handle sympathy right now, not when she was barely holding herself together.
The taxi arrived promptly, and Kate was grateful for the driver’s taciturn nature. He loaded her suitcase into the trunk without comment and drove her to Portree in blessed silence, leaving her to stare out the window at the passing landscape without having to make polite conversation.
The Skye Lodge Hotel was indeed lovely. A charming stone building overlooking Portree Harbor, with hanging baskets of colorful flowers decorating the entrance. The receptionist was efficient and discreet, checking her into a comfortable room with a view of the water.
Once alone, she flopped onto the bed and stared blankly at the wall. She should call the airline, book a return flight. She should call Mandy, give her the full story. And maybe she should order room service, eat something, take a shower.
Instead, she did none of those things. She simply sat, numb and hollow, watching the light shift as clouds passed over the sun.
Eventually, restlessness drove her to her feet. She couldn’t stay in this room, not with her thoughts circling like vultures. She needed air, movement, and distraction.
With a scowl on her face, Kate grabbed her jacket and headed out, leaving her phone behind. The town of Portree was picturesque, with colorful buildings lining the harbor and narrow streets winding up the hillside. Under different circumstances, she would have enjoyed exploring its shops and cafes, taking photos to share with friends’ back home.
Now, she barely registered her surroundings as she walked, her feet carrying her away from the town center and toward the outskirts. The road climbed steadily, offering expansive views of the harbor and the mountains beyond. The wind picked up, carrying the scent of salt and heather, and Kate pulled her jacket tighter around herself.
She walked for what felt like hours, letting the physical exertion burn away some of her anger and hurt. By the time she stopped to catch her breath, the town was a distant cluster of buildings below her, and the sun was high in the sky, playing hide-and-seek with the clouds. The air carried the briny scent of the sea mixed with the sweet perfume of heather blooming across the hillsides.
In her aimless meandering, Kate realized she’d ended up on some kind of trail that led away from the road and up into the hills. A weathered signpost, its wood silvered with age, indicated she was on the path to the “Old Cemetery and Ruins.” Curious despite her emotional exhaustion, she decided to continue. Ancient graves seemed fitting company for her current mood.
The path grew steeper and more rugged, winding through heather and gorse. The purple and yellow flowers brushed against her jeans, occasionally snagging the fabric. Just when Kate was beginning to regret her choice, it wasn’t like her sneakers were made for hiking. The trail crested a hill, and she found herself looking down at a small, secluded valley.
Nestled within it was one of the most hauntingly beautiful places she’d ever seen. A ruined chapel stood amid a scatter of weathered gravestones, some tilting precariously, others lying flat on the ground. Beyond the cemetery, perched dramatically on a cliff overlooking the churning sea, stood the crumbling remains of what must have been an impressive stone keep.
Not just any keep. Bronmuir Keep. Where the taxicab driver had stopped and she’d explored, but she hadn’t seen the little cemetery. Then again, she hadn’t walked away from the keep. The whole scene was bathed in the afternoon’s muted light, giving it an otherworldly glow while the distant crash of waves provided a somber soundtrack.
Drawn by the peaceful solemnity of the place, Kate made her way down into the valley. The gravestones were ancient, their inscriptions worn away by centuries of wind and rain. Her fingers traced the faint remnants of letters on one marker, feeling the cool, rough texture of the stone beneath her fingertips. The chapel was little more than a shell, its roof long gone, its walls crumbling. But there was a strange comfort in its endurance, in the way nature had begun to reclaim it with ivy and moss.
Finding a flat boulder near the edge of the cliff, Kate sat and gazed out at the water. The sea stretched endlessly before her, a vast expanse of steel gray that melted into the horizon. White-capped waves crashed against the rocks below, sending up sprays of foam that glittered in the sunlight. The cemetery must have served the keep and its inhabitants for generations.
A while later, she stood, stretching, then wandered among the graves, occasionally stopping to trace a name or date with her fingertip. These people had lived, loved, fought and died on this island, their triumphs and tragedies long forgotten.
It put her own heartbreak into perspective, somehow. A century from now, who would remember or care that Kate Adams had been foolish enough to fall for a man who was engaged to someone else?
As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the cemetery, Kate became aware of another presence.
An old woman stood near the chapel ruins, bent and gnarled as the ancient rowan tree that grew beside the path. She wore a heavy wool cloak despite the mild afternoon, and her silver hair streamed loose in the wind.
Kate hadn’t noticed her arrival, which was strange given the open landscape. It was as if the old woman had materialized from the very stones of the ruins.
“Good afternoon,” she called, not wanting to startle the woman.
The old woman turned, fixing her with a penetrating gaze. Her eyes were dark and fathomless, set in a face lined with countless wrinkles.
“Ye’ve come at last,” she said, her voice surprisingly strong. “I’ve been waiting.”
Taken aback, she blinked. “I’m sorry, but I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else.”
The old woman made a sound that might have been a laugh. “No mistake, lass. Ye’re the one with the broken heart, are ye not? The one who can see the end for others, but couldn’t see her own?”
The wind blew, sending a chill across her cheek, an icy caress. How could this stranger know about her “gift”? About Angus?
“Who are you?” Kate asked, taking an involuntary step backward.
“Just an old woman who tends to these stones and the memories they hold,” the woman replied, her weathered hand gesturing to the surrounding gravestones. A sly smile played at the corners of her mouth. “Though some might call me by other names.”
The rational part of her brain suggested the woman was probably just an eccentric local, perhaps not entirely sound of mind. But something deeper, more instinctive, whispered that there was more to her than met the eye. She swallowed hard.
“What do you want with me?” she asked.
The old woman’s lips curved in a smile that transformed her face, making her seem suddenly younger, almost mischievous.
“It’s not what I want with ye, lass. It’s what ye want for yerself.”
She cocked her head, studying Kate.
“Ye came seeking love, did ye not? And found betrayal instead.”
“How do you know that?” Her throat tightened.
“I know many things,” the old woman said simply. “I know ye have a gift for seeing the end of love in others, but not in yerself. I know ye build walls to protect yerself, then wonder why ye’re alone. And I know ye dinna trust men after all ye have seen.”
Each word struck like a physical blow. She felt exposed, vulnerable, as if this strange old woman could see right through to her core.
“What do you want?” Kate repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.
The old woman moved closer, her dark eyes never leaving Kate’s face. “The question is, what do you want? Do ye want to go back to yer safe, orderly life, where ye can predict everyone’s heartbreak but yer own? Or do ye want something more?”
“I don’t understand,” she said, though a part of her felt she did, somehow.
“There are thin places in this world,” the old woman said, gesturing around them. “Places where the veil between what is and what could be grows transparent. This is such a place.” She pointed to a flat stone set on the ground near the chapel entrance. “And that is such a door.”
She looked at the stone, unremarkable except for a spiral pattern carved into its surface, the lines almost worn away by time and weather. “A door to what?”
“To what ye need,” the old woman said cryptically. “Not what ye think ye want, mind, but what ye truly need.”
“And what’s that?” she asked, unable to keep the skepticism from her voice despite the eerie certainty that this was no ordinary encounter.
The old woman’s smile deepened, a hint of kindness softening her sharp features. “Love, lass. Real love. The kind that doesn’t end.”
A bitter laugh escaped. “All love ends. That’s the one thing I know for certain.”
“Is it now?” The old woman’s eyes twinkled. “Then perhaps it’s time ye learned otherwise.”
She reached into the folds of her cloak and pulled out a small object, which she pressed into Kate’s hand. It was a gold and silver brooch, ancient and tarnished, shaped like a Celtic knot with three blue stones set in its center.
“When ye’re ready,” the old woman said, “come back here. Stand on the stone, wear the brooch over yer heart, and make yer choice.”
“What choice?” Kate asked, staring down at the brooch, warm in her hand.
But when she looked up, the old woman was gone. Kate spun around, searching the cemetery, but there was no sign of her. It was as if she had vanished into the gathering dusk.
Kate looked back at the brooch in her hand, tracing its intricate pattern with her fingertip. The metal was warm to the touch, warmer than it should have been after being held in the old woman’s cold hands.
“This is crazy,” Kate muttered to herself. “I’m talking to hallucinations now. Perfect.”
But she slipped the brooch into her pocket all the same.
The sun dipped in the sky, casting long shadows across the cemetery. Kate decided she should head back to town before it got too dark to find her way. But as she turned to go, her gaze fell once more on the spiral stone by the chapel entrance.
A door, the old woman had called it. A door to what she needed.
Kate shook her head, trying to clear it of such fanciful notions. She was exhausted, heartbroken, and clearly not thinking straight. What she needed was a hot meal, an even hotter shower, a good night’s sleep, and a plane ticket home.