Page 13 of Love’s a Witch (The Scottish Charms #1)

CHAPTER NINE Knox

Normally, my family would host a town cèilidh in our ballroom, but since Sloane was basically persona non grata in my household, I couldn’t imagine dealing with the wrath of my parents if they found out I’d allowed the birthday celebration to take place at our castle.

The wind howled, shaking the windowpanes in my dressing room, and I grimaced as I wrapped my kilt around my waist. The kilt, while favorable to mucking through boggy swamp land, wasn’t particularly amenable to the blistering wind of an icy winter storm. If you catch my drift.

I shouldn’t even be going to this party.

I really wished the MacGregors would just take the hint and leave town. It would be easiest for everyone if they did.

I suspected that was not what would be happening, but one could dream.

My phone buzzed on the side table, and I glanced at it, sighing. Another snow-related emergency. It had been never-ending since the MacGregors had returned, and my sleep was suffering for it. Which was why I was in such a sour mood. At least that is what I kept telling myself.

A clatter of wheels on marble floors was the only warning I got before my door flew open and Haggis, my pet Highland coo, who had suffered from stunted growth and a birth defect which left his back legs immobile, came crashing through my door in his wheelchair.

He was about the size of a golden retriever, with the personality of one, and had decided that I was his favorite person in the world.

Oswald, my blind cat, who had been napping on the bed, jumped up and arched his back.

“Sorry, lad.” I scratched behind Oswald’s ear as Haggis pressed his sloppy, wet nose into my knee.

Ever since I was little, I’d had a penchant for rescuing hurt things.

I’d find birds with broken wings and run to the apothecary, begging for them to be saved.

I had a soft spot in my heart for those that needed a little more assistance to navigate life.

It was part of what made me a good provost, or so my brothers told me, and I’d also inadvertently turned my house into a foster home of sorts for broken animals needing their hearts healed.

Right now, it was just Oswald and Haggis, my two permanent residents, but at times it had expanded to everything from a phoenix to an emberwolf, and even, during one memorable summer, a young kraken.

Once healed, we’d snuck him back through the loch that connected to the sea, and none had been the wiser for it.

Except for my parents, of course. They’d taken one look at the kraken, affectionately named Sugar, and hightailed to the Alps for the summer. That’s what they got for raising three boys.

Haggis bellowed at me, demanding attention, and I laughed.

Bending over, I scratched behind his ears as well.

His shaggy fur was a burnished copper color, and he shook his head, pressing against my hand.

While the healers hadn’t been able to do much about his birth defects, they had assured me that he was in no pain.

This was just how he was. With that knowledge in mind, my brothers and I had managed to build a four-wheeled chair for him.

All we had to do was lift him into the harness that wrapped below his belly, and then the frame sat around his four legs.

He simply used his front legs to propel himself around.

Once he’d gotten the hang of it, he’d never looked back.

Oswald sniffed and licked a paw.

Dreadful creature.

“Is that right? I saw you curled up sleeping on him the other night, when the snow arrived.”

You saw nothing, you eejit.

Oswald huffed and stalked across the bed, shooting me a dirty look over his shoulder.

“Och, are you sure about that, mate?” I looked down at Haggis, who winked at me.

He likes my fur. He kneads my shoulders when they’re sore with his wee paws.

“Oh, do you hear that, Oswald? Sounds like you’ve been givin’ your wee pal a shoulder massage.”

Oswald hissed and arched his back. He bumped his head against a tassel hanging from the curtains that framed my bed. I chuckled.

My bedroom, adjoined to my dressing room, was about as castle-y as you could get.

A four-poster bed in rich mahogany dominated the room, with red velvet curtains done up with gold fringe.

The walls were painted a deep navy blue, the wainscoting a crisp white, and a muted tartan carpet in blues with thin threads of red and white warmed the cold stone floor.

My mother had designed every inch of this house, and Oswald well knew she’d be furious if he shredded another one of her curtain tassels.

“Don’t you dare.”

Dare what? Oh, this? Oswald nipped at the tassel, and then swatted it lightly with a paw.

“Oswald. Knock it off.”

Knock what off? Oswald batted it again. Lightly. And then, as though helpless not to do it more, he rolled onto his back and beat it up like he was punching a boxing bag.

“You know you have no self-control once you start.”

I am the epitome of control. Oswald hissed, battering the tassel some more, flipping across the bed and back before going another round. Take that! And that!

Go on, lad! Haggis threw his head back and mooed his support, and I sighed. Crossing the room, I scooped up the cat, and he squirmed in my arms, annoyed.

I had everything perfectly in hand.

“I’m sure you did, but from the outside it did seem like you were about to shred the shite out of Mum’s curtains.”

I would never.

“Uh-huh. Like the six times before this, mate?” I deposited Oswald on the floor and he walked sedately down the hallway, his head held high.

Wanna play? Haggis barreled through, his wheelchair clattering, and Oswald leapt about six feet in the air.

No, I don’t want to play. I don’t play. I am a warrior, sent to banish evils.

Tag! Haggis bumped his nose on Oswald’s bum, and Oswald hissed before Haggis took off, racing down the hallway and catapulting himself around a curve.

Like I can’t hear where that snuffling beast is from a mile away?

“Still gotta catch him. It’s not hide-and-seek, you know. It’s tag.”

Why would I remotely be interested in playing such a childish game?

“That’s fine. I’ll just tell Haggis he won when I see him.” I proceeded past Oswald, knowing this would annoy him, and then turned the corner. When he zipped past me, swiping a claw across the back of my leg in the process, I just laughed. He was too easy.

Communicating with animals might be one of my favorite magickal abilities, and when I’d discovered it after the age of twenty-five, I’d crowed in delight.

It made the largely empty castle less lonely these days.

Sure, my mother had staff—a chef, a butler, a maid—all of whom I loved dearly.

But the added companionship of Haggis and Oswald was a real bonus for me.

Grabbing a long wool coat from the front closet, I tucked a tweed newsboy cap on, collected my leather driving gloves, and then stomped through the snow to my Land Rover.

It was a blisteringly cold night, and it took everything in my power not to go back inside and light a fire, pour a wee dram, and curl up with a good book instead.

But the thought of dancing with Sloane was just too much to resist.

No, scratch that.

My provost duty. That was the only reason I was going.

I repeated that to myself the entire drive over to the Rune & Rose, which had a function room tucked in the back for events.

The car park was almost empty, which was unusual for a cèilidh, and I pulled over beneath a streetlamp.

Two snow sculptures now stood in front, one with a scarf and another with earmuffs.

Warm light spilled out on the street from the arched windows, and cheerful music caught on the wind, dancing away into the snow that barreled down.

Ducking my head, I made haste to the door and pushed inside, kicking the snow off my boots just inside the door.

There, I deposited my coat in a pile with the others and waved at a few people as I made my way to the bar.

Music from a live band, a jaunty Celtic tune, boomed through the doors leading to the back room, and a cheerful fire snapped in the stone fireplace along the wall.

The light from the lampposts outside illuminated the swirling snow in the large windows, making the fire even more welcoming, and I leaned my hip against the bar as Liam waited on a few customers.

“Mate, how’s it going, then?” Liam stopped by my side.

“Brilliant.” I nodded at the snow swirling outside the window.

“Och, it’s a nuisance, isn’t it, then? Such a shame, really. We were finally getting to see more sunshine.”

“How’s business been?”

“Nothing all that much today. Of course, the cèilidh helps. A little.”

“Not as busy as I expected.” I looked around at the mostly empty pub.

“Seems there’s a touch of a protest for the MacGregors being back in town. What can I do you for?”

“Just an Irn Bru. I’m driving.”

Liam nodded and bent to a small fridge behind the bar, and pulled out an orange-and-silver can. “Glass?”

“No, thanks.”

Liam’s attention shifted, and I glanced over to see Raven walking toward the dance floor in a shimmering slip dress that hugged every decadent curve of her body, an open wool coat thrown over her shoulders. Her hair streamed behind her, and Liam swallowed.

“Ask her out,” I said. Liam had been nursing a crush on Raven for years now.

“Can’t. You know that.” Liam had made a promise to Raven’s father that he’d look after her after he passed.

They’d been neighbors, and Liam took his vow seriously.

I couldn’t help but wonder if Raven’s dad would have been more than happy with Liam looking after his daughter as her partner, but Liam refused to speak about it.

Instead, he just silently punished himself by pining for her day after day.

“All right, we’re ready to start. Does everyone know the Flying Scotsman?”