“Ready to tango with the unexpected?”
His grin widens as he looks down at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
“With you, wee story? Always.”
Chapter Nineteen
The afternoon meltsaway as Cal and I meander through the village, soaking up its old-world charm. We amble down narrow lanes, drinking in the postcard-perfect view of thatched cottages hugged by climbing rose vines and mossy stone walls. The air is different here; it has a fresh bite to it, a crispness that’s lost somewhere in the 21st century. It’s laced with an earthy aroma of peat smoke that drifts lazily from chimneys.
Eventually, our feet guide us up the central hill, offering a panoramic view of Moray Firth. Standing on this verdant mound, I’m floored by the raw beauty of this untouched landscape. No traffic jams or towering skyscrapers mar the vista—just rolling hills dotted with heather blooming purple under an endless sky. The sight is ridiculously romantic. We’vestumbled into some painter’s dream where Mother Nature has spilled her soul onto every corner.
As twilight begins to stretch long shadows across this idyllic landscape, Cal shoots me a look brimming with mischief.
“Feelin’ peckish?”
My stomach betrays me then, letting out an embarrassingly loud grumble. His laughter echoes into the open expanse.
“So, that’s a yes then. Let’s see if we can rustle up some grub without having to wash dishes for it.”
I appreciate how this man never lets me slip into hypoglycemia like my exes did.
Those guys were always too busy mashing arcade buttons, claiming ‘just one more level’ before they’d even think about food. Meanwhile, I’d be on the sidelines, contemplating eating my own shoe.
With our new mission in mind, we descend back into the village as darkness creeps in. As much as I’m loving this unexpected jaunt through history, I can’t help but miss some modern-day comforts—a pair of trusty sneakers topping my wish list. Cobblestones may be picturesque, but they’re hell on my poor ankles.
Despite their relentless assault on my new footwear, I can’t deny their role, along with our outfits, in creating a scene so authentic it could be straight from a period drama—the kind that would usually have me binge-watching a whole weekend away.
“Check this out,” Cal blinks, brows drawn, as he pauses outside MacDowells’ Mercantile. He lifts a newspaper so thin it could double as a bookmark. The date in the top corner screams 1645 at us, sending my heart into overdrive.
“1645?” I parrot, my voice barely above a whisper.
Cal nods, his fingers flipping through the fragile pages until he lands on the Almanac section.
“Full moon coming up in exactly one month,” he declares, pointing at the tiny scribbles that predict lunar phases.
I blink at him, comprehension slowly creeping in.
“That’s our ticket home,” I say more than ask.
We’re going to wade into Loch Ness under the full moon’s glow and hope for the best. It’s all we’ve got.
Cal catches my gaze, his sapphire eyes brimming with understanding and a spark of hope.
“Aye, Mills. That’s our best shot.”
His thumb caresses over the printed words again before halting abruptly as his face loses some color. He frowns and spins the paper around so I can see what has caught his attention: headlines about an impending battle in Inverness.
“Clan wars? And here I thought we only had to worry about if toilet paper’s been invented yet,” I quip dryly, trying to inject humor into our dire situation, but Cal’s lips hardly curl into a smile. Hegently folds the ancient document and nudges us towards MacDowells’ Tavern.
“We’ve got to get acquainted with my old-timey relatives,” he says, nodding at the MacDowells’ Mercantile sign before pointing down the cobblestone street towards the Inn and Tavern.
“Looks like they’re running this show around here. If we can get on their good side, they’ll keep us safe.”
As we crossthe threshold into the rowdy tavern, two men envelop us in a cacophony of laughter and hearty back slaps strong enough to dislodge my lungs.
“Well met!” the brawniest man’s greeting bounces off the stone walls as he introduces himself as Alistair MacDowell and the man beside him as his brother Fergus.
“What brings ye to our neck of the woods?”
