Page 4 of Wild Scottish Knight
“If this is true…” I said carefully, my stomach turning at what this might mean. “Then you’re thinking that our people are in danger. And that this is why we’ve been seeing less tourism lately? Fear?”
“Aye,” Archie said. “Just becauseyoudon’t believe doesn’t mean that others don’t.”
And there you had it, I realized. I could fight this whole ridiculous Order of Caledonia protection story as much as I wanted, but if other people believed it, then I had to take it seriously. It was hurting our town, and our people needed the tourism industry to view us as a lovely place to visit, not a haunted village of empty shops where the locals lived in fear of mythological beasts.
“So what now?” I asked, hardly believing the words that came out of my mouth.
“I’ve contacted the solicitor for the estate,” Hilda said, her words falling like a blade on my shoulders. “The next of kin will be notified that they are the knight and are needed to restore the Order.”
“And you think he’ll just up and fly here? From…”
“California,” Hilda said.
Archie hissed, and I pressed my lips together. The likelihood that this supposed Knight we needed would leave his cushy life in sunny California and come save a moody Scottish castle was slim.
Outside, an unearthly shriek split the night, rattling the windows of the castle, and dread entwined its cold fingers around me.
“The Kelpies,” Hilda whispered, her gaze on the dark window where the flames danced in perfect reflection.
“It’s just the wind,” I said. Filling my glass, I left the lounge without another word, the disapproving looks of Archie and Hilda following me the whole way to my apartment.
What this village needed was a stiff kick in the arse, not some tanned Californian Knight, desperate for attention. My lip curled in distaste as I entered my apartment and kicked the door closed behind me. No,Iwas going to save the village, no matter what came next.
It had been the promise I’d made on my mum’s grave.
CHAPTERTHREE
sophie
The time had arrived.
The READING OF THE WILL was upon us, and it began with less fanfare than I had hoped for. Where were the trumpets? And the songs? Instead, we were gathered in the formal dining room at a table that sat forty people. I’d never once seen Arthur use this room in all his years, but Lottie and I had taken high tea here once a month on Lottie’s insistence that we make use of each room in this sprawling castle. Despite our disdain for fancy restaurants, we’d been quite taken with the concept of high tea and enjoyed the little sandwiches and biscuits that the cook took delight in making. Of course, Lottie had insisted the cook join us for tea as well, and after her initial hesitation, it had become routine for the three of us to gossip away a Sunday afternoon at the massive table.
I shifted in my dining chair, grateful they were cushioned, and Lottie squeezed my hand under the table. She’d insisted I sit next to her, promptly kicking Chad out of the room when he’d followed me in, and now stared daggers at my parents who had taken up prominent seats bookending the attorney who sat at the head of the table. Lottie should have sat closest, but she had never been one to stand on ceremony, so why start now?
The attorney, a slim man with a narrow nose, shuffled the papers in front of him. This was the third time he’d done so, and I was tempted to reach over and grab the papers myself to get this show on the road. The ravenous excitement of those around me, all expecting lavish gifts, was almost suffocating. I just wanted to go home, curl up in my fuzzy pants, and get back to my routine. Assuming I still had a job, of course. As brand manager for MacKnight Security, it was my job to protect the company’s image. And, right now, we had to ensure a smooth transition after the loss of my uncle. Worry for the future gnawed at me, and I had to sit on my other hand to stop myself from banging it on the table and insisting we get on with things.
“Thank you all for being here today. My name is Harold Stevenson, and I have enjoyed working with Arthur for many years now. He was an unusual and highly entertaining man, and I must express my condolences for your loss.” Harold looked around the table as everyone put on their best sad expressions, though I didn’t miss the gleam in my father’s eyes.
Just to be clear, it wasn’t a gleam from the light glinting off tears. That would require the man to have emotional depth, and the only emotion I’d ever seen him exhibit was anger. My father was constantly annoyed, as though the world would run better if everything was done his way, and a child hadn’t fit into his idea of how life should be. Children were messy and unpredictable, you see. No, Robert MacKnight preferred order and blind obedience. We’d never gotten along, and now I watched him with barely concealed disdain, wondering how I’d managed to find my voice amid his bid for total control. The biggest disappointment of my life sat across from him, her fingers twisting a large diamond serpent ring on her finger, and I wondered why she’d chosen that ring today. Did she know that in Scottish mythology, a beithir was a fearsome snake-like creature that formed if a snake was killed but not beheaded?
Separate the head from the body, I thought, staring at my mother, and wondered why she’d never been able to stand up for me—or herself—against the tyrannical reign of my father. If I was feeling generous, I’d say her service to him filled some deep-rooted insecurity to always be needed. When I wasn’t, like today, I’d just say she was weak.
“As I’m sure you all know, Arthur was a very generous man, and that generosity has continued after his death,” Harold continued, and a relieved sigh went up through the room. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
I waited, wanting this to be over, not caring who scored or didn’t when it came to the considerable assets that Arthur had compiled. I didn’t want change in my life, not when I’d finally gotten things just the way I liked. Well, close enough, I supposed, my eyes flitting to the door where Chad presumably waited outside.
Harold cleared his throat and peered down through his glasses.
“The following are Arthur’s words, and his wishes,” Harold began, looking up to make sure we understood. Yes, Harold. We’ve got it. Pick up the pace so I can go home and stuff my face with ice cream and grieve in private.
“‘Welcome, my loved and not-so-loved ones. If I’m guessing correctly, this is the moment that all of you are waiting for. While I’m sure some of you are genuinely grieving my loss, Lottie and Sophie I’m looking at you, I suspect the rest of you are here to see if I’ve left you any of my riches. I suppose I can’t blame you. I would be curious as well, considering we all know I’ve amassed considerable assets during my tenure on Earth. It’s only natural for you to wonder where those assets will go.’”
I bit back a smile, knowing that Arthur had loved a good build-up and was just doing this to annoy people.
“‘Let’s start with the Old Wives Club, shall we?’” Harold looked around at the ex-wives, a faint blush tingeing his cheeks. The women grimaced, as one, at the name we’d given their group. “‘While I’ve had no problem being generous through the years, I regret to inform you that the meal ticket ends with my death. Not that any of you actually eat. Not like my Lottie does. A man should be able to sit down and enjoy a good meal with his wife. But I digress. Upon further reflection, I don’t regret cutting you all off. I spent far too many years paying for Botox, fillers, cosmetic surgery, and fake implants. Yes, Stassia, I’m looking at you.’” All eyes went to Wife Number Three, who looked dangerously close to vomiting again. “‘Suffice to say, your free ride stops here. I’ve given you plenty in my lifetime, and I hope you’ve invested it wisely. If not, might I suggest you use your surgical enhancements to land yourself another ailing and overly kind sugar daddy.’”
My eyes widened, and I had to press my lips together to stop myself from bursting into laughter as the wives stood up, again with that eerie synchronicity, and as one stormed from the room.