Wild Scottish Fate

by Tricia O'Malley

Genres: Witches; Ghost; Scottish & Highlander; Paranormal Romance

Synopsis

She's spent years pushing him away.
He's spent years waiting.

And in Loren Brae, fate will not be denied.

Agnes Wright has always known two things—books are her first love and Graham Kincaid is her second. The one man who never stopped showing up, no matter how many times she shut the door.

Graham Kincaid has pulled pints, kept his head down, and watched the only woman he's ever loved pretend he doesn't exist. He's not a fool. He sees the way she looks at him when she thinks no one is watching. And he's done waiting for an explanation she refuses to give.

But the Kelpies are no longer circling. They're closing in. The loch is restless, the wards are failing, and every woman who answered the call of the Order has done her part. There's only one woman left who can save Loren Brae.

To break the ancient curse and banish the Kelpies once and for all, Agnes must unlock a power she's spent a lifetime burying. But saving her village means facing the one thing that terrifies her more than any ancient evil rising from the deep—losing Graham forever.

Some fates are written in the stars.
Theirs is written in the Stone of Truth.

Release date: July 15, 2026

Publisher: Lovewrite Publishing

Print pages: 418

Sample

CHAPTER ONE AGNES “One does not simply walk past a shoe sale,” Willow intoned, leaning back on the couch to lift her foot to showcase a slouchy, low-heeled suede boot. The other women all cooed their approval. “She bought herself a pair of slouchy suede boots,” Liora explained to her visually impaired sister, Zara, who smiled. “I love suede, it has such a soft texture,” Zara agreed. All the Order of Caledonia women, as well as Hilda, Lottie, and Zara, were gathered in the castle’s library. Between the busy holiday season, the fact that a freaking Beithir was living in Loch Mirren, and pretty much the heightened fear around life in general since the standoff at the loch, we hadn’t managed to get the women together as one. Namely because the men in their lives had become increasingly annoying, and almost never let any of them out of their sight. Even now, the lot of them were up in the games room, likely arguing over some sports match or another. I mean, I could hardly blame them, and the romantic in me sighed over their overprotectiveness. But, also, they were still annoying. “How do you even have time to shop?” I asked, shaking my head at Willow. She was a seamstress, a clothing designer, and a psychic … none of which allowed much time for shopping, in my opinion. 

“Priorities.” Willow laughed, running a critical eye over my outfit. I winced. I knew that look, which meant she was going to bug me about my clothes again. “Don’t start on me,” I protested, throwing my hands in the air. So what if my jeans were paint-streaked? Loren Brae was a casual village and I had nobody here to impress. “Oh, I’m starting.” Willow reached for her sketch pad while the other women hooted in laughter. “You’ve been putting me off for a while now.” “I walked in your fashion show, didn’t I?” I protested, reaching for my glass of wine and taking a hasty sip. I didn’t like being the center of attention, and it had taken everything in my power to don a dress of Willow’s creation and walk the runway to showcase her creations. But Graham had made it better. Even now, months later, my heart picked up speed when I thought about that moment when he’d seen me, all done up for the show, and his face had reflected … reverence … everything that could never be between us. Shoving those thoughts aside, I glared at Willow. “I own a bookshop. And a pottery studio. I do not need a fancy dress, Willow. I’m not going to wear it anywhere.” “What you need is a date night outfit.” Willow bit her lower lip as she focused on her sketch pad, ignoring my protests completely. The silence drew out across the room, and I looked around as all the women studiously looked every way but at me. “What?” I asked, exasperated. “I think everyone is just fed up with you trying to pretend you don’t want to jump Graham’s bones.” Kaia, a metalsmith who worked with all men and was as blunt as could be, grinned at me. “I do not⁠—” “Och, you do. I swear I could drag Finlay into a closet after watching you two pine for each other.” Orla, a tiny woman with a big heart, fanned her face. “It’s like getting a contact high from your pheromones.” 

My eyes widened as the women all nodded in agreement. “Seriously, Agnes. When are you two just going to bang it out?” Sophie asked, leaning forward in all of her American earnestness. She’d blown into Loren Brae from California after inheriting MacAlpine Castle, and I’d grown to love her directness even though my cheeks heated at her question. “Why do I feel like I’m suddenly the subject of an intervention?” I asked, shaking my head at the room. This impossible group of women, bonded through magick and genuine friendship, grinned back at me. It was the almost complete Order of Caledonia at their finest—not when they were battling Kelpies or keeping Loren Brae protected from harm—when they were united, just like this, in friendship and support for everyone’s idiosyncrasies. Sophie was the first. Her uncle had bequeathed her MacAlpine Castle, and she’d stepped into the role of the Knight of the Order of Caledonia and had taken on the almost impossible task of finding the other members of the Order while also trying to keep the Kelpies that ran amok in Loch Mirren at bay. And she did so with a relentless American optimism—once more into the breach and all that—that both intimidated me and made me admire her in the same breath. In short order she’d found Lia, a kitchen witch, and hired her to run Grasshopper, the new restaurant at the castle. Shona, our garden witch, had come next, falling easily in line with Lia. They shared recipes and spells of a healing nature. Willow arrived soon after, ready to design a specialty tartan for MacAlpine Castle. Orla had followed, our builder, and Kaia, a metalsmith, had joined her. Luck would have it that Faelan, Loren Brae’s new vet and healer, had found her way here on her own, and Liora, the chartweaver, had returned to be with her sister, the two adding some key insights to the battle to subdue the Kelpies and restore Loren Brae to her might. Life before them had been somewhat solitary, and despite having known some of these ladies for a short time, they had

become solid friends. The best of friends in some cases, and my life was infinitely better from knowing them. Each were strong women in their own way. Each were highly magickal. Each were very opinionated women. And all of them seemed to believe that I needed to jump one Graham Kincaid, owner of The Tipsy Thistle, my ex-boyfriend, and the man who haunted my dreams at night. Not that I’d ever let him know that. “Oh, Agnes,” Willow gasped and heads swiveled to see where Willow drew on her sketch pad, but her eyes were unfocused, staring into the future. She was having a vision. “What do you see?” Shona asked, leaning forward. Willow blinked, looking down at her paper, and then up at me, and I pressed my lips together in a tight line as Willow’s eyes caught on mine. Tears shimmered there. “Don’t…” I whispered, holding a hand up to ward her off. “It’s not worth it, Willow. Let it go.” “Worth what?” Sophie demanded. “Are you sure?” Willow asked, holding my gaze. “It can’t be. Don’t force it.” Silence drew out and then, because my heart was breaking, like it had so many times in the past, I got up and left the library. It didn’t matter how much magick that incredible group of women had. There were just some things that neither love nor magick could fix.

CHAPTER TWO AGNES Ten Years Earlier Gran’s hand was cold in mine, her skin papery and thin, the bones beneath fragile as a bird’s. I hated this. It was just too soon. “Agnes.” Her voice was a rasp, barely audible above the hum of the hospital equipment, machines that beeped their steady rhythm, marking time we both knew was running out. “Come closer, my dear.” I leaned in, my chair scraping against the linoleum. The room smelled of antiseptic and that unwelcome clinical smell of hospitals that made you ache for your own bed. “I’m here, Gran.” Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment they were sharp—sharper than they’d been in days—cutting through the fog of medication and illness with an intensity that made my breath catch. “We need to talk,” she said. “About Graham.” My heart stumbled. I’d spent the summer falling in love with my childhood friend. I’d only been home from uni for a day when I’d walked into The Tipsy Thistle, ready to give Graham grief over his newly acquired pub, and he’d looked up and locked eyes with me across the room. ...