Wild Scottish Fortune

Book 6: The Enchanted Highlands

by Tricia O'Malley

Genres: Romantic Fantasy; Fantasy Romance; Paranormal Romance; Witches

Synopsis

Can an artisan builder with a haunted past learn to break down her own walls?

Orla Clarke is a master builder with a secret—she can see ghosts. Tasked with building Common Gin’s newest distillery in Loren Brae, Orla faces more than just architectural challenges. Haunted by her past as an orphan and the spirits that have followed her since childhood, Orla’s talent for building walls extends to her heart. She’s brilliant at solving problems on the construction site, but when it comes to matters of love, she’s always kept her distance.

Enter Finlay Thompson, the charming and driven director of the distillery project. Determined to breathe new life into the old stone building, Finlay is equally passionate about gin as he is about profits. Betrayed by family, and untrusting of relationships, he can’t help but be entranced by the pint-sized powerhouse overseeing the build-out of the distillery. With mysterious things happening around Loren Brae, the more Finlay puts himself in Orla’s path, the more he is drawn to the quiet builder with luminous eyes.

As spirits bring secrets to light, Orla and Finlay must confront their deepest fears. Can they build a future together, or will their haunted pasts keep them apart forever?

 

Release date: August 15, 2024

Publisher: Lovewrite Publishing

Print pages: 257

Sample

Chapter 1

 

Orla

---

“Surely you just need to jam it in there.”

“When does jamming something in ever help the problem?”

“Depends, is your date in a huff with you or not?”

I rolled my eyes at the two men currently bent over a lock on a stall door in an old outbuilding outside MacAlpine Castle. Munroe Curaigh of Common Gin was opening a new branch of his famous distillery here, and I’d bid for the project, knowing it would give my crew steady work for months if we’d got it.

And we’d landed it.

We were already two months into the project, and I’d been able to hire in more help, as well as take on a few other local projects like the rebuilding of Ramsay Kilts, which had recently suffered a tragedy.

Such a shame, that fire. I still couldn’t believe his brother had started it. Who does that?

I was excited to work on the kilt shop, largely because the space wasn’t exceptionally large, which meant Ramsay and Willow required explicit attention to detail. I always enjoyed the challenge of crafting out useful small storage or interesting details in unique spaces.

The distillery, on the other hand, was a much larger project where form needed to meet function. The building itself held considerable history, which Munroe hoped to preserve, and we were working with a team to blend the old with the new in a seamless design that should offer a light and airy workspace for his crew.

“I’d suggest a gentle touch,” I said, interrupting the two men, coming to the intricate latch at the stall door. “As most women prefer that over getting jammed.” Both men straightened as I slid my hand softly over the locking mechanism and turned it lightly, unhinging it so the door opened smoothly.

“Ah.” Munroe cleared his throat sheepishly.

“Your technique is noted,” the other man said, a twinkle in his gray-green eyes.

“Your future dates can thank me,” I said, and Munroe winced.

“Apologies for our crudeness.”

“I’m well used to it, lads,” I said, continuing through to the tack room that we were converting into a front office.

“Orla, this is Finlay Thompson. Our Chief Operations Officer. He’s just arrived in town to have a look over everything and will be moving here once things are up and running.”

I glanced over at Finlay, my eyes taking in his crisp gray trousers with a muted tartan print, well-shined shoes, and gold watch peeking out from beneath his collared shirt.

Posh bastard.

“Are you here to clean then?” Finlay asked, smiling at me, and Munroe cursed under his breath.

“Aye, that’s me. The cleaner. What would you recommend needs cleaning in here, sir?” I tipped my head at him, pretending to give a wee curtsy, and his eyes narrowed.

“Well, I imagine everything, no? Och, it’s quite dusty in here. Will need a good brush down.” Finlay surveyed the room that was smack dab in the middle of a literal construction site, covered in sawdust, and had the gall to suggest it needed a good dusting. Clearly the man didn’t know his head from his arse, and I opened my mouth to tell him just that when Munroe intervened.

I knew Finlay’s

type.

Hell, I’d dated his type.

They walked into everywhere they went, assuming they knew what was what, and acted like a cock of the walk. He had the air of confidence about him, a man used to getting his way, and I didn’t doubt that most things in life worked out exactly the way he wanted.

It didn’t hurt that he looked like he’d just stepped out of a glossy magazine.

The man was seriously good-looking.

But in the way of a man that might roll back his cuffs and go a few rounds, if the need called for it.

I shouldn’t find it appealing, and it was probably my incredibly long dry spell that made me find him attractive. It certainly wasn’t the nonsense he was spewing from his mouth.

“Finlay. This is Orla Clarke. Owner of Clarke Construction and our head builder and project manager. Basically your partner for the next six months as we finish the buildout.”

“You’re Clarke Construction?” Finlay didn’t even bother to conceal his surprise.

It was a reaction I was used to. I was a female in a male-dominated industry. I’d been on more job sites than I could count at this point, and still most people mistook me for a delivery girl dropping off food to the site or something of that nature. Maybe I could have chosen an easier industry to break into, but my first love was construction work, and I’d fought hard to end up where I was.

Which meant I’d developed a fairly thick skin through the years.

“Aye,” I said, accepting his hand when he held it out. “At your service.”

“My apologies,” Finlay said, holding my hand a moment longer than necessary, his lips curving up in what must be a practiced sultry smile. “I shouldn’t have made assumptions.”

“Everything good here, boss?”

All three of us turned at the word “boss” but it was my head joiner, Derrick, who was extremely protective of me as if I was his own daughter. He’d likely overheard the conversation since sound carried easily on an open job site.

“Aye, all good,

Derrick. Thanks for checking in.”

“When you’re ready, I’d like to review the install on the cabinets by the storage room. I think we can integrate sliding shelves depending on the weight of the contents.”

“I’ll be right there.” I gave Derrick a quick nod and then turned back to the two men, hands on my hips.

“Are there any more doors you need me to open for you, gentlemen?” I gave Finlay a tight smile and he winked at me, appreciating my thinly veiled insult.

“No, Orla, go on ahead. We’ll catch up with you shortly.” Munroe squeezed my shoulder in thanks. I liked him. He was a fair man who was besotted with his fiancée, and his employees loved him. Low staff turnover at a business always spoke highly of a good boss to me, and I’d found my dealings with him to be smooth and easygoing.

Finlay, though? I’d wait to decide what I thought about the man.

“Nice to meet you, Orla. I look forward to working with you.”

I withheld comment, giving him a curt nod and a wide berth as I left the room.

The Finlays of the world and I did not mix well, but I knew how to get on with them when it came to work. For now, I’d bite my tongue and crack on with my job, knowing I’d have one more challenge to deal with now that Finlay was on the project.

I glanced back to see him watching me as I walked away, a considering look in his eye.

Och, the man was going to be a problem. I could sense it already.

 

CHAPTER 2

Finlay

---

“None of the workers will go in there.”

“Seriously?” I scratched my jaw, casting my gaze across the land behind the construction site to where a worn stone outbuilding stood, shrouded in trees, and looking for all the world like a witch’s cottage from a childhood fairy tale. MacAlpine Castle loomed in the distance, a stately presence towering over our building operation, and I could almost imagine a highlander appearing between the trees, sword in hand.

The more I looked at the cottage, the more I got an impression that it wanted to be left alone, and the very idea that an inanimate object could project a feeling like that piqued my interest. Was it Munroe’s comment that the workers avoided this building that made me feel that way? Scotland was full of abandoned outbuildings and ruins. It wasn’t all that unusual to stumble across one, so what made this one so different?

“Aye. A superstitious lot, they are. Claim it’s haunted. Once one of them refused to go in, the rest followed suit.”

“Bloody hell.” I sighed. Turning, I scanned the busy site behind me. Orla seemed to run a tight ship. I’d only been on-site for two days now, but I hadn’t come across a worker that wasn’t busy with one task or another once. I’d worked on enough of Munroe’s buildouts, from retail stores to distilleries, to learn that this wasn’t always the case with job sites. I had to hand it to the pint-sized powerhouse. She seemed to run things efficiently and her crew respected her.

She was also breathtaking.

Auburn hair tucked into plaits, wide sky-blue eyes, and a mouth made for kissing was a stark juxtaposition against the canvas overalls that seemed to be Orla’s daily uniform. Her overalls were navy-blue today, and loose enough that identifying any particular aspect of her shape was largely impossible. I wondered if that was a deliberate choice, helping to keep unwanted advances at bay, or if she just enjoyed the comfort.

I’d steered a wide berth from her after I’d neatly insulted her by insinuating she was the cleaner, embarrassment still making it difficult for me to fully bridge that gap I’d created by my assumption. I would have to address it soon, as Munroe wanted me working closely with her. He needed to oversee the launch of his newest flavor of gin and wouldn’t be as widely available on-site.

“Your thought was to use it for a tasting room?”

“Aye, just a wee spot for a sample of gin flights, and maybe the merch shop could go in there as well. That way people could have a separate destination after the tour is finished, so we can utilize the space in the distillery for the actual operations.”

“What does Orla say about it?”

“I asked her to focus on other areas for now. But I’d like to get an idea if this is an option or if I’d have to hire another crew in to deal with it.”

“Right then. I’ll crack on and have a look. When are you off?”

“Heading out now. I’ll be through to Edinburgh for the next few days, so I’m sorry I won’t be here to introduce you around. Lia’s invited you for dinner anytime, she’s asked me to tell you. Or if you pop down to the pub, there’s good scran on there as well.”

“Aye, right. That’s you on then. I’ll fend for myself well enough.”

“Don’t forget.

 We’ve got this charity gala coming up soon.”

“Och, don’t remind me. Mum’s on me about bringing a date.”

My uptight mother, who had thrown herself into every charity under the sun when my father had passed on, was co-chairing a gala in Edinburgh focused on aiding the reduction of child hunger in Scotland.

“Do you have one? Lia’s making annoyed noises about having to find a dress.” Munroe grinned. I liked his fiancée, a highly talented chef at Grasshopper, a rustic elevated comfort food restaurant located inside MacAlpine Castle. She was down-to-earth, beautiful, and clearly most comfortable in the kitchen. Outside of it, she was a jeans and leather jacket kind of woman, but I imagined she would be stunning in a ballgown as well.

“Remind me again when I have the time to date?” I raised an eyebrow at Munroe, and he grinned.

“You’re the only one forcing yourself to work this hard, Finlay. Not that I don’t appreciate it. But you’re no use to anyone if you burn yourself out.”

“Work doesn’t burn me out. It lights me up.”

Which was only partially true, but Munroe didn’t really need to know the ins and outs of all that. We were friends, but it was a friendship based on our business dealings, and I’d never opened up to him about what drove me to work as hard as I did.

It was nobody’s business but my own, after all.

“Can’t say I’m complaining. I’m lucky to have you on my team. Why don’t you ask Orla?”

“Ask her what?”

“To be your date to the gala? You could just go as business partners. But she might get a kick out of it and you’d both be representing Common Gin.”

“I doubt a gala falls within her duties as project manager.”

“Fair enough. Just a thought. All right, that’s me off then.” Munroe squeezed my shoulder before turning.

“Oh, speaking of … if you’re heading through the site, can you send Orla out to meet me at the outbuilding if she’s not too busy? I’ll just pop through and see if I can get an idea what’s got the lads spooked.”

“Not all lads,” Munroe gently reminded me, and I laughed.

“Damn it, I’ve already stuck my foot in it once.” Orla’s team was made up of both men and women, and I needed to adjust my language quickly, so I didn’t insult someone else. I didn’t like making mistakes like that, not ones that tarnished my image, so I not only made a mental

note to do better, but I also keyed a quick reminder into my phone to put it as a calendar alert. “It’s habit. I’ve just worked on so many job sites that were mainly men.”

“I like that she’s challenging stereotypes. Her work backs it up.”

“I don’t doubt it. From what I can see, she’s highly talented.”

“Her crew love her as well. That’s always a good sign. Right, I’m off. I’ll send her your way.”

“Safe drive.” I was already turning back to the cottage, wondering what had the crew so nervous. I took my time wandering in the direction of the outbuilding, scanning the site for any inconsistencies or areas of concern.

The stone building was beneath a canopy of trees, with leaves and old branches collected in piles on the slate roof and moss clambering up the sides. As usual for Scotland, it was a cloudy day, but the light around the cottage seemed to darken the closer I got. Was it a trick of my mind or just the fact that the canopy of trees was thicker here? A ripple of unease shifted through me as I stopped in front of the worn wood door with an ornate knob. Bending, I squinted at the scratches embedded in the wood around the handle. What had been trying to get inside here?

The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I jumped when a crow cawed loudly over me. Looking up, I squinted at three crows sitting in a row on a branch above the cottage.

“Well, isn’t that perfect?” Like I needed anything else to spook me out. Shaking my head, because I was clearly just winding myself up, I turned the knob and stepped carefully inside the building, my eyes immediately going to the ceiling to see if the space was structurally sound.

Right, okay. Yeah, this place was creepy.

Yet, also intriguing. The door opened directly into a main room, but I could see that the building itself stretched much farther back as part of the wall across from me had crumbled. If that was a supporting wall, it was best that I not explore much farther into the room, because I wasn’t the least bit interested in having the roof cave in on my head. Murky light filtered through dirty windows, and a musty breeze wafted through the broken panes. The floor was dirt, whatever wood that had once covered it long gone now, and a few broken chairs were piled in the corner by a massive stone fireplace.

Were those bones in

the fireplace?

Intrigued, I stepped gingerly forward, my eyes narrowed on the pile in the fireplace grate.

The door slammed behind me.

Whirling, I held my hands up as the temperature of the room dropped to frigid, ice crystals forming on the windowpanes, and my breath came out in visible puffs in front of my face. Icicles dripped from the ceiling, a virtual ice cave forming around me, and I dug my nails into my palms just to feel the pain.

This isn’t real.

Whatever was happening was a figment of my imagination—too much work and too little sleep, that was all. Keeping calm, I eased myself toward the door, reaching out for the handle.

A shriek, more demonic than human, reverberated off the walls of the room, and I froze as an icicle shot directly at my head. I recovered my wits seconds before it hit my face, ducking and pivoting to avoid the blow. When it shattered against the wall at my side, the fragments piercing my cheeks with their icy cold, I’d decided I’d had enough.

Maybe it wasn’t real. But it sure as hell felt real and I needed out. Now.

Grabbing the knob, panic rose as I struggled to open the door, something blocking me from moving. Another icicle shattered near my head, and I ducked, throwing my arms up to protect myself as they pummeled against my back.

“Stop!” I shouted, grabbing the knob, pulling as hard as I could, but the door was wedged securely shut. “Help!”

Another shriek sounded, fear lodged in the very marrow of my bones, and I realized I could very well die here. What the hell was wrong with this door? No matter how hard I tugged, turned, or pushed, it was lodged tightly shut. Ice crusted over the hinges, and I tried to chip it away with my hands, scratching at the door, but to no avail.

“Please, help,” I begged.

Turning, certain that I was about to meet my maker, I gasped as a woman in a green dress, hooves poking out from the bottom, flitted through the window. Tossing a rock at the door behind me, she gave me a lingering look, as though she was sizing up my very soul, before the ice cave disintegrated around me. The shriek came again, lessened in its power now, and the floating woman nodded to the door behind

me, urging me to go.

I didn’t need to be told twice. Turning, I grabbed the knob, wrenching the door open before tumbling outside, gasping for air.

“Whoa there, lad. What’s wrong?”

Orla sprung from where she crouched on the ground, cuddling two dogs, and I bent at the waist and gasped for air. The panic that had grasped me now thickened around my neck, making it difficult for me to take a full breath, and I sincerely thought I might pass out as I struggled for air. Sweat dripped down my back as Orla took my arms in her hands.

Her work shoes had hearts on them.

I hadn’t noticed before that her worn leather steel-toe boots had tiny hearts etched into the leather, but it was all I could focus on as I struggled to breathe, staring down at the ground. What the hell just happened?

And what was I supposed to say?

That the cottage was haunted?

She’d laugh in my face.

One of the dogs, a corgi-type mix, a fat tartan bow at her neck, waddled forward into my line of sight and bumped her head against my leg, ...