The thirty-minute drive to Blairnie Forest passed in a blur as Lachlan veered between concern for his sister and wondering if he should visit Robyn or give her time to adjust to their affair.
He liked to think of himself as a fairly patient man, but she brought out this fervent covetousness. With her, he was greedy to the point of craving.
Definitely a bloody addiction.
Turning off at the site Arro told him she was working from, he noted the parked cars of the site crew and the fact that Arro’s Defender wasn’t there. Seeing her colleague Marcello, a project manager, Lachlan got out of his vehicle. The Italian spotted him and moved away from the two colleagues in construction hats to meet him halfway.
“Lachlan.” Marcello held out his hand in greeting. “Good to see you.”
The Italian wasn’t just a coworker of Arro’s; he was a friend and had been invited to a few family dinners with his fiancée in the past. They had a young daughter who regularly played with Lachlan’s niece, Eilidh.
“You too. I hope you’re well.”
“Fine, fine. Is all okay with Arro?”
Lachlan stiffened at the question. “That’s what I came to find out.” He gestured to the site.
“Oh.” Marcello frowned. “She called in sick two days running. Said she had food poisoning.”
Scowling at this news, he replied, “I better check on her.”
Marcello’s brows drew together. “Tell her I’m asking for her. It’s not like her. I’ve seen Arro try to work through flu.”
It was true. His sister was always on the go, driven by a need to be useful, and she despised being ill to the point where she would deny it until her family stepped in to force her to take care of herself.
Bidding the manager goodbye, Lachlan jumped into his SUV and tried not to race to her house.
Something was wrong. He felt it in his gut.
Arro’s home was a midcentury bungalow on the northern outskirts of Ardnoch. He’d offered her Adair land to build a home on, just as he’d offered his brothers, but Arro and their youngest brothers were holding out on their dream homes until they were ready to settle down. He’d teased Arro about the house she’d bought with her inheritance. In a quiet, nice neighborhood, the bungalow wasn’t exactly fashionable. However, it was spacious enough for her library of books and the collection of inherited family objects Lachlan granted her permission to remove from the castle. Plus, she was surrounded by good neighbors. That’s all his sister cared about. To be surrounded by family and friends. And books. Lots of them.
Seeing her car in her drive, he relaxed marginally, but it didn’t show in his charging strides as he hurried to the front door and pressed the doorbell.
Lachlan’s calm did not come when minutes later she still hadn’t answered the door.
He tried the bell again.
Stepping back from it, he stared into the front windows, searching for movement. Nothing. Following the paving stones around the house, he made his way into the decent-size back garden that Arro had spruced up with decking and a seating area off the kitchen. Designated veg, fruit, and potato patches had been planted in the back near the greenhouse.
After knocking on the kitchen door, he peered into the patio windows and was dismayed to find no sign of her. Then he noted the open laptop on the kitchen table next to a half-eaten sandwich and a cup of coffee.
She was in there.
Well enough to eat and work.
But not answer the door?
Truly concerned, Lachlan tried the doorknob and was relieved and annoyed in equal measure when it opened. Arro lived alone. Her doors should always be locked. Yes, they resided in one of the safest villages in Scotland, but (1) she was an Adair, and (2) he had a stalker after him willing to try to hurt—or kill—those he loved.
Once he’d given her a rollicking for worrying him, he’d lecture her about locking her doors.
“Arro!” he called as he moved through the kitchen. “It’s Lachlan!”
He heard a shuffling and followed the sound out of the kitchen toward the bedrooms at the back. “Arro!”
“I’m here.” Her voice was muffled through her bedroom door. “I’m sick. I don’t want to infect anyone.”
Frowning at the obvious lie, he stopped at her door and tapped his knuckles lightly against it. “Arro, what’s going on, sweetheart? I’m worried.”
“I told you. I’m not well. Flu.”
“Flu? You told Marcello it was food poisoning. What’s going on? Why are you hiding and not answering your phone?”
There was silence on the other side of the door. Then … “If I come out … you have to promise you won’t fly off the handle. That you won’t do anything stupid.”
“Arro,” he said, a warning in his voice.
“Promise me, Lachlan.”
“I promise,” he bit out.
Yet, when she stepped out of her bedroom, it was hard to remember the promise over the roaring in his ears.
“What the goddamn fuck?” His words were low but rough with fury.
His sister, his precious, wouldn’t-hurt-a-bloody-fly, wee sister was sporting a black eye, bruised cheekbone, and a cut lip.
Someone is going to die today.
At his expression, Arrochar’s eyes widened, and she held up her hands as if to placate him. “Calm down, Lachlan. Please.”
“Not until you tell me what I’m looking at.”
“First, you have to know this has never happened before.” Her voice trembled, and he could see she struggled not to cry. “This is the first time, and I broke up with him. I promise.”
He stumbled back from her, his rage building. “Guy did this?”
That fucker was over.
Storming toward the front door, he felt a tug on his arm and whirled to shake off his sister when the sight of her flinching back, afraid, put out his surface anger like a bucket of ice water.
Emotion thickened in his throat as he took in Arro’s battered face. “I would never hurt you.”
Tears brightened her eyes. “God, I know that. But please calm down. Please.”
Struggling to slow his breathing as his heart thundered
