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I clear my throat. “You know, if you’d wanted to throw yourself at me, you could have just asked.”

“Ugh! You,” Maisie hisses, “are the absolute worst!” She pushes herself upright—not an easy feat when, thanks to Bruce, it’s like she and I are in some three-legged race that has gone horribly wrong. As she wriggles and squirms to free herself, her knee digs into my stomach, forcing a grunt out of me, but if she notices, she doesn’t care.

“This is just . . . argh!” Maisie tugs frantically at the lead while very deliberately avoiding eye contact with me and grumbling curses that would make even a sailor blush. And, talking of blushing, I can’t help but notice her face has turned a rather bright shade of pink.

She finally manages to untangle herself then scrambles to her feet. Dusting off her jeans, she glares at me, muttering something I don’t quite catch—which is probably for the best.

As I attempt to wrestle the lead off of me, Bruce pads over with what can only be described as an apologetic grin and proceeds to smother my face with enthusiastic, slobbery licks.

“Oi, Bruce! Stop—” I sputter, trying and failing to push him away.

Eventually I manage to free myself, from both the lead and Bruce, but as soon as I stand up straight, a sharp pain shoots through my left thigh. Aw, shit. The fall must have caused my old injury to flare up. Before I can stop myself, I let out a tortured hiss.

“Are you all right?” Maisie’s lips twitch with amusement. “Did I land on your balls or something? Is that why you’re pulling that face?”

“Nope, my balls are fine, thank you very much.” I keep my tone breezy and plaster on what I hope is a neutral expression. But bloody hell, my thigh feels like someone’s taken a hammer to it. Don’t wince, Jamie!

“Shame. I was hoping for a bit of karmic justice after your blueberry pie comment.”

I manage a half-smile but I’ve lost the mood for banter. Honestly, I’d almost rather she had squished my nuts. Better that than this, I reckon.

It’s an obvious thing to say but real life isn’t like a video game. In Highland Legacy injuries can be healed by downing a potion or asking a friendly mage to cast a spell, but in reality old wounds come back to haunt you, no matter how many years have passed. Isn’t it enough that my injury robbed me of the one thing I actually wanted to do with my life? Does it have to go on claiming even more from me? I hate feeling weak and vulnerable, but that’s exactly how I feel right now.

Despite my best efforts to play things cool, Maisie’s face softens with concern—which is so much worse than her teasing me. I can handle her taking the mick. What I’m not okay with is her feeling sorry for me.

“Are you all right?” she asks. “If you’re actually hurt and I was messing around, I’m so sorry. Do you want to sit down for a bit? Or can I help you back to the hotel, maybe?”

Jesus Christ! I don’t want her pity.

“I’m fine,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended. She flinches at my tone. Aw crap, I’m making a mess of this.

I take a deep breath and try to soften my voice. “Look, I’m going to go. Sorry about Bruce and the fall and . . . you know, the comment about your hair. It was a stupid thing to say. It’s nice—really. But . . . well . . .” I’m not sure what else to add so I simply say, “See you later, okay?”

And with that, I turn from her and set off with Bruce.

“Wait!” she calls after me. “There’s something I want to say to you. Why don’t we walk down together and we can chat on the way?”

Shit. No, I need to get away from Maisie right now, not spend more time with her. I just . . . need to be alone. Ideally at home, where I can pop a few painkillers then lose myself in a virtual world where injuries don’t linger. But since I’m no good at explaining that, I resort to old habits.

“You know,” I say, turning back, “I was only being polite about your hair. It looks like Smurf cosplay gone wrong. Honestly, it’s a bit tragic.”

Maisie blinks in stunned silence, her mouth opening like she’s about to fire something back—but nothing comes out. She just stares at me, her cheeks flaming.

Shit. That was too much.

But instead of apologising, what do I do? I ram one hand into my pocket, tighten my grip on Bruce’s lead with the other, and mutter over my shoulder, “See you around.”

I don’t dare look back.

CHAPTER SIX

MAISIE

When I arrive back at the Pheasant, my mind is still reeling from the encounter with Jamie on Ben Garve. It’s barely past noon and the pub is closed. Outside of the summer high season, we don’t open till four on weekdays.

“Da?” I call out, my voice echoing in the empty pub.

“In the back!” comes the reply.