The stairs wavered beyond him.
“Robyn?” His voice was muffled in my ears as I shoved him out of my way.
He wrapped a hand around my wrist. “Robyn, what’s wrong?”
I wrenched out of his hold, hurrying down the staircase.
Air. I just needed air.
“Robyn!”
By the time I made it out of the castle, I was about to pass out.
I tried to gulp oxygen, but it didn’t help. I couldn’t catch my breath. What the fuck was happening? Leaning against the brick exterior, my fingers clawed at the stone as I tried to breathe.
And then Lucy’s voice was in my ear, gentle, reassuring. “It’s just a panic attack, Robyn. Stop. Relax. You’re okay.” I felt her hand on my back. “Breathe in and then breathe out. Nice and slow. You’re okay. Look at me, gorgeous.” I turned my head to find Lucy at my side, eyes locked to mine. She gave me a kind smile. “That’s it. Slowly.” She took a deep breath in and let it out, and I began to mimic her.
Not long later, the world stopped spinning, and the prickling sensation left my face.
But I felt exhausted.
I slumped against the wall. “What the hell?”
“Adrenaline crash.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “It can happen after a panic attack. You might feel exhausted for hours.”
“Panic attack.” I lowered my eyes, another memory returning. Me, fourteen years old, at school. Having a panic attack when the teacher asked me to read out a poem I’d written about Mac leaving. By that time, I’d seen him only once since I was twelve years old.
The initial panic attack was followed by a string of others, and the doctor told my mom it was probably just a mix of stress and teenage hormones. They abruptly stopped not long after, when Mac had shown up for Christmas that year and we’d spent four days together. I’d never thought of them again.
I’d never had one again.
Not even after the shooting.
Shit.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Lucy asked.
I sighed and pushed off the castle, nodding to my SUV. “Not here.”
I wanted as far away from Mac and the Adairs as I could get.
14
Robyn
The first thing I should have done was check in on Mac.
Instead, I told the security guy, Pete, who’d let me onto the estate the next morning, that I wanted to use the gym. Pete, whose British accent I couldn’t quite place, had clearly been told I had the run of the estate because he offered no objection to me driving my SUV to the gym.
Lucy let it slip how much it cost to be a member at Ardnoch, and it made sense that Lachlan went all out with the facilities. The joining fee was £35,000, and members had to pay an annual fee of £7000 after that. He’d also sold several of the houses and lodges on the estate to members and rented out the others. Those staying in the castle paid for their rooms like they would in a hotel. The annual fee covered the exclusivity, privacy, security, food, drink, and all the facilities but not accommodation fees. There were a thousand members. The owner of Ardnoch Castle and Estate made millions every year but employed a lot of people to keep his members happy.
It still seemed ludicrous that someone would be willing to spend what was a year’s annual salary in joining fees, just to say they were a member of some elite club in the Scottish Highlands.
Lucy had seen the look on my face and admonished me. “You don’t know what it’s like being hounded constantly. To never have privacy. To always feel on display. Ardnoch offers a break from that, where we get to hang out with people who understand. And make no mistake, it’s also the place where business is done, where movies and television shows get green-lighted and actors get a chance at the roles of a lifetime. For those of us who have it, that £35K and the annual fee is a drop in the ocean for what it provides us over the long term. The waiting list to get into Ardnoch is in the thousands. And while many of those people do just want in so they can say they’re a member, a lot of us are here because it makes us happy, and it’s a sound business decision.”
“I’m sorry,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to judge.”
Lucy shrugged. “It’s hard for outsiders to understand.”
Outsider.
Lucy hadn’t meant any harm in using the word; in fact, she’d been nothing but sweet to me yesterday, escorting me around the village after my panic attack. We visited boutiques I hadn’t had time to go into yet and introduced me to the owners who all seemed to be on a first-name basis with her. Janet from the tourist shop sold a weird mix of what Lucy called “tat”—cheap “Scottish”-related items, such as mugs, key rings, scarves, hats, magnets, shortbread, and this amazing sugary treat called tablet—and more expensive and exclusive items, like whisky locked in a glass cabinet and handcrafted jewelry.
We also visited the affable and funny Moira Siddiqui and her husband Suveer, confectioners and owners of Moira’s Chocolate Box. And their chocolates were amazing! I bought a box for Mac and a box for myself and cursed Lucy for bringing me into the store because I was pretty sure I was addicted to the expensive treats.
Then we’d had lunch at a café tucked down one of the side streets and chatted for hours.
She hadn’t pushed about what had spurred on the attack.
But that word … outsider … I guess that’s what caused it.
Lachlan had called me an outsider, but watching Mac with Thane’s kids, with them all, had shown me that’s exactly what I was. And it reduced me to an insecure, unwanted teen. It chafed to have anyone make me feel that way again.
The fact that I’d embarrassed myself in front the Adairs was icing on the cake of mortifying myself in front of Mac. There was no way he wouldn’t want to know what had prompted my melodramatic departure, and as it turned out, I still wasn’t ready to confront him. I avoided him instead. It was so unlike me, and my failure grated.
I’d promised Lucy I’d be on the estate for our session with Eredine, but I showed up a little early because I’d remembered the boxing bags in the gym. Nothing sounded better than punching and kicking that bag as an outlet for the emotions I didn’t know how to deal with.
When I arrived at the gym, it was still early, and I wasn’t surprised to find there was only one other person there, a guy I couldn’t quite make out was on a bench press at the back of the large, well-equipped room.
There were no trainers around. Lucy said members had to book appointments in advance if they wanted to meet with a trainer since they didn’t work only on the estate. They had other clients elsewhere too.
I zeroed in on the boxing bags on the opposite side of the room and put my back to my sole companion.
Boxing gloves hung on a nearby hook, but I didn’t need them. Instead I warmed up with some stretches and then grabbed the fingerless gel gloves I’d ordered, express delivery, after I’d seen the boxing equipment during my estate tour. Gordon said I could have anything I needed delivered to the Gloaming, so I’d collected the gloves last evening.
Perfect timing.
I strapped them on and moved into position.
Then I ripped into it.
The bag moved but only in increments—my punches came so fast, they contained it in a tight sway between each jab. Then I stepped back and did several sidekicks, pivoting my right hip and knee into the movement with full force. The bag swung with a satisfying drag on the chain holding it to the ceiling, and I had to reposition after each blow. I kicked with alternating legs, but the power in my right leg was far superior. When I kicked with the right, the bag yanked against the chain with harder satisfaction.