Her Royal Highness (Royals #2)(45)

Flora gives me one of those smiles I like so much, reaching over to pat my leg.

“By jove, I think she’s got it!”

I roll my eyes, but my cheeks are warm, and the place where she’s got her hand feels even warmer.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, I remind myself. A crush on Flora is the stupidest thing I could possibly do, for all kinds of reasons, but ever since the Challenge, things are different between me and Flora. Not just because I know she likes girls, too, but that’s part of it, I have to admit. My brain wants to remind me that sexuality aside, Flora is not a romantic option for me, but it’s hard to remember it when she’s looking at me like that, when we’re tucked away in the back of a fancy car, speeding through some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever seen. The whole princess thing had never really appealed to me as a kid, but this?

Yeah, this I could get used to.

Then the car is pulling up a long gravel driveway, and I twist my hands nervously.

The Lord of the Isles lives in the first Honest-to-God Castle I’ve seen since I got to Scotland. I might have thought Gregorstoun was a palace the first time I saw it, but as I climb out of the back of the car and take in the structure in front of me, I realize Gregorstoun is just a really big school. This?

This is a castle.

It’s not like something out of a fairy tale, all lovely and delicate. Weirdly enough, that’s kind of what I’d been picturing. This is more a medieval fortress, with turrets and high walls, slits cut into the rock for arrows.

“God, it’s beastly, isn’t it?” Flora murmurs at my side, and I look up at the place.

“It’s . . . amazing,” I finally say, and she looks over at me, lips slightly pursed. I wish I could see her face better, but she’s wearing another pair of those massive sunglasses she likes since, for once, the day is actually bright and sunny.

Reaching down, she takes my hand. It’s a friendly gesture, one I’ve seen her make with other girls at school, but when her fingers curl around mine, a little shiver sparkles through me.

Luckily I don’t have too much time to focus on that because there are two very furry horses suddenly bounding down the front steps toward us.

I make a sound that is probably deeply unattractive, a kind of “Yeep!” as the animals approach, but Flora drops to one knee there in the gravel, arms already outstretched.

The dogs—because that’s what they are, not some freak species of pony—happily dance around her, pink tongues lolling, and Flora makes all sorts of high-pitched noises and kissy sounds at them as they bask in her attention.

Laughing, she rises to her feet, readjusting her bag on her shoulder, and I look at her, feeling weirdly . . . unsettled.

I have Flora so fixed in my head as prissy and unapproachable, even when I have those moments of wanting to smell her hair, but this Flora? This goofy, “get down in the dirt with the dogs” Flora is new. Or not new exactly, but more like you shifted a drawing another way and suddenly saw a hidden picture inside or something.

It’s weird.

But then there are men in khaki pants and gray sweater vests coming out to get our luggage—apparently things aren’t all that formal here—and Flora’s reaching for my hand again, tugging me inside.

“Come on. If you think the outside is impressive, the inside will floor you.”

She’s not wrong. We step through the massive stone archway and into a hall that soars overhead and stretches all around us in three directions. Directly in front of us is a massive staircase made of worn stone, leading up to an open gallery. To the right, there’s more ancient stone and a long corridor of doors, and to the left is another stone arch that leads to a long hallway full of suits of armor, all lined up against the wall like they’re ready to defend the house against invaders.

There’s a boy jogging down that hall. Like the guys outside, he’s wearing a sweater vest, but it looks better on him, clinging to broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His hair is appropriately floppy for a guy who looks like him, and his eyes are really blue as he gets closer, grinning at us both.

“Flo,” he says warmly, scooping Flora up into a hug, and she hugs him back, her hands patting his back.

“Sherbet!”

I blink, wondering if she really did just call him “Sherbet,” but then he’s setting her down and offering me his hand to shake.

“Hullo, I’m Sherbourne.”

Ah, okay. Still not really a name, but not a frozen dessert, either, so I guess I’ll take it.

“So this is your first time on Skye?” he asks me, and I nod as he gestures for me to step in front of him and head up the staircase.

“It is, yeah. It’s lovely.”

Sherbet smiles at me, hands in his pockets as we all walk up together. The stairs are wide enough that the three of us can actually stand side by side, and there’s still room for someone to pass us.

“What are you doing here, Sherbet?” Flora asks. “I thought you’d be gallivanting in Greece or something.” Flora leans a little closer to me. “Sherbet’s boyfriend is Greek, and we’re all wildly jealous of the trips he gets to take to visit him.”

Sherbet laughs. “Last time I checked, Flora, dating someone from Greece was not a prerequisite for visiting. You could have your very own Greek holiday anytime you want.”

Flora mulls that over, tilting her head to one side. “Christmas, then, maybe? After the wedding, of course. I’ll talk to Glynnis.”