No doubt he was embarrassed because I didn’t have a Clan but I wasn’t thin-skinned enough to take offence. Instead I glanced meaningfully at Speck and he nodded. He hadn’t met Jamie before but he had a keen understanding of the situation. As nice as Jamie was, he wasn’t the Moncrieffe bigwig I was looking for – but he could help me get to him. Judging from his sidelong glances, Jamie didn’t know who Speck was; we could use that to our advantage.

Without any prompting, my old warlock buddy pulled back his shoulders. ‘I’m Dr Speck,’ he said, stepping forward and thrusting out his hand. Jamie stared at it warily before taking it and receiving a vigorous shake in return. ‘I’m here to oversee the return travel of the Moncrieffe pair.’

Jamie was taken aback. ‘You are? But isn’t Speck the name of…’

‘Maggie and Rory have both had serious accidents,’ he interrupted sternly, before Jamie began to connect the dots and realised who Speck really was – a thieving warlock who had worked with me on all manner of heists. ‘They need to be closely monitored.’

Jamie frowned. ‘Aren’t you a little young to be a doctor?’ He clamped a hand over his mouth. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude but…’

‘I have a baby face,’ Speck replied. I almost snorted. Speck’s features were thin and gaunt, as befitted a typical geek warlock. The last thing anyone would describe him as would be baby-faced.

Jamie looked at me suspiciously. Unfortunately for us, he wasn’t just a pretty boy; now he was getting over the shock of seeing me, his brain was starting to work again. ‘The other doctor said they were both fine to travel.’ What he left unsaid was obvious – that he didn’t trust anything or anyone when I was in the picture. I didn’t know what I’d done recently to merit such mistrust; I’d not been perfect but I’d returned the jewel I’d stolen from the Moncrieffes and helped save the damned world by freeing the Foinse, the source of all Highland magic. Surely I deserved some brownie points for that?

‘What gives?’ I asked softly. ‘I thought we were almost friends.’

Jamie patted his pocket as if he were checking for his wallet. When he realised I’d caught him in the action, he took a guilty step back.

‘Ah,’ I said. ‘You think I’m going to pick your pocket.’

‘You did it once before.’ He had a point.

‘I didn’t know you then. I don’t steal from people I like.’

‘You like me?’

I tried to look disarming. ‘I do.’

‘And do you like me?’ interrupted a second, lazy voice.

I looked over my shoulder. Leaning against the door with his arms folded across his broad chest and burnished gold hair falling artlessly across one eye in a way that could only be artful, was Byron, the Moncrieffe heir. My stomach flipped. ‘Byron,’ I cooed, unable to hide my joy at his presence. ‘I don’t like you. I love you.’