Page 70 of An Unlikely Knight

Chapter Twenty-Three

Two weeks later.

Sunlight spilled over the bustling streets of Edinburgh. It was the perfect day for a walk—an outing Padraig had insisted upon, eager to immerse himself in this modern world he was only beginning to grasp. Holding Erin’s hand as they strolled along the busy sidewalks was something he had only dreamed of for so many years that he’d long since lost count.

Every time their reflections passed in the polished glass of storefronts, he had to do a double take. There they were, an ordinary couple among the throngs of city-goers, laughing tourists, and chattering locals. Their fingers entwined as if they’d been walking like this forever. To anyone who passed by or lounged on park benches, they were nothing more than another couple enjoying a beautiful day.

But for Padraig, this was nothing short of a miracle. This was the first time he had ever truly planned a day on his own. Not just existing, not simply surviving, but living. Interacting with shopkeepers and making mental notes of trinkets to buy, sights to revisit, landmarks to explore. Every moment felt like a treasure.

The city was alive around him. The scents of fresh bread from nearby bakeries, the tang of roasting coffee, the murmur of conversations, and the constant hum of traffic blended into a thrilling symphony. Yet it was all so overwhelming. Several times, Padraig had to stop, his chest tightening as he drew deep breaths, willing his thundering heart to calm.

Erin’s gentle hand in his always brought him back to himself, her quiet understanding grounding him in ways he could not put into words.

“We should head to the castle,” Erin said, her voice like a soothing balm that steadied him. She cradled a small bag filled with treasures from a quaint stationery shop: a pair of journals, stacks of vibrantly printed papers, pens of every imaginable color, and two elegant fountain pens.

During breakfast, she’d come up with the idea of creative journaling. As they walked, she snapped pictures of his every interaction, her smile growing whenever he marveled at the smallest things—like the sleekness of a touchscreen or the uninhibited affection of a dog that had barreled toward him, tail wagging wildly, oblivious to its owner’s shouts.

On a side street, Erin paused to admire trinkets through a shop’s window. A soft smile on her lips that lingered made his chest tighten.

“I have enjoyed these days with you, getting to know you better,” Padriag said, earning a warm look. “I love you Erin Maguire.” He had to swallow past the lump in his throat. “Please, don’t say anything.”

“Are you okay?” Erin asked, searching his eyes..

“Not really,” Padriag took her by the shoulders. “Erin. I do not have much to offer, but in this moment, I want to ask that you find a place in your heart for me.”

“Oh Padriag, you already own my heart. I love you.” She cupped his chin with her hand. “I love you Padriag Clarre.”

When he went to speak, to remind her that he was penniless, she interrupted. “We will work out the future. For now, I want to continue forward. You’re meeting my mother and her husband, we are going to see about a bigger place to live, perhaps Ashcraig Hall. There is the matter of figuring out how to get you a current identity.”

“We better get to the castle, we’ll be late as it is.” She took his hand, tugging him gently and he gladly came alongside, his heart lighter.

Once they were settled in the car, she turned to him, her cheeks still pink from the briskness of their walk. “Are you ready?”

Padraig nodded, the tightness in his chest easing at the warmth of her gaze. He knew she wasn’t just asking about joining the other men at the castle. She was asking if he was ready to step away from the alter-world, to allow himself to truly live in this one.

They wound through the twisting roads of the village of Culross, its picturesque beauty tugging at something deep within him. Thatched-roof cottages and charming stone houses passed by like remnants of a half-remembered dream. He recalled this place from his long-ago visits to Castle Dunimarle when he often came to spend time with Tristan.

The castle’s imposing silhouette came into view in the distance, a grand relic of the past still clinging stubbornly to the present. His pulse quickened at the sight of it.

“Can you stop the car for a moment?” he asked, his voice rough.

Erin pulled the vehicle to the side of the road and killed the engine, watching him with those keen, perceptive eyes. Padraig climbed out and walked to the front of the car, his gaze sweeping over the sprawling landscape.

It was breathtaking, the way the castle stood proud against the endless sky, surrounded by a sea of lush greenery and jagged cliffs. It hadn’t changed. Not really.

“What’s wrong?” Erin’s voice came softly from behind him. She slipped her arm around his waist, her touch as steadying as it was reassuring. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

He swallowed past the sudden tightness in his throat as he scanned the area before him. “I am really here, I live here now.”

Erin stepped away, her presence a quiet, supportive comfort. She understood him so well, her instinct to give him space confirming she was his perfect partner.

Finally, Padraig returned to the car and closed the door behind him. He glanced at Erin, a smile of determination lifting his lips. “We best get there.”

A celebration sounded on the castle grounds, a lively buzz of laughter and music floated in the balmy air. Tristan’s “aunt,” Edith McRainey—who was, in truth, his descendant—had arrived with her nephew Derrick McRainey, a young man Padriag had met only once before.

Beneath a broad canopy, a long table groaned under the weight of lavish platters brimming with fresh fruits, roasted meats, and decadent pastries. Glass domes shielded the dishes from greedy flies, their gleaming surfaces reflecting the golden light of the afternoon sun.

Musicians strummed fiddles and plucked guitar strings, the cheerful tunes adding to the festive feel.