Alpha Charming

The biting Scottish air greeted you the moment you stepped off the plane. Adjusting your coat, you clutched your suitcases, feeling a dry cough tickle your throat. After the long, stuffy flight, you were relieved to see a man approaching.

"Miss Ashlyn Grace?"

He looked more like a fisherman than a chauffeur, with his salt and pepper hair sticking up and dressed in faded jeans and a leather jacket. But his blue eyes were warm.

"Yes, that's me," you replied, a little wary.

"Ah, good!" He grinned, his Scottish accent thick and pleasant. "I'm 'ere to take ya to the weddin'."

Before you could protest, he grabbed your bags and wheeled them towards a sleek black limousine. You blinked, wondering if this was a joke. Your mother's warnings about strangers and strange cars echoed in your head.

"Well, what are ya waitin' for?" he prompted. "Nothin' to be afraid of, lass, it's only leather seats and fizzy juice in there."

Reluctantly, you got in, sinking into the luxurious leather seats, grateful to be out of the cold rain. As the man, who introduced himself as Craig, drove you through the stunning Scottish landscape towards the mysterious Balfour castle, your thoughts drifted between the breathtaking scenery and the looming prospect of the royal wedding – and the unexpected encounter that awaited you.