She had just been going to get a drink of water from the bathroom. It was a Tuesday night and for some reason, she had a hard time falling asleep on Tuesday nights. She had a spelling test every Wednesday morning that likely was to blame.

After rolling around in her twin bed, she kicked off the quilt in frustration and crept out of the bedroom to quench her thirst. She could hear her grandparent's muted voices through the door and was extra cautious to open the door slowly and quietly, so they would not hear her.

Especially since she was fairly she they were talking about her.

She had brought home a pink slip today from Mrs. Scott.

It had been the first disciplinary report she had ever brought home in school and she had been unsure how her grandparents would react.

The seating chart that had been assigned two weeks ago had placed her next to a boy named Brian. Even for a 4th grader, Brian was a cocky kid. He said things just to antagonize her ("Why do you spend so much time on your handwriting when it doesn't even look good?"), making ridiculous claims ("Mrs. Scott just likes you because your dad is rich"), spreading false rumors ("Ethan was talking all about you at our sleepover last night, I bet he has a huge crush on you"), or overall just being a nuisance to her.

And he never brushed his teeth, giving him horrible breath.

Today he had succeeded in provoking her and she had snapped at him.

"Brian, you are the most obnoxious person I have ever met! All you do is make up stuff and I know you do it just to annoy me and distract me! And you really need to brush your teeth, you absolutely stink!"

Which is something along the lines of what was written on the pink slip she had had to hand her Grannie.

Grandad had been gone, it was his night to play cards, and she told her that they would discuss it once he got home. Since she went to bed before he got home, she was off the hook for at least a day.

As soon as Isabella's bare toes hit the shag carpet in the hallway, she knew they were discussing it.

"Honestly Jane, I don't see what the big deal is."

"She can't act up like that in school."

"Why not? She has been telling us every dinner how that Brian kid is annoying her. Why shouldn't she put him in his place?"

"Well Loretta Scott thinks it is not a great show of manners."

"That's horseshit. Our Annie is one of the best-behaved kids that school has."

Isabella didn't hear her grandmother's quiet response.

"What they call a 'lack of manners,' I call spunk. And I like her like that."

Again, she had to strain to hear her response and was unable to discern anything.

"She will have to deal with people like that her whole life…people like Brian, people like her father. I would sure as hell rather she kept that fire to her than have her think that they're right. "

Four startled sets of eyes landed immediately on her as she barged into the room. She quickly assessed the room and saw that three of the conversation participants sat and stood. A young man was seated at the desk while a middle-aged man and woman stood on either side of him. On one side of the desk while a man in a suit sat alone opposite of them.

It was the lone man who spoke first. "An American business partner?" he asked with a smirk.

Isabella rose an eyebrow and did not let her shoulders drop even the fraction of an inch.

"Perhaps."

Ignoring the other three, the man who was clearly with the bank was hardly intimidated by her tone. "Well, since yer asking, if ye loan greater than £50,000 to an individual, that is considered FDI, which means fo-"

"Foreign direct investment, yes I am aware. Thank you."

At that he raised an eyebrow at her but did not lose the smirk. "And as foreign direct investment, that must be reported and cleared through the FCA. A process that will take anywhere from 3-5 business days to 4-6 weeks with the Scottish government."

Damn.

That had not been the simple fix she was hoping for.

As she thought of alternatives, she asked, "Your institution is not in the habit of granting extensions, I take it?"

With a chuckle, he looked over at the three distillery owners. "Why don't ye ask the MacDonald family about all of those extensions the Royal Bank of Scotland has granted them."

The three seemed to have gotten over their shock at her unannounced entrance into the conversation. They were now eyeing her with both suspicion and curiosity.

"Aye, that's true," the young man with chestnut hair finally said, a hint of bitterness in his tone. He had apparently gotten over the surprise of her intrusion and returned to glaring helplessly at the papers in front of him.

There were certain regulations, especially regulations about transferring money internationally which made the situation incredibly complicated. She knew she had some way of accessing the funds but given the haughty look the banker was giving her, she wondered how likely it would be.

"If an American were to transfer them this money in order to pay this debt-"

"It would be too late. We must have the funds by Monday. As I mentioned, any sum over £50,000 is considered FDI and if not done through proper channels, channels taking days if not weeks to clear, I'm afraid I would be forced to report it to the government and leave this institution at the mercy of the full penalty of the law for the infraction."

From that statement alone, Isabella surmised this was personal. Not only was this man here to take the distillery in the name of the bank, but she had to guess that he was here to take it for himself, not a buyer. Given the harsh glares he was receiving from the other Scots in the room, she figured there was no love lost between the sides.

The room fell silent for a moment, her mind racing with possibilities, all of which fell short.

"If that is all, I will see ye on Mo-"

"MacLeod," the young man said with a growl. "Even ye know those fees were bloody outrageous."

"The fees were perfectly reasonable given the status of yer business, MacDonald," he replied without trying to disguise the condescension. "Ye agreed."

"No to this I dinnae!" he disagreed vehemently, "and ye ken more than me that no bank will give me that money with this bloody recession."

MacLeod shook his head. "As I said, that is unfortunately not my concern."

"What if it's his money?" she suddenly asked.

Her hearted pounded in her chest as she realized what she was suggesting. She was powerless to the desperation that had taken over her, desperation to save this distillery she had never set foot into.

"I assure ye, if ye give him the money, we will know, and I will report it to the FCA."

Isabella raised a pointed eyebrow. "Yes, but what if it is his?"

The woman was looking at her curiously and finally spoke. Isabella realized she had mistakenly categorized her as Scot when she was in fact English. "If Edward has access to funds and it will not require any international transfer of money, that would be sufficient for you?"

"Of course," he allowed childishly. "For now."

"Excuse us for a moment, will you MacLeod?"

Before waiting for him to answer, the woman nodded at Isabella and then exited the room, Isabella following. The woman shut the door tightly behind her and then wasted no time in turning to her.

"Who are you? And do you mean to tell me what this is about?" she asked bluntly.

"This distillery can't close," Isabella answered simply.

As she said it, she felt an unexplainable sense of conviction.

The notion that she could not let the distillery close pulled at the very core of her being. She did not have the time to examine why, but she felt such certainty that she could not let it happen.

The woman raised her eyebrows.

"It can't."

"And you have the funds to ensure that it doesn't?"

Suddenly wary, Isabella nodded.

"Why?" she asked carefully.

"It's important. It's important to me. This situation seems wrong. And I have the ability to do something."

The older woman stared at her, scrutinizing her character and credibility.

"How far are you willing to go to keep these doors open?" the woman asked in her crisp English accent.

Before Isabella could reply, could even think about the answer to the question, she continued her direct line of questioning.

"Are you honestly prepared to marry my nephew to make your money his money?"

Isabella's mouth opened, and she froze.

"For richer or poorer…until death us do part."

It had been the wildest, barely legal solution she had come up with. But to hear it voiced by someone else gave her pause to the outlandish idea.

Was she?

Was she prepared?

Certainly not.

He was a stranger.

It was just a business transaction.

No one back home would know.

The feeling in her gut was uncomfortably heavy.

"I will do it to get the distillery on its feet again."

And not a moment longer.

The woman, apparently the owner's aunt, stared at her for a moment, assessing her. It was neither a harsh nor a kind stare, it was simply…judging.

"Alright then."

And they were entering the office before Isabella could chase the words back into her mouth.

"Thank you, MacLeod," the aunt said, suddenly gracious, "we will see you Monday."

MacLeod was not the only one looking at her in surprise.

With a deep breath, Isabella went to join the three on their side of the desk, staring down the banker. MacLeod was slow to move and was watching Isabella's every moment. With an entirely fake warm smile to his stare, she placed her right hand on the seated man's broad shoulder, feeling the warm muscle underneath it.

To his credit –Edward was his name? - did not noticeably flinch under her unexpected touch. It was the tiniest of movements that she was sure only she had noticed.

"Know this, MacDonald, I will not be dropping this. RBS will own this property if Scottish law is broken in whatever ye are planning."

"I am not planning anything, MacLeod," Edward answered, with honesty she realized. "Carlisle will see you out."

The man who had been standing silently at this right hand nodded and proceeded to icily escort the banker out of the office and all the way out of the property.

"Auntie, whit the bloody hell are ye thinking?" he hissed, looking at his aunt as soon as the door had closed. He whipped to look at her, jerking his shoulder out from under her hand.

"If you wish to keep this distillery open, you will need a partner," she said. "And - I'm sorry, what was your name, love?"

"Isabella," she supplied.

"And Isabella can be that partner."

"Did ye no hear whit he said? That would take weeks! Weeks, we do no have."

"Not just your business partner, Edward," his aunt replied.

"Whit dae ye mean?"

In the back of her mind, she noticed that his accent was stronger than the Scottish accents she had heard in the highlands. It sounded so thick, it reminded her of the people she had encountered in Glasgow, with nearly impenetrable accents.

"What she means is: if we marry, my money is your money."

"Yer telling me, that ye have £150,000? Just at yer disposal?" he asked, a thick eyebrow raised and bright blue eyes trained on her.

"Yes."

"How?"

Isabella stared back at him.

"Is that your concern?"

"Are ye some sort a' criminal then?" he asked, amusement leaking into his tone as he eyed her.

"No, I am not a criminal."

Despite popular opinion.

The two stared at each other in silence before the man, Carlisle, came back in the office.

"Esme, what are ye scheming about?"

"Isabella, this is my husband, Carlisle," Esme introduced, ignoring the stare her nephew was giving her.

"Pleasure," he said with a genuinely warm smile before turning to his wife. "Esme?"

"Look, if they marry tomorrow, Isabella will be able to get him the money, as it would not be a loan or a transfer from a private citizen to another private citizen. It would be the shared funds of a married couple."

To his credit, Carlisle did not react as if it was the craziest thing he had ever heard. "What if they get caught?"

"What?" Edward asked.

"I was reading in the paper just a few days ago, remember Esme? The government has new laws against forced marriages. If people are caught, it's up to two years in prison, ye ken?"

"This would hardly be a forced marriage."

"Do ye think MacLeod is the sort who would not think to claim that it was?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "That lad is raving to have this place for his own. He's the type to stretch a law in whatever manner best suits his interests and ye'll remember his family has connections with law officers."

Edward had stood up from his chair was standing his arms across his chest watching his aunt and uncle.

"Bella, was it? May I speak to you in private?"

Rather than bother correcting him that no one had called her Bella in years, she nodded.

Esme and Carlisle were moving out of the room before they could say anything else, leaving the potentially betrothed in silence.

"Who are ye?" he asked after a moment. "Why are ye even in Scotland?"

Isabella blinked.

"I'm…traveling."

Though he accepted this without further questioning, he continued, "And why would ye ever agree to marry a stranger? Ye realize that is wild, aye?" he wondered emphatically, trying to understand and determine if she was sane. By his tone, he seemed to be questioning whether his family members were sane too. "Have ye ever even been to this distillery before?"

"No," she admitted, "I have not."

"Why?" he simply asked.

"Why what?"

"Why would you possibly agree to this?" he asked, the hard lines of his face softening as he looked at her with confusion something she had not seen from him: vulnerability.

He must have been desperate, otherwise there was no way a sane person would agree to it.

Perhaps he wasn't too sane, come to think of it.

That may prove to be an issue.

"This place…this distillery…it means something to me."

Recognizing that that was all he would be getting from her, his face smoothed back into a mask.

"Well in that, we are in agreement."

apologies, I got terribly busy the past two months and had no time to post. However, I did some reworking of these story lines and I am very excited for you all read more of this.

all my love.