Her Brooding Scottish Heir
‘Where’s Sam?’ he asked.
Rosie was handing round shortbread. ‘He was up at the bothy this morning, getting things ready for the artist who’s arriving today, and then he went fishing. Can you see his boat out there?’
At the mention of a new artist at the bothy Cormac felt a rush of something indefinable attached to a memory of teasing green eyes.
He forced himself to focus on the expanse of loch in front of him. ‘I can’t see his boat. Maybe he capsized...’ As he suspected, no one was listening to him.
He heard one of the girls ask what a bothy was, and Lily’s voice rising in explanation.
‘Traditional bothies are small stone structures where walkers can shelter or stay overnight, but what we have is an artist’s bothy. Rosie’s grandfather was a keen amateur artist. When artists’ bothies started springing up in remote places he thought it was a wonderful idea. Calcarron Estate is large. We have plenty of space. So he said we should build one too—let artists come to enjoy all the things we take for granted. We hired an architect to design something practical and comfortable and we located it right up in the hills. Splendid isolation and all that. It’s very popular.’
Rosie interjected. ‘It’s a large wooden hut basically, but a contemporary design. There’s a deck in front, overlooking the hills, and this year Sam’s installed one of those big hammocks, so guests can chill out with the amazing view, or even watch the stars at night. The living space is bright and airy because of the picture windows, and we designed the studio with opaque roof panels, so it’s got perfect light for working. There’s a cute wood stove, which keeps the place cosy when it’s cold, but my very favourite part is the mezzanine bedroom—it’s so romantic. I did the interior design—I can show you some photogra—’
Lily held up her hand. ‘Is that the telephone...?’
Cormac seized the opportunity. ‘I’ll go.’
His mother’s voice faded as he escaped to the kitchen and hooked the receiver off the phone on the wall. ‘Buchanan.’
‘Is that you, Sam?’ The female voice sounded hesitant.
‘No, it’s Cormac—’
‘Cormac! It’s Mary Frazer, from the shop in Ardoig. How are you?’
He wasn’t good at small talk, but since the local shop was Gossip Central it was imperative that he sounded politely upbeat. ‘Ah, hello, Mary. I’m fine, thanks. What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve had your bothy guest in the shop just now and I said I’d call to let you know she’s on her way, so you can meet her there with the key. Sam usually—’
‘Thanks, Mary. I’ll send him.’
‘Well, you might wait a while, mind. She said she was having a wheel fixed, or something, before she comes up...’
Cormac felt his heart tightening in his chest and he swallowed hard. ‘Okay, thanks for letting us know. Bye for now.’
He didn’t mean to hurry Mary off the phone, but he had the impression she’d have talked on and on and he simply couldn’t. He leaned against the wall and tipped back his head. So the artist with the puncture was their new bothy guest. He didn’t understand why the news had caused his pulse to spike. She was striking, of course, and rather abrasive, but there was something else too, hidden in her eyes...vulnerability, perhaps?
Suddenly Lily appeared through the door. ‘Are you all right, Cor?’
He shook himself and met her gaze. ‘I’m fine. Just tired from the drive, I suppose, and all that wedding chat... You weren’t wrong. It’s going to be quite a week.’
Lily patted his arm. ‘It’ll be fine. Once Dad’s home you can hide in his study, drink whisky and talk about estate business. Who was that on the telephone?’
‘It was Mary, from the shop. She was calling to say that the new incumbent is on her way up to the bothy.’
Lily frowned. ‘Damn your brother. The bothy and its guests are supposed to be his responsibility. He’s taking advantage, of course. Cormac’s coming home so I’ll go fishing and let him take over.’
‘Me?’
‘Would you mind?’ Lily shot him a sly smile. ‘It means you can escape the clutches of Bridezilla and her handmaidens and you can take the new quad bike. A ride up the hill will soon blow away the cobwebs.’ She opened the dresser drawer and handed him a stag’s horn key fob. ‘It doesn’t take long to do the show-around and go over a few safety points. By the time you get back we’ll be ready for pre-dinner drinks.’
Cormac pocketed the key. He could hardly refuse, since Sam was AOL, and hadn’t he just been thinking about getting out for a walk? If he could deal with the bothy business quickly he’d have time to go up to the ridge before dinner. It was his favourite place, and the perfect antidote to wedding fever.
He moved towards the door.
‘Hang on.’ Lily was leafing through a large blue book. ‘Our new artist is called Camilla O’Brien.’ She looked into his face and smiled. ‘What a lovely name. You never know, Cor, she might be young and pretty.’
With her puncture fixed, Milla left Ardoig. The directions she’d been sent were clear enough, and she soon found the gate to the rough road she was to follow. At first the track wound through deciduous woodland, but soon she was out of the trees and heading steeply upwards.
The ride became bumpier, banks of loose gravel and the occasional pothole suggesting that water gushed down here in torrents when the rain was heavy. In low gear, she pressed on, climbing higher and higher, an edginess about the unfamiliar route causing her to chew at her bottom lip.
She reminded herself that first journeys always felt strange. Once she knew the way it would feel different.
After jolting up the track for what seemed like an eternity, the terrain levelled and she found herself crossing wild heathland towards another short ascent. From the top, she caught her first glimpse of the bothy, nestling against a steep hill. She stopped the vehicle and gazed down on it in delight.
It reminded her of a gypsy caravan without wheels, except that it was much larger. It had a tin roof with a round chimney, and in front she could see a broad deck with what looked like a hammock suspended on a giant wooden frame. With a happy sigh she rolled on and completed the final bumping descent to her new home.
She killed the engine and burst from the cab. After the sheer magnificence of the view, and the pleasing architecture of the bothy itself, the first thing she noticed was the silence. It was almost deafening. For a moment she forgot the heartache that had brought her here and stepped onto the deck, stretched her arms wide and twirled a slow, happy circle. This place was perfect.
She tried the door, just in case, but it was locked, so she pressed her nose to the glass and peered inside. The décor was simple. Bleached wooden floors, a grey linen sofa softened by a moss-green mohair blanket draped over one of its arms. A small black stove squatted in the corner of the main living area, and if she squinted sideways and looked up she could see a narrow wooden staircase leading to the mezzanine sleeping area. It was achingly romantic.
She felt a familiar stab of anguish and turned away. On the hammock, she sank backwards, giving herself up to the gentle sway and creak of the canvas. She lifted her left hand, traced the outline of the absent ring with her right index finger.
She’d had her whole future mapped out before Dan had delivered his coup de grâce. She’d been planning their wedding when he’d flown over from Berlin to tell her that he’d fallen in love with Maria. He said it had just happened, that it wasn’t his fault. Then he’d gone back to Germany and she’d been left to cancel everything.
Phone calls to suppliers. Phone calls to her family in Ireland.
She knew her father had tried to sound disappointed for her sake, but she had been able to picture the relief on his face. He’d never liked Dan. Neither had her brothers. She’d never felt so alone in her life. How desperately she’d needed her mother then, but her mother wasn’t here any more, so she’d had to cope—whatever that meant.
She’d come to Strathburn to escape and to heal, to find some tiny piece of herself she could nurture back to life. If she could get back on track with her work, if she could properly lose herself in it, then maybe the world would start to make sense again.
The sound of an engine thrumming somewhere lower down the slope jerked her out of her melancholy. She levered herself off the hammock, crossed the deck and ran across the track to a vantage point overlooking the hill. Her eyes narrowed as she watched a vaguely familiar figure pounding a quad bike up the slope towards her, and then her breath caught in her throat as she realised, unequivocally, that the man riding towards her was the man who’d changed her wheel.
CHAPTER TWO
AS HE PULLED the quad onto the track Milla caught herself fidgeting with the hem of her vest and stilled her hands before he could notice. She didn’t understand why he made her nervous, other than that he seemed so...unreachable.
To make up for her prickly behaviour at the roadside, she’d smiled and given him a wave as he’d driven up the slope towards her, but he’d seemed intent on the business of navigating the quad through the heather and hadn’t noticed her, so she’d felt foolish and, inexplicably, a little hurt.
As she waited for him to park and switch off the engine she told herself she was being overly sensitive, too ready to find rejection where none was intended. She drew in a breath, resolving to be open and friendly.
‘Hello again.’ She took a step towards him. ‘We keep meeting in remote places. Should I be worried that you’re stalking me?’
He looked up, the ghost of a smile on his lips. ‘It’s purely coincidental, I promise. You must be Camilla O’Brien.’
‘Must I?’ She smiled. ‘My name’s Milla—Camilla’s a bit too “jolly hockey sticks” for my liking.’
She was gratified to see his cheeks creasing into a smile as he swung off the quad, but when he looked up again it had disappeared.
‘Okay, Milla. I’ve got your key.’
The smile he’d tried to conceal had transformed his face into something beautiful, and for some reason she wanted to see it again.
She looked at him expectantly, and when he met her gaze blankly she lifted her eyebrows. ‘Do you also have a name?’
He pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. ‘I’m sorry—it’s been a long day.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m Cormac Buchanan.’
‘It’s nice to meet you, Cormac—officially this time.’ She stretched her hand to his.
For a dizzy moment she lost herself in the golden light of his irises. She felt the warm dryness of his palm against hers, a pinprick of static. She released his hand quickly.
‘Buchanan? You’re the owner of the estate?’
He shook his head. ‘One day, maybe. For now I’m running errands.’
She couldn’t resist a little mischief. ‘Well, I suppose it’s like any job. You have to start at the bottom and work up.’
A smile seemed to tug at the corners of his mouth and then it faded away. She felt her brow wrinkling. Did Cormac Buchanan not have a sense of humour? Maybe she was being too familiar, overstepping some invisible mark unique to estate owners. She couldn’t work out what she was doing wrong.
She was about to ask him if she could just have the key, when she saw his gaze shifting to the four-by-four.
‘I see you got your wheel fixed.’
‘Yes, the man at the garage was able to do it right away.’
‘That’s good.’ He glanced at her and reached into his pocket. ‘Right. I’ll open up and help you in with your stuff, then I’ll show you the ropes.’
He pulled out a key and motioned for her to walk with him to the bothy door.
Milla frowned as she fell in beside him. She could never have accused Cormac Buchanan of being impolite, but she had the distinct feeling that he was keeping her at arm’s length, and for some reason it felt like a personal slight.
She caught herself shifting into that defensive gear which seemed to have become her default setting since Dan had dropped his bombshell, and she only just managed to keep a sliver of sarcasm out of her voice. ‘Thanks, but I wouldn’t want to put you to any trouble.’
He unlocked the bothy door and stood back for her to enter. ‘It’s no trouble at all. It’s why I’m here.’
Milla stepped past him into the bothy and instantly her mood lifted. The interior space felt warm and comfortable and completely connected to the outside. It wasn’t just that the floor-to-ceiling windows let the outside in; the colours and textures of the interior had also clearly been chosen to echo the view.
This sanctuary was to be her home for the next two weeks and already she felt its gentle embrace soothing her shrunken soul.
For a moment she dropped her guard and turned around, smiling. ‘It’s stunning. Absolutely perfect. It’s been so well done—I can’t believe it—these colours and the textures—it’s just... Wow!’
His expression softened, and for a moment he looked hesitant. ‘My sister’s an interior designer. She’s good. She did the whole place—natural materials to blend with the setting.’
There was obvious pride in his voice. It was clear that his sister meant a lot to him and the small revelation made him seem more approachable.
Milla’s eyes followed his as they roamed around the room.
‘This is the main living area, obviously. Have you used a wood burner before?’
‘Yes, I have. We had one at home.’
She turned and crossed to the compact stove with its gleaming glass door. It looked state-of-the-art, not like her family’s old stove. She tried the handle, pulling it open while he continued speaking.
‘There’s a log store against the outside wall of the bothy, and it’s well stocked, so if you feel cold just set a fire. You’ll find firelighters and matches in that metal box on the hearth. It doesn’t take long to heat the whole place.’
Without the distraction of his face, she tuned in to the husky timbre of his voice and found a gentleness in it which took her by surprise. She closed the stove and stood up.
‘As you can see, the kitchen’s over there—it’s well equipped as far as it goes. There’s all the usual stuff. The plates and cups are in the cupboards over the counter. I’m afraid there isn’t a dishwasher—’
His earnest tone made her laugh. ‘I don’t mind washing dishes—but there won’t be many. I don’t really cook much when I’m working. I tend to forget and then I’ll eat a whole stupid box of cornflakes or something.’
Did she imagine amusement in his eyes or was it disdain? She looked away quickly, flushing with embarrassment. What had possessed her to come out with that anyway? Nerves, most probably—that must be it—from the way he seemed to take up all the space in the room just by standing there.
‘The bathroom’s down that short corridor. It’s a shower, not a bath, but you probably guessed that already, and the bedroom’s up there...’
She looked up to the mezzanine, then turned to meet his gaze. ‘I know—’ She was blushing again. ‘What I mean is that I saw it through the window before you arrived.’ Why did his eyes unsettle her so much?
She forced herself to look away, to find a distraction.
‘What a great idea to frame an Ordnance Survey map! I just bought one in the shop. If only I’d known there was one on the wall—’
She heard him clear his throat. ‘The studio’s through the door under the stairs, if you want to have a look. I’ll start bringing in your things.’
He nodded briefly, then disappeared through the door.
Milla squeezed her eyes shut and blew out a long breath. She knew she’d been talking nonsense about the map, but she’d only been trying to fill the silence between them, and now, yet again, she was sparring with herself, trying to convince herself that he hadn’t interrupted her to cause offence. It was understandable that he’d want to unload her vehicle and finish showing her ‘the ropes’, as he’d put it, but his cool detachment had hurt her all the same. He might be a laird-in-waiting, or whatever it was called, but he really needed to work on his social skills.
She forced Cormac Buchanan out of her head and focused on her surroundings. In the kitchen a wide timber plank had been repurposed as a counter, and she trailed her fingers along it, letting its smoothness steady her until she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be looking at the studio.
When she pushed open the door she gasped. The studio was bigger than she’d imagined—as large again as the main living area. Daylight flooded in through the opaque roof panels and the resulting light had a luminous quality which was perfect.
When Cormac appeared with her easel and an armful of blank canvases, she couldn’t contain her enthusiasm. ‘I love this space. The light’s exquisite.’
He propped the easel and canvases against the wall and turned around. ‘Yes. It’s been well thought out.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Most of your stuff’s in now. I put your holdall upstairs. There’s just a couple of boxes left to bring.’
For a moment, he held her in his gaze, and she felt a strange shifting sensation beneath her feet, and then he was gone. She wondered if he’d been about to say something, then decided it was probably her overactive imagination. He wasn’t much for talking.
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and looked around again. Such lovely light, such tranquillity. She felt a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. She didn’t know if it was inspiration she was feeling, or simple happiness at being in such a wonderful place, but suddenly all she wanted was to be alone, to settle herself in and make the bothy feel like her own.
If she could wrap things up with Cormac quickly, she could start enjoying the solitude she’d come here for.
She was stowing milk and yoghurts in the tiny fridge when she heard him set down the last two boxes.
‘That’s everything. Before I go, I need to take you through one or two things...’
She wondered how she could tell him that she needed to be on her own. Would he understand that she was tired from her journey? Would he understand that his cool manner was making her feel even more inconsequential than she felt already?
She took a deep breath and stood up. ‘Look, I appreciate your time and everything, but I’m happy to take it from here. I’m sure you must have other more important things...’
He recoiled slightly. ‘I need to go through some safety—’
‘No, honestly. It’s fine. There’s a book here.’ She picked up the welcome pack she’d found near the kettle, holding it up for him to see. ‘Look—Strathburn Bothy: Essential Information—I’ll see if there’s anything about safety.’
She flicked through the pages with a pounding heart. She could feel the weight of his stare, sense some indefinable emotion, but there was no going back now. She wasn’t trying to challenge him; she just wanted to be at peace in her own space.
She found the page and opened it out to show him. ‘It’s all here, see: Safety Procedures. I’m sure it’s got everything I need to know.’ She looked into his face, noted the bruised look in his eyes and relented a little. ‘Look, I promise I’ll read it, okay? You can test me on it if it makes you feel better.’
She noticed the tiny flinch of a muscle in his jaw as he stepped towards her and handed her the key. ‘As long as you read it, then—it is important. I hope you have a good stay, Milla.’
He held her gaze for moment, then nodded briefly and strode out of the door.
She sagged against the counter with relief. She could tell from his eyes that she’d offended him somehow, but when she replayed their conversation in her head, she couldn’t see how. She’d been perfectly polite. In fact, she’d been exactly like him.
She looked down at her hands, saw that her fingers were trembling. When had dealing with men become so difficult? There always seemed to be an emotional price to pay.
She picked up the kettle, jiggled off the lid and reached for the tap. This break at Strathburn was exactly what she needed. Until she could cope with herself again she had no hope of dealing with anyone else.
Cormac jumped onto the quad, but didn’t start the engine. Instead, he let his eyes travel over the landscape while he tried to pinpoint exactly how a simple mission to show someone around what was essentially a hut could have failed so miserably. She’d sent him packing, and even now the memory of those challenging eyes was making him wince.
He couldn’t work her out. She was either teasing him or scowling at him, so he had no idea which way to jump. She was perplexing, but at the same time, she was refreshingly forthright. The memory of her mischievous smile, that defiant little tilt of her chin as she’d corrected him about her name, forced a brief smile onto his own lips.
He pictured the curve of her cheek, those tiny freckles on her nose. The way the sun’s slanting rays had made her eyes shine. How delighted she’d been with the bothy—as if he’d opened a door for her straight into happiness. When she’d crouched to look at the wood burner he’d caught himself crossing a line—admiring the way her jeans moulded to her slender thighs, the way her waist nipped in, the rise of her breasts beneath the vest and waistcoat.
It had been a long time since he’d noticed anyone—really noticed anyone—and it felt like a little wrench inside. He was so used to the huge pain of losing his friend that most of the time he was numb, but this girl, the way she’d looked in the soft light of the studio, with her hair falling around her face and those eyes holding him... It had felt as if she could see right inside him, and he’d wanted to say something, but he hadn’t because he hadn’t known what it was he wanted to say.
Through the trees at the bottom of the hill, he could see the turreted gables of Calcarron House and he imagined his father in the study, pouring a dram to welcome him home. In the drawing room the girls would be sipping tall gin and tonics, with thick slices of lemon, and his mother would be checking her watch, wondering where he was.
He turned the key in the ignition. They were waiting for him, but he couldn’t go back right away. He wanted to go to the ridge, spend time with his memories...
‘Cor—mac!’
He heard his name being called and turned to see Milla running along the track towards him. He killed the engine, tried to read her expression as she drew near.
She slowed, then stopped, her voice a little breathless from running. ‘I’m so glad I caught you...!’ She was twisting delicate fingers into the hem of her vest. ‘There’s no water coming out of the tap. I was going to make a cup of tea, but there’s nothing. And no water from the bathroom taps either. Do you think you can fix it?’
He saw a glimmer of fragility in her eyes and sighed. ‘Honestly—I don’t know.’ He swung off the quad and tried to sound optimistic. ‘I’ll take a look and see what I can do.’
She looked grateful and he hoped her gratitude would be justified. In the Royal Engineers, water systems had been his speciality. He was adept at sinking boreholes and building waste water treatment systems, but he’d found that nothing could be trickier than tracing a fault in a domestic water system—especially this kind of system. He certainly wasn’t going to tell her that amphibians were a regular cause of blockages.
Inside the bothy, she hung back, shrugged an apology. ‘I’d offer you a cup of tea, but...’
Her incessant mischief amused him, but he couldn’t let it show. Since Duncan died, fun had become a luxury he couldn’t afford, so he just nodded and went to check the filters.
Sam changed the filters regularly, so it was no surprise to find that they were clean, but the water level in the canisters was low, which meant that the problem had to be somewhere between the tank and the bothy.
The tank was located up the hill and the pipe to the bothy was partially buried. It might take hours to find the problem, and with evening already advancing there were literally not enough hours left in the day. It would have to wait until tomorrow.