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‘I do not get that drunk!’ Eilidh protested, laughing. ‘You’re just an excessively slow drinker.’

Bex got the impression that this was the kind of back-and-forth ribbing that could go on for hours, much the same way as with her friends back at home, and despite the fact it had only been a few days since she had said goodbye to Daisy and Claire, she was struck by an unexpected pang of homesickness.

‘Come on,’ Lorna said, hooking her arm through Bex’s. ‘I was just about to go to the bar to get more wine. You can help me with the glasses – unless you’d rather have whisky. They’ve got some pretty good options here.’

‘Wine sounds good,’ Bex said, following her to the bar.

As they waited to be served, Bex found her attention drawn back to the table, where Niall and Eilidh were laughing and nudging each other.

‘So I take it those two are a couple?’ she asked.

Lorna’s lips pressed together.

‘You’d think so, wouldn’t you? They’re perfect together. But apparently, neither of them is interested.’

Bex watched for another moment as Eilidh reached across and brushed something off Niall’s cheek.

‘Really?’ she said. ‘They’re not interested in one another? They definitely look interested.’

‘I know.’ Lorna rolled her eyes as she let out a sigh. ‘It’s crazy. One day, they’ll finally figure it out, get together, and I’ll be the only one left single.’

‘So you’re single too?’ Bex asked, surprisingly relieved by this news. Sure, she was used to being the fifth wheel, as the only single one in the group at home, but it got tough sometimes, being the only one to head home alone at night. It would be a change to have someone who understood how that felt.

Lorna nodded. ‘Pretty slim pickings around here. The good ones are taken, and the bad ones – well, they come through when they’ve got a big shoot up at the castle or something, but my days of that kind of flirting are over. I’ve accepted that it’s either move somewhere else or stay here and eventually take over Moira’s role as village spinster.’

‘Moira?’ Bex said, only to follow Lorna’s gaze to a woman sitting in the corner with a dram of whisky in front of her and knitting needles in her hands.

‘Yup. No one knows how old she actually is.’ Lorna laughed. ‘My mum reckons she must be in her nineties, but I’m pretty sure no one in their nineties could drink that much and survive. Honestly, you should see her at Burns night. You wouldn’t think it to look at her, but that woman can dance. As for her age, I reckon the laird knows, though. He’s probably one of the oldest left in the village, after her.’

‘Is it laird or lord?’ Bex said. It was a question she’d wanted to ask since Fergus had first introduced himself. She hadn’t been sure if it had just been his accent, and that didn’t seem like something she could say. ‘It’s been confusing me…’

‘Fergus is both. He’s a lord – that’s his title – but laird’s the term we give to landowners here too.’

‘So you could be a laird without being a lord, but most lords are also lairds?’ Bex asked, wanting to check she had understood fully.

‘That’s it. Apparently, him and Moira were quite close growing up, but she doesn’t go down to the hall much any more unless it’s a special occasion. I don’t know if it’s the walk down there, or if something happened. Then again, one day, we might find out she’s only in her fifties and just ages really badly, although I don’t think that’s likely, because my dad said she was ancient when he was a kid. But you know what it’s like when you’re little – everyone over eighteen seems ancient.’

Bex studied the woman for a moment or two longer. She looked perfectly content there, clicking away with her needles, occasionally sipping at her drink. As she watched, a young child ran up to her, and Moira stopped her knitting to ruffle the child’s hair and hand him a sweet before he disappeared.

Maybe being the old village spinster wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, she thought. Not in a place like this.

‘You have to be joking.’

Lorna’s voice drew Bex’s attention back, and when she looked at her new friend, her jaw was clenched so hard a muscle was twitching in her neck.

‘What is it?’ Bex asked, unsure what had caused her good mood to change so suddenly.

‘Not what,’ Lorna said through gritted teeth, ‘but who. And the who is Katty McLeod.’

17

Bex was sure she had to have misheard. Katty? Was Katty a name? Maybe Lorna’s thick accent was making it hard to understand. She opened her mouth, ready to ask Lorna to repeat herself, but as it turned out, there was no need.

‘You heard me right,’ Lorna said, continuing to glare at the door. ‘Katty McLeod. And trust me, never has a person been more aptly named.’

Bex glanced across at the woman in question. Katty looked to be about their age, with bright blonde hair woven into an intricate braid that fell over her shoulder. She was one of those women who made simple look stylish, in light blue jeans, with a black vest top and a pair of strappy sandals. But despite Lorna knowing who she was, the way Katty’s eyes darted around the room as she stood there reminded Bex of herself when she had walked in only a few minutes before. She looked nervous. Unsure if she was in the right place.

‘Pretend you haven’t seen her,’ Lorna hissed, suddenly swivelling back around to face the bar, putting her back to Katty.