Page 10 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle (Coorie Castle Crafts #2)

Mack’s mind wasn’t on the job, so it was lucky he knew his spiel off by heart. He’d taken out so many whale and dolphin watching trips that he could do it with his eyes closed.

OK, that wasn’t strictly true. He could talk the talk without too much conscious thought, but he still needed to keep his wits about him, because a sea loch was a fickle mistress.

At the northern end, an island at the mouth of the loch gave the landward side protection from the sea, but the tides could be dangerous, and submerged rocks were a hazard.

While keeping his attention on the water, the wind and the boat’s location, Mack was able to deliver his well-rehearsed info over the loudspeaker system, telling his passengers about the Atlantic grey seals that were hauled out on the rocks. But a far too generous portion of his mind was on Freya.

There was something about her that intrigued him, although he couldn’t put his finger on it.

In the pub last night, Cal, blast him, had taken every opportunity to wind him up, though why Cal was under the impression that Mack thought Freya was different to any other woman he’d set his sights on, Mack didn’t know.

As far as he was concerned, he’d not done or said anything to give his mate that impression, aside from offering to help shift a bed and a sofa.

And that was only because his mother would have given him hell if he hadn’t.

But somehow, Freya was preying on his mind. He couldn’t seem to get her out of his head and he was baffled by that. He kept returning to the feeling that there was something about her…

Annoyed with himself, his gaze strayed to two women sitting near the cabin.

They were giggling and looking his way. Mack smiled automatically as he continued describing the feeding habits of the seals, and received smiles from them in return.

However, he had a golden rule of never mixing business with pleasure, so no matter how tempted he might be, he didn’t hit on his paying customers.

If he happened to bump into them in the pub later, that was a different matter.

Not that he was boozing this evening, though.

Contrary to popular belief (i.e. Cal’s ), Mack didn’t spend all his free time in Skye’s various drinking establishments, picking up women.

If he wasn’t too tired, he might do a bit of work on his house when he got home. He’d bought it a few years ago, and it had cost him every penny he had and then some. And he’d been doing it up ever since.

As was so typical of many of the older dwellings in this part of Scotland, his house had been single-storey originally, but he’d put in a staircase, and was now in the process of converting the attic into a master bedroom with an en suite, and a study.

There was another bedroom downstairs, which he currently slept in, and a family bathroom, so he was in no rush to finish the attic because he wanted to take his time and make sure it was done properly.

He was doing all the work himself, apart from the electrics and the plumbing, and there were only so many hours in the day during the summer months.

Running three boat trips, seven days a week (weather permitting) meant he didn’t have a lot of free time.

Winter was the season to do the renovations; it was also the season to work on the boat, such as servicing the engine, clearing the hull of algae and making any necessary repairs.

Och, who was he kidding! He wouldn’t be getting his toolbox out this evening. He didn’t want to be indoors hammering and sawing, when he could spend the evening on his lawn, with a cold beer in his hand and listening to music.

‘They’re not all for me,’ Freya explained, as the cashier gave her a sideways look when she put three bottles of Scotland’s finest malt on the conveyor belt.

One of them was, though, and she was planning on having a wee dram with her dad to celebrate him coming home at the end of the week, as the doctor seemed pleased with his progress and the wound was healing well.

Freya was looking forward to getting him home and having some semblance of normality. Normality for him , that is; nothing about being in Duncoorie was normal for her .

She’d soon settle into a routine, she told herself, aware that these past two weeks couldn’t possibly be indicative of the next few.

And although she was anticipating things being hard for a while, they should get easier the more mobile and independent her dad became.

However, she’d already made a promise to herself that she wouldn’t leave Skye too soon.

She’d have to be convinced of his ability to cope alone before she returned to London.

Dad was going to find it hard, her being here.

He was too used to his own space, his own routines and his own way of doing things, and she feared they might get on each other’s nerves fairly quickly.

With that in mind, she vowed to try to stay out of his hair as much as possible.

Him being downstairs and her being upstairs should help, in the beginning at least, until he demanded to sleep in his own bedroom – which he would want to do sooner rather than later, she guessed.

Freya could continue to work, after a fashion.

Obviously, she wouldn’t be able to throw any pots or do anything with clay, but she’d be able to design new pieces.

In fact, taking a step away from the studio might be good for her.

She couldn’t remember when she’d last had time to devote purely to designing, to think of nothing except colour and form.

Skye was the perfect place to do that. The island had been such a massive influence on her early work, and it would be good to reconnect with it.

She could view this enforced, extended visit as a chance to escape from city life, and think of it as a holiday and the opportunity to spend time with her lovely dad.

With the shopping now packed and paid for, Freya drove the thirty-minute journey from the supermarket in Portree back to Duncoorie.

She was soon filling the cupboards, freezer and fridge with all kinds of goodies, some of which she knew her dad would turn his nose up at.

Avocados were one, and chia seeds were another.

But she’d made sure to include his favourites, and she smiled as she placed the bottle of whisky on the sideboard.

On second thoughts—

Freya took it back to the kitchen, not wanting it to be too easy to reach. The last thing she needed was for her dad to overindulge and have another fall.

Feeling like the whisky police, she put the bottle on top of a cupboard, then picked up the other two.

Now was as good a time as any to deliver them, and she’d take a look at the craft centre while she was at it.

She hadn’t been to Coorie Castle for years, although she used to love the woodland behind it and the loch.

The loch…

It was time she made her peace with it. Freya hadn’t been near it since she and her dad had scattered her mother’s ashes, but if she was to be here for several more weeks, maybe she should.

Living in London meant that she hadn’t had to confront her grief often and when it did threaten to rise up, she dammed it behind a wall of busyness and activity.

Usually, she would retreat to her studio, but sometimes she would throw herself into her college work, or she would visit a museum or see a play – anything to stop her thinking about her mother.

But whenever she visited Duncoorie, she was unable to escape her thoughts, her memories, her sadness. And not once in all those years had she felt any inclination to go down to the loch.

She set off, heading for the track leading from the village to the castle, following the shoreline, and she paused as the loch came into view.

It was a glorious day, warm and peaceful.

The sea was calm, the waves lapping gently against the rocks, and Freya sat for a moment, letting the stillness of the afternoon flow over her.

She abruptly realised how much she’d missed the glitter of the sun on the water, the birdsong in the trees, and the tang of salt and seaweed. She breathed deeply, drawing the air down into her lungs, and held it, letting it out slowly, closing her eyes.

Expecting grief to rise up and overwhelm her, she was surprised to find that it didn’t, and her tension slowly drained away.

After a while she got to her feet and resumed her walk, her eyes scanning the ever-changing loch and the mountains on the opposite shore.

All this and more had inspired her creativity when she’d first begun making ceramics, and the further she ventured from the house, the more she felt as though she was being transported back in time to when she was seventeen and preparing a portfolio to take with her to her interview at the very college where she now lectured.

Smiling ruefully, she recalled how keen she’d been to get away, how eager she’d been to experience the world and how desperate to make her mum proud.

She still was. If only her mother could see her now…

Never in a thousand years had Freya dreamt that she’d be lecturing in a renowned art college and have an offer to become the course director in another, while also having made a name for herself in the world of ceramics.

The path veered away from the loch and as she strolled to the end of it, she could see the castle’s turrets poking up above the trees, and very soon the whole thing came into view.

She’d forgotten how magnificent it was. Despite having sites such as Buckingham Palace and the Tower of London practically on her doorstep, Coorie Castle exuded a wildness which was lacking in the historical buildings of England’s capital.