Page 65 of Love Thief

I hop off my boulder and meander back towards the building. “I’ll get you a new roof, just be quiet will you,” I tell it, touching the arch as I go past. I laugh. “You have a bigger ego than both Kellen and Xander combined,” I say to the fairy prince, and walk on smiling.

I decide sleep is for wimps and tell Tommy such when he reappears.

“We’ll see tonight,” he says as we load ourselves into an old Land Rover Defender. It has no creature comforts and makes my bones shake and my teeth rattle.

We head out to look around the estate. A mix of hills, mountains, some farming and fisheries, they also own most of a village that has a whisky distillery on it. I feel like Scotland is not Scotland without some connection to whisky.

I’m not quite run out of town when I mention Marshall and his family business in Ireland. Tarron asks if it’s the O’Clery family without prompting, so I assume they’re competitors and Xan has spoken about the whiskey he drinks in Devon.

We are then dragged to the pub to sample every whisky they have. Tommy, the poor soul, sees how Himself is knocking back the whisky and asks for a soda water. He’s definitely driving back. It’s still light at nearly 11 p.m., and I remark on it when we finally leave the pub.

Tarron answers, “It’s the summer solstice in a day or so. We have a big party at the house. Xan usually comes for his birthday and stays for it, Russell too. I assume you will all be staying?”

I shrug. “No idea, but I assume so. We’re not due anywhere until the twenty-second.”

I fall into bed, my body bone-deep tired and my mind seeking sweet oblivion. I sleep for hours and wake as the bright mid-morning light is desperately trying to get through the heavy brocade of the curtains. I shower and dress then wander down to the large kitchen and find Aileen, the housekeeper, fussing over brunch for me, and lunch for everyone else.

I opt to sit in the bright kitchen at the table and listen to Tarron talk about the estate with his estate manager. They have some plans out for restoration work to a couple of Bothies and have Heritage Scotland coming out next week to ensure the plans are okay. It appears Tarron is branching out into holiday type accommodation and has plans for some other buildings scattered around the estate. I take my phone out and send Xan a message.

Me

Happy Birthday, Xander. Lots of love C U later hopefully xx

Xan

Thanks Kitten. Yes not long and we are setting off. Kell killing Giles.

Then later

Kell

On our way. Should be there by tonight, but late

I spend the day looking round old buildings. I am in heaven. The plans in my hands, before long I’m discussing how to renovate and restore rather than change. I get back and set about the plans, working through what I think should be done that doesn’t change the fabric of these very special buildings.

Working until late, and calling Tarron and the estate manager to come have a look, I see Tarron’s sharp mind kick into gear. A lot of money can be saved by repurposing and using existing features for the interiors.

“I did not ask you to come here so you could work for me, but these are amazing. I feel I should give you a fee for consultancy. I don’t think anyone else could have seen what you have with these.”

I smile gently at him. “I know you didn’t, and I don’t want to overstep my status as a friend, but I’ve also got some interior ideas. I can work with your designer if you’d let me, and I really don’t want paying. This is Xan’s home, we don’t charge family.”

The emotion behind his eyes as he looks at me is impossibly clear. “My son is a very lucky man to have you in his life, Evie Greystone. I shall remind him of that every day.”

We end the day in the pub, and I’m seeing a pattern here as Tarron has his usual stool kept free for him at the bar. A folk band starts up in the corner and every toe in the pub is tapping away to the tunes.

“Can you dance, Evie?” Tarron asks me, holding out his hand.

I smile at him and admit, “Not well, but I’ll give it a go.”

A few others get up and are doing a reel type thing which I join in with, Tarron leading me through it. It’s so good to spin and whirl, laugh and smile without a care. I plop into my chair out of breath, impressed Tarron is still going strong with a few of the local ladies.

“He’s murder. You can’t get him to sit down once he’s up,” one of the locals informs us above the music. He sure is fit for an older guy. “It’s the good Scottish air, and lots of walking,” says the local flexing his own muscles.

I laugh with them, and watch the flying Lord take yet more ladies onto the dancefloor. “All this Scottish air is wearing me out,” I yawn.

“We can go if you like,” says Tommy.

“I suppose it depends on what time Himself wants to go.” I point to the flying clan chief, who has three more ladies on the go at once, keeping them all busy.

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