Page 15 of The Castle in the Bay

‘Here.’ She rummaged in a storage compartment and pulled out a bottle of water. She handed it to him. ‘Take a sip. Might help.’

He took the bottle with a shaky hand and sipped gingerly. ‘Thanks.’ The words barely passed his lips and was more of a breath than speech.

Iona adjusted their course, keeping an eye on him. He looked miserable, clutching his bag like a lifeline, his jaw clamped shut. She sighed.Jeez, she’d been so harsh. This was tough to watch. Why, oh why, was he putting himself through this?

‘We’re almost there,’ she said. ‘Just hang on a little longer.’

Monty nodded again, his eyes never leaving the horizon. The castle loomed ahead, dark and shadowy against the grey sky. Iona steered the boat towards the slipway. Thank god they were nearly there.

As they approached, she cut the engine and let the boat glide in. It bumped gently against the edge and Iona secured the ropes.

‘We made it.’ She offered him a hand to help him stand. He took it, his grip surprisingly strong, and stumbled to his feet.

‘Thanks.’ The tiniest of smiles tweaked the corner of his lips. He didn’t let go of her hand as she helped him onto to dry land. The pressure sent shock waves through her, not unpleasant, but unexpected and kind of weird.

‘You survived.’ She raised her eyebrows and their gazes met. Heat burned deep in her core and she clutched his hand firmly. If she so much as moved a little finger and grazed over him, he might get the wrong idea… Or maybe she would.Whatever. She just had to make sure she didn’t touch him in any way other than in friendly assistance.

He nodded slightly, his eyes never leaving her. ‘Thanks.’

Iona let go of his hand. ‘No problem.’ She glanced around. ‘So, we’re here now. What do you want to do? As you can see, it’s not very big and you’re not allowed to go inside. You can scramble about the rocks surrounding it, but not for too long. When the tide comes in, it covers the whole base and goes right up to the castle wall.’

He unzipped his buoyancy aid and tossed it back into the boat. ‘I’ll try not to be too long. I, um, just need a moment,’ he said, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘Just to… Well, if you don’t mind me being alone for a bit.’

Iona nodded. ‘Sure. Just take care. If you’re going around the rocks, they’ll be slippery.’

‘Thank you. I really appreciate this.’ He walked away and Iona watched him. What was his deal? Why on earth did he want to come here when he looked anything but happy about it?

She sat on the slipway, picking a few tufts of grass from the cracks and throwing them into the air. A flurry of bizarre thoughts swooped on her mind like gulls heading for a chip wrapper. Some of them involved Monty turning into a mad axe murderer and appearing behind her with a weapon he’d hidden in that bag, but most of them were even stranger, and involved wandering into his personal life. What kind of women did he like? Was he married? Why did she care? She really shouldn’t. And yet, she couldn’t shove the thoughts out either.

Chapter Seven

Monty

Monty wandered away from the boat, cradling his backpack in his arms. He breathed deeply, drawing in the fresh air, hoping to settle the nausea. Was it just seasickness? He suspected not. This task was going to be painful and there was no avoiding it. Now that they’d landed, this little island was serene, and almost completely taken over by the stark fortress of Kisimul Castle. As Iona had said, it was all locked up, so he madehis way around the outside, clambering over the rocky outcrops, which wasn’t easy, but this would be close enough. It would have to be. He didn’t fancy making this journey again.

Each step he took felt heavier than the last, as if the weight of his father’s ashes was pulling him down. The funeral had been bad enough, but this had an even more final feeling to it. Once the ashes were out, there was no getting them back. Why did that seem to matter? It wasn’t like he wanted them back. But he needed to do this properly, get it right, and carry out his father’s last wishes.

Monty found a secluded spot by a cluster of rocks at the back of the castle wall overlooking the open sea. How calm it looked now, gently lapping at the rocks, lulling him into believing it was friendly. Sitting down, he placed his backpack beside him and lifted out the urn. The rhythmic sound of the waves was soothing but didn’t ease the tightness in his chest. He gazed out to sea, running his fingers through his hair that had got a little wild on top. With the wind on this island, he didn’t suppose his hair would sit nicely until he was back on the plane.

The cool breeze sent ripples dancing across the water. In the distance, the Barra mainland curved around with a few smaller islands scattered just off the shore. A long sandy beach was visible, and a few little houses dotted along the coast. Monty stared forward, not moving.

How long had he been sitting here? Minutes, hours? Time had blurred. What now? Did he just open the urn and empty it? Should he say something? Out loud? Why hadn’t he thought about this before? The answer to that was simple. He’d avoided thinking about it in too much detail, but now he was here, he had to decide, and he wasn’t prepared.

He prised off the lid of the urn, but the sight of the ashes made him freeze. How was he supposed to do this? But he had to.There was no one else. And really, it was the main reason for this trip.

His father’s voice echoed in his mind, full of his old island stories, their family’s history, and how it had all been lost. Monty hadn’t paid as much attention as he should. It had never seemed that interesting or occurred to him that one day all those stories would be lost. He could kick himself now. He should have hung on every word. It had always been a mystery to him why his father was so obsessed with this place, but now, sitting here with the endless sea, and blue sky gradually emerging from behind fluffy white clouds, the connection tugged at his heart. Or if not a connection, perhaps an affinity with the wildness and beauty of the place. It was definitely somewhere to come to relax and refresh, something he’d gladly do, but he had this one job to do first. And yet, he couldn’t do it.

He glanced up and saw a boat gliding smoothly through the water, cutting a path and leaving a foamy trail behind. Thank goodness he wasn’t on the little boat now. That trail was already increasing the speed of the waves and they rushed on the rocks more insistently than before.

Monty sighed and picked up the urn. The sound of the boat’s motor carried across the silence of the bay, and he watched it as it headed further out.

He gripped the urn.Just do it.He’d sat here long enough.

‘Hey.’ Iona’s voice jolted him out of his reverie. He looked up, blinking. She stood there, hands on hips, her wind-tousled hair framing her face. ‘You’ve been gone a while, and the tide’s turning. We should get going. Is everything ok?’

‘Oh, um, yeah. I didn’t realise how long I’d been.’ He glanced down at the urn, then back at her. ‘Sorry.’

She waved a hand. ‘It’s fine. Just thought I’d check on you.’

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