Page 5 of The Castle in the Bay

‘It’s fine. Alex should be back shortly, and he’s wanting dinner tonight. I assume he’s done the jobs properly. I don’t really have time to check.’ A pot clanged on the work surface as she put it down. Alex was another lodger, an ex-military man who worked on the farm. Catriona, who was generally so nice to people, didn’t really seem to like him. Maybe she was wary of him because he talked so little and gave nothing away. Iona didn’t really get Catriona’s problem with him. He always seemed nice enough. Just quiet.

‘I didn’t see him.’ Iona washed her lolly stick and put it on the dresser.

‘He’s up the hill with the sheep. Oh drat.’

‘What?’

‘I just remembered, there’s a guest in the annex. He checked in earlier, but I forgot to put extra towels in the box. I don’t think he’s back yet, so I’ll nip in and do it now.’

‘I can do it if you want.’

‘No, it’s fine.’ Catriona wiped her hands and turned around. ‘But you’ll never guess what.’ She raised her eyebrows and smirked. ‘He’s a MacNeil.’

‘Oh god.’ Iona rolled her eyes. ‘American, by any chance?’

‘He didn’t sound it, but he definitely looked like someone who was into history.’

‘Great,’ she muttered. ‘So do we need to give him a guard of honour or something?’

‘I can see him being the type to ask you all your favourite questions.’

‘What questions?’ Eilidh asked.

Iona rolled her eyes. ‘I could write a book about the daft questions tourists have asked me about this island.’ Especially the history seekers who bought into all the clan stories, then insisted their ancestors gave them special rights over the island. She didn’t mind the ones who were genuine and knew of Barra’s humble past. Or the ones whose families had emigrated on well-documented voyages, usually to Canada. But the ones who claimed they were descended from clan chiefs and expected service to match were the ones that drove her crazy. She’d once been asked by a group if they could hire a limo for a tour around the island. Which, of course, they could, but they’d have to bring it over on the ferry. Barra wasn’t a place for hiring limos. It was wild and beautiful, and Iona got annoyed when people trampled over it with their delusions of grandeur. ‘I need to have a shower before dinner.’

‘I should tell Mum,’ Catriona mused. ‘We have MacNeils on her side of the family, though she probably won’t have the energy to talk to him.’

Iona made her way upstairs, still thinking about the number of visitors they’d had who’d assumed all sorts of privileges. So many people with the surname MacNeil assumed they were descended from what they viewed as Barra royalty and often came looking for their supposed ancestors’ graves. Sometimes they told stories that had so little basis in fact they may as well have been Disney adaptations. But there was no telling them. Iona had half a notion to dress up in a kilt and a bunnet with a feather in it and greet the new guest the following morning, pretending she was his Scots girl Friday for the day and lead him to the home of his ancestors – wherever he imagined that might be.

She turned on the shower, and the pipes clanked into action. Maybe there was money to be made in that scenario. She already had a boat that she’d taken some paying punters out on, though it wasn’t made for going too far. A costume might add interest, and she could do the short trip out to the castle – that would be enough. She already took groups of paddleboarders and kayakers out to it. She could see tourists lapping up a boat trip with a wee Scot’s lassie dressed in tartan to take them to the castle – even if it would completely do her head in.Stick to surfing and kayaking! Leave the dressing up to someone else.

And really, she was trying to limit her contact with that kind of history tourist. The ones who came for the waves and hills were much more up her street. Give her a vanload of twenty-somethings ready for a day on the surf over a carload of whisky-drinking, golf-playing fifty-somethings searching for the grave of old Tam-o-Shanter MacNeil any day.

As she towelled herself dry – wincing a little at the scraped skin on her shoulder – she pushed open the window in her littlebedroom at the back of the house. Voices carried up from below, but with the way the annex jutted out, it was impossible to see who was there. Catriona’s voice, with its gentle island lilt, was recognisable, but not the man. It wasn’t Alex anyway. He had a very distinct low, gravely tone. Maybe it was the guest in the annex? Iona leaned her right ear out, straining to catch what he was saying. Something about a bike, maybe? She frowned. The voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

Ah well. She let out a sigh, dropped the towel on the floor, and sat down. Her fingertips skimmed the now clean skin on her shoulder and upper arm. It was mostly just a surface scrape apart from one small place where blood seeped out. She held her finger to it. It reminded her so much of times when she’d skinned her knees and her mum had tried to stop her running off long enough to put a plaster on it.

But no one could ever stop her from running off. That was what she did. When the going got tough, she ran. It was the reason she was here, organising paddleboarding lessons and renting a bedroom in a farmhouse on a Hebridean island, and not in a nameless city anywhere in the world, working in the civil service, with a sensible pencil-pushing and besuited boyfriend.

Those days were long gone, and she wasn’t going back, not to the city, not to a desk, and not to a career man who had as much excitement about him as a lecture on tax codes.

Chapter Three

Monty

Monty leant on the doorway of the annex, enjoying the cool evening breeze, so welcome after the heat of the day. Some chickens pecked around the yard behind Catriona, perhaps hopeful she was dishing up something tasty.

He frowned. ‘So, the boat trips to the castle aren’t running anymore?’

Catriona brushed a strand of hair out of her face. ‘The castle’s closed for restoration work at the moment. None of the tour boats stop there anymore; they just circle around it. You get a better view from the outside though.’

Monty’s insides fell. No way did he want to hang over the edge of a tour boat to scatter the ashes. Jeez, even the thought made him queasy. The chances of his throwing up were already high, but if he had to stand up and move – nope, he wasn’t doing that. No way. Seasickness aside, his father had requested to be scattered at the castle, not in the sea. ‘That’s unfortunate.’ He let out a sigh. ‘It’s just… Well, it’s really important that I get there.’

Catriona watched him for a moment through her large, thin-framed glasses, and he had a strange sensation that she was sizing him up. ‘Well…’ She tapped her fingertips together. ‘My brother has a boat, but he’s away just now. If you can wait until next week, he would take you. Or there’s Iona, our lodger. She has a little boat, and she’s taken it out to the castle before. She might be able to help you, but I wouldn’t like to speak for her. She’s pretty busy with her water sports business at the moment.’ Her eyes strayed upward towards an upstairs window. ‘I think she’s already gone up to her room, but why don’t you come in for breakfast tomorrow morning? You can meet her and see if she can take you.’

Monty straightened up and smiled. ‘That’s great. Thank you so much. I’ll do that.’

‘You’re welcome.’ Catriona gave him a nod. ‘She also takes paddleboarders across to the castle. You could always try that.’

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