Page 105 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

Clearing his throat, he carried on. ‘Love is a precious gift; hold on to it as hard as you can. But holding on also means letting go. That’s when you know it’s true love. I love you with every fibre of my being, Freya. I want you to be happy. If that means letting you live the life you want to live, even if it is halfway across the world, so be it. It hurt to think of you so far away in London. It hurt not to see you every day. But that’s nothing compared to the joy I feel knowing you’re living your best life. If Mack loves you enough to let you go, then he loves you with all his heart. It’s a rare thing, that kind of love.’

Freya sat there, tears trickling down her face.

Her father’s words touched her soul; their truth was seared on her heart, and she knew what she had to do. There was only one option. Maybe there had only ever been one, but she’d had to leave Skye and come back to realise it.

Freya found Mack sitting on the lawn at the rear of his house. Thereason she knew where he was, and the reason she didn’t bother ringingthe doorbell, was because he was playing The Rolling Stones at fullvolume again. The front door was unlocked, so she went inside. A bottleof whisky, half-full, sat on the worktop, and she grabbed it, along witha fresh tumbler, and took them outside.

Mack’s eyes were closed, his head tilted back to rest on the same wooden lawn chair he’d sat in the last time she’d drunk whisky with him, and he was nursing another glass of pale amber.

After sitting down next to him, Freya poured herself a generous dram. There was no need to ration it: she wouldn’t be driving anywhere and neither would she be walking.

Without opening his eyes, he turned the volume down.

‘What are we drinking to?’ he asked. His voice was gruff.

‘The future.’

‘And which future would that be?’

‘The one where we spend the rest of our lives together.’ She took a sip. It was seriously smooth whisky and she congratulated herself on her good taste.

Mack opened first one eye, then the other. A slow sexy smile spread across his face, his mouth quirking up on one side.

Without taking his gaze from her, he raised his glass. ‘Before I drink this, I want to check a couple of details. One, are you or are you not going to America?’

‘I’m not. I thought that was obvious.’

‘Nothing is ever obvious when it comes to you, Freya, and I want to make sure of my facts. Second, would you like me to convert my byre into a pottery studio?’

She bit her lip. ‘You know I would.’

‘Good, that’s settled.’

‘Aren’t you going to ask me anything else?’

‘No, I don’t think so. Should I?’

‘You haven’t asked me whether I love you.’

His eyes twinkled and he smiled that smile again, the one that warmed her from the inside out. ‘Do you?’

‘Yes. I love you with all my heart. I think I always have and I know I always will.’

Freya took the tumbler from his hand and placed it on the table. She was going to show Mack that she loved him with her heart, her body and her soul, and if it took all night…

Epilogue

January

Freya smoothed down the skirt of her dress, feeling self-conscious, despite every other person in the room (except for the serving staff) wearing tartan. The reason was twofold. Tonight was 25 January, Burns Night, and it was also the opening night of the first exhibition of her work in New York.

The exhibition was calledThe Colours of Skye(the title shamelessly stolen from Mhairi) and Freya’s ceramics reflected the island’s vibrant hues. Purple, salmon, pink, russet – the infinite shades of the sky, the loch, the mountains. She’d tried her best, but despite the accolades tonight, she knew she hadn’t done them justice. Hers were muted in comparison. As she kept telling everyone, you had to see Skye for yourself to appreciate it.

A middle-aged couple blocked her view, and she smiled politely at them.

‘Marvin and Patty Rokovitz,’ the woman said, holding out a hand with a diamond ring the size of a cherry tomato on her middle finger. It couldn’t possibly be real, could it? ‘We’re from Texas,’ she added.

‘Freya Sinclair, from Skye. Pleased to meet you.’

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