Page 46 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

She’d tamed her hair into a sleek bun, rather than the hastily gathered-up mess she usually had on the top of her head, and she’d even applied some make-up to her eyes and lips. She never bothered with foundation because it would have to be thicker than the bark on an old oak tree to successfully cover her freckles. A squirt of perfume, and she was ready.

It was a shame she’d spoil the effect by rocking up in her little van, but the vehicle was practical for transporting her ceramics, and practicality trumped appearance.

Grabbing her leather biker-style jacket, she headed out the door, anticipation making her quite giddy. It wasn’t the poshness of the venue making her feel this way (she wasn’t into that kind of thing); it was the thought of centuries of history within those thick walls: paintings, tapestries, antique furniture, sculptures and – of course – ceramics. Freya was salivating over the prospect of seeing all the treasures the castle undoubtedly held, as much as at the thought of the food she was about to eat. If the sample menu on the castle’s website was any indication, she was in for a culinary treat.

To be honest, she was a bit apprehensive about meeting Mhairi Gray. The woman had been a well-known, although somewhat elusive, figure in Duncoorie when Freya was growing up. And although Freya had played in the woodland and had explored the loch’s shoreline near the village, she’d rarely ventured into the castle’s grounds.

Mhairi Gray hadn’t encouraged visitors, but from what Freya’s dad had told her over the years, the rumour was that Mhairi had run out of money, so had been forced to make the castle earn its keep. How true the rumour was, Freya had no idea, and neither did she particularly care. She was simply grateful for the opportunity to see inside the place.

This evening, the castle’s car park was considerably less full than yesterday afternoon, which wasn’t surprising, since the craft centre was now closed. The cars which were there were parked in a separate area, with a sign that said:Residents’ Parking Only. Please inform reception of your vehicle’s registration number when booking in.

After taking a quick look at some of the vehicles, Freya drove her van into one of the many vacant bays in the main parking area, feeling self-conscious. She didn’t belong in a place like this, and she revised her initial feeling that Hadrian wouldn’t like it here – this would be right up his alley. Not the craft-centre bit, obviously, but the castle itself.

As she got out of the van and glanced around, she thought it strange that an artist such as Hadrian wouldn’t want to mooch around somewhere like the craft centre. But it wasn’t his kind of thing at all. The only mooching he did (if she could use a word like that when referring to her boyfriend) was around upmarket, expensive and hip London galleries.

Hadrian liked to be seen in places like that; it was where he was happiest. Freya wasn’t keen on them at all. Her happy place was her studio, when she was up to her elbows in clay. She did enjoy seeing her work displayed, though, but wasn’t keen on the attention she received, whereas Hadrian revelled in it. The attention he got forhiswork, obviously, not hers.

Oh dear, was she doing him a disservice? If people could listen in on her thoughts, they’d be perfectly within their rights to assume she didn’t like him much, when in fact she liked him fine.

Freya had been about to step through the castle’s grand entrance, when she froze.

Liked himfine? That was hardly the basis for a romantic relationship, liking someonefine.

The realisation gave her a shock, but now wasn’t the time to think about the epiphany she’d just had. She’d mull it over later. But it seemed she had a decision to make, especially since she was almost certain she was going to take Jocasta Black up on her offer.

Putting Hadrian to the back of her mind, Freya entered the castle and was immediately transported back in time.

The hall was wide, its walls covered by wood-panelling partly hidden by portraits of stern-looking people, a coat of arms and a couple of large tapestries depicting hunting scenes. The floor was tiled with marble, a crystal chandelier glittered overhead, and a sweeping staircase lay directly ahead of her.

Freya twirled slowly on the spot, taking in as many details as she could, filing them away for future reference.

The castle wasn’t all Bonnie Prince Charlie, though. There were nods to the present day in the form of a reception desk with a computer. The guy who was sitting behind it smiled at her, and she approached hesitantly, feeling rather out of her depth.

‘Hi, I’m supposed to be having dinner with Miss Gray?’ She hated that she made it sound like a question, but she wasn’t entirely convinced that it wasn’t a mistake, or that Mack had got it wrong and she was actually meeting with Cal, and dinner wasn’t involved at all.

‘Freya Sinclair?’ he asked.

She nodded.

‘Come this way. She’s expecting you.’

Freya’s eyes were out on stalks as she followed the guy through a series of interconnected rooms, and when he finally halted outside a door and gently tapped on it, she was thoroughly lost. Without waiting for a reply, he turned the handle and held the door open for her. But just then, Freya became aware of footsteps behind and when she looked around, expecting to see a member of staff, she was surprised when she saw it was Mack.

Oh, my, he looked gorgeous! Open-necked white shirt, with the sleeves rolled up exposing his forearms, faded blue jeans (but not the scruffy kind) and tied-back hair…

Freya found herself staring, and she swallowed and looked away. Seeing him had given her a jolt of the nicest kind. The sort of jolt that made her heart go tippety-tap and her breath catch in her throat. The sort of jolt that sent her ovaries into overdrive.

Bloody hell! What was wrong with her? She really must control her reaction to him. It was getting out of hand.

An imperious voice jerked her out of her fugue. ‘Are you coming in, or do you intend to eat out there?’

Mack arched his brow and said, ‘I think we’re being summoned. After you.’ He gestured for her to go first and she wished he wasn’t being a gentleman.

Lifting her chin, Freya walked into the room and her gaze was immediately captured by a tall, white-haired woman with high cheekbones and piercing blue eyes, who said, ‘Hello, dear, I’m Mhairi Gray. It’s nice to see you. You too, Mackenzie.’ She held out a slender hand.

Freya shook it. ‘Thank you for inviting me. You have a lovely home.’

‘It is rather grand, isn’t it. You know Cal, don’t you?’

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