Page 49 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

‘Absolutely not! I do it because I love ceramics.’ Pots indeed! She made much more than pots.

He said, ‘That’s my point exactly, but it helps that I earn a living from doing what I love.’

His gaze met hers and they grinned at each other, Freya feeling a warm glow that he ‘got’ her. Itwasn’tabout the money (although it helped) and neither was it about the recognition. It was about the act of making something unique and beautiful out of a lump of clay.

She imagined that for Mack, it was being out on the water, at one with the wind and the tides, on a fickle sea under an ever-changing sky. She could appreciate the rawness of it, the beauty and the majesty.

‘Would you like to go for a walk?’ he suggested. ‘It’s a glorious evening for it.’

It was. The sky was silvered where the sun’s light had dimmed, darkening imperceptibly to steel, then indigo. There was already a smattering of stars to the east and more would appear as the remaining light faded. The breeze was light, although it would pick up away from the shelter of the castle.

She asked, ‘Where did you have in mind? It’ll be dark soon.’

‘There’s a duck pond. We could stroll around that.’

Freya blinked. She’d been half-expecting him to suggest going down to the loch. ‘They’ll be asleep,’ she pointed out.

‘Who will?’

‘The ducks.’

‘We can tiptoe.’ His expression was serious.

Freya giggled. ‘You’re being silly. I thought the whole point of walking around a duck pond was to see the ducks.’

‘I don’t mind not seeing them, if you don’t.’

‘How about we take a stroll down to the loch instead?’

‘I assumed you’d had enough of the loch yesterday.’

‘Actually, I didn’t realise how much I’ve missed all this. I’m going to miss it even more when I leave.’

This surprised her. In all the years she’d lived in London she hadn’t felt homesick once. What she’d felt was heartbroken and incredibly sad. She’d missed her mother more than words could say, and she missed her dad too. But she hadn’t missedSkye.

‘You won’t be leaving for some time, though, will you?’ he asked, as they made their way down the lane.

‘No,’ she replied slowly.

They arrived at the sliver of beach, and she breathed in sharply at the sight of the inky water and the dark mountains on the opposite shore. With the sun having set behind them, they looked forbidding and mysterious. She’d forgotten what a magical place this was.

Crouching, she dug her fingers into the coarse sand, letting the grains trickle through her fingers.

‘Don’t worry, the time will fly by,’ he said, and she realised he’d taken her silence for dismay that she wasn’t returning to London sooner.

‘It’s not that,’ she said. ‘I just wish I could do some work while I’m here. I’m lost without my pottery. I did consider packing a few bits of equipment when I was in London, but I decided against it. Although hand building can be done with a few simple tools, it can be messy and I don’t think my dad would appreciate me taking over his kitchen. There’s also the problem of storing the clay while I work on it, plus I’d need somewhere to dry it.’ Freya wrinkled her nose. She was missing her studio badly. She couldn’t imagine how she was going to cope without it for the next few weeks.

‘You could use my place, if you like,’ he said.

‘Yourhouse?’

‘The byre. I keep a few bits and pieces in it, but there’s room to spare.’

‘You’re very kind, but I couldn’t impose.’ Her refusal was automatic.

‘Don’t be daft. You won’t be imposing. You can come and go as you please, as long as you don’t steal the fish out of the fridge.’ His eyes twinkled, teasing her.

‘No, honestly, I couldn’t.’

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