Page 69 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

‘Come on,’ he said, ‘let’s make a move. You’re getting chilled, and if we wait for the rain to ease, we could be here all night.’

The possibility of spending all night with her gave him goosebumps.Stop it, he growled silently. He really needed to sort himself out; lusting after her wasn’t going to do either of them any good.

Freya was already wet, so they walked quickly rather than ran, and by the time they reached her door, her hair was dripping and rainwater was running down her face. He guessed he looked equally as bedraggled.

Freya fumbled a set of keys out of her pocket, openly shivering, and although he wanted to linger, she needed to go inside and dry off.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to borrow a coat?’ she asked, her teeth chattering.

‘I’m sure. Get yourself inside before you catch your death.’

‘I hate the thought of you—’

‘I can’t get any wetter,’ he pointed out.

‘But if you catch a chill, I’ll blame myself.’

Mack grinned and shook his head. ‘Stop fussing.’

‘You sound like my dad. He keeps telling me off for fussing.’

‘Do you think he might have a point?’

Freya rolled her eyes and pushed the door open. ‘Don’t forget to ask about dinner at the castle.’

He assured her he wouldn’t forget, then waited for her to go inside.

He was nearly at his own front door before he realised it was still raining.

Chapter 18

Thankfully, the rain cleared overnight and the following day dawned bright and sunny. As Freya walked along the path from the village to the castle, the air smelt of salt and wet grass. It was one of those days when it felt really good to be alive.

She didn’t seem to have suffered any ill effects from the dousing she’d had yesterday, although it had taken her a while to warm up. While she’d dried off and changed into her pyjamas, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about poor Mack, who’d had a decent walk before he reached his own house. She hoped he was all right, and she’d been tempted to phone him to ask, but she wasn’t sure whether it was appropriate. She was fairly sure he wouldn’t have taken it the wrong way, but the problem was she was fairly sure shemeantit the wrong way. Her enquiry wouldn’t have just been be a polite one, from one friend to another; it would have been an excuse to speak to him again.

Lying in bed last night, trying her utmost to fall asleep, Freya couldn’t help wondering why she’d suggested taking him out for a meal. On the surface it had been a reasonable thing to do, to thank him for allowing her to use his byre, but considering the attraction she felt for him and the way he was beginning to invade her thoughts when she least expected it, it wasn’t wise. She should have just bought him another bottle of whisky, or three. Dinner at the castle, just the two of them, would be far too intimate.

And there the castle was, its turrets rising above the trees.

So eager was she to see the rest of the studios (and visit the pottery again) that she decided the cafe could wait. She would treat herself to a small slice of cake and a cappuccino afterwards, and she would even ask them if they could box up a slice to take home to her dad. Actually, come to think of it, she’d ask them to box up two slices: her dad could have one and Mack could have the other. She didn’t plan on going to the byre today, but she’d go tomorrow and take him his slice of cake then.

Rob beamed when she entered the studio and hurried forward. ‘Hello, again. Have you come to have a chat about running a workshop? Mhairi mentioned it when I saw her this morning.’

‘Er, no. I’m not sure I’ll have the time,’ she said. ‘Or how long I’ll be in Duncoorie. You see, my father’s broken his hip and he’s going to need a fair bit of help for a while, but as soon as he’s better, I’ll be going back to London.’

‘That’s a shame. I would have loved to have seen you in action.’

Freya laughed. ‘In action?I’d hardly call throwing a pot an exciting spectator sport.’

‘I’ve heard you are hand building because you don’t have access to a wheel.’

‘I am and it’s great fun. I don’t do it often enough. I do miss my wheel, though, but it won’t be for long. I’ll soon be back in my own studio – fingers crossed.’

‘If you find you’re getting withdrawal symptoms, you’re welcome to use mine.’

It was very generous of him, but she wouldn’t invade his space. She knew how precious she could be when it came to her own studio, and how she wasn’t keen on anyone else touching her things. Despite the principles of ceramics being the same, each potter had a slightly different way of doing things and a slightly different set-up.

‘Thank you, that’s kind,’ she said. ‘Maybe I will.’

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