Page 98 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

Burying her face in her hands, great heaving sobs burst out of her, grief twisting her gut and stabbing her in the heart. But her grief for her father was soiled and stained by grief for herself – because she knew now that she could never leave him, could never leave Skye. She’d be stuck here looking after him, and her selfishness in thinking of her own needs and wants, when her father had been prepared to face this awful disease alone, appalled and shamed her.

Her dad had kept it from her because he knew she’d sacrifice her own dreams to care for him –and he hadn’t wanted her to.

Freya pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs, and with tears pouring down her face, she howled her anguish to the uncaring sea.

She cried until she didn’t think she had any tears left, then she cried some more.

Chapter 25

Millpond days, when the waters of the loch were glass-smooth and mirror-clear, happened only occasionally, and today was one of them. With no wind, and the tide in that brief hiatus between being fully in and before it began to turn again, there was hardly a ripple.

Mack slowed the boat as he steered it nearer to the shore and when he deemed it to be close enough, he cut the engine. It would soon start to drift, but for a minute or two they could enjoy the peace. There was at least ten metres of water beneath theSea Serpent’s keel, yet the pebbly seabed was clearly visible, and the reflections of the hillsides above the loch could have been painted on its still surface.

It was a perfect day for being out on the boat, and Mack’s passengers were loving it.

The calm of the water was echoed in their hushed tones, only broken by the calls of glaucous gulls overhead, and the unexpected snort of a seal as it blew out water from its nostrils after it poked its sleek head above the surface to stare at them.

Mack leant casually against the cabin door, his arms folded, his eyes resting briefly on the faces of his passengers as they snapped away furiously, before automatically scanning his surroundings to check for other craft, the sky, the tide and the location of his vessel in relation to the shore.

A figure caught his attention.

A woman was sitting hunched on the rocks. Straightening, he moved to the port side and gripped the gunwale as he leant forward and squinted, trying to make out her out.

It was Freya, he was certain of it.

Tempted as he was to shout and wave to attract her attention, he held himself in check. His passengers didn’t need him shattering their peace, and since the excursion was for their benefit…

What was she doing? She had her face in her hands and was rocking gently back and forth. Or was the slight roll of the boat making it seem that way?

The seal slipped below the surface and Mack sensed his passengers becoming restless. Nevertheless, he didn’t move. Although he couldn’t put his finger on it, he had a feeling something was wrong.

A flurry of exclamations distracted him and he glanced around to see all nine of the passengers peering over the starboard side.

Mack gave Angus a questioning look.

‘Sea eagle,’ Angus told him, and the boat fell silent once more as the bird’s unmistakable cry pierced the air, panicking the gulls.

Mack understood why. The eagles were magnificent, truly awe-inspiring. Indiscriminate and opportunistic hunters, they would take whatever they could get, whether it be fish, eels, small mammals or birds. No wonder the gulls were alarmed, although their cries sounded more like a human cry of anguish than an alarm call.

The realisation that the gulls had fled and that the cry was actually coming from the woman on the shore struck him simultaneously.

Without stopping to think, Mack untied his boots and pulled his T-shirt over his head.

‘Skip, what are you doing?’

Taking his wallet, phone and keys out of his pockets, he shoved them at his second-in-command, and climbed onto the gunwale, saying, ‘Freya’s in trouble. Take the helm and finish the trip. I’ll see you back at the quay.’

‘Mack, you can’t—’

The rest of Angus’s sentence was lost as Mack hit the water, diving in head first, his arms outstretched. When he broke the surface, he began to swim, cutting through the water with strong, clean strokes as he kicked for the shore.

It wasn’t too far, no more than a football pitch away, but he was breathing hard by the time he felt pebbles beneath his feet. Quickly he waded out, splashing through the shallows, ignoring the sharp rocks, his focus on Freya. He could hear her crying, her sobs cutting him to the quick, shredding his heart. He’d do anything,anything, to make them stop, to take away whatever was causing her so much distress.

Praying that nothing had happened to Vinnie, Mack hurried towards her, calling, ‘Freya! Freya!’ and when she looked up, the pain in her eyes and the expression on her face tore him in two.

‘What’s wrong?’ he demanded. ‘Is it your dad?’

‘What?’ She was gazing at him blankly, her eyes brimming with tears, her cheeks and nose red from crying. Never had she looked more beautiful. And never had he wanted to take someone else’s pain away as much as he wanted to shoulder hers.

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