Surprises on the Scottish Isle (Coorie Castle Crafts #1)

Chapter 10

How to make an eejjt of yourself in one easy lesson , Cal thought, disgusted with himself as he watched Tara flee to the boathouse.

He didn’t blame her for scurrying off. In her eyes, he was a total bawbag, a ratbag, an utter shite. Even if she’d been too polite to say it outright, her dislike of him radiated off her like heat from a stove.

Until today he hadn’t realised quite how badly he had hurt her. Yes, he knew she would have been upset, but he’d been certain she would soon get over it – that she would quickly find another boyfriend amongst the thousands on campus, someone else to cuddle up with on a dreary Sunday morning, someone else to shower with kisses, someone else’s ear in which to whisper, ‘I love you’. After all, she’d been so young and first love never lasts. They had existed in an artificial bubble of lectures and assignments, evenings at the student union, days spent being passionate about politics and good causes, and nights spent being passionate between the sheets. But bubbles don’t last forever, and theirs had burst at the end of the academic year when he’d returned to Inverness, leaving her behind in Glasgow.

Whenever he’d thought about her since, he imagined her still there. It didn’t occur to him that she would have left.

Edinburgh, Mhairi had said. Cal had confirmed it by reading the email that Tara had sent when she’d expressed an interest in renting the studio. He’d even looked up her address, feeling grubby as he street-viewed her house. It was a nice house, in a nice area.

He hadn’t been able to imagine her living there. And he certainly hadn’t been able to visualise the man she had lived there with , the man she was in the middle of divorcing.

After watching Tara hurry inside, he hurried off himself to the sanctuary of his cottage. What must the others in the pub have made of his strange behaviour? He hoped they’d thought he was being chivalrous in walking Tara home, but Jinny had had an odd look on her face, and he suspected she guessed there was more to it.

Was the gift shop manager aware that he and Tara had history? He didn’t think so, but Coorie Castle was a small place and the news would leak out at some point. He’d already decided not to hide the fact that he knew Tara – as demonstrated by him telling Mhairi – but he wasn’t about to blurt it out to all and sundry. If it came up in conversation, or the time seemed right to mention it, then he would.

How would Tara feel about that? Did she want to keep it quiet? Should he ask her, or would that be making a meal out of it?

Gah! Cal raked his fingers through his hair. Why had his life suddenly become that much more complicated? What with Tara turning up and Yvaine taking Bonnie to live in Portree…

A groan escaped him. Why had he insisted on speaking to Tara, especially since he hadn’t had anything lined up to say to her? Telling her that he wanted to enquire about a commission had been the first and only thing that had sprung to mind. And now he was stuck with trying to get measurements and photos of the inside of his ex-wife’s house.

It briefly occurred to him that he could simply tell Yvaine what he was planning, but knowing how defensive she was about this move and realising his reaction had been less than supportive, he had a feeling she might veto the idea. Yvaine might even believe that giving Bonnie a miniature version of the house they no longer lived in was a step in the wrong direction, encouraging her to look back and not forward. It was a catch-22 situation. He couldn’t ask Yvaine for help, but neither could he get what was needed any other way.

Cal decided not to mention it again. If Tara brought the subject up, he would make an excuse. He had no idea what the excuse would be, but he was sure he’d think of something.

He got undressed in the dark, but before he slipped under the covers, he fetched a glass of water from the kitchen and noticed a soft light coming from the boathouse’s bedroom window.

It was enough to keep him awake long after he should have fallen asleep.

Cal wasn’t often completely off duty (the two weeks spent with Bonnie

at his parents’ house had been a rarity), but this morning he decided to

leave his mobile at home. Until he’d made the excuse in the pub last

night that he wanted to leave because he had an early start this

morning, Cal hadn’t had any intention of going fishing.

As he’d lain awake watching the hours tick by, he still hadn’t had any intention of going out in the boat. But after finally drifting off, he’d woken up with a jolt to the unmistakable bugle calls of whooper swans overhead. Or maybe he’d dreamt it, because it would be unusual to find any here at this time of year. Most should be in their summer breeding grounds in Iceland, although a few birds had been known to nest in Scotland.

Wide awake and with little possibility of going back to sleep, he decided he might as well go fishing after all. He hadn’t been out on the loch for a while and some time on the open water would do him good.

It was close to high tide, making the skiff easier to push into the water, so he grabbed his rod and bag of tackle from the lean-to out the back, and set off down the narrow track through the trees that led to the loch.

He wasn’t the only one awake at four thirty in the morning – the birds were too, and their song accompanied him to the small crescent beach. A flock of gulls, startled by his presence, launched into the sky, their flapping wings sounding like a round of applause, their alarm calls filling the air.

Cal shot a quick look at the boathouse only a short distance away, and hoped the commotion hadn’t woken Tara. He couldn’t see any movement, so he assumed she must still be asleep.

A vision of her dark hair spread across a pillow forced itself into his mind, and a jolt went through him. How many times had he seen her like that? Too many to count. And yet, not enough.

Cal gave himself a mental shake. The past was the past. Regret was pointless. He could no more reverse it than he could hold back the tide.

Inhaling deeply, he let the salt air fill his lungs, the smell of brine and seaweed both comforting and invigorating. Despite his lack of sleep, he felt more alive than he’d done for a while.

The surface of the loch was flat, a sheet of satin stretching to the opposite shore, the water a cerulean blue. Colours seemed more vivid this morning. The green of the grass near the shoreline would put an emerald ring to shame, and the damp rocks at the edge of the small shingle beach had an obsidian sheen where they weren’t hidden by strands of seaweed.

Cal placed his rod and tackle bag in the skiff, then checked the oars. Although Misty Lady had an outboard motor, the damned thing was temperamental and had a tendency to cut out. Whenever that happened, he rowed back, hauled the boat out of the water and gave it a squirt of WD40 which normally got it going again. He really should get it seen to, but he never seemed to find the time.

The skiff entered the water with a splash, sending little wavelets over his wellies, but before the boots filled with water, he jumped in. Settling his backside on the seat nearest the bow, he inserted the oars into the locks and made sure they were secure, then he lowered the blades into the water and began to pull, quickly finding his rhythm.

The repetitive movement was soothing, and soon the boat was in the middle of the loch. His destination was a lump of rock near the far side, where he knew pollack could often be found. He would have to take care though. Despite the skiff being a shallow-bottomed boat and not drawing much water under its keel, many rocks lay just below the surface and could prove dangerous if he didn’t keep his wits about him.

For most of the short trip he’d been facing the way he’d come, and it was only when he stowed the oars and moved to sit at the stern so he could start the motor, did he realise that his gaze had been on the old boathouse and his mind had been on the woman who was living there.

He couldn’t think about her now, though. He needed to focus on navigating around the rocks, so with one hand on the tiller, he eased the skiff into what he hoped was a good position, then cut the engine.

The sudden cessation of noise made his ears ring, then gradually other sounds made themselves known – the gentle lap of the water against the hull and the rocks, the raucous call of a rook overhead, and the almost pig-like grunt of a cormorant, wings outstretched and beak lifted to the sky as it dried itself in the early morning sun.

A splash had him glancing around to find the sleek, speckled head of a common seal gazing at him, its dark, liquid eyes filled with curiosity. As he watched, it slowly slipped beneath the surface.

Moments like this filled his soul with joy, and he wished Bonnie was here to see it. She adored seals, and otters, although it was rare to spot one of those.

Yvaine wasn’t keen on Cal taking Bonnie out in the boat though, so he didn’t do it often. Despite Yvaine growing up on Skye and having all its amazing natural wonders on her doorstep, his ex-wife had never been an outdoorsy person. Ironic, considering that when he’d met her his job on a large estate north of Inverness meant he was outdoors most of the time. And even when he hadn’t been at work, he’d loved being outside – hiking, kayaking, watching wildlife. He should have realised then that he and Yvaine were never going to work.

But by the time he did, it was far, far too late.

He’d tried his darndest to make it work, though. He’d had to, for the baby’s sake.

Another splash caught his attention, this time a fish jumping, and aware of the time, he quickly set up his rod and attached the lure.

Cal spent the next hour happily dropping the line over the side of the boat then reeling it in at a steady rate. He performed this same action over and over until it was time to go back.

Three fish later (two pollack and one coalfish, all of whom he released back into the sea unharmed), he was done.

Feeling satisfied, he powered up the motor and puttered across the loch. He could have rowed back, but it was easier to use the outboard.

It also meant he was able to see the old boathouse directly ahead – but that hadn’t been a factor at all.

Early morning found Tara on the sofa, her feet tucked under her and a soft, cosy throw across her knees. Her book lay open on her lap, cover side up. After spending most of the short night tossing and turning, she’d eventually given up trying to sleep and had made some tea.

The drink had long since been consumed, and the mug sat on the side table next to her as she stared out of the window.

She had been gazing out of it for quite some time, ever since movement on the little beach had caught her attention. She’d stiffened and shrunk back a little, even though she was fairly sure Cal couldn’t see her. But he was looking, so she’d inched back even further.

A flock of birds flew noisily into the air, briefly obscuring her view of him, and when she could see him clearly again, he was no longer looking in the direction of the boathouse but was gazing out over the loch.

Free to study him without him being aware of her scrutiny, she drank in the sight.

The sun had just risen over the top of the mountains, highlighting the auburn of his hair, and casting a long shadow that reached to the water’s edge. Cal had filled out over the years. With broad shoulders and muscled legs, he was chunkier than she remembered, and she was fascinated by the bunch and flex of his body as he put his weight into pushing the small brown boat into the water.

When she’d first seen it, she’d assumed it to be a wreck, abandoned on the beach to slowly rot, and as Calan waded into the water and jumped into it, she hoped it was seaworthy.

He appeared to think it was, because he picked up a pair of oars and rowed the little boat to the other side of the loch. And as he rowed, he stared so intently at the boathouse that she was convinced he could see her.

She continued to watch, even when the distance between them grew too great to make out his face and his boat was little more than a dark shadow on the water.

Tara didn’t stop watching until Cal eventually returned to the sliver of shingle, dragged the boat out of the water, and disappeared into the path between the trees.

Only when she was certain he was gone did she move, and even then, she was careful to make sure he wasn’t in the shadows of the trees before ending her vigil. The last thing she wanted was for him to guess she had been spying on him, because he might wonder why.