The Castle in the Bay (Love on the Edge: Barra #1)

Chapter One

Monty

M onty MacNeil took a deep breath and peered out the window of the plane . Ok, should not have done that. He pulled his head back so it was jammed against the headrest, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Flying had never been a problem for him before. Business class flights were pretty decent, but this. How could this even be classed as a plane? Utterly baffling. It had wings, but that was about it.

The seven other passengers onboard oohed and ahhed as the plane banked. The pilot looked like he knew what he was doing, which was about the best thing that could be said for having the cockpit visible. But none of that was the main problem. Monty’s eyes screwed up as he looked towards the window again. Holy crap, that was a lot of water. Other passengers had their phones out and were chattering excitedly about how clear it was, how blue, green, turquoise… Almost tropical.

No doubt it was all that, but Monty couldn’t bear to look. If the engines failed, they’d plunge to their doom in that sea. Clutching the armrest, he sensed the drop in altitude. Landing on Traigh Mhor beach on the Hebridean island of Barra featured on several people’s bucket lists. Tourists worldwide would have paid good money for weather like this to do it in, but Monty just wanted to get his feet on dry land. Maybe an island wasn’t the best place for that, but he had a job to do. And when Monty was given a job, he liked to do it properly. It was how he’d gained his reputation as a trustworthy banker and a dutiful son.

His hand darted to the seat beside him, and he gripped the bag containing what was left of his father. The ashes of Hector MacNeil were on their way home. Monty closed his eyes. A thud followed by some squeals and chat told him the plane had landed. He let out a breath. Made it.

Time to get off this glorified minibus and explore the island his father had told him so much about. Apparently, Monty had been here as a child, but he couldn’t remember. Maybe at thirty-six, a visit was long overdue.

He stopped as he crossed the beach runway, heading for the ‘airport’. The turquoise waters murmured gently on the pale golden sands in a rhythmic lullaby. Stunning really. As long as he didn’t have to get too close. He didn’t understand people who wanted to swim in there or do water sports. Getting wet and cold like that held no appeal for him.

Holding his bag close, he made his way to the long white building that was the airport. Kind of surreal that anything so industrial had made its way to such a rugged, out of the way place. The warmth of the sun beat on his back. He should take off his jacket, but with unpredictable weather forecast, he’d not been sure what to wear.

A taxi was waiting, and Monty went to the window. ‘Hello, I’m Monty MacNeil.’

‘That’s right,’ the taxi driver said. ‘In you get. You’re heading to An Grianan, am I right?’

‘Yes, please.’ Presumably the taxi driver had correctly pronounced the name of the farmhouse where he’d booked to stay. Monty had anglicised it in his mind but repeated it inside his head as the driver had said. Un GREE-uh-nun , with the emphasis on ‘gree’. He would try and remember that, so he didn’t sound ignorant. Memories of a trip to Ireland in his younger years surfaced. He’d made some embarrassing gaffs with pronunciations there and was determined not to do it again.

The driver got out and Monty put his luggage in the boot, still holding tightly to the small black backpack which contained the urn.

‘That bag can go in too,’ the driver said.

‘I’d prefer if it didn’t.’ Monty ran his hand around his lightly stubbled jaw. ‘This is rather precious.’

‘Right you are.’

Monty got into the passenger seat and strapped himself in. Once he was ready, the driver took off down the winding island road. The sea sprawled to his left, looking almost tropical in the bright sunlight. To his right were hills of scraggy rocks and tufty grass. Pink and white wildflowers danced in the light breeze along the roadside. No wonder his father had raved about this place. Monty opened the window and got a lungful of clear, fresh air.

‘Are you here on business?’ the driver asked.

Maybe dressing in a shirt had made him look more like he was going to work than on holiday, but he wasn’t good at dressing down. In fact, he tended to wear a similar style of outfit wherever he went – shirts and trousers or smart jeans. If he wore trainers with it, that was him being casual.

‘No. I’m having a break here, but I have got a job to do – not work, you understand? Just something I have to do.’

‘Oh aye?’

‘My late father’s last request was that his ashes were scattered at Kisimul Castle.’

‘Ah.’ Realisation dawned on the driver’s face. ‘Is that what’s in the bag?’

‘Yeah.’ Monty held them close.

‘And your surname’s MacNeil, aye? That can’t be a coincidence.’

‘It’s not. My father did extensive research on the family tree. He was quite insistent that we were related to the MacNeils of Barra and that somewhere along the line, our family was diddled out of Kisimul Castle.’

The taxi driver looked like he was battling a smirk.

‘I bet you hear stories like that all the time.’ Monty leaned his elbow on the windowsill and ran his fingers through his hair. His own mother had accused his father of being fanatical, and Monty wasn’t stupid. He knew the likelihood of such a connection to be slim and unlikely ever to be proven one way or another.

‘I do, though usually from Americans.’

Monty huffed a laugh. ‘Well, I’m not saying it’s true or not. That’s just what my father believed and I’m carrying out his last request.’ The least he could do really. Now that his father was gone, the place where he’d always been was filled with regrets. No one had seen it coming, but the gap he left was bigger than Monty could have imagined. If he could have the time over, he’d do more. He should have done more. Visited more often, listened closer, just been more present.

Too late now.

‘Good for you, son. You’ve got great weather for it.’

‘Yeah.’ He still had to get to the castle though. That was the next big thing. Because Kisimul Castle wasn’t accessible on foot. Only by boat. Perhaps his father had set this challenge from beyond the grave, knowing how tricky that would be for his land-loving son. And maybe it was exactly what Monty needed. Time to get out of his comfort zone and do something more adventurous. This trip was supposed to be about the ashes and to give Monty a chance to connect with the island his father had loved. He needed a break from work and time to regroup. Even before his father died, it had been a trying year.

Coming here felt like travelling to the edge of the world – a remote, quiet corner of Scotland where he could hide from his normal life for a while.

No one here knew him or his history. He was far from prying eyes and expectations. His ex – the very beautiful Sophie – could take a backseat in his mind, and hopefully he could be free of her cutting words and painful accusations.

Taking a deep breath, he looked out the window, watching as they headed around the west side of the island. Monty’s eyes widened as views of the sea returned. Ten-foot breakers cracked on the shoreline and rolled up the beach.

‘Wow,’ he said. ‘That’s dramatic.’

The taxi driver nodded. ‘Aye, it is that.’

A little further along the road, he pulled up a little track, passing a few scattered buildings. A couple of them looked like they might be inhabited, while others were more like outbuildings or animal sheds.

An Grianan farmhouse was a beautiful old stone building, painted white and surrounded by the somewhat bleak Hebridean farmland that ran seamlessly into nature. Insects hummed and wildflowers danced in the long grass at the side of the path as Monty got out of the taxi. Such a stunning place with views over the raging sea to the front and hills to the back, but something about it was forlorn, almost like it had been forgotten in the passing of time.

He paid and thanked the taxi driver, then made his way to the blue door of the farmhouse. Holding tightly to the backpack with the ashes, he knocked. As he waited, he gazed out over the sea.

‘Hello.’ A young woman with thin-rimmed glasses, rosy cheeks and a gentle smile opened the door, and Monty switched his focus to her. A bee buzzed past her, and she shook her long dark blonde hair, then brushed the front of her white t-shirt. ‘Are you Monty?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m Catriona Griffin. We’ve been expecting you.’

‘Pleased to meet you.’ Monty thrust out his hand and she shook it. When he’d seen the owner’s name in the email, he’d expected someone older. This woman looked like she was in her late twenties at most.

‘And you. You’re in the annex for your stay, so I’ll show you around. It’s self-catering, like you asked for, but you’re welcome to add breakfast or evening meals any time you need them.’

‘Thank you. You said you had a bike I could use too. I’d like to explore a bit.’ Though now he’d seen the roads, he wasn’t sure cycling was a good idea.

‘Yes. We’ve got a push-bike or a new e-bike you can use.’ The roads were hilly and bumpy, and Monty was unadventurous in the extreme, though he liked running to keep fit – that was the only occasion he wore anything different from his usual attire – so an e-bike sounded very appealing.

‘I’ll try the e-bike, thanks.’ His lack of interest in thrill-seeking activities was Sophie’s issue with him and her reason for dumping him. Apparently, he was too boring and ‘vanilla’ for her liking. Well, maybe out here in the wilds he could learn an interesting new skill – like cycling these roads without doing himself an injury and trying to get to Kisimul Castle without getting seasick.

His mind wandered into the future. Perhaps he could send Sophie a photo of himself on ‘an adventure’. It might even work as a way to win her back. That thought lifted his heavy heart. He’d always viewed Sophie as his one true love and couldn’t imagine ever finding anyone he would like quite as much. Getting her back was something positive to think about.

‘This is the annex.’ Catriona led him around the building to a small extension on the side. ‘You’ll find it all quite self-explanatory, I think, but if you need help with anything, just give me a shout. I’ll leave you to settle in while I go and get the bike. You’ve got a beautiful day for cycling, so make the most of it. The weather can turn quickly out here, but it looks like it’ll stay nice for a while.’

Monty opened the annex door and smiled. Its bright interior was reminiscent of a ship’s cabin, with whitewashed tongue-and-groove panelling on the wall and fresh white and blue linen on the bed. The thick windowsill had nautical instruments on it, along with what looked like part of a whalebone. A small sofa was on one side and behind a three-quarter height wall was a tiny galley-style kitchen. Behind that was a separate shower room. Monty pushed his case into the main room and placed the backpack containing the urn on the bed.

He ruffled up his hair in the small mirror. What a mess he looked. That was what lack of sleep did. Since Sophie left, he hadn’t slept well and after his father died, that had made it worse. So many regrets to keep him awake. Rubbing his cheeks, he sighed. He probably should’ve shaved before he left that morning, but Barra was a wild place, so having a bit of stubble might help him blend in – though he didn’t really think that would work. This place was gorgeous, but so far removed from what he was used to. He and Sophie had always gone on expensive foreign holidays to luxury hotels. She wouldn’t be impressed with this little annex. But finding anywhere to stay at short notice on the island in the summer wasn’t easy. And the room looked comfortable, which was really all Monty needed.

Catriona returned shortly after with the bike and demonstrated how it worked. Monty listened carefully, all the while thinking how much easier it would have been if he’d brought his car. But there was no chance of that. The car ferry was a four-and-a-half-hour trip from Oban, and Monty knew his limits. That length of time on a boat was sure to kill him. So, a bike it was. If Sophie could see him now!

After Catriona had gone back to the farmhouse, Monty saw no reason to delay his trip to the castle, especially with the weather this good. Maybe he could even get on a boat today. And if not, he could book one. If he found someone who would do a private trip, that would be even better. At least if he got seasick, he wouldn’t disgust all the other passengers – and the chances of him getting seasick were very high. The only time he remembered going on a boat, he’d spent the whole time throwing up and never wanted to repeat the experience.

Stowing the urn carefully in his backpack, he mounted the bike and set off towards the main village of Castlebay – aptly named because of the castle in the bay. He’d seen so many pictures of it he was looking forward to seeing it for himself. The air was so clear here, and as he topped a hill and freewheeled down, his mind flew to Sophie again. So much for him not thinking about her. She had a way of hijacking his brain at every quiet moment. Despite her labelling him ‘boring’ and ‘vanilla’, he couldn’t see her doing this. Even if he’d offered to go trekking in the Andes or ice-climbing in the alps, he couldn’t imagine her wanting to do that either. It begged the question; what kind of excitement did she want? He steered his mind to the bedroom door. If she meant that kind of adventure, he wasn’t sure he wanted to go there. Kinks weren’t ever going to be his thing; he was sure of that. Was that what she meant? It didn’t seem likely, but she’d never said. And she’d only told him she was dissatisfied when she left. The thought made Monty a little queasy. Getting over her was taking a long time – they’d been separated for almost six months, but it still felt so fresh.

He descended into the village, spotting the castle straight away. About a mile of sea separated him from his destination, though it wasn’t as far out as he’d pictured it in his mind. Maybe his ancestors should have thought of putting down a drawbridge, albeit a very long one, or maybe a causeway. He left the bike close to the ferry terminal and walked along the seafront. Not far off was a bench, though the way down to it looked a little uneven. He picked his path carefully, then took off his backpack and sat down. Dad would have loved this. Monty took the urn from the bag and sat it on his knee. If only he’d made time to do this trip when Dad was alive.

He sighed, raising his eyes to the castle. ‘Now I just need to get you out there.’

A few boats were dotted around the bay. Surely someone would give him a lift over. There were definitely boat trips, but he needed one that would land and give him some time alone to do this properly. Saying goodbye wouldn’t be easy.

He got to his feet, taking the urn with him. A gull broke into a loud squawk, and Monty looked around for it as he made his way onto the road, his ankle turning slightly on the uneven grass and stones, but before he could remind himself to watch his steps, he tripped over something. His heart stopped as the urn slipped from his grasp. His glasses, that seriously needed adjusting, slipped. Shit . If the urn fell, it would either shatter or roll down the hill into the sea. Juggling the urn seemed to go on forever. His glasses hit the ground, but he had the urn. It was in his arms, safe. Thank god. Clutching it tightly, he leaned over and picked up his glasses. Thankfully they weren’t broken. He rubbed them clean on his t-shirt and took a couple of steps backward, away from the offensive rock.

‘Oi!’ a voice yelled. A scream and a clatter followed. He spun around and rammed his glasses on to see a woman on the ground with a bike on top of her. A bag of chips had scattered across the road and seagulls descended on them, cackling and shrieking.

‘Are you alright?’ Monty crouched by the woman, ducking as a gull almost scalped him.

She moved slowly. Dressed only in tight black shorts and a cropped black exercise top, she’d probably grazed a lot of skin.

‘What on earth were you doing?’ She winced as she sat up. Her shoulder and upper arm were grey and dusty. She brushed at the mess, revealing red skin that looked chaffed and sore.

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ Monty said. ‘I didn’t look.’

‘That much is obvious.’

‘Can I help you at all? Call an ambulance?’

‘An ambulance?’ She raised an eyebrow, like she suspected him of losing his mind.

Her dark blue eyes bored into him from under her cycle helmet, and his stomach did a weird little flip. He really had an incredible knack for making an idiot of himself. If the ground would please just open up and take him away. She glowered at him and shook her head, then turned away and lifted her bike.

‘Should I help you with that?’ he asked.

‘No thanks. Just look where you’re going in future. And clear off.’ She shooed the gulls as soon as she was on her feet. Monty kept his distance, not sure if it was her or the gulls he wanted to be furthest away from. ‘That’s all my chips gone,’ she muttered.

‘I’m happy to replace them.’

‘It's fine.’ She mounted her bike again.

‘Are you definitely ok to—’

She pushed the pedals and whizzed off. ‘Tourists,’ she muttered before she cycled out of earshot, her long tawny brown ponytail swishing in the wind behind her with a somewhat dismissive air.

Monty closed his eyes and drew in a breath. Ok. That wasn’t the best start to his holiday, but hopefully she’d be ok and he wouldn’t see her again. So, no harm done.