Chapter Seven
Monty
M onty wandered away from the boat, cradling his backpack in his arms. He breathed deeply, drawing in the fresh air, hoping to settle the nausea. Was it just seasickness? He suspected not. This task was going to be painful and there was no avoiding it. Now that they’d landed, this little island was serene, and almost completely taken over by the stark fortress of Kisimul Castle. As Iona had said, it was all locked up, so he made his way around the outside, clambering over the rocky outcrops, which wasn’t easy, but this would be close enough. It would have to be. He didn’t fancy making this journey again.
Each step he took felt heavier than the last, as if the weight of his father’s ashes was pulling him down. The funeral had been bad enough, but this had an even more final feeling to it. Once the ashes were out, there was no getting them back. Why did that seem to matter? It wasn’t like he wanted them back. But he needed to do this properly, get it right, and carry out his father’s last wishes.
Monty found a secluded spot by a cluster of rocks at the back of the castle wall overlooking the open sea. How calm it looked now, gently lapping at the rocks, lulling him into believing it was friendly. Sitting down, he placed his backpack beside him and lifted out the urn. The rhythmic sound of the waves was soothing but didn’t ease the tightness in his chest. He gazed out to sea, running his fingers through his hair that had got a little wild on top. With the wind on this island, he didn’t suppose his hair would sit nicely until he was back on the plane.
The cool breeze sent ripples dancing across the water. In the distance, the Barra mainland curved around with a few smaller islands scattered just off the shore. A long sandy beach was visible, and a few little houses dotted along the coast. Monty stared forward, not moving.
How long had he been sitting here? Minutes, hours? Time had blurred. What now? Did he just open the urn and empty it? Should he say something? Out loud? Why hadn’t he thought about this before? The answer to that was simple. He’d avoided thinking about it in too much detail, but now he was here, he had to decide, and he wasn’t prepared.
He prised off the lid of the urn, but the sight of the ashes made him freeze. How was he supposed to do this? But he had to. There was no one else. And really, it was the main reason for this trip.
His father’s voice echoed in his mind, full of his old island stories, their family’s history, and how it had all been lost. Monty hadn’t paid as much attention as he should. It had never seemed that interesting or occurred to him that one day all those stories would be lost. He could kick himself now. He should have hung on every word. It had always been a mystery to him why his father was so obsessed with this place, but now, sitting here with the endless sea, and blue sky gradually emerging from behind fluffy white clouds, the connection tugged at his heart. Or if not a connection, perhaps an affinity with the wildness and beauty of the place. It was definitely somewhere to come to relax and refresh, something he’d gladly do, but he had this one job to do first. And yet, he couldn’t do it.
He glanced up and saw a boat gliding smoothly through the water, cutting a path and leaving a foamy trail behind. Thank goodness he wasn’t on the little boat now. That trail was already increasing the speed of the waves and they rushed on the rocks more insistently than before.
Monty sighed and picked up the urn. The sound of the boat’s motor carried across the silence of the bay, and he watched it as it headed further out.
He gripped the urn. Just do it. He’d sat here long enough.
‘Hey.’ Iona’s voice jolted him out of his reverie. He looked up, blinking. She stood there, hands on hips, her wind-tousled hair framing her face. ‘You’ve been gone a while, and the tide’s turning. We should get going. Is everything ok?’
‘Oh, um, yeah. I didn’t realise how long I’d been.’ He glanced down at the urn, then back at her. ‘Sorry.’
She waved a hand. ‘It’s fine. Just thought I’d check on you.’
He nodded. Would she sit or something? The way she was towering over him like this was intimidating. Jeez . He ran his fingers through his hair. She was scarier than a tigress with her fearless attitude and adventurous spirit. No doubt if she had control of the urn, she’d just whip off the lid, tip the contents into the sea and be done with it. She was the type who faced challenges head-on, while he… well, he wasn’t sure what he was right now.
‘I, um, just… need a moment.’
She glanced at the sea around the rocks, and he suddenly noticed how high it had got. ‘Are you sure you’re ok?’ Her gaze softened a little. ‘Are you still feeling sick, because we can’t hang about much longer? You’ve been sitting here for forty minutes.’
‘Has it been that long? Oh heck. Well, I don’t feel seasick anymore.’ He still felt nauseous, but it was nothing to do with the boat.
‘That’s good… So…’ She hopped down the rocks a little and crouched close by, looking like she was playing at a trampoline park and not moving over solid boulders.
‘You’re quite the adventurer, aren’t you?’ His voice was quieter than he intended. ‘You live on the edge.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh sure. Life on Barra is an extreme sport.’
He huffed out a laugh. ‘Still, you’re…’ He struggled to find the right words. ‘You’re out there, doing things, being exciting. I’ve never been like that.’
Iona shrugged, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. ‘Everyone’s got their own thing. Just because I like a bit of adventure doesn’t mean I don’t have my moments of doubt.’
Really? She seemed like the epitome of confidence. ‘Listen. Thanks for checking on me. I’ll, um, I’ll be done soon.’
‘You’ll have to be, because in about twenty minutes you’ll be underwater if you’re not back at the boat.’
‘Right.’ Definitely couldn’t hang about then. He took a deep breath, turning his gaze back to the rising sea, trying to find the strength to do the job he had to do.
‘Can I ask…?’ She moved closer. He caught her eye, then saw her gaze drop to the urn. ‘Is that an—’
‘Urn. Yes. It’s what I’m here to do.’
Iona shuffled up beside him, still crouching, her face level with his. Her irises were very blue and easy to get lost in. Such an attractive face to go with her energy and spirit. ‘To do what?’
Monty swallowed hard. ‘I came here to scatter my dad’s ashes.’ He tapped the top of the urn. ‘I thought I could do it, but… it’s harder than I expected.’
Iona tilted her head so her long ponytail fell over her shoulder, then shifted onto her bottom so she was sitting alongside him. She raised her knee and leaned her arm on it. ‘I’m really sorry. I didn’t realise.’
‘It’s just…’ He struggled to find the words. ‘He always talked about Barra and Kisimul Castle. He loved it here. It was his wish to have his ashes scattered here. I just don’t know if I can do it.’
She reached out, resting a hand lightly on his arm. His focus moved to the contact point, and he stared at her hand for a moment. ‘Of course you can do it. It’s hard saying goodbye, but it’s ok to take your time, though we should probably move further up the rocks.’
Monty inhaled deeply and closed his eyes. ‘I should have prepared myself better.’
‘How can anyone prepare themselves for something like this? It’s not like something you have to do often in your life. Hopefully not anyway.’
‘I suppose so.’ Monty glanced back at the urn.
‘Don’t you have other family? Are you the only one who can do this?’
He nodded. ‘Yup. Just me. My mother and father are divorced. I’m an only child. There’s no one else.’
‘Then can I help?’ she asked.
‘You?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes, me. I didn’t know your dad, but maybe you could tell me something about him.’
‘You won’t want to hear it. He loved the idea that he was somehow descended from the MacNeils of Barra. He told many stories about how our branch of the family were diddled out of this castle.’
He glanced at her and caught a smile.
‘Well, maybe this time it’s actually true. What was his name?’
‘Hector.’
‘Then let’s release Hector MacNeil. It’s time to return him to his homeland. Let his ashes fly free over Kisimul, the stronghold of his ancestors.’ She smiled, and Monty couldn’t stop a grin from spreading across his face. Then he let out a laugh and she joined in.
‘That was quite a speech.’ He got to his feet, the water getting closer than he liked. ‘Let’s not waste it.’ He unscrewed the lid of the urn and took a deep breath. A lump rose in his throat. His hands shook slightly as he lifted the urn, and Iona smiled.
‘Time to fly, Hector,’ she said quietly.
Monty took a step up the rocks. The gentle breeze ruffled his hair. With a deep, shuddering breath, he scattered the ashes at the wall of the castle, watching as some of them caught the breeze and drifted out over the sea.
As the last of the ashes were released, a wave of emotion crashed over him. He closed his eyes and held it in.
‘Hey.’ Iona patted his back. ‘It’s ok. You did what he wanted. He’s free now.’
Monty kept his eyes closed. The sound of the waves getting closer took over his mind, and he focused on it.
‘How did he die?’ Iona asked.
‘He had a heart attack. Just out of the blue.’
‘I’m sorry. But at least you’ve done what he wanted.’
‘Thank you,’ he whispered, turning to face her. ‘I appreciate what you did there.’
Iona gave him a small smile. ‘No worries. We should get back to the boat now unless you want to swim back.’
‘Definitely not. But do you mind if I just sit on the boat for a bit before we go back? I’d like to watch the tide swallowing the rocks… As long as it’s not too choppy.’
‘Sure. It should be steady-ish if I stay alongside the slipway.’
‘Thanks.’ His eyes met hers and the heavy sensation in his chest flickered, changing into something different, but he wasn’t sure what.
‘Come on then.’ She led the way back around the rocks, and Monty cursed himself for sitting there so long. The water really was too close for comfort now. The wind picked up as they walked, and Iona tossed her ponytail back. She glanced over her shoulder at Monty, presumably checking he was keeping up.
As they reached the jetty, she hopped into the boat and held out her hand. Monty took it more out of politeness than necessity. He didn’t think he would fall getting into the boat, but she was likely paranoid after he’d nearly knocked her over twice.
Once he was safely in, he slouched down on the bench, looking back with a sigh at the place where they’d scattered the ashes. His mission was done. Now he could relax. But an odd sensation lingered in his chest, something niggling at him. Words seemed to play in his mind, telling him this wasn’t the end, but the beginning. Only he had no idea what it could possibly be the beginning of.