Chapter 16 Tilda #3
Edie’s in a faded denim shirt and grey leggings, and my shoulders drop in relief. I don’t know if she’s dressed down deliberately to make me feel at home, or if she genuinely doesn’t dress for dinner, but I’m grateful, nonetheless.
“Gregor says it’s ready now, if you are?” Edie looks at me for direction.
I flick a glance at Finn who gives me a brief nod. “Definitely,” I say, and she leads us through another door into a huge, airy kitchen.
It’s a complete contrast. The vast space has huge windows which are lit up by the beautiful view of the sun setting over the hills, the sky streaked orange and pink.
There are plants everywhere – hanging in the windows, stacked on the shelves, and trailing down a wooden bookcase stuffed with recipe books.
“Finn,” says a voice, and a moment later a stocky man in chefs whites with close-cropped grey hair makes his way from the far end of the vast, spacious kitchen, grabbing him by the hand and then pulling him into a half-hug. I’m amazed to see Finn reciprocate.
“Good to see you, man,” says the other gentleman who then turns to me. “And you’re the gardener Jake told me about? Tilda, aye?”
His Glaswegian accent is unmistakable, and the twinkle in his eye is genuine and welcoming.
“This is Gregor, who holds this place together,” says Edie, hitching her hip up so she’s perched on the edge of a huge scrubbed wooden table.
“That’s Janey’s job, no’ mine.”
“He has a point.” Rory leans past Edie and takes a piece of bread from the table, which is laid out beautifully. It’s simple and stylish and looks a bit like something from a Scandinavian design magazine.
“Aye, she’ll be sad to miss meeting you,” Gregor says, turning back to me. “She’s the boss of all of us,” he adds, giving me a wink.
“Not that you’re complaining,” Finn says, raising a brow.
“I need someone to keep me on the straight and narrow. Janey’s gone to New Zealand to see her boys,” he explains. “I’m here holding the fort and looking after our new puppy.”
“And cooking us a delicious dinner,” says Edie, giving an appreciative sniff. There’s a smell of warm bread rising from a loaf that’s cooling on a rack on the side.
“What have we got tonight? I told him to surprise us,” she adds, turning back to me.
“Sit yourselves down and you’ll find out soon enough.”
A moment later a tall, loose-limbed figure wanders into the room.
“Jamie,” he says, clasping my hand with both of his. “The spare brother. I’m the one he’s probably forgotten to mention.”
He lets me go and grabs Finn’s hand, pulling him into a half-hug.
Finn grins at him. “As you are well aware, Tilda’s here to see your rewilding project so I’ve prepared her in advance.”
Jamie laughs and pushes his hair back from his face in the manner that all three brothers seem to have inherited from somewhere.
There’s no mistaking them as being siblings, but they’re all quite different.
He plops himself down on the chair to my left, reaching over and helping himself to a chunk of bread which he butters thickly.
“So, how’s it going on Benruar?”
I flick a glance at Finn, sitting opposite.
“Stormy,” I say without thinking.
Jamie and Rory both give a bark of amused laughter.
“Do you mean the weather,” says Edie as Gregor clatters pans at the far end of the kitchen, “or the atmosphere?”
“Knowing my brother, I know what I’d be putting money on,” Rory says with dry humour and a twist of amusement on his lips.
“Give it a rest, you two.” Finn’s laughing despite himself.
“The weather’s been… challenging.” I wrinkle my nose. “Not ideal when we’re trying to renovate the gardens.”
“How’s that going?” Edie asks, shifting sideways so Gregor can put some wine down on the table.
I look over at Finn.
“She’s doing a very good job,” he replies, surprising me.
Jamie sits back in his chair in exaggerated surprise. “Fuck me, you must be a miracle worker.”
“Praise from Finn,” says Rory, twisting a corkscrew into a bottle of wine. “That’s a very rare occurrence.”
“I give praise when it’s due,” Finn says gruffly. “It’s not my fault most of the world is completely incompetent.”
Edie tips her head in acknowledgement. “I’d take that,” she says, smiling.
I look across at Finn, who is buttering a hunk of bread with studied concentration, and I feel that same jolt, low in my stomach. It’s because I’m here in a different environment, I tell myself firmly. That’s all.
But I’m thrown when Rory offers wine. I almost refuse out of long habit, but then I nod, earning myself a sharp glance from Finn. One brow lifts, not a challenge, more of a question. Since when, I can see written on his face.
I hold his gaze, my head tilted, as if daring him to comment.
The air between us tightens. His eyes are dark in the low light, unreadable, and for a second it feels like we’re the only people in the room.
He doesn’t say anything, but I catch the smallest tug at the corner of his mouth before he looks away, and something warm unfurls in my chest despite myself.
The wine’s nicer than I expect. I feel the warmth of it burning my throat as I take my first sip, hoping that maybe it’ll make this whole experience a little less of an ordeal.
Dinner is spread along the table in dishes that smell heavenly – a salad fresh from the greenhouse, fresh bread, a roast chicken that’s sprigged with herbs and glistening bronze with buttery juices.
Cutlery skitters on the wooden table, and the spaniels thump their tails hopefully.
I catch Finn’s eye, but he’s busy deflecting Jamie’s good-natured ribbing.
“Well, I never thought I’d see the day you brought someone to meet the family.” Jamie grins. “We’re honoured.”
Rory leans into the joke, chin on his hand as he looks at his brother. “We were beginning to think you found us embarrassing.”
Finn’s voice is as dry as bone. “Tilda’s job is to make the place look respectable enough that the witch from the tourist board caves and lets me get back to what I want to do – making whisky. She’s here to see the gardens and the rewilding project, that’s all.”
The words hit me like a slap. That’s all. I paste on a smile and reach for my wine glass, hoping nobody notices the heat climbing up my neck. Of course, that’s all. What else would it be?
But somewhere beneath my ribs, something aches.
Jamie bounces back, offering me more wine – which I take despite myself – and the conversation veers towards salmon stocks and tree planting.
I find myself listening, fascinated, while I eat.
These people live in a world that feels both impossibly distant and also disarmingly casual.
They tease each other, pass dishes, argue about half-remembered family anecdotes – all like any normal family would – only they’re doing it in a castle which is worth millions, eating food prepared by a member of staff who lives in a cottage supplied by them, on land their family have owned for generations.
I’m not part of this world. And Finn – despite his protestations – is.
Rory turns to me a while later, a spoon in hand.
“Chocolate mousse? It’s Edie’s favourite.”
Edie groans dramatically. “Seriously, I’d eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner if I could.”
I smile politely. “That would be lovely, thank you.”
I’m still stinging from Finn’s words but arrange my face into a smile and listen as they chat through pudding.
Afterwards, I get up and make my apologies, saying I want to take Flora out for a last leg-stretch before bed.
“Hold on,” says Finn as my hand is on the door. “I’ll bring the others. Edie, where are they all?”
“Are you sure you don’t mind? You’re an angel.” She glances outside. “It’s freezing out there. They’re all in the library.”
I head into the big open hall and wait while Finn disappears down a passageway, and then a moment later I hear the clatter of claws on the polished wooden floor as Flora, Finn’s spaniels, and Edie and Rory’s two springers hurtle towards the big front door.
Outside, the garden is dark and quiet, the loch silver under the crescent moon. The sky is a soft blue dotted with stars, and I shiver at the cold air which is threaded through with the smell of woodsmoke.
I draw in a long breath as I watch the dogs running in a pack down the stone steps and onto the neatly manicured lawn I walked down earlier. Finn’s boots crunch on the gravel, but I don’t turn.
“Tilda.”
I keep my gaze on the water but feel myself stiffening, conscious of his approach. “If you’ve come to remind me of my job description, there’s no need. I think we’ve all got it memorised at this point.”
There’s a pause. And then he speaks again, his voice lower than usual. “That’s not what I meant.”
I turn to look at him, ready to fight, but his expression is unexpected as his eyes meet mine.
“I have a habit of saying the wrong thing,” he admits. “Blunt.”
He pushes the sleeve of his plaid shirt up and I look away, not wanting to be distracted by the thick muscles of his forearms which have a habit of drawing my eye.
“It doesn’t mean I don’t value the work you’re doing. You’ve done more in the last few weeks than anyone has managed in years. If we get this contract, it’ll be down to your work.”
Something inside me softens, although I don’t want it to. “You could try leading with that, next time.” I take a half step towards him.
His mouth twitches. “Noted.”
We’re closer than I realised. The distance between us no more than a breath, and I can see the moonlight reflected in his dark eyes. The night is perfectly still, no sound but the lap of water on the loch shore and our slightly too fast breathing.
I bite my lower lip as he looks down at me, and my heart stutters. If either of us leaned in—
Flora and the spaniels dash back towards us, checking in, and hopeful for treats. I step back, my pulse too fast. My skin is tingling where the cold air touches it, but that’s not why I’m shivering.
“I ought to get some sleep,” I say, catching Flora by the collar. “I’ll take her in.”
He follows me inside, the air between us still humming with something I can’t quite name. At the foot of the stairs, I pause, one hand on the banister. He’s standing in the doorway, backlit by the moonlight, watching me.
“Goodnight, Tilda.” His voice is low and rough.
“Night.” I don’t trust myself to say more. I climb the stairs without looking back, but I can feel his eyes on me the whole way up.
There’s something about this place. I don’t know what it is, but I’ll be glad to get home to Benruar tomorrow and see how the cottage is looking.
It’s only when I’m lying in bed with the heavy weight of Flora pressing on the duvet by my feet that I realise what I’d thought.
Benruar isn’t home.