Chapter 25
‘MURDERER!’ screams Izzie, although she only gets as far as ‘murd—’ before Yasmin leaps forward and clamps a hand over her mouth to stop her.
There’s a short scuffle as Izzie tries to bite her hand and Yasmin drops what’s left of her toffee apple on the ground, but eventually Izzie quietens down, leaving me free to face Hunter.
‘So. I’m a murderer now, am I?’ he says in a conversational tone that’s completely at odds with the fierce look in his eye, and the defensive stance he’s adopted. ‘Anyone care to explain who I’m supposed to have murdered? Rosie?’
‘But Rosie’s still alive,’ says Millie, frowning. ‘That’s her right there. How could you have murdered Rosie?’
‘He hasn’t murdered anyone,’ I say, my chest tightening uncomfortably at the sight of Hunter’s tense expression. ‘No one has. At least, not as far as I know. This is just a misunderstanding, that’s all. You misheard us, Izzie.’
‘No, she didn’t,’ replies Millie. ‘I heard you too. I was in there having my palm read – I’m going to meet a tall, dark stranger soon, apparently. Exciting! – and I heard you say something about Hunter killing the Laird, Rosie.’
‘And something about Hansel and Gretel,’ adds Izzie, who’s managed to wrestle her way out of Yasmin’s grasp. ‘But I didn’t quite catch that bit.’
Hunter lets out a sharp, humourless laugh, his eyes filled with hurt as they find mine.
‘Well, this is fascinating,’ he says. ‘I’m not just a murderer, I’ve apparently found my way into a fairy story, too.’
‘Oh, “Hansel and Gretel” is no fairy story, trust me,’ mutters Izzie darkly, but Hunter wisely ignores her.
‘Do I at least get to know how I’m supposed to have committed this crime?’ he asks, addressing the rest of us. ‘Poisoned turnip, perhaps? Lead pipe in the drawing room? Or is there something even more fantastical I could possibly be accused of?’
‘No one’s accusing you of anything,’ I say firmly. ‘Like I said, this is just a stupid misunderstanding, and we’ve cleared it up now. Haven’t we, Yasmin?’
I stare at her meaningfully, trying to communicate that if ever there was a time for her to speak up, this would be it.
‘Well, whatever it is, I’ve had more than enough of it,’ says Hunter, in a tone that suggests he’s had enough of all of us – me included. ‘I need to go and collect my daughter from the ghost train. I’ll leave you lot to your scurrilous gossip.’
He attempts to turn and storm off, but Yasmin darts forward to stop him, finally getting the message I’ve been trying to send her with my eyes.
‘This is all my fault,’ she says, grabbing his arm.
‘I was the one who said you might be a murderer. Rosie was just defending you. She said there was no way you’d murder a defenceless old man.
She said you were a good man, and she didn’t say you were hot, but I could tell she was thinking it.
Sorry,’ she adds, glancing at me. ‘But it’s true, isn’t it? ’
‘I . . . um. I did say he wouldn’t kill anyone,’ I begin. ‘Although not in those exact words, Yasmin.’
‘Please don’t be angry with Rosie,’ she tells Hunter. ‘She didn’t do anything wrong. She was being a good friend to you, actually. You should be thanking her.’
She lets his arm go and stares up at him challengingly. This is definitely the longest speech I’ve ever heard her make, and I’m starting to wonder what, exactly, I’ve unleashed by telling her I’ll be her friend.
There’s a short silence, broken only by the sound of Millie scrabbling around on the ground for the dropped toffee apple.
‘I really need to go and get Hannah,’ Hunter says, clearly relieved to have an excuse to get away from us all. ‘I don’t want her to think I’ve abandoned her. Are you coming?’
It takes me a few seconds to realise the last sentence is directed at me and, by the time I do, he’s already striding off across the square to where a little ghost train ride has been set up, a small crowd of parents standing patiently outside it, waiting for their offspring to emerge.
‘Look,’ I say, catching up with him. ‘I’m really sorry about . . . that. It wasn’t what you’re thinking. Well, I mean, it probably was what you’re thinking, if what you’re thinking is that I’m an idiot who keeps getting herself into trouble. But I wasn’t—’
There was something else I was planning to say to him, I’m sure of it.
But every word I’ve ever known goes flying out of my head as Hunter stops and turns to face me, and now all I can think about is the way his lips are turning up ever so slightly at the edges, and how Yasmin was absolutely right when she said I think he’s hot.
Because right now, even when he’s facing accusations of murder from a fortune-teller and a fashion influencer, Hunter Stuart is nothing if not hot.
As if to prove it, he takes a small step forward, shortening the distance between us, and making me gasp in surprise by cupping my face in his hands and kissing me – slow, and deep, as if this is the most important and natural thing to be doing in the middle of a crowded village square.
For several long, delicious seconds, the sounds of the fairground and the smell of cotton candy and .
. . well, tatties . . . fade away, and all that’s left is me, him, and the way his lips move softly against mine, sending little jolts of electricity vibrating through my body.
‘That was for standing up for me back there,’ he says, pulling away at last. ‘I’m still not totally sure what happened, but I know you were on my side, and that your pal’s right: I should thank you for that.’
‘No thanks necessary,’ I reply, slightly breathlessly. ‘Although, if that’s how you normally thank people, I might have to see if I can do you another favour soon. Maybe I could—?’
Hunter chuckles, his eyes darkening in a way that makes my stomach flip.
‘You talk too much, Rosie Winter,’ he says softly, interrupting me. ‘Has anyone ever told you that?’
Then, before I can respond, his lips are on mine again, slower and softer this time; my arms are around his neck, and this moment is absolutely, positively perfect .
. . until Hunter pulls abruptly away, releasing me just in time for the little train to come bursting out of its tunnel, with Hannah sitting in the front seat, grinning widely at the sight of us both.
‘Daddy, where were you?’ she demands, jumping out and running over to us. ‘I went round three times. The man said you can pay him later. Hi, Rosie,’ she goes on, without waiting for an answer. ‘Will you come on the Ferris wheel with us?’
‘Oh. Um, I’m not sure,’ I reply, struggling to catch up with the abrupt transition from what was shaping up to be one of the best kisses of my life to . . . this. ‘I’m not great with heights.’
Or with being snapped rudely back to reality when I can still feel the heat of Hunter’s lips on mine, actually. In fact, I would really, really like to rewind to that moment. I wonder who I can speak to about that?
‘It’s OK,’ Hannah assures me, slipping her little hand into mine, completely oblivious to the way my stomach is fluttering, for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with fairground rides. ‘Daddy will look after us. Won’t you, Daddy?’
‘Aye. Why not?’ says Hunter, falling into step beside us, and behaving so normally that I briefly wonder if I might have imagined our kiss – both of them. Then he turns and gives me one of those winks of his over the top of Hannah’s head, and the blood instantly rushes to my cheeks.
‘I still really want to talk to you about what happened back there,’ I say in a low voice, as Hannah drops my hand and goes running on ahead. ‘The murder thing, I mean, not the . . . other thing. Although I suppose we should probably talk about that too at some point. Um, shouldn’t we?’
Hunter sighs and rubs his eyes.
‘I have other ways to get you to stop talking, Rosie,’ he says dryly.
‘But I don’t think any of them would be particularly appropriate with so many kids around.
I have to admit, though, I’m curious about what led your pal in the sunglasses to decide I must have killed Lord Glenmuir.
I’m grateful you had my back, though. What was it you said again?
Something about me being “hot”, wasn’t it? ’
‘I didn’t say that,’ I protest, my heart racing so much at the thought of the ‘other ways’ and what they might be, that I almost forget how to speak again.
‘That was Yasmin. She . . . well, she thinks you were being “cagey” earlier; you know, when Ian and Izzie wanted to see the Laird? And I guess she let her imagination run away with her a bit.’
Kind of like I’m doing now, actually, although for very different reasons.
‘Sounds like someone else I know,’ Hunter comments dryly, making my cheeks flush. ‘There’s a lot of imagination going around this week, for some reason. It must be infectious.’
‘Hey! I haven’t accused anyone of murder,’ I reply, nudging him in the side, mostly just as an excuse to touch him again. ‘And I’m being serious, Hunter. I feel really bad about what happened with Izzie and Yasmin. I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. I’d hate to think everyone was going around assuming the very worst of me,’ he says with a frown that tells me he’s definitely not as OK with all of this as he’s trying to pretend he is.
‘So, um, why wouldn’t you let them see him?
The Laird, I mean?’ I ask, speaking quickly so I can get this out before we have to get on board the Ferris wheel with Hannah.
‘Wouldn’t it have been easier to just let them sort it out between themselves?
It’s not like it’s your fault the hotel isn’t buying goods from the village anymore. ’
‘It’s not the Laird’s fault either, though,’ Hunter replies, raking his hand through his hair.
‘He might still own the castle, but he doesn’t run the hotel.
And he’s in his eighties, Rosie. It wouldn’t be fair to let the village people over there bother him.
Not that he’d let them get much of a word in, mind you. ’
‘I suppose not,’ I reply, still puzzled.
But before I can say anything else, Hannah gives an excited little squeal as we reach the front of the line, and I realise I have a much more time-sensitive problem to deal with than Dante and his stress levels; or Hunter and his need to gatekeep the Laird from the villagers.
That’s going to have to wait for a moment when I’m not worried about falling to my death from a Ferris wheel.
‘I wasn’t joking about not liking heights,’ I tell Hunter in a whisper as he helps Hannah board the little carriage, which is bucket-shaped, with lights around the outside, and a cheerful red umbrella over the top. ‘I really hate them, actually.’
‘Ach, it’s not that high,’ he replies, holding out his hand to me. ‘And you heard what Hannah said, didn’t you? You can trust me to keep you safe.’
He winks at me again, in a way that makes me think I might not actually mind just a little bit of danger right now – and I’m not talking about the kind that comes from swinging high above the earth on a Ferris wheel.
‘Just for the record, Rosie,’ Hunter whispers, his lips brushing my ear. ‘I think you’re pretty hot, too.’
I grin back at him, excitement fizzing in my stomach, and then we’re in the carriage, which is every bit as tiny and precarious as it looked from the ground.
It lurches horribly from side to side as we take our seats, Hannah tucked between us, and chattering so loudly there’s absolutely no opportunity for me to respond; or to do anything, in fact, other than cling onto the metal rail at the side of the carriage and try not to think about Agnes’s comment about ‘Danger Night’ earlier this week.
Please let this not be Danger Night.
I really don’t think my nerves can handle it.
The wind seems to intensify as the carriage rises into the air, leaving my stomach somewhere down below.
I want to ask Hunter if it’s safe to be riding this thing when there’s supposed to be a storm on the way, but I don’t want to scare Hannah, so I squeeze my eyes shut tight and concentrate on the light drizzle that’s dusting my skin; rain so light you can barely even feel it.
‘Look, Rosie! Look at the lights!’
Hannah’s voice, a few minutes into the ride, prompts me to open my eyes again.
‘Oh, wow,’ I breathe, risking a glance down to the square below us, which has been transformed into a magical little model village, with lights cobwebbed above it, and music drifting faintly up through the damp air.
‘I thought you said it wouldn’t go too high,’ I gasp at Hunter, who laughs, and then reaches for my hand.
‘You’re fine, Rosie,’ he says, reassuringly. And, miracle of miracles, I realise I am.
I’m perfectly safe, up here in the sky, with this lovely man and his little girl. Far below, I can see the throng of people in the square, while, just beyond the funfair, the streetlights of the village stretch down to the sea, like strands of gold leading to its inky dark blue.
This place is wild and wonderful, and only occasionally scary; and, even in the short time I’ve been here, it’s somehow already wormed its way into my heart.
It’s just a shame I’m leaving soon.
The thought bursts into my happy thoughts like a firework into the night sky; only, instead of leaving me excited and filled with awe, it just makes my stomach plummet abruptly – although that could also be because the carriage we’re in has reached the top of the wheel.
‘You OK?’ Hunter says quietly, squeezing my hand.
‘Sure,’ I reply brightly, smiling over at him in spite of the dull ache that’s started up in my chest at the thought of never seeing him again. ‘Never better.’
And yet, I definitely could be better, couldn’t I?
Because, at the exact moment I’m starting to get close to him – and to Hannah, and to everyone else I’ve met here in the Highlands – I’m about to go home, to my very average life, my money worries and the problem of finding somewhere to live other than my sister’s sofa.
I may not be the wrong Rosie, but I’m definitely living the wrong life.
‘Could you take a photo for me?’ I ask impulsively, handing Hunter my phone.
‘Still trying to win that competition, are you?’ he says, taking it reluctantly.
‘No. I don’t care about the competition. I wanted you to take a photo of all three of us,’ I tell him shyly. ‘I’d do it myself, but your arms are longer.’
He hesitates for just a moment, then a slow smile spreads across his handsome face.
‘Aye,’ he says, holding up the camera. ‘Aye, why not?’
Hannah and I both lean in to him, all three of us grinning cheesily at the camera as Hunter presses the button to take the shot.
And that’s the exact moment the lights go out.