Her Brooding Scottish Heir. Ella Hayes

spreadsheet on her laptop.’

      In the drawing room Rosie and her three bridesmaids were discussing the décor for the marquee. With the introductions over, Cormac sank into an armchair and listened half-heartedly. He loved this room, with its high ceilings and overstuffed sofas, its shelves lined with books and family photos in silver frames. Over the fireplace hung an oil painting of a magnificent stag; perhaps it wasn’t quite as fine as Landseer’s Monarch of the Glen but he admired it even so. Like everything else at Calcarron, it was freighted with a lifetime’s worth of memories.

      In spite of his misgivings, it felt good to be back. The estate was in his blood and would belong to him one day—sooner rather than later if his father had anything to do with it. He wanted to go for a walk, get acclimatised after his long drive, but it wouldn’t be polite to disappear so soon after arriving.

      ‘Cor!’

      He heard his name and looked up.

      ‘So, while you do all the outside stuff,’ Rosie was saying, ‘we’re going to do all the finishing touches—it’s a woodland theme, with foraged greenery, and we’re using jam jars with strips of tartan ribbon and hessian to make tea light holders for the tables...’

      Cormac felt his attention wandering. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Rosie to have her dream wedding—he was here to help after all—he just couldn’t get excited about woodland themes and tea lights while people were dying in wars.

      Rosie was trying to create a Scottish themed wedding. Wasn’t the place itself enough? Why did she want to underline everything with tartan? Perhaps his mother had been right—they were all giddy with wedding planning. The sooner he could get on with his list of outside jobs the better. He certainly wouldn’t be able to fake interest in this kind of minutiae for a whole week.

      He wondered how his brother, Sam, was coping with it all. Happy-go-lucky Sam, who was notably absent. Perhaps that was the trick.

      Lily swung through the door with a loaded tea tray and Cormac got up to carry it for her. As he set the tray down on the coffee table Rosie caught his eye, sprang to her feet and pulled him into a hug.

      ‘Thanks for coming to help with the wedding. I really appreciate it.’ She leaned in to his ear and whispered. ‘I’m so preoccupied—I haven’t even asked you how you are.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘We’ll chat later, okay?’

      With the tea poured, Cormac lifted a cup from the tray and retreated to the relative seclusion of the bay window, where he gazed out over the view he loved.

      The well-tended garden descended gently to the edges of the loch. Loch Calcarron was the jewel in the crown of the family estate, flanked by steeply climbing slopes with purple mountains beyond.

      ‘Where’s Sam?’ he asked.

      Rosie was handing round shortbread. ‘He was up at the bothy this morning, getting things ready for the artist who’s arriving today, and then he went fishing. Can you see his boat out there?’

      At the mention of a new artist at the bothy Cormac felt a rush of something indefinable attached to a memory of teasing green eyes.

      He forced himself to focus on the expanse of loch in front of him. ‘I can’t see his boat. Maybe he capsized...’ As he suspected, no one was listening to him.

      He heard one of the girls ask what a bothy was, and Lily’s voice rising in explanation.

      ‘Traditional bothies are small stone structures where walkers can shelter or stay overnight, but what we have is an artist’s bothy. Rosie’s grandfather was a keen amateur artist. When artists’ bothies started springing up in remote places he thought it was a wonderful idea. Calcarron Estate is large. We have plenty of space. So he said we should build one too—let artists come to enjoy all the things we take for granted. We hired an architect to design something practical and comfortable and we located it right up in the hills. Splendid isolation and all that. It’s very popular.’

      Rosie interjected. ‘It’s a large wooden hut basically, but a contemporary design. There’s a deck in front, overlooking the hills, and this year Sam’s installed one of those big hammocks, so guests can chill out with the amazing view, or even watch the stars at night. The living space is bright and airy because of the picture windows, and we designed the studio with opaque roof panels, so it’s got perfect light for working. There’s a cute wood stove, which keeps the place cosy when it’s cold, but my very favourite part is the mezzanine bedroom—it’s so romantic. I did the interior design—I can show you some photogra—’

      Lily held up her hand. ‘Is that the telephone...?’

      Cormac seized the opportunity. ‘I’ll go.’

      His mother’s voice faded as he escaped to the kitchen and hooked the receiver off the phone on the wall. ‘Buchanan.’

      ‘Is that you, Sam?’ The female voice sounded hesitant.

      ‘No, it’s Cormac—’

      ‘Cormac! It’s Mary Frazer, from the shop in Ardoig. How are you?’

      He wasn’t good at small talk, but since the local shop was Gossip Central it was imperative that he sounded politely upbeat. ‘Ah, hello, Mary. I’m fine, thanks. What can I do for you?’

      ‘I’ve had your bothy guest in the shop just now and I said I’d call to let you know she’s on her way, so you can meet her there with the key. Sam usually—’

      ‘Thanks, Mary. I’ll send him.’

      ‘Well, you might wait a while, mind. She said she was having a wheel fixed, or something, before she comes up...’

      Cormac felt his heart tightening in his chest and he swallowed hard. ‘Okay, thanks for letting us know. Bye for now.’

      He didn’t mean to hurry Mary off the phone, but he had the impression she’d have talked on and on and he simply couldn’t. He leaned against the wall and tipped back his head. So the artist with the puncture was their new bothy guest. He didn’t understand why the news had caused his pulse to spike. She was striking, of course, and rather abrasive, but there was something else too, hidden in her eyes...vulnerability, perhaps?

      Suddenly Lily appeared through the door. ‘Are you all right, Cor?’

      He shook himself and met her gaze. ‘I’m fine. Just tired from the drive, I suppose, and all that wedding chat... You weren’t wrong. It’s going to be quite a week.’

      Lily patted his arm. ‘It’ll be fine. Once Dad’s home you can hide in his study, drink whisky and talk about estate business. Who was that on the telephone?’

      ‘It was Mary, from the shop. She was calling to say that the new incumbent is on her way up to the bothy.’

      Lily frowned. ‘Damn your brother. The bothy and its guests are supposed to be his responsibility. He’s taking advantage, of course. Cormac’s coming home so I’ll go fishing and let him take over.’

      ‘Me?’

      ‘Would you mind?’ Lily shot him a sly smile. ‘It means you can escape the clutches of Bridezilla and her handmaidens and you can take the new quad bike. A ride up the hill will soon blow away the cobwebs.’ She opened the dresser drawer and handed him a stag’s horn key fob. ‘It doesn’t take long to do the show-around and go over a few safety points. By the time you get back we’ll be ready for pre-dinner drinks.’

      Cormac pocketed the key. He could hardly refuse, since Sam was AOL, and hadn’t he just been thinking about getting out for a walk? If he could deal with the bothy business quickly he’d have time to go up to the ridge before dinner. It was his favourite place, and the perfect antidote to wedding fever.

      He moved towards the door.

      ‘Hang on.’ Lily was leafing through a large blue book. ‘Our new artist is called Camilla O’Brien.’ She looked into his face and smiled. ‘What