Page 97 of A Secret Scottish Escape

“You’re welcome.”

I debated inwardly whether to confess that I knew about his valiant attempt to persuade Ed to perform with Battalion for me, before thinking better of it. I didn’t want Mask to think of me creeping around his home and spying on him.

We hovered opposite one another, as the sound of a sizzling camp fire travelled up from nearby.

“Mask,” I burst out, my fingers tumbling over one another. “What is the relevance of the name Belle Raven?”

Mask let out a dry laugh. “You aren’t backward at coming forward, are you?”

A blush swept across my cheeks. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you helped Ed and me today, and so I’d like to help you if I can.”

Mask’s chest heaved under the zip of his dark grey hoodie.

I could visualise his features from earlier, and all its arrogant angles.

“I won’t get any peace if I don’t tell you,” he ground out. “That I know only too well.” His mouth flatlined. “OK. You win. Belle Raven was the name of my first album.”

“So this woman must be some sort of obsessed fan.”

Mask let out an exasperated grunt. “That’s where I think you could be wrong. That album was never released.”

Mask and I moved a little further away, to where there was a canopy of shimmering trees. “Belle Raven was named for my mother, Belle, and a boat my grandfather had owned called Raven Warrior. It was a working title for the album.”

I frowned.

“Why was the album never released?”

His answer was brusque. “I had my reasons.”

“So, not many people would have known about this album then?”

Mask’s eyes narrowed. “That’s right.”

I grasped at the vain hope that he would confide in me again, the way I had with him about Dad and Ed. “So who the hell is this woman who is going by the name of Belle Raven?”

“I wish I knew. Thanks for trying to help.”

He turned and strode back to his pick-up truck without another word.

Chapter Forty-Seven

I watched Mask leave and an odd squirming sensation took over my stomach.

There were so many questions demanding answers. How did Mask get his scar? Who was this Australian woman in town, and why was she using the name of his unreleased first album? And why had the album never been released in the first place?

“Layla?”

I spun round at the sound of Ed’s hesitant voice from across the grass. He was squirming in a vivid green and yellow stripy plastic chair. His bruised foot was raised and propped up on a cooler box that was draped with a blanket. Mikey, Jack, and Stan were lurking close by.

Ed muttered something to them and one by one they vanished back inside their respective tents.

I wandered over. “How’s the foot now?”

“I’ll live.”

I loitered beside him until Mikey emerged out of his tent with another collapsible chair thrust under one arm. “Here you go, Layla.”

He flexed it open, eyed Ed, and then vanished back through the flapping canvas.