Page 11 of A Scottish Island Summer

They were stunning. Thank goodness for small mercies.

I chose the thistle earrings first and one of the rings and Arran began to arrange me on a nearby rock close to the harbour. He fanned out the hem of my hideous dress.

I had goose pimples exploding up my arms, but I jammed my lips together. Just get on with it, Darcie. Think of the book advance. Get through this and then you never have to see this place again.

Arran danced around in front of me, whilst bemused onlookers stopped with their shopping trolleys and cameras to take in the sight of the young woman wearing tin foil, balanced on a rock like a mermaid.

I pouted and pushed out what I hoped was an attractive smile, as Arran did his best impersonation of Rankin.

He also took shots of my manicured hands against some shells and seaweed Iona found on the harbour shore, with the rings gleaming against my skin.

I was used to other photographers skipping around and taking my picture, but I still had to bite my tongue so I didn’t make any comments about his technique or give unwanted advice. When he was done, I shuffled back to the van to fetch my mobile phone, so I could record and upload some posts about Sparkles in the Skye on my social media channels.

I gave the hem of the dress another fierce tug. I looked like I’d been rescued from the sea and shrouded in one of those foil blankets to stave off the cold.

I located my phone and stuck my head out of the back of the van. The heavy mist was still floating around and layering everything in a grey cloak. ‘Arran, won’t this weather spoil the photos you’ve taken? I know how challenging the atmospherics can be when trying to take photos.’

He shook his head. ‘Och naw. It’ll give them an ethereal, romantic feel.’

My eyebrows rose.

‘Arran here is a fantastic photographer,’ insisted Iona. ‘You wait till you see the finished results.’

Not entirely convinced, I clambered out of the back of the van, rustling for all I was worth. I fiddled with the puff tin foil shoulders of my outfit, cleared my throat and started to record on the harbourside.

‘Hey folks. How’s it all going? How about some new, snazzy and unique jewellery to brighten up your spring? I’ve come to Scotland’s very own Isle of Skye…’

‘Iona. Iona! Sorry to interrupt. You got a minute?’

Oh, for pity’s sake! Someone had cut right across my voice-over.

I stopped recording and whipped my head round to see who the deep male voice that had interrupted me belonged to. ‘Excuse me. Do you mind?! Some of us are trying to work here…’ My voice petered out.

A tall, very handsome man with the lightest eyes I’d ever seen was watching me.

He flashed his canines as he smiled through closely shaven, dark brown stubble. He was, I guessed, in his late thirties, and looked the very definition of rugged and outdoorsy.

I prickled. ‘I was in the middle of recording a post for my many followers.’

He pushed his hands into the pockets of his navy, military-style coat. ‘Sorry about that, but I need to talk to Iona.’

‘Yes, I did gather that by the way you were hollering her name all over the place.’

He flexed one brow, before giving me another wicked smile.

I narrowed my eyes at him and glowered back. I felt self-conscious under his twinkly gaze. ‘Can’t it wait? We’re busy.’

‘What is it? I’m kind of occupied at the moment,’ piped up Iona, glancing over at me with mild panic in her eyes.

‘I don’t suppose you’d be able to mind the shop for an hour?’

‘What? You mean right now?’

‘Well, I don’t mean for Hogmanay.’

‘Sorry,’ I burst in, brandishing my phone in the air, ‘but we’re in the middle of a photo shoot at the moment.’

The man with the light eyes appraised me. ‘I don’t mean to sound rude, Miss, but you seem to be the one being photographed, not Iona.’