Page 62 of A Scottish Island Summer

‘Who did?’

‘Campbell Adams.’

My brow furrowed. ‘How? In what way?’

Logan scratched at his dark brown stubble. He hesitated. ‘I hated school. I mean, really hated it.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I was bullied.’ A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. ‘I was this geeky, skinny kid, who was fascinated by dinosaurs, fossils, rocks … anything that gave us information about the past.’ He shrugged. ‘I think a lot of the other kids thought I was weird.’

Empathy ripped through me for Logan. ‘Nothing wrong with being different. Different is good.’

Now, he was rubbing the back of his neck as he appreciated the watercolour-like beauty of our surroundings. ‘Aye, it is, but somewhere in a small place like this, maybe not so much.’

Robbie’s words from the other day on the boat trip, about Logan being a swot at school and not the buff Adonis he was now, pinged around my head. I also recalled the way Logan shut him down when he mentioned it.

I eyed Logan’s broad shoulders. It was difficult to imagine him as a scrawny little boy. ‘Go on,’ I urged him. ‘Please. Tell me.’

The stream below continued to tumble over shiny rocks and pebbles, as we stood side by side on the bridge.

‘I always had my head stuck in a book when I was younger. They were nearly always about rock formations or how the dinosaurs died out. I’d take myself off into the fields, hoping to discover the next velociraptor jawbone or some priceless gemstone.’ He grinned through his stubble, making my heart give a judder.

‘I was obsessed with the Indiana Jones movies too. I must’ve watched them on a continual loop. It drove Iona and my parents mad.’

‘So, where does Campbell Adams come in?’

Logan’s enviable jutting lashes fluttered. ‘He came to my primary school to give a talk, one afternoon just before the Easter holidays. I was nine years old then. He was speaking about how Skye is imprinted with history, that it was trying to talk to all of us and tell us a story. All we had to do, was listen.’ Logan smiled at the memory. ‘His knowledge and enthusiasm were infectious.’

He pushed a hand through his hair, while the clouds bumped over our heads. The stream below us danced in the light. ‘After his school visit, I knew for sure that was what I wanted to do. I wanted to investigate what happened in the past and breathe life into it again.’

I continued to listen, drinking in Logan’s enthusiasm. ‘So, I read up about Campbell Adams. I borrowed his books from the library and devoured them. I would read any articles about him. I decided I wanted to follow in his footsteps.’

‘But you never got to meet him?’

Logan shook his head. ‘No. I wanted to, especially after I secured a place at Glasgow University to study geology. But not long after I started the course, I came home one weekend for a visit and I started hearing gossip.’

‘Gossip?’

Logan’s mouth flatlined. ‘That he was becoming obsessed with finding the Skye Lovers’ Cross. He said he was going to write a book about it and was determined to find it, even though most of the locals said it was an urban myth.’

I admired the Cuillins, prizing their way into the clouds. ‘What happened after that?’

‘The folks here on Skye didn’t want the island to become swamped with wannabe treasure hunters.’ He sighed. ‘The rumours were that even his own family asked him to drop his search for it. They thought it was nonsense and the whole thing would become some sort of out-of-control circus.’

‘What happened to him?’ I asked. ‘Campbell?’

‘He vanished,’ replied Logan. ‘Just upped and left Skye and was never heard of again. That must have been about twenty years ago now. Rumours were rife that the arguments he was having with his family about searching for the cross were the catalyst.’ Logan turned to me. ‘It all fits.’

I mulled over what Logan had just told me, while a sudden wind whipped across the water below the bridge, making the stream shimmer. ‘You really think our bearded man is Campbell Adams?’

‘Aye, Darcie. I do. In fact, I’m convinced he is.’

My thoughts stirred. It could make for a fantastic section in my travel guide. A real-life mystery, containing family arguments and a search for some long-lost gem.

I bit my lip and decided not to say anything to Logan about my idea of including it in the book. At least, not for now.

‘What are you going to do?’ I asked him, pushing my hands deeper into the pockets of my waterproof trousers. ‘I hope you don’t think I’m being selfish, but like I said before, I need to get more material for my book.’

Logan examined me. ‘We can do both.’ His face broke into a wistful smile, which made my breath catch. ‘Your time here is going by so fast.’

‘Not fast enough!’ I joked, shuddering against the bracing wind.

I caught sight of Logan’s smile faltering, and as we both fell quiet and I gazed down from the top of the bridge to where the stream slithered like a satin ribbon, I registered that odd sensation again.

Did I actually mean what I’d just said about being desperate to get back to London?

Right now, I wasn’t sure I did.