Page 96 of A Scottish Island Summer

Chapter Twenty-Four

The fireworks erupted like summer flowers bursting open in the night sky.

Dazzling whites, silvers, golds, blood reds and cobalt, the colours rained down onto the upturned faces of the admiring onlookers.

I took a couple of shots of the erupting colours on my phone and posted them on my social media accounts.

I glanced at Campbell beside me. He was studying the explosions, which were sending crackles and pops into the dark.

The pensive planes of his face were accentuated by the fireworks.

‘What do you think we should do now?’ I whispered to Logan. ‘About trying to find out more about the cross and who might’ve written that letter?’

I looked over at Campbell, who remained lost in his thoughts. ‘I mean, his conversation just now with Chrissie Aitken didn’t go too well, did it?’

Logan looked past me to sneak a peek at Campbell. ‘You were right about there being some history between them. It’s a pity we haven’t been able to find out who wrote Campbell that anonymous letter.’

But our conversation was interrupted by the sudden drone of bagpipes and the jolly sound of fiddlers soaring into the spring night sky.

The band from the pub had marched their way down the street, accompanied by a procession of high-spirited locals.

Over the top of the firework whistles and bangs, they struck up a merry burst of accordions and fiddles.

‘So, what do we do now?’ I asked Logan and Campbell, who’d dragged himself back from wherever he was. ‘Any suggestions?’

‘I suggest we do this,’ exclaimed Logan, snatching my hand. ‘Please excuse us for a couple of minutes, Campbell.’

The way his long fingers furled around mine made my stomach swish. I planted my feet into the grass. ‘What are you doing?’

Campbell’s debonair face slid into a wry smile. ‘I think this young gentleman wants you to dance with him.’

My mouth flopped open. ‘Oh … no … I mean…’ but Logan was already guiding me through a throng of bodies gathering in a semi-circle on the grassy hill. A few people were dancing already, whirling this way and that to the music. They were spinning around each other, turning round and then doing heel and toe motions backwards and forwards. ‘I … I don’t know the moves,’ I spluttered, with Logan’s warm hand still clutching mine.

‘I’ll show you. It’s not difficult.’ He grinned down at me, sending my heart into overdrive. ‘Half of them are that pissed, they won’t have a clue whether you’re doing the right steps or not. And who cares, anyway?’

This wasn’t a good idea, being so close to Logan. It was doing nothing for my heart rate. So why was I doing it? Why didn’t I just turn and walk away? Say I had sore feet and had to sit down somewhere?

Because I wanted to be close to him, like this, I wanted to feel the heat of his body next to mine, savour the sensation of my hand gripping his.

I stuffed my phone into my back pocket and watched a few couples moving backwards and forwards in front of me, in time to the fervent accordion and fiddles.

Logan held me to the spot with his devastating gaze. ‘Please don’t refuse me, Darcie.’

My throat dried up. I drank him in. He was divine. ‘No,’ I stumbled, not able to look away. ‘I mean, no, I won’t refuse you, Logan.’

‘Good.’

I tried not to pay too much attention to the sea of faces, stamping, clapping and cheering in the illuminated dark, as they watched their more adventurous fellow members of the Skye community spin around, whooping and hollering.

‘It’s the military two-step,’ said Logan. ‘Here.’ He angled one of my arms around his neck and then we were off, putting one heel out first one way and then the other, before he slipped one arm around my waist and we were spinning in time to the music.

At first, I felt self-conscious, stiff and awkward. I wasn’t used to the quick, sweeping moves. But as the music ebbed and flowed, I found myself beginning to enjoy the giddy atmosphere. Nobody cared if you were out of tune or missing a step. Nobody batted an eyelid if you stumbled.

It was just about enjoying the moment and being free. Throwing yourself into the here and now, under the stars and against the backdrop of the fireworks exploding like paints in the black sky. My late father’s words echoed around my head: you can’t keep looking back. It gets you nowhere. You have to look to the future.

I was more used to posing and strutting in London nightclubs, but I soon realised this was more fun. I let out a peel of laughter as Logan encouraged me to move a little faster in his arms, and his eyes twinkled down at me as we did more of the backwards and forwards motions together. ‘You’ve got a very sexy laugh, Ms Freeman.’

As the stars shone like a strung necklace above our heads and the amber bonfire glowed and spat, the cheers and clapping grew louder, in time to another burst of bagpipes.