Page 21 of Journey to the Scottish Highlands

A middle-aged woman who’d been nursing a white wine a little further down the bar approached us. A man about the same age, who I presumed was her partner, sidled up behind her.

She hooked a chunk of highlighted blonde hair back behind one ear. ‘Oh, isn’t he adorable?’ She set her wine glass down on top of the bar and fussed over Pirate in my arms. She turned her attention to me, her light grey eyes creasing with friendliness. ‘We couldn’t help but overhear what you were saying just now. He’s lucky someone like you spotted him.’

I slid Evan a loaded look. ‘Oh, I’m just glad we were passing by at the time.’

Pirate twisted as I held him. The woman angled her head when she saw the blue marking on his coat. ‘Henry. Come and take a look. Isn’t that the marking Murdo uses on his flock?’

Her partner peered at the faded blue image through his Harry Potter style spectacles. ‘Yes. It is. A blue S for Sylvester. Murdo Sylvester.’

I gave Pirate a happy hug. ‘You’re sure?’

‘One hundred percent,’ answered the man with a decisive nod. ‘I’ve done some work on Murdo’s farm over the years, just to help him out. We’ve been friends ever since we were at secondary school together.’

Evan finished his pint and offered Pirate a triumphant, smug smile.

‘So, Mr Sylvester’s farm is near here?’ I asked, feeling a pang of happiness and relief that we’d found the lamb’s owner, combined with a silly stab of sadness.

The blonde woman waggled her wine glass. ‘Just ten minutes up the road. You can’t miss it. Take the second right when you see the sign for Brock Wood Farm.’

I finished the last of my orange juice and adjusted the position of Pirate in my arms. ’Ready to go then?’ I asked Evan.

He gave me a frustrated look. ‘So, I take it we’re now off to take Shaun the Sheep back to his owners?’

‘Yes. Then we can head on to our accommodation.’

Evan frowned down at Pirate. ‘I’d have been quicker walking from Hertfordshire to Scotland.’

‘Don’t let me stop you.’

We thanked the barman and the helpful couple and departed from the pub. The stars reminded me of spilt glitter above the hills.

We clambered back inside Marlene, and again I plopped Pirate into Evan’s resistant lap.

Evan tutted down at his suit.

I turned over the car engine. ‘Don’t worry about your designer clobber. We can get it dry-cleaned. Pirate will soon be back home safe and sound.’

‘Not soon enough,’ mumbled Evan under his breath. He eyed Pirate, who’d flopped down in his lap. But then the lamb nuzzled his sooty black nose into Evan’s stomach, and when Evan thought I wasn’t looking, he gave the little furball a quick stroke.

I smiled to myself.

The journey to Brock Wood Farm took us past an old crumbling castle ruin, its turrets bursting upwards in the dark, and by a sweet little humpbacked bridge with silvery water dancing underneath it.

‘Here it is,’ I announced, clicking the car indicator to the right.

As though recognising the farm road, Pirate shifted in Evan’s muscular arms and peered out of the passenger side window.

We trundled up the tree-lined lane. Up ahead of us, a farmhouse beckoned, warm tangerine lights shining out of the sash windows.

‘We’ll deposit Pirate and then head on to the B&B.’

‘Finally,’ sighed Evan. ‘When I joined you on this road trip, I never envisaged I’d be babysitting a sheep.’

‘He’s not a sheep, he’s a lamb,’ I corrected, easing us into a space at the front of the farmhouse and switching off the engine. ‘And when I woke up this morning, I didn’t think I’d be giving a lift all the way to Scotland to a friend of the biggest critic dickhead in the UK.’

Evan puffed out his cheeks. ‘I’m not a friend of that boorish idiot. I’d never set eyes on him until today.’

We got out of the car. Evan scooped up Pirate and brought him round to me. As soon as the lamb saw me, he launched himself into my waiting arms.