Page 10 of Winter Magic at Hollybrae Castle

‘Not in a creepy way – in a “heard the taxi pull up and looked out the window to see who it was” way.’ He holds his hand out again, silently encouraging me to shake it without worrying about the water. It’s a very gentlemanly move and I slip my hand into his, and long warm fingers close around mine and give my hand a strong, steady squeeze.

I look up into his eyes and have to remember how to speak again. ‘I’m Lula.’

‘That’s such an unusual name. I’ve never heard it before.’

‘Do you know “Coventry Carol”?’ I cling onto the deepest reaches of my composure. ‘I was born in January, and my mum kept hearing this song over and over again that Christmas, and while she was in labour, she had it stuck in her head…’

For God’s sake, Lula, why are you telling him about your mum’s labour thirty-nine years ago? Shut up! ‘It’s not the most cheerful Christmas carol to be named after, but “by by lully lullay” translates as “lullaby” in modern language, and that’s what my parents were thinking of.’

‘I don’t think I know it.’

‘It’s really old. Like, medieval times. You probably do without knowing the name of it.’ I start humming it. God help me, I start humming it right in front of him. What is wrong with me? And I’m doing the thing I hate – when someone says they don’t know something, you immediately decide that they do and try to convince them of it, even though they are by far the best judge of what they know or don’t know.

And why is he still holding my hand? Is he really too much of a gentleman to kick this weird, humming, fountain-splashing woman off his property?

He’s smiling as he unravels his grip on my fingers and rational thought returns to my head, thankfully before I start singing it too.

‘I’m going to look it up online as soon as I get back to my computer.’ He smiles, that partially nervous, partially excited, partially questioning-your-own-sanity smile. ‘I’m so glad you’re here.’

I’m pretty sure he’s not. I don’t know what he expected of his Sunday evening, but he probably didn’t bank on having centuries-old Christmas carols hummed at him within moments of meeting.

‘Thank you for making it all so easy.’ I go back to collect my suitcase, but he dives down the other side of the wide steps and dodges past me, wrapping his hand around the handle and making it known that I won’t be carrying my own bag.

Again, I get that sense of him being a complete and utter gentleman.

He stands back and looks up at the castle. ‘So, what do you think?’

‘It’s the most beautiful building I’ve ever seen!’ I should probably be a bit more poised, but this place sets off something childlike inside me. ‘Every little girl has played Disney Princesses and dreamed of living somewhere like this. It’s gorgeous.’

I step back so I’m standing next to him and following his gaze to the castle, but he really is vastly tall. I could push myself up on tiptoes and the top of my head wouldn’t even come up to his shoulders. ‘Is it always as quiet as this?’

‘Usually it’s quieter,’ he says with another laugh. ‘No, there are often tourists on the walking trails in the summer. The mating calls of seals on the beach, gulls and seabirds. At this time of year, it’s pretty much locals only. There’s a big whisky distillery further up the peninsula, a cheese maker, a couple of outdoor adventure-type visitor centres, but here, the nearest place is the Mull of Kintyre lighthouse, just down there.’ He points through the trees to our right, even though the castle grounds are too surrounded to see out, and I’m getting lost in his voice again. His accent makes me weak at the knees. There’s Scottish and there’s seriously sexy Scottish.

A rumbly, deep, gravelly voice that I can imagine murmuring naughty things in the middle of the night. It does something to my insides, and I force myself not to study him.

The video call also hid a few scars. One across his right cheek, another at his temple running down the side of his face. One on the left side of his forehead, disappearing into his hairline. A kink in the bridge of an angular nose, suggesting it’s been broken at some point. If anything, they add to his attractiveness, but they also intrigue me about what causes scars like that in such a visible place.

Although I can hear my sister’s voice in my head suggesting he got them from his last victim fighting him off, there’s something about them that gives him a hint of vulnerability. He’s obviously been through something physical and it makes me want to know everything about him.

Like he can feel my eyes on him, he glances down with another smile and gestures to the door. ‘Shall we?’

I can’t help another shiver of excitement. If the exterior is this magical then the interior must be something to behold. Plus, I underestimated my London coat’s defences against the coast of Scotland’s chill, and it really is freezing out here.

Ollie holds his hand out, and I realise he’s asking for my holdall too.

‘Don’t be silly, I can carry my own bags.’

‘I won’t hear of it. You’re my guest and you’ve been carrying your own bags all day.’ He gives me a firm nod and lowers one of his thick dark eyebrows, and I can see it’s an argument I’m not going to win, so I shrug it off and hand it to him, secretly touched. You don’t see chivalry like that every day.

At the top of the steps, despite the fact he’s pulling my suitcase and has my bag over his shoulder, he stands back and holds the door open for me to go through first, and I catch his eyes again and smile as I slip past and into the entrance foyer.

Wow. I feel like I’m going to have the same reaction to every room. Even the foyer is half-panelled with pale wood and painted a sumptuous shade of red above, with a stone floor and another pair of columns either side of an arched wood and glass door, leading to the rest of the house.

‘Coat room.’ Ollie opens a door to the right that blends into the wall. Inside, it’s tiled with pristinely white tiles, and there are a couple of coats hanging up and pairs of welly boots and hiking boots and mud-covered gardening boots.

‘I’ve never lived anywhere with a coat room before,’ I say, wondering if I should attempt to make myself sound a tad more sophisticated than I am. ‘Coats hang on hooks beside doors where I come from.’

‘Far more practical, believe me. When you’re late for work and you’ve got to search a whole room for your coat and car keys… beside the door would be easier. There are hooks there for you next to mine, where your coats are supposed to have been hanging for five years.’