Page 27 of Scotlander

‘Alright, love?’ the man called to Orla.

‘They’re here!’ sing-songed Orla with a happy clap of her hands, then, in a lower voice asked, ‘I thought you were away driving Shona to the village?’ And then, more urgently, ‘Is Dad with the children?’

‘Aye, but I’d got them to their beds first. They’ll be fine. And Finlay’s whizzing Shona back.’

Willa’s eyes zapped between the two of them. The plot doth thicken, she thought. Who is this interloper? A brother? An accomplice?

Orla frowned at beardy-man, then gave a decisive nod. ‘Right you are. Thanks, darlin’. Everyone?’ Orla turned to the group, her warm smile back in place. ‘I’d like you to meet my “Jamie”.’ She flashed them all her wedding band. ‘He goes by any number of names round here, but you can all call him Dougie.’

Ahhh . . . so Finn wasn’t married to Orla, Dougie was. An annoying tickle of approbation fluttered in her chest.

Dougie was giving a little bow and a warm smile, saying his name was short for Douglas but that no one apart from Orla called him that and only when he was in trouble.

The group laughed and smiled as a chorus of ‘Hi there, Dougie’s criss-crossed the courtyard.

Orla whispered something into her husband’s ear, then turned to the group.

‘Right, then. Let’s get you all sorted so we can sit down to a nice bowl of stew.’ A look of panic crossed her face. ‘We’ve not got any veggies, have we?’

Willa sucked in a sharp breath and waited. If this was Hollywood? Everyone would have some sort of dietary requirement.

After a bit of head shaking and ‘No, not me’s’, Willa realised everyone was looking at Jules.

‘Wow! Talk about stereotyping,’ Jules laughed. ‘I’m good.’ She held up her hands. ‘So long as it’s lived a natural life and been free to moo or cluck and eat whatever it’s actually meant to eat, I’m fine with anything.’

‘Everything you eat will have been raised or grown on Balcraigie Castle Far-um,’ Orla said with genuine pride. ‘Except’ – she held up a finger – ‘the milk and cheese, which come from down the road from our friends, the Frasers. And the bread, which comes from down the village . . .’ Her cheery expression began to falter.

Dougie clapped an arm round Orla’s shoulder and said, ‘Och away, love. It’s all made or grown in Scotland. And that’s what matters most, am I right?’

The group cheered and started saying ‘och away’ to one another as they all gratefully accepted steaming bowls of stew and, after Dougie fished them out of the coals, the best baked potato Willa had ever had.

Orla and Dougie disappeared while they ate, presumably lying in wait for Finn’s return, when he would no doubt fill them in on their new clientele and the airport debacle. But! A bit later, Orla reappeared and handed out generous pieces of something magical called millionaire’s shortbread. It was a delicious stack of shortbread, caramel and chocolate, and because she was eight thousand miles away from LA and all the fussy eaters, Willa devoured her slice as if it was manna from heaven.

Fenella yawned first. Then Stella, then ChiChi, until soon enough the entire group was succumbing to big ooo boy it’s time to turn in yawns.

A rough-hewn wooden awning ran the length of the U-shaped building which, every three metres or so, featured a stable door with an upside-down horseshoe nailed above it and a name plaque to its side.

Orla grabbed a clipboard from the polka-dotted oil cloth draped over a pile of pallets that she’d been using as a sideboard, then bustled across to the far door and began calling out names. As each couple disappeared behind the thick stone walls, Willa could hear excited ooos.

Okay, she’d admit it now. She’d been expecting screams of terror. Having grown up in rural Oregon, if something smelt like a barn and looked like a barn . . . chances were high it was a barn.

And yet not one person had run from their new room, ashen faced, screaming, Get me out of here, so . . . maybe looks could be deceiving?

She glanced at Gabe and gave him an are you okay? thumbs-up but received nothing in return. A pensive expression had gripped his beautiful features as he stared at the ever-decreasing flames in the firepit. She was tempted to ask what had him so preoccupied but something about the way he was blinking just a little too rapidly to be divining the mysteries of the universe told her to leave him be.

Now that she thought about it, even before she’d knocked him out cold he had been really quiet since they’d arrived in Scotland. From the moment they’d got off the plane, he had gone into a sort of deep-thought mode. Which could explain why he hadn’t noticed her windmilling backwards with Finn’s hand stuck in her cleavage.

As if she’d conjured him with the power of thought alone, Finn appeared at the far end of the courtyard, bumping a few of the group’s wheelie suitcases across the cobbles. He looked across, saw her, and did the guy chin-lift thing with his lips curving into something approaching a smile. Her heart did an involuntary set of cartwheels as she waved back like an idiot.

He frowned. She followed suit.

Proof, if she needed it, that they’d decided not to like one another. Something about the way he held her gaze rankled, but frankly she was too tired to engage in a staring contest, so looked away.

She scanned the courtyard and saw Orla leading the penultimate couple – Jeff and Rosa – to their room. With breathtaking speed, it suddenly clicked that everyone had been led to their rooms in pairs. Even ChiChi and Fenella. The possibility that she and Gabe might be sharing a room hadn’t even occurred to her.

She started when Gabe leant in close, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, ‘You don’t snore, do you?’

She cackled like a maniacal witch. ‘Delicate flowers like me don’t snore!’ Cackle snaffle snort.