with them, with the gold embossed lettering and the soft feel of the leather.’
Izzy glanced over to the display rack where the diaries were set out, and paused to run a clean index finger lightly over the cover of one that stood to the front. ‘You’re right—and I will take one with me, before they’re all snapped up. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?’ She gave a gentle sigh. ‘If only we could really start afresh with each year that comes along. We’ve still a few weeks to go before then, though, haven’t we? It seems like an eternity. These last few months have been so difficult, in one way or another…For all of us, not just for my family. I can’t say I’ll be sorry to see an end to this year.’
‘Me, too.’ Mary put in a heartfelt acknowledgement. ‘The business is limping along, but I’m not alone in that…all the villagers are having a tough time of it.’
Izzy nodded, taking a moment to finish off her pasty before wandering over to the shelves where the teacloths were stacked. ‘The crofters haven’t been doing too well, have they?’ She frowned, pausing to pick up a linen cloth, holding it up to the light of the window. It was pleasingly decorated with a Highland scene, depicting a shimmering loch bordered on either side by craggy, heather-clad mountains. ‘I know the harvest was poor this year, so it’s probably just as well the majority have other jobs to keep them going.’
‘It is,’ Mary acknowledged, ‘but I can’t help thinking you’ve come off worse than any of us, with your cousin Alice being in hospital and all. Your poor mother was terribly shaken up by it, I know.’
‘Yes, it hit us hard, all of us—my mother especially. Hearing about the car crash came as a dreadful blow. After all, Alice lived with us for a few years after her parents passed away, and she was more like a sister to me.’ Izzy was still shocked by the thought of the accident that had kept Alice in hospital these several months. It saddened her that she was helpless to do anything to speed up her recovery, and it wrung her heart that there was so much bitterness and recrimination associated with the whole event.
Her father had never reconciled himself to the circumstances that had taken Alice away from them, some six or seven years ago, and now her return to Scotland was tinged with unhappiness.
She tried not to think about it. Instead she looked out of the window at the landscape of her birth, a sight that invariably had the power to calm her. In the distance she could see the glorious hills and mountains of the West Highlands, with white painted houses clustered along the road that wound gently through the glen, and if she looked very carefully she could just make out the curve of the bay and the small harbour where boats bobbed gently on the water.
Bringing her glance closer to home, she looked to where the side road led on to the paved forecourt of the village shop. She thought she heard the soft purr of an engine drawing closer. Moments later a gleaming four-by-four made an appearance, gliding to a halt in front of the store.
‘Well, there’s a vehicle that makes a grand statement, if ever there was one.’ Mary came to join her by the window, and both women looked out at the majestic silver Range Rover that had come into view. ‘Now, who do you think that belongs to?’ the shopkeeper queried absently. ‘No one from around here, that’s for sure.’
Izzy didn’t answer, but watched as the driver slid down from the car and walked purposefully round to the passenger side. He pulled open the door and reached inside the vehicle, resting his arm on one of the seats as he paused to speak to someone who was sitting in the back.
Perhaps it was the casual, loose-limbed confidence in the way he moved that caught Izzy’s attention, or maybe it was the taut stretch of black denim straining against his strong thighs that alerted her, or even the sweep of his broad shoulders, clad in a supple leather jacket…Either way, Izzy’s senses were suddenly geared into action. A band of tension tautened her abdomen. She realised there was something intensely familiar about the rugged, long-legged man who had come out of the blue to fill her vision.
Right now he was inviting a tawny-haired child to step down from the vehicle, and when the girl hesitated he lifted his arms to grasp her with both hands and swing her effortlessly from her seat, setting her carefully down on the ground. For a second or two, as he paused to steady her, he looked towards the far hills, so that his features came momentarily into sharp relief. Izzy pulled in a brief, harsh breath of recognition.
What had Mary said about the Laird not coming home? She watched as he stood aside to encourage a young boy to jump down from the car, and beside her Mary echoed what they were both thinking.
‘Well, I never. Talk of the devil. If it isn’t himself, come to grace us with his presence. And aren’t those children with him your Alice’s bairns? I thought they were staying with their aunt, Alice’s sister, down in the Lake District?’ She frowned. ‘I wonder what brings him to these parts after all this time? How long has it been? About six years, do you think?’
‘That sounds about right.’ Izzy struggled to find her voice. ‘It must be all of six years since the old Laird died.’
‘And hardly a sight of the new Laird since—though I suppose he must have been in touch with his estate manager on a fairly regular basis. How else would Jake have had the power to put the rents up and cut the timber hereabouts? Things could be falling apart up at the castle, for all Ross Buchanan knows. That’s what comes of being an absentee landlord. Everything goes to rack and ruin.’
Izzy was still struggling to come to terms with seeing Ross back on his home ground, but now she stifled a discomfited laugh. ‘You’re beginning to sound an awful lot like my father,’ she murmured.
Mary chuckled. ‘And your father doesn’t even have the excuse of being a tenant, does he? Now, there’s a man with more than his fair share of common sense.’
‘I think it has rather more to do with a determination never to be indebted to the Buchanans in any way,’ Izzy said with a rueful smile. ‘He’s a fiercely proud man, my father.’
The sound of children’s excited voices floated on the air, coming closer, and Izzy felt her whole body tighten as she waited for the shop door to open. How was she going to cope with coming face to face with Ross Buchanan after all this time?
‘I’m thirsty,’ the boy said, bursting into the store with the noisy rush of energy of a youngster who had been imprisoned inside a car for far too long. At six years old, he had no time to waste. Life was for living. ‘Can I have a can of fizzy pop?’ He directed the words behind him as he continued on his path. ‘I’m not going to be sick again. You said I could have a drink, and I really want fizzy pop…and an ice cream with lots of sprinkles on it and a chocolate flake.’ He headed towards the snacks section.
The girl followed him in a slower, more measured fashion, taking time to look around. The lingering rays of afternoon sunshine lent glimmering highlights to her hair, and Izzy saw that her green eyes were thoughtful, as though she wanted to weigh up the situation before making any decisions. She was younger than the boy, about five years old, and a pretty girl, so much like her mother, but with a shy expression. Now she put out a tentative hand to examine a packet of potato chips, only to have the item whipped out of her fingers by her brother.
‘I saw it first,’ he said. ‘They’re barbecue flavour and that’s my favourite and it’s the only one.’
‘You snatched it from me,’ the girl protested. ‘Give it back.’
‘You’ll stop fighting this minute, both of you,’ Ross said in a quiet, authoritative voice, ‘or neither of you will have anything. You’re on someone else’s
