felt warmed by Mary’s kindness. This community spirit reminded her of her home in Ireland. ‘That’d be grand, thank you. I’m just getting a puncture fixed at the garage and then I’ll be on my way.’
‘Right you are. I’ll tell him. See you later.’
At the gates to Calcarron House Cormac stopped and let the car idle. He closed his eyes, reminded himself that it was Rosie’s wedding—she was going to be the centre of attention. With a big wedding to gossip about, it should be easy for him to pass under the radar, but this was a small community.
Everyone knew he was struggling to come to terms with Duncan’s death—even his mother had used the phrase ‘PTSD’ once—but he knew it wasn’t that. He’d simply been shredded by grief and he didn’t know how to put himself back together; he couldn’t make sense of the world any more, or understand his place within it.
At the barracks it was easier—he was just another emotional casualty—but here he’d have to weather the curious looks, tactfully deflect the subtly loaded questions and, for Rosie’s sake, he’d have to pretend that he was absolutely fine.
He drew a breath and slid the car through the gates.
At the sight of the house he felt a momentary joy. He’d almost forgotten how much he loved Calcarron, with its turreted gables and mullioned windows, and as he lifted his bag from the back seat he smiled at the muffled swell of barking he could hear coming from inside. When the front door opened, the baying split the air and three ecstatic Labradors bounded towards him, followed by the slender figure of his mother.
‘Tyler, Mungo, Crash—Whoa, calm down!’
The dogs tangled into his legs, butting their wet noses and tongues into his hands. He stroked their sleek black coats, rubbed the broad, noble heads, laughing in spite of himself at such uncomplicated affection.
‘Cormac!’ Lily Buchanan wrapped her arms around him, then stood back and studied his face. ‘I’m so glad you’re here. Everyone’s a little giddy and I’m going quite mad with it all. I could use an ally.’
He gave her a knowing look. ‘It’s only Rosie’s wedding. It’ll be a walk in the park.’
She grimaced as he picked up his bag and threw an arm around her shoulders.
‘“A walk in the park” is not the expression I would have chosen, but anyway, let’s go inside. Rosie and the girls are dying to see you, and I warn you, she’s got a wedding spreadsheet on her laptop.’
In the drawing room Rosie and her three bridesmaids were discussing the décor for the marquee. With the introductions over, Cormac sank into an armchair and listened half-heartedly. He loved this room, with its high ceilings and overstuffed sofas, its shelves lined with books and family photos in silver frames. Over the fireplace hung an oil painting of a magnificent stag; perhaps it wasn’t quite as fine as Landseer’s Monarch of the Glen but he admired it even so. Like everything else at Calcarron, it was freighted with a lifetime’s worth of memories.
In spite of his misgivings, it felt good to be back. The estate was in his blood and would belong to him one day—sooner rather than later if his father had anything to do with it. He wanted to go for a walk, get acclimatised after his long drive, but it wouldn’t be polite to disappear so soon after arriving.
‘Cor!’
He heard his name and looked up.
‘So, while you do all the outside stuff,’ Rosie was saying, ‘we’re going to do all the finishing touches—it’s a woodland theme, with foraged greenery, and we’re using jam jars with strips of tartan ribbon and hessian to make tea light holders for the tables...’
Cormac felt his attention wandering. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Rosie to have her dream wedding—he was here to help after all—he just couldn’t get excited about woodland themes and tea lights while people were dying in wars.
Rosie was trying to create a Scottish themed wedding. Wasn’t the place itself enough? Why did she want to underline everything with tartan? Perhaps his mother had been right—they were all giddy with wedding planning. The sooner he could get on with his list of outside jobs the better. He certainly wouldn’t be able to fake interest in this kind of minutiae for a whole week.
He wondered how his brother, Sam, was coping with it all. Happy-go-lucky Sam, who was notably absent. Perhaps that was the trick.
Lily swung through the door with a loaded tea tray and Cormac got up to carry it for her. As he set the tray down on the coffee table Rosie caught his eye, sprang to her feet and pulled him into a hug.
‘Thanks for coming to help with the wedding. I really appreciate it.’ She leaned in to his ear and whispered. ‘I’m so preoccupied—I haven’t even asked you how you are.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘We’ll chat later, okay?’
With the tea poured, Cormac lifted a cup from the tray and retreated to the relative seclusion of the bay window, where he gazed out over the view he loved.
The well-tended garden descended gently to the edges of the loch. Loch Calcarron was the jewel in the crown of the family estate, flanked by steeply climbing slopes with purple mountains beyond.
‘Where’s Sam?’ he asked.
Rosie was handing round shortbread. ‘He was up at the bothy this morning, getting things ready for the artist who’s arriving today, and then he went fishing. Can you see his boat out there?’
At the mention of a new artist at the bothy Cormac felt a rush of something indefinable attached to a memory of teasing green eyes.
He forced himself to focus on the expanse of loch in front of him. ‘I can’t see his boat. Maybe he capsized...’ As he suspected, no one was listening to him.
He heard one of the girls ask what a bothy was, and Lily’s voice rising in explanation.
‘Traditional bothies are small stone structures where walkers can shelter or stay overnight, but what we have is an artist’s bothy. Rosie’s grandfather was a keen amateur artist. When artists’ bothies started springing up in remote places he thought it was a wonderful idea. Calcarron Estate is large. We have plenty of space. So he said we should build one too—let artists come to enjoy all the things we take for granted. We hired an architect to design something practical and comfortable and we located it right up in the hills. Splendid isolation and all that. It’s very popular.’
Rosie interjected. ‘It’s a large wooden hut basically, but a contemporary design. There’s a deck in front, overlooking the hills, and this year Sam’s installed one of those big hammocks, so guests can chill out with the amazing view, or even watch the stars at night. The living space is bright and airy because of the picture windows, and we designed the studio with opaque roof panels, so it’s got perfect light for working. There’s a cute wood stove, which keeps the place cosy when it’s cold, but my very favourite part is the mezzanine bedroom—it’s so romantic. I did the interior design—I can show you some photogra—’
Lily held up her hand. ‘Is that the telephone...?’
Cormac seized the opportunity. ‘I’ll go.’
His mother’s voice faded as he escaped to the kitchen and hooked the receiver off the phone
