Her Brooding Scottish Heir. Ella Hayes

and welcoming warmth of the textures. The large bed was made up with crisp white bedlinen and a large woollen throw. Mahogany tables gleamed on either side of the bed while a wide matching wardrobe hugged a wall. At the foot of the bed a large leather ottoman glowed in burnished tones, and near the window a wing-backed chair was positioned to take advantage of the view across the hills.

      It was a beautiful room and Milla felt a sudden pang of guilt for being so disappointed at the prospect of staying here. She smiled at Lily. ‘It’s lovely.’

      Lily gazed around the room approvingly. ‘My daughter Rosie is an interior designer. She’s gradually updating all the rooms in the house.’

      ‘Cormac told me she did the bothy too. She’s got a good eye.’

      ‘She inherited her artistic talent from her grandfather.’ For a moment Lily looked wistful. ‘Those are his paintings on the wall.’

      Milla stepped closer to look. ‘I saw similar paintings in the hall. They’re wonderful. I thought they might even be Jolomo’s work. I love the bright colours.’

      A brief tap on the door signalled Cormac’s arrival. Something about the way he moved drew Milla’s eye as he crossed the room and parked her holdall on the ottoman, and she only came back to herself when Lily twitched an imaginary wrinkle out of the curtain.

      ‘Of course you’ll be joining us for dinner, won’t you, Milla? It will be lovely to have a new face at the table and some fresh conversation. You’ll be a nice distraction from all this wedding business—’

      ‘Wedding business?’ Lily’s words had pulled her up short, but then in a rush she remembered what Mary had said in the shop: ‘There’s a wedding at the big house on Saturday so we’re going to be mobbed.’

      Milla’s throat tightened as everything fell into place. Rosie the interior designer was the same Rosie who had been described as making wedding favours with her bridesmaids, the same Rosie who was getting married on Saturday.

      Milla tried to swallow. Not only was she staying in a grand house with a family she didn’t know but, to add to her discomfort, this was a family in the throes of wedding fever.

      She forced herself to smile warmly. ‘Oh! How lovely! Who—?’

      ‘Rosie—she’s getting married here on Saturday, and to say that it’s going to be a big production would be putting it mildly.’ Lily exchanged a knowing glance with Cormac. ‘Anyway, we’ll be serving dinner in fifteen minutes. Cor—could you show Milla the studio before you come down?’ She smiled at Milla. ‘Then take a few moments to freshen up, if you like. The en suite bathroom is through that door over there.’

      Cormac wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light, or a trick of his imagination, but Milla’s face seemed paler than before, her eyes a deeper green, like the green of shady water. She looked preoccupied. She seemed barely interested in the tour of his grandfather’s studio and yet again he felt at a loss for what to say.

      He tugged open a shallow drawer in a wide unit and lifted out a sheaf of paper. ‘There’s heavyweight paper in here...spare sketchbooks...’ He rummaged around a bit. ‘All kinds of stuff in these drawers—you’ll know better than me what it’s for...’

      ‘Thanks...’ She glanced at the paper. ‘I’ll take a look if I decide to...to sketch something, but probably I won’t be drawing anything.’ She shrugged. ‘I mean, there won’t be much time for drawing because I’ll be going back to the bothy first thing in the morning, when you’ve sorted out the water.’

      He pushed the drawer shut and turned away. He didn’t know what had darkened her mood, but he sensed a deep discontent within her which was going to make his next job more difficult. He’d felt sure that the news he had to relay would have been better coming from his mother, but Lily had reasoned that since Milla was already acquainted with him, he should be the one to tell her about the marquee.

      He forced a neutral expression onto his face and turned around. ‘Look, Milla, I’m sorry but I’m afraid there’s going to be a bit of a delay with the water.’

      He saw a flash of desperation colour her eyes, then watched as her gaze hardened. ‘What do you mean, “a bit of a delay”? Why?’

      ‘The marquee company called. Apparently they’ve been asked to supply five huge tents for a rock festival in Inverness. They can only do that if they bring Rosie’s marquee a day early, so it’s coming tomorrow morning and I’ll have to stay here until it’s rigged.’

      She took a step towards him. ‘But...but if the marquee company are doing the rigging, why do you have to be here?’

      He tried to soften his expression. ‘Because it’s what I came back for—to oversee the exterior operations. The marquee, the generators, the lighting. I’ve got to make sure everything dovetails, that all Rosie’s designs come to life. She’s counting on me.’

      ‘And where does that leave me? Who do I count on?’

      The vehemence in her voice surprised him, but it didn’t change anything. ‘In normal circumstances I’d be prioritising the water at the bothy, but it’s just bad luck, Milla. I’m really sorry, but there’s nothing we can do except offer you the very best hospitality we can whilst you’re here, including the use of this studio and any materials that you need. It’s only a day.’ He looked around at the room his grandfather had loved. ‘I don’t see what’s so terrible about being here.’

      She tilted her chin, fixing lustrous eyes on his. ‘I never said it was terrible; it’s just not what I was expecting. I thought I was going to be at Strathburn on my own, working, and instead I’m here, caught on the fringes of—’

      He saw that chink of vulnerability in her eyes and he couldn’t help his curiosity. ‘On the fringes of what...?’

      Her fingers drifted to the hem of her tee shirt, then she thrust them into the pockets of her jeans. ‘Of a wedding, was what I was going to say...’ Her gaze fell to the floor. ‘I’m just not big on the whole wedding thing, okay?’

      ‘I’ll try not to propose, then...’

      She jerked up her head and frowned. ‘Was that meant to be funny?’

      He shrugged. He wasn’t quite sure what had made him say it. It certainly sounded like the kind of dry humour he’d used to be famous for. There had been a time when he could crack up his whole team with a well-timed one-liner, and he’d made Duncan laugh all the time. Maybe he had been trying to make her smile, because her smile was so much better than her frown.

      She sighed and turned her attention to the wide unit, pulling open the drawers in turn. ‘All that fuss and bother...endless planning and dreaming...and after all that it might rain on your wedding day, or maybe the groom might not even show up. I mean, what’s it all about?’

      It seemed to Cormac that she might be talking about herself. Involuntarily, his eyes darted to her left hand. ‘I’m assuming that’s a rhetorical question?’