“Our connection has been physical, yes. But it has also been a joining. I truly believe ours has been a meeting of both body and soul, Holland. I’d argue that our hearts have clashed, too. So, I have to trust that if you’re meant to be mine, you will be. That you have your path to follow, and I should look at mine. So, to that end, I’m going to go back to London for now because I can’t be here and not touch you. I think we’ve seen the proof of that. But I also can’t be here and watch you leave. I need to look the other way and trust that if we’re meant to be together, we will be someday.”
Maybe he has the devil’s tongue in more than one way.
Because it says the things I want to hear, but I’m not sure I can trust.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Isla’s tone carries a world of concern, though at least it snaps me back to the moment. Tears me from the sincerity in his eyes and the feel of my hand in his.
“Yep, I’m great. Just peachy. I just have something in my eye.” Rain. I have rain in my eye, that’s all. I swallow over the ball of emotion swelling in my throat and turn to look at the boys in the back seat, hearing Hugh’s continued bored tone.
“I have to agree with Hugh, Archie. I’ve been looking for something beginning with quwa, and I can’t find it either.”
“Is it outside of the car, Archie?” his mother asks.
“No, inside,” he offers up, puffed up that he’s besting us all. “In the front, more pacifically.”
“Specifically,” drawls his older brother.
“That’s what I said. I bet you’ll never guess it. Not in a month of Mondays!”
“Sundays,” his brother says.
“But a month of Mondays sounds much worse.”
“Oh, I give up!” Hugh mutters harshly. “You f-flipping win.”
“Yes!” I smile as Archie pumps his fist in the air. “I knew you’d never get it.”
“Well, tell us what it is, sweetie,” his mother coaxes.
“Quirky bird!” he exclaims with a big grin.
“That’s not a real thing,” his brother complains.
“Yes, it is,” he protests. “It’s what I heard Uncle Griffin calling Holland to Uncle Sandy last week.”
“That sounds quite endearing.” She shoots me an unsure but encouraging smile. I know she’s not at all convinced about my relationship with Griffin, but she still plays along. I’m not sure why we’re still doing it, to be honest.
“He also said she had a spectacular arse,” the little boy adds with a grin.
“Sounds like Chrissy needs to get out her potty mouth soap.”
“No! It doesn’t count if you’re just repeating it,” Archie protests, all vigorous arms and indignant face.
I have to turn my face back to the windshield to stop him from seeing me laugh.
“I think Holland meant for Uncle Griffin,” Isla says.
“Claish Castle up ahead,” I say, pointing at the sign as we pass.
“About time,” mutters a little voice from the back. “I’m starving.”
“Has there been an accident?” an even smaller voice asks.
“No,” Isla replies. “It’s just a police cordon on the road out of the village. Ivy said there would be one, given all the celebrities attending the party. It must make the Duffys very unpopular with the neighbours,” she adds under her breath.
“I was reading about them before we left. On the internet,” I explain.” I think they’ve brought so much work into the region, most people seem to have only nice things to say. I’m sure being one-half Hollywood royalty and one-half local helps.”
“Actual royalty would get short shrift,” she answers tartly, slowing to a stop to speak with a policeman.
“Paparatizzi!” Isla sounds almost impressed as we’re waved through the cordon, and a smattering of cameras go off. “I wonder who’ll be here tonight.”
“Movie moguls and models, I should imagine.” Maybe I can find a dark corner to hide. I’m no’ hackit, as Emma or Allie would say—or in other words, I know I’m not ugly—but I’m also five feet four and a little round in the places women are supposed to be. I don’t much want to feel like a cuckoo in a nest full of swans.
“Oh, my.”
“Wow.”
Claish Castle up ahead, and it looks like it was plucked from the pages of a book of fairy tales. Blue-grey Scottish stone gleams in the afternoon sun and sparkles from mullioned windows, conical spires reaching for the heavens.
“It makes Kilblair look ramshackle by comparison, doesn’t it?”
“Absolutely not. Kilblair is much bigger.”
“Size isn’t everything.” Isla rolls her lips inward as though she hadn’t meant to say that.
“True,” I find myself answering, not wanting her to feel awkward and seemingly dunking myself in a bucket of the same. “But the duke sure knows how to use it—to its best advantage, I mean. The castle,” I qualify. “H-He works it really well.”
“I do hope we’re still talking about the castle,’” she murmurs without looking at me. which is probably just as well as my cheeks begin to sting.
The blue gravel driveway is already lined with parked cars as we approach.
Looks like we aren’t the only ones staying over.
We’re directed to stop outside of the decidedly plain-looking entrance, considering the glamour of the approach. A stone archway houses a domed oak door. High above it on the next floor is a Juliet balcony carved from stone. Between the two sits a weather-beaten family crest.
“Look, Mummy. A red carpet, just like on the TV!”
Archie seems tickled by the slash of red leading to the front door where stone urns at least five feet high flank the stone archway. The urns are filled with red flowers and golden ferns.
Isla’s eyebrows lift to the top of her head as though to say: Hollywood!
Ivy Duffy trips down the velvety carpet, her dark hair pinned in braids to the top of her head and dressed in a pair of slim-fitting jeans and a painter’s smock. Arm outstretched, she seems genuinely pleased to see us. “It’s so lovely to see you all again. Lady Isla,” she adds, beaming.
“It’s just Isla,” she insists in her usual way.
Greetings and admirations are exchanged before Ivy moves her attention to me, and Isla moves hers to her sons.
“Holly, I’m so pleased you could come.” Her eyes sparkle with a mixture of what seems like delight and mischief as she adds, “Though I didn’t know you and the duke’s brother were a thing.”
“What?” How does she know? “It’s kind of recent.”
“I thought—well, it doesn’t matter what I thought. Or maybe you could come and find me later, and I’ll tell you all about my observations from our stay at Kilblair.”
“Sure,” I answer uncertainly because whatever she’s offering is about as clear as a cup of mud.
“And you’ll have to forgive me for not putting you and Griffin in a room together,” she says, sliding her arm through mine and turning us in the direction of the door. “I mean, I’m no prude, but when he mentioned it when he arrived a little while ago, I apologised to him, too.”