One Summer At The Castle. Jules Bennett
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else than there. ‘I suppose you’re used to it?’
His eyes narrowed, thick black lashes veiling irises that were a clear emerald-green. God, he was good-looking, she thought, noting his tanned skin, his firm jaw and his mouth, which was oddly sensual despite being compressed into a thin line. But then he spoke again, his voice harder than before, and she was diverted from her thoughts by the realisation that he didn’t have a Scottish accent.
‘Why do you say that?’ he demanded, and Rosa blinked, unable for a moment to remember exactly what she had said.
But then it came back to her. ‘Um—I just thought you seemed familiar with the area,’ she confessed awkwardly, wondering what was wrong with that. ‘Evidently I was mistaken. You’re English, aren’t you?’
Liam scowled, cursing himself for the impulse that had driven him to ask if she was all right. She’d looked so damned pale he’d felt sorry for her. She was obviously out of place here. No waterproof clothing, no boots, even the pack she’d dumped beside her looked flimsy.
‘We don’t all speak the Gaelic,’ he said at last, and she shrugged her slim shoulders.
‘Okay.’ Rosa quelled her indignation. At least their conversation was distracting her eyes from the restless sea outside. ‘So,’ she said at last, ‘do you live in the islands?’
‘Perhaps.’ He was annoyingly reticent. And then, disconcertingly, ‘I hope you don’t intend to go hiking in that outfit.’
Rosa gasped. ‘Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘No,’ he conceded ruefully. ‘I was just thinking out loud. But I couldn’t help noticing how cold you looked earlier.’
So he had noticed her. Rosa felt a little less antagonistic towards him. ‘It is much colder than I’d anticipated,’ she admitted. ‘But I don’t expect to be here long.’
‘Just a flying visit?’
‘Something like that.’
Liam frowned. ‘You’ve got relatives here?’
Rosa caught her breath. He certainly asked a lot of questions. But then she remembered she’d been going to ask if anyone had seen her sister. If this man used the ferry on a regular basis, he might have seen her. And Liam Jameson. But she preferred not to mention him.
‘As a matter of fact, I’m hoping to catch up with my sister,’ she said, trying to sound casual. ‘A pretty blond girl. I believe she made this crossing a couple of days ago.’
‘She can’t have,’ he said at once. ‘This ferry only leaves every Monday and Thursday. If she made the crossing at all, it had to have been last Thursday.’
Rosa swallowed. Last Thursday Sophie had still been in Glastonbury with Mark. It had been on Saturday night that he’d phoned to tell her mother what had happened, and that had resulted in Mrs Chantry phoning Rosa in such an hysterical state.
‘Are you sure?’ she asked now, trying to assimilate what she’d learned, wondering if Liam Jameson had a plane or a helicopter. He probably did, she thought. Why should he travel with the common herd? He might even have a boat that he kept at Mallaig. It had probably been naïve of her to think otherwise.
‘I’m sure,’ her companion replied, his gaze considering. ‘Does this mean you don’t think your sister’s here, after all?’
‘Maybe.’ Rosa had no intention of sharing her thoughts with him. She took a deep breath. ‘Is it much farther, do you know?’
‘That depends where you’re going,’ said Liam drily, curious in spite of himself, and Rosa decided there was no harm in telling him her destination.
‘Um—Kilfoil,’ she said, aware that her words had surprised him. Well, let him stew, she thought defiantly. He hadn’t exactly been candid with her.
LIAM WAS SURPRISED. He’d thought he knew everything about the families who had moved to the island after he’d first acquired it. Having been uninhabited for several years, the cottages had fallen into disrepair, and it had taken a communal effort on all their parts to make the place viable again. In the process of rewiring the cottages, reconnecting the electric generator and generally providing basic services, they’d become his friends as well as his tenants. These days Kilfoil had a fairly buoyant economy, with tourism, fishing and farming giving a living to about a hundred souls.
He wanted to ask why she thought her sister might be on the island, but he knew he’d asked too many questions already. Okay, she intrigued him, with her air of shy defiance and the innocence with which she spoke of his island. Unless he missed his guess, there was something more than a desire to catch up with her sister here. Had the girl run away? Or eloped, maybe, with a boyfriend? But why would she come to Kilfoil? As far as he was aware, there was no regular minister on the island.
Rosa saw him push his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, apparently unaware that the button at his waist had come undone. She was tempted to tell him, except that that would reveal where she was looking, and she hurriedly averted her head.
‘About another hour,’ he said, answering her question, and then, as if sensing her withdrawal, he moved away to approach the bar at the other end of the cabin. It was quiet now, and, watching with covert eyes, she saw him speak to the young man who was serving. Money changed hands, and then the young man pushed two polystyrene cups across the counter.
Two?
Rosa looked quickly away. Was one for her? She dared not look, dared not watch him walk back to where she was sitting in case she was mistaken.
‘D’you want a coffee?’
But no. He was standing right in front of her again. ‘Oh—um—you shouldn’t have,’ she mumbled awkwardly, but she took the cup anyway. ‘Thanks.’ She levered off the plastic lid and tasted it. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’
Liam hesitated now. This wasn’t his usual practice, buying strange women cups of coffee, letting them share his space. But she looked so out of place here he couldn’t abandon her. She might be a journalist, he reflected, eager to get a story. But, if so, she’d been very offhand with him.
Nevertheless, she seemed far too vulnerable to be alone, and much against his better judgement he dropped down into the empty seat beside her. Opening his own coffee, he cast a sideways glance in her direction. Then he saw her watching him and said hastily, ‘At least it’s hot.’
‘It’s very nice,’ Rosa assured him, not altogether truthfully. The coffee was bitter. ‘It was kind of you to get it for me.’
Liam shrugged. ‘Scottish hospitality,’ he said wryly. ‘We’re well known for it.’
She gave him a sideways look. ‘So you are Scottish?’ she said. ‘You must know this area very well.’ She paused. ‘What’s Kilfoil like? Is it very uncivilised?’
Liam caught his breath, almost choking on a mouthful of coffee. ‘Where do you think you are?’ he exclaimed, when he could speak again. ‘The wilds of Outer Mongolia?’
‘No.’ Despite herself, her cheeks burned. ‘So tell me about the island. Are there houses, shops, hotels?’
Liam hesitated, torn between the desire to describe his home in glowing detail and the urge not to appear too familiar with his surroundings. ‘It’s like a lot of the other islands,’ he said at last. ‘There’s a village, and you can buy most of the staple things you need there. The post and luxury items come in on the ferry. As do the tourists, who stay at the local guesthouses.’
Rosa felt relieved. ‘So it’s not, like—desolate or anything?’
‘It’s beautiful,’ said