There had been something else in the envelope too: a half-written letter in Mhairi’s own handwriting. It was an outpouring of grief and desolation, and Rocco wasn’t sure whether she’d intended to send it but hadn’t been able to, or whether she’d been trying to express her overwhelming emotions by putting them down on paper and hadn’t had any intention of posting it. Another thing he’d never know.
And although he felt as though he’d intruded on something incredibly private, he was glad he’d read them. Mhairi was no longer a distant relative who’d bequeathed him a castle because she’d had no one else to leave it to. She’d become a real person, and his heart ached for her. Whether his feelings would have run as deep if his own heart hadn’t recently been broken, he couldn’t tell, but it didn’t lessen his pity for her.
Stiff and uncomfortable after sitting on the floor for so long, Rocco clambered slowly to his feet, groaning at the ache in his back. It was very late, and he was shattered.
But even though he was dog tired, when he crawled into bed his brain refused to shut off. He kept thinking about Mhairi and her lost love, and her regret that she hadn’t left her Scottish castle to be with the man she’d loved. She’d assumed she’d have a lifetime to be with him, years and years, so when he’d gone to Egypt to work on a newly unearthed antiquity, she hadn’t felt the need to accompany him. Besides, the heat didn’t agree with her, so she’d remained on Skye.
She’d missed him, obviously, and had been counting the days until his return, but not for one moment had she doubted he wouldn’t come back. Then he’d fallen ill…
Pip had returned to Skye, but not to marry her. He’d come back in a coffin, and he’d been buried in the very churchyard where Mhairi had been laid to rest, in a plot next to his. She’d bought it the day after his funeral, when she’d thought her broken heart would kill her.
However, she’d lived a further sixty years, and in all that time she hadn’t found another man to live up to her Pip. She hadn’t found another man she’d loved as much as she’d loved him.
Rocco turned his pillow over yet again, searching for the cooler side, sleep continuing to elude him. What ifhedidn’t find a woman who lived up to Giselle? What if he couldn’t find anyone he loved as much as her? Wouldhebe destined to spend his life alone, or would he settle for second best?
He didn’t relish the thought of doing either.
Mhairi had written:
Life is so short. If I’d known just how little time we would have together, I would have grabbed it with both hands and wrung every last drop of love from it, my darling. Please forgive me. I don’t regret loving you. How could I ever regret that? But I do regret not being by your side every minute of every day when I had the chance.
Mhairi was right. Lifewasshort. Was he going to live the rest of his, regretting not giving love his best shot?
Skye was calling him, and it was time he heeded her voice.
Rocco mightn’t be able to persuade Giselle to fall in love with him, but he had to try, and he couldn’t do it while he was here and she was there. He owed it to himself. He owed it to Coorie Castle. And he owed it to Mhairi, because he was praying that if he sold his house and his shares, and cashed in his investments, he justmightbe able to keep the castle after all.
Chapter 24
Giselle scuttled down the ladder and headed for the bathroom, trying to be quiet and not disturb Izzy, who was sound asleep. Sharing a bed with her sister had reminded Giselle of when they were kids. They’d had single beds with a nightstand separating them, but invariably Giselle would wake up in the same one as Izzy; either she’d climbed in with her twin in the middle of the night, or Izzy had crept into hers. They may have gone their separate ways during the day, but at night they’d sought each other out.
Giselle suspected that even if Izzy had begun last night on the sofa, she would have ended up in Giselle’s bed with her.
Wearily, she slumped on the loo, feeling dreadful. Not only was she exhausted, but her eyes were gritty, and she felt sick. Thankfully, she didn’t have a headache, but that small mercy didn’t prevent her from wishing she hadn’t drunk so much wine last night. Had it only been the one bottle between them? It felt like she’d guzzled the whole thing on her own. And to top it all off, her period was due. Great. That was all she needed: sore boobs, bloating and irritability.
She was a right bundle of laughs, wasn’t she? Hopefully, a cup of coffee and some breakfast would sort her out. Actually, scrap that; she’d have tea. Coffee was just too bleh right now. And she needed to rehydrate before she could face food.
But when she saw last night’s dishes in the sink, with the remains of the tomato-covered pasta sauce smeared on them, she had to dash to the bathroom.
I’m never drinking again, she vowed, after dry heaving with her head hanging over the toilet bowl. She hoped Izzy didn’t want to do anything energetic today, such asspeaking, for instance. Giselle might manage a grunt or two, but that would be it.
After rinsing her mouth and brushing her teeth, she felt marginally better, so she made some tea and went outside to sit and drink it.
The grass was still wet with dew, and the air was cool and fragrant with the wildflowers that had self-seeded in the garden. A cheeky blackbird eyed her as it scurried through the stems looking for grubs, and bees cruised from bloom to bloom.
Gradually, Giselle’s hangover receded and she began to feel more human, and as she slowly came back to life, her brain kicked into gear as she thought about yesterday.
Izzy’s arrival had been a lovely welcome surprise, and so had her news. Her sister was engaged, and to a plumber! Giselle, if she’d imagined Izzy falling in love, would have assumed it would be with someone from the fashion industry, and in a way, she was relieved it wasn’t. Izzy needed someone to ground her, and from what she’d told Giselle, Edoardo sounded perfect. She couldn’t wait to meet him, but when that would be was anyone’s guess. Before the wedding, she hoped, but with the state of her finances and the uncertainty of the craft centre’s future, she mightn’t meet the guy until he said, ‘I do.’
‘You should have brought him with you,’ Giselle had said, then felt guilty when Izzy had told her she’d sensed Giselle needed her. She’d felt even more guilty when Izzy had confided, ‘I debated whether to tell you about me and Edoardo, because of Rocco.’
‘Did you honestly think I’d begrudge you your happiness because I’m feeling so miserable? This is the best news ever!’ she’d cried.
And it was. Giselle couldn’t have been happier for her sister. She just wished she could be equally happy for herself. There are other fish in the sea, she’d said, but she wasn’t convinced. She didn’t want anyone else. She wanted Rocco.
‘Morning.’ Izzy yawned sleepily, coming outside to join her. ‘How long have you been up?’
‘An hour.’
