‘I can.’
‘Since when? No.’ She held up her hand. ‘Don’t answer that. You can’t stay here.’ Although under different circumstances she definitely wouldn’t kick him out. There was something solid and reliable and unflappable about him and that was even without the good looks and rugby player build, not that she normally went for that sort of man. Well, not in real life at least. Secretly, she’d had more than her fair share of hot fantasies about Jamie Fraser fromOutlander.
‘I beg to differ. Why don’t you talk to my landlady, Xanthe? The owner of the place.’
‘Landlady?’ Izzy’s voice pitched. ‘You’ve moved in? When? How?’
‘The way most people move in. I carried a few boxes and a couple of suitcases. Oh, and a house plant, as I recall.’ His mouth twitched in misplaced amusement that made her want to punch him, although she suspected her hand would bounce off that granite-hard chest like some wimpy cartoon character. Not that she’d ever punched anyone in her life, nor felt the need to apart from that one time when Philip announced he was engaged. But she was so not going there right now.
‘I might have known,’ she muttered. ‘How long exactly are you planning to stay?’
‘Three months, possibly longer. Although that was on the basis that I’d be paying for peace and quiet.’ His eyes narrowed with this pointed barb and he turned back to the saucepan, gathering up one of the two slices of toast browning on top of the Rayburn’s hotplate and sliding them onto a dish before tipping what looked like nearly a full tin of beans over them. Picking up his dinner, he pulled out a chair and sat to eat, propping a Kindle up against a mug of tea.
She stared at him. ‘Three months? You can’t. I’m not being rude but you really can’t stay here. We’re nowhere near ready for guests. You’re going to have to leave.’
‘Again, I suggest you take it up with Xanthe,’ he said with the most irritating calmness. He reached forward to turn on his Kindle and began reading, ignoring her.
‘I will,’ she said, sounding like a petulant toddler.
She was going to kill her mother. What on earth had she been thinking? They weren’t ready for paying guests and certainly not ones that did their own cooking. This wasn’t a bloody youth hostel or a doss house or lodgings. There was an awful lot of work that needed doing before then, but in her head, she’d planned that the kitchen – once she’d worked out how to work the Rayburn – would be her cosy space, separate from the rest of the house. A place for respite, especially from her mother. Now this man seemed to have made himself comfortable here and Izzy wasn’t very happy about it at all.
But she was hungry and despite everything the beans smelled good. With a sniff she moved past him and got a plate, helped herself to the remaining slice of toast and the last of the beans in the pan. Ignoring his sudden stare, she sat opposite him and began to eat. This was her kitchen and she wasn’t going to be forced out.
‘Help yourself,’ he said, with an outraged stare at her plate.
‘Thank you.’
‘Would you like another tin? I brought plenty with me and I can knock them off the bill if you like.’
Izzy dropped her fork with a rattle on the plate. Oh God. How embarrassing. She’d assumed at the very least that whatever he was paying her mother would have covered food. Was Xanthe really that shameless?
While her temper was fizzing, there was no point confronting Xanthe as that really would push her blood pressure into the danger zone. Instead, she stormed back into the hallway, past the sets of antlers and fishing rods that decorated the walls, to the porch where she grabbed one of the waxed jackets hanging there. She needed fresh air. Tugging it on, she shouldered her way through the heavy wooden door and stalked out onto the gravel drive, stopping briefly to take a calming breath before striding through the ornamental plantings of trees and shrubs in the parkland, heading towards the slopes of the nearby moorland.
The sun was low in the sky, there was probably only another hour of daylight and the clouds were already tinted with pink in readiness for sunset but she didn’t care, she needed to be outside. Since her stay in Ireland, she’d learned that while food might nourish the body, being outdoors in the countryside, at one with nature, nourished the soul. And she needed that right now. After twenty minutes’ brisk walking, she finally stopped to catch her breath and turned to look back down the slope at the way she’d come.
The early evening light bathed the scene in gold, harmonising with the autumn rainbow of russets, auburns, burnt oranges and ruby reds. A sharp scythe of joy stabbed at her heart, pushing aside her earlier irritation. She stared down with a mixture of pride, excitement and terror at the rough-hewn walls of Kinlochleven Castle, rising up from the umber, yellow and pale rose of the autumn-clad trees crowded around its walls. Beyond it, rust-coloured, bracken-strewn hills guarded the skyline – the impact of the scene doubled by the perfect mirror image reflected in the glassy stillness of Loch Leven.
With its striking, shingle-covered, conical roofs, tourelles and battlements, the nineteenth-century Scottish Baronial castle was majestic and owed its splendour to a bygone age of romanticism and wealth. It was also now her home – at least for as long as she could keep the roof from falling in on their heads, even if it took her last penny and/or breath.
She sank down onto a fallen tree trunk, propped her chin in her hand and stared at the beautiful legacy of which she was now guardian. She needed to preserve the building for future generations but she also had to make the castle pay its way. Her great uncle had been adamant he didn’t want any of the estate sold off, which is why he’d left it to her instead of her mother or the cousin on the East Coast, and turning it into a small, private hotel was the only way she could think of bringing in an income.
There was a lot to do and one of the trickiest jobs would be keeping Xanthe in check. Clearly she’d already got carried away and offered a complete stranger a room. Izzy’s mother was the sort of person who wanted to sprint before she could walk, preferably at Olympic record-breaking speeds. It was a complete mystery to nearly everyone as to where Izzy had inherited her common sense, as it appeared her long-dead father hadn’t been much better. He’d died in a fatal accident, tractor racing on the lane outside their house, when Izzy was five.
Enough of the introspection. She glanced down at her phone. The WhatsApp message group that they’d started during her cookery course in Ireland had been busy in response to her earlier message.
Izzy:I’m home. Hellish journey but it’s good to be back.
Jason:I’m back at work, my boss already cracking the whip. Can’t believe I’m missing Killorgally already.
Fliss:Hope your new venture goes well, Izzy. Good luck.
Jason:Let us know when we can visit, I’ve never stayed in a castle.
Hannah:Good luck with the cooking!
She smiled down at her phone. She was going to miss them all but especially Hannah, Fliss and Jason, who were closest to her in age.
Izzy rose to her feet, blowing out a breath. Now she’d calmed down, it was time to find her mother and find out what the deal with Ross Strathallan was and how quickly she could get rid of him and reclaim her kitchen.
