‘Thank you,’ she murmured. Finding a man was at the very bottom of her agenda at the moment.
‘Have ye thought about suppliers? You should talk to John Stewart down at the farm shop. He’s a handsome man.’
‘I’ve been planning to visit since I arrived,’ said Izzy, ignoring Mrs McPherson’s steady stare. She had a feeling that by nightfall the news that she was single would have been relayed to the whole village. ‘I plan to design seasonal menus and use locally sourced ingredients when we have guests. If he can help that would be perfect.’
‘We’ve some grand local foods round here. John Stewart will definitely see you right. And don’t forget the whisky –uisge beatha– the water of life. You’ll be wanting some of that for your guests. I can get you a good discount on a case if you’re interested. I also stock a fine line in heather soap in the post office. That’d be good for your guests. I’ll bring some up for ye to try.’
‘Er, thank you,’ said Izzy. ‘I haven’t got around to thinking about that sort of thing yet and I’m on a tight budget.’
‘Yous not found the sapphires then?’ Mrs McPherson’s mouth tightened as if it was information she hadn’t wanted to release but felt duty-bound to do so.
‘Sorry?’
Xanthe dropped her knife with a clatter. ‘Sapphires? Now that sounds interesting.’
‘Lady Isabella’s sapphires,’ said Mrs McPherson, lowering her voice as though to add an air of authority. ‘You’ve no heard the story then? Old Bill always said he didn’ ken where they were but they’d reveal themselves when they were needed. Auld fool.’
Izzy shook her head, wondering if this was just local folklore.
‘Legend has it that her ladyship had a fine dowry of rare sapphires when she married the laird in 1724 but when the laird died, a rival clan stormed the castle to marry Isabella off to their laird. She refused to reveal where the sapphires were and they burned the original castle down, so Isabella built this one and according to the story, put the sapphires somewhere safe. They’ve never been seen since.’ Her eyes widened in suggestion.
‘Ooh.’ Xanthe’s eyes brightened with fervent enthusiasm. ‘That would solve all our problems. Think what we could do if we found them.’
‘Given they’ve been missing all this time, I suspect they were either lost in the fire or if they did keep them, they’ve probably been sold,’ said Izzy. ‘If they even existed.’
‘Pish. Izzy McBride, have you no romance in your soul?’ Her mother shook her head so vigorously she dislodged the beret and it fell down over one eye.
Mrs McPherson stared at her in horrified fascination. ‘Or they may have been well-hidden.’
‘Aw, Maggie. You’re not telling that old fairytale, are ye?’ asked Duncan, coming through the back door into the kitchen. ‘Och, it’s dreich out there this morning.’ He shook off his heavy tweed jacket.
Mrs McPherson’s back stiffened. ‘No one’s ever found the sapphires.’
‘With guid reason, woman,’ said Duncan, rolling his eyes. ‘They don’t exist. Don’t you think they’d have turned up in the last three hundred years?’
Xanthe folded her arms, lifting her chin with a touch of belligerence. ‘What if they did exist?’
‘I ken you might be right, Duncan.’ Mrs McPherson turned to Izzy, with a begrudging smile. ‘But it’s a grand story.’
Duncan shook his head. ‘There’s a rare thing, Maggie McPherson admitting she doesna ken everything. I suppose you do ken there’s talk of a bad storm brewing in the next few days?’
‘I love a good storm. So dramatic,’ declared Xanthe, clutching her hand to her chest. Duncan shot her an acidic look and ignored her, turning to Izzy.
‘Aye, a south westerly. We’ll be having a fair few wet nights ahead of us,’ said Mrs McPherson.
Izzy automatically looked up at the ceiling, worrying about the roof again.
‘Dinna fret, lass,’ said Duncan. ‘Young Jim says he can patch up a few places. Worse comes to the worst, we’ll set some buckets down.’
That wasn’t exactly reassuring, Izzy thought, catching her lip between her teeth as she handed over two steaming mugs of tea.
‘Did Maggie tell you about the ceilidh, lass? You and your’ – he nodded towards Xanthe – ‘should call in.’ He’d clearly been warned by Xanthe that she preferred not to be called ‘mum’, ‘ma’ or ‘mother’. ‘And you can give me a lift down to the village. It’s been a while since I’ve been. It’ll be a grand affair. Raising money for the Mountain Rescue. I used to go out wi them back in the day. It’s a verra good cause and you’ll meet a few people.’
‘That sounds fun. I’ll definitely think about it,’ said Izzy, her blood already pumping at the thought of the joy of a ceilidh. It would be a great way of meeting some local people but could she really spare the time? Just the thought of leaving the castle for more than a few hours made her feel uncharacteristically anxious.
‘You should ask Ross to come too. He’s no been anywhere for weeks. I reckon the local lassies would like a bit of new blood, and the lads, of course.’ He winked at her.
‘I can’t imagine Mr Peace and Quiet would be seen dead at a ceilidh,’ replied Izzy.
