Page 29 of Scotlander

She and Orla looked at one another and shrugged.

‘Does he need to be watched or anything?’ Orla asked. She pointed at her own head, then Gabe’s.

‘No. I mean, I could stay here and watch him if you think he’s behaving unusually.’

‘I think you’d be a better judge of that than me,’ Orla said kindly.

Gabe began to fake snore. Loudly.

Alright, then. It looked like someone wanted his alone time.

‘I guess we’ll be going now,’ Willa said pointedly.

With a shared smile, the two women left the room.

‘Now, then.’ Orla closed the door behind her and pointed to the end of the building. ‘You’re away up in the hayloft.’

Willa snorted. ‘Is that like the barn equivalent of the dungeon?’

‘More like the honeymoon suite.’ Orla’s smile broadened, then dropped at the sound of her name being called. ‘Excuse me for a moment, darlin’, would you?’

‘Of course.’

She took out her phone and began rapid-fire answering all the emails Bryony and her boss had sent.

A few minutes later, Willa looked up from her phone at the sound of voices. Or, more accurately, voice.

It was Finn. He and Orla were huddled in the stable’s archway having quite the intense conversation. Snatches of what they were saying were audible. But not much.

How could you—

Even legal?

You promised—

Insurance—

Already have public liability—

This is the last time—

And then, as if he hadn’t just been immersed in an incredibly heated discussion, Finn appeared in the courtyard, his demeanour only slightly ruffled. He picked up Willa’s completely oversized suitcase as if it weighed little more than a feather pillow, gave her phone a glance, then held out his hand. ‘Would you like to follow me?’

Ermmm . . . not particularly. Orla was warm and friendly and awkwardly wonderful. The kind of girl Willa would’ve latched on to in high school to make surviving backwoods Oregon more bearable. Finn was . . . confusing to figure out. She knew the whole serial killer thing was a stretch (or was it?) but what did press against the realms of believability was that he’d have a barbed conversation with Orla, then, in the blink of an eye, decide to turn his hand to the hospitality industry. Unless he’d made her cry and this was his version of penance. Playing nicey-nicey to the klutz who couldn’t control her boobs.

Without waiting for her answer he headed towards an outdoor stairwell that led up to a door on the side of the building.

Willa silently trooped after him, staring at his taut butt, wondering what on earth had possessed Val to book this madcap vacation. Why did ‘stepping outside of herself’ to take a look within entail cranky Scotsmen and barns? Surely a spa in Sedona would have done the same trick?

When Finn swung open the door and stood to the side so Willa could enter, she gasped with pleasure. The room was far bigger than Gabe’s. And unexpectedly fancier. There were actual lightbulbs, for starters – old-fashioned filament bulbs that looked as if they’d been there from the days they’d been invented. There were strings of fairy lights woven around huge wooden ceiling beams which, at six-foot-something, were about the height of Finlay’s head.

The decor sang true to the room’s origins. In the centre was a massive bed which, judging by the epic headboard, was entirely made of straw bales apart from the crowning glory: a huge set of antlers.

‘What’s hanging from them?’ She pointed at the clutches of dried plants hanging from the antlers.

Finlay leant in as if he hadn’t seen it before. He sniffed. ‘Heather.’

The way he said it made it sound like nectar of the gods. Who was she kidding? The way he said everything made her insides turn molten. Shame about the ’tude.