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“Nope! I set them free. If they don’t take advantage of that, that’s on them, but I completed the dare. Anyway, if they’re not going to go anywhere, maybe I should just close this gate and—”

“Oi! What in the name of the wee man do you think you’re doing?”

We whip around to see Mr Murray striding towards us in blue overalls and welly boots. He slams the gate shut then focuses his attention on me. “Well?” he demands. “It’s Iona Stewart, isn’t it? What have you got to say for yourself?”

I’d like to bravely tell him I didn’t want the pigs to be eaten, but I can’t bring myself to utter a single word. I’m not used to getting into trouble and his raised voice scares me.

Lewis steps between me and Mr Murray, acting as a shield. “It’s my fault. I dared her to open the gate. You can shout at me, but leave her out of it.”

The farmer’s bushy eyebrows rise with surprise then he lets out a low chuckle. “Ah, if it isn’t one of the McIntyre boys. Which one, I’m never sure.”

“Lewis,” Lewis says.

“Well, Lewis, don’t worry, I’ll be telling you off too. Are you aware I supply produce to your parents’ hotel, where this one’s maw is head chef?” He gestures to me. “I don’t think your families would be too happy if they knew you were messing about here. What were you doing anyway?”

Finally I find my voice. “I . . . I’m a vegetarian, so Lewis . . . dared me to . . .”

“Ah.” Mr Murray nods seriously. “A wannabe animal rights activist. Believe it or not, I care deeply for my animals. That might be a hard thing for you to get your head around, given what happens to them, but it’s true. I’ll give the two of you a choice. I can phone your parents right now and demand they drive out here and give you a suitable telling-off. Or you can help me around the farm for the next hour and maybe see that I’m no monster and my animals are treated well. What do you think?”

Lewis glances back at me, the mischievous glint gone from his eyes. Without him having to say anything, I know he feels guilty about getting me into trouble. But doing a few odd tasks around the farm doesn’t sound so bad. Actually, it might be fun.

“We’ll help out,” I say. “And if any poo needs scooped up, Lewis is your man.”

CHAPTER TWO

IONA

Now

“My laird, you can have my body but not my heart!”

“Nae, lass, I’ll take all of ye—mind, body, and soul.”

Slowing the car, I pause my audiobook—and just as it was getting to a good bit! Typical, but I’ve reached my destination: Bannock, a small town nestled in the Scottish Highlands. Its main street has scarcely changed in the nine years since I left, its stone houses and slate roofs simple but charming on this bright August day.

I pull up outside Maw’s house and step out, casting a glance across the road at the Bannock Hotel, with its freshly painted woodwork and pretty hanging baskets. I practically grew up in that building—spent almost as much time there as I did in my own home. Unwelcome memories threaten to surface so I shove them back down and head into Maw’s.

“I’m home!” My voice bounces off the walls of Maw’s hall.

“Oh, Iona!” She bustles through from the living room and wraps me in a hug. She has the same blue eyes and fair skin as me, and her hair, now grey, was once blonde like mine. “I’m so delighted to have you back. How was the journey up?”

“It was fine—same as ever.” Although it’s nearly a decade since I last lived here, I have returned for weekend visits and occasional longer stays.

“Och, but it’s not the same as ever because this time I get to keep you. With Aidan, Grace, and the bairn just down the road, and you moving in with me, I feel like the luckiest mother alive.” She gives me another squeeze and I laugh.

“Why don’t you put the kettle on and I’ll start taking things in?” I suggest, disentangling myself. “We can catch up properly in a few minutes.”

Back outside, I open the boot of my car, which—like the back seat and the passenger seat—is crammed full. Until I had to pack it all up, I hadn’t realised how much stuff I’d accumulated over the years. I really should have done a clear-out before moving home.

To minimise trips, I stack a few of the lighter boxes on top of each other. When I lift them, they wobble threateningly, but rather than put them back down—which would be the sensible thing to do—I stubbornly take a few steps towards Maw’s door. And . . . the tower begins to keel over.

“Whoa! Let me carry that.”

That voice—deep, melodic, and achingly familiar. Before my belongings can spill out for all to see, the boxes are swept from my hands.

“Welcome back, Iona.” Tall with carefully tousled chestnut hair and a gym-sculpted body, Lewis McIntyre now sports a smattering of stubble, something I’ve never seen on him previously. He suits it, but then Lewis could never look bad. He’s annoying that way.

“I was getting on just fine,” I lie.