"I should clear the table and—"
"Mrs. McDougall would have my head for trying to do her job." He tugged at her hand and drew her up against him.
His mouth brushed hers and just lingered, breathing her in. He had made love to her three times despite the long plane ride and the lingering effects of jetlag, and still he wanted more. He always would, he decided. "It's going to be a windy day; we should dress accordingly."
She held on to him for a few more minutes, inhaling his scent, and almost believed that nothing would ever dare touch them.
The beautiful village of Plockton had so much to offer that Kadian felt as if she was swamped with choices.
The harbor, with its boats rocking gently in the restless tide, beckoned from beyond the windowpanes, promising a day ofdiscoveries. Kadian could hardly contain her anticipation as she slipped out of his arms and gathered her coat, mind already meandering through possibilities: a walk along the windswept quay, a quiet hour in the tiny bookshop with its rain-speckled windows, perhaps even a ferry ride to see the seals sunning themselves on distant rocks.
Leon found her boots and passed them over with a smile that was softer now, touched by the golden hush of morning. The promise of the day drew them forward, steady and unhurried, as though time itself had decided to pause and let them linger just a little longer in this charmed corner of the world.
As they stepped outside, the brisk air met them, fragrant with salt and the scent of wildflowers tumbling over stone walls. The village, with its cluster of white cottages and curling lanes, seemed to welcome them into the fold of its everyday miracles. Laughter echoed faintly from the harbor—children playing tag, fishermen bantering over their catch, the easy soundtrack of life by the water.
For a moment, the future seemed clear and uncomplicated, a winding lane bordered by heather and possibility. Kadian squeezed Leon's hand, silently daring herself to believe that perhaps, just perhaps, happiness could be as simple as this: a shared morning, the wind at their backs, and the open road ahead.
She wanted to experience everything at once. Even the weather could not deter the tourists who appeared to have come from all walks of life to explore and enjoy the picturesque beauty. She had armed herself with her camera, and to her husband's indulged amusement, she snapped pictures, exclaiming about one beauty or another.
They stepped into various local stores where he insisted on paying for her purchases—even the ones she picked up for her dad. Quaint ceramics with bold lettering and brilliant colors.
Each store held its own small magic: the scent of fresh-baked scones wafting from the bakery, the gleam of hand-painted tiles stacked in sunlit nooks, baskets of tart apples and jars of golden honey arrayed along cottage counters. Kadian's eyes sparkled with delight as she bartered for a scarf woven in sea-glass hues, while Leon lingered near a display of postcards, thumbing through each one as if capturing a piece of the morning to take home.
At the water's edge, a group of artists had set up easels, their brushes dancing to capture the play of light across the bay. Kadian paused, feeling the low hum of inspiration in her chest, and Leon's arm slipped around her waist, drawing her close. They stood together, silent but content, watching the gulls wheel and dive, their cries carried off by the wind.
When at last she tucked her camera away, their arms full of small treasures and laughter lingering between them, the village seemed to glow with the promise of the day—a tapestry of new memories waiting to be woven.
Turning from her scrutiny of the people wandering around, she studied him as he was engaged in conversation with an old, wrinkled man with a flowing white beard. He was wearing faded jeans and a thick angora sweater. His thick blonde hair was tousled by the stiff wind, and he looked anything other than the busy executive and multi-billionaire he was. His lips quirked as he listened to whatever the man was saying to him. He looked so relaxed and at ease that she felt the heat coursing through her body. His head lifted just then as if her thoughts had been transmitted, sending a message straight to his brain. The look in his beautiful eyes had her melting. She saw when he murmured to the man and made his way over to her.
"I think it's time we call it a day." His voice was strained, and she could feel the desire pumping off him. It was the same desire pumping off her and making her edgy. Nodding, she linked her fingers with his as they threaded through the throng of eager tourists, who did not give them a second look.
*****
It felt decidedly decadent and more than a little naughty to make love in the broad daylight, but such was the freedom that had them rushing home from their sightseeing tours to tumble into bed. Sometimes they did not make it to one of the bedrooms but would lie on hand-woven quilts in front of a blazing fire and while away the afternoon exploring each other with a thoroughness that had the blood sizzling and the heart pounding.
They went for long walks along rolling hills and uneven paths. People—simple folks wearing knee-high wellingtons—called out a cheery "howdy" in their thick Scottish brogues. Mrs. McDougall would wait until they were out of the cottage to whisk by and do her housekeeping, making a meal and leaving it inside the warmer for them to eat whenever they returned.
They ate at the local restaurant, where she tasted Cullen skink—a delicious soup made of smoked haddock, potatoes, and onions. She got a taste for stovies and could not get enough of it. The only regret was that the time seemed to be whizzing by too quickly.
One evening, as dusk glazed the windowpanes with lavender shadow, Kadian curled up in a weathered armchair and watched Leon tend the fire. The flames danced, painting gold along the lines of his face and the curve of his shoulders, and for a long moment she simply studied him, the hush of the cottage brokenonly by the occasional crackle. Outside, the wind carried the distant song of the sea, weaving it through the garden's wild roses and along the stone path to their door.
Leon caught her gaze and smiled, warmth flickering in his eyes. "You look miles away," he said, his voice gentle, as he crossed the room with two mugs of strong black tea. She took one, their fingers brushing, and pressed it close, letting the steam rise to her lips.
"Just thinking how rare it is to feel this... unrushed," she replied, her words soft, almost lost in the hush. He nodded, sinking beside her, and they watched the fire together, shoulders touching, letting silence stand as conversation.
Later, they wandered outside beneath a sky stippled with stars. The village lay hushed, doorways aglow with lamplight and laughter muffled behind thick walls. They walked without needing to speak, hand in hand, boots crunching over dew-wet grass, their hearts lit by the unfamiliar joy of belonging—if only for these luminous days—to a world that seemed suspended outside the ordinary.
When they returned, they read aloud to each other from a battered book they'd found on the cottage shelves, voices blending with the wind and the far-off hush of the waves.That night, they slept with the windows cracked open, cool air carrying in the promise of another day. And in the quiet between dreams, Kadian thought how every hour here had become a keepsake, a memory stitched into the very seams of their lives—something to carry home long after the village had faded behind them.
They did not venture into anything personal. Their conversations were mainly superficial, but they did not mind. Somehow, they had come to a tacit agreement to leave the heavy stuff behind.
But time was running out, and the closer it got to their departure time, the more they could feel the tension mounting. Desperate to cast it aside, they packed several activities into the last two days.
Museums, galleries—he bought her a whimsical painting of the charming fishing village—which included visits to the Eilean Donan and Duncraig castles, as well as the Attadale gardens, where her camera was always clicking. She had bought a beautiful photo album to display her photos and would make it a definite project for when she returned. Trying her best to ignore the ache in her heart, she put on a bright smile and was determined to enjoy the last couple of days.
They told Mrs. McDougall not to bother coming in on the last day, and the woman understood they wanted to be with each other. They spent the day indoors, where a fire was blazing in the large stone hearth and a soft rain was sweeping down the windowpanes.
Bundled up in thick terry robes, they drank hot chocolate and watched the flames throw shadows around the room. Kadian had found several fat mood candles in a drawer and lit several. It lent a cozy ambience to an already perfect setting.
