I’ve had two accidents, and neither of them were my fault—I was stationary at the time,’ he said in a low voice.
‘There’s always a first,’ she muttered. ‘And these roads—’
‘Are only dangerous if you take risks. Which I won’t. You’re perfectly safe with me.’ He gave her a very quick sideways glance. ‘And I’m nowhere near the speed limit, so you can stop braking.’
‘I am not braking,’ Kirsty muttered.
‘Yes, you are. Typical surgeon—you don’t like it when you’re not in charge,’ he teased. ‘Gran, this ceilidh tonight—are we talking posh dress?’
‘You won’t need your “Prince Charlie”, if that’s what you mean,’ Morag said.
‘I didn’t bring a dress or anything with me,’ Kirsty said.
‘Didn’t bring a dress? She doesn’t actually own one, Gran,’ Ben added, laughing.
‘A skirt’s fine, lass.’
Kirsty didn’t do skirts either. ‘How about trousers?’
Morag chuckled. ‘They’re fine, too. Clothes really aren’t that important. But you’ll need pumps or ghillies—the floor can be a bit slippery. What size shoes do you take?’
‘Five.’
‘Perfect. You can borrow my spare pair,’ Morag said.
‘Thanks.’ There was no way she was going to get out of dancing, Kirsty thought glumly. And Ben was probably good at it. He was good at everything.
Especially kissing.
No. She wasn’t going to think about that.
‘Kirsty?’
‘Huh?’ She hadn’t realised he’d been talking to her. ‘Sorry. I was…er…’
‘Rapt in the scenery. I know. It’s gorgeous. What I said was, I thought I’d drive us round the loch, then we’ll have lunch at Drumnadrochit,’ Ben repeated. ‘That OK with you?’
‘Fine.’
‘Good.’ As they drove round, Ben told her all about the history of the area, from ruined castles to cairns to the iron bridge. When Morag remarked how beautiful the walking was around Glenmoriston, Ben said immediately, ‘I’ll take you there next time we come.’
The way he was talking, Kirsty thought it was almost as if he really were her fiancé, making plans…But of course not. Forget that kiss. They were doing this for his gran, that was all—and she had to remember that.
‘They pioneered trial marriages here,’ Ben said, giving Kirsty a sideways look as they passed through one village.
‘Trial marriages?’
‘There’s a special stone in the churchyard. The couple used to join hands in the hollow of the stone and agree to be married for a year. If they didn’t have children in that time and their love cooled, they were free to go their separate ways.’
Separate ways. Just like she and Ben would have to go their separate ways. End their fake engagement, when he finally met the woman of his dreams…
Kirsty was silent until they finally reached Drumnadrochit.
‘I know it’s a bit of a touristy thing to do,’ Ben said, ‘but we just have to go Nessie-spotting.’
‘Ben Robertson, remember your tongue,’ Morag directed, laughing.
‘Since you clearly want me to ask,’ Kirsty said, ‘have you seen Nessie yourself?’
‘No.’
‘And do you think Nessie exists, or are all those pictures fakes?’
Ben shrugged as he climbed out of the car and unlocked the boot. ‘Who knows? Nessiteras rhombopteryx—that’s our Nessie, to you—was first spotted in AD 565 by St Columba. Apparently, he drove the monster away by prayer.’
Kirsty took the picnic rug while Ben hauled the hamper. She linked her arm through Morag’s and followed him down to a picnic spot at the side of the lake, where they spread the rug on the grass and sat down.
‘A big-game hunter claimed to have seen it in the 1930s,’ Ben continued, ‘but he’d rigged the footprints with a stuffed hippo’s foot he’d borrowed from the Royal Zoological Society.’
Kirsty laughed. She could almost imagine Ben plotting a prank like that as a child. ‘But all the famous pictures—they were all fakes?’
He nodded. ‘’Fraid so. Expeditions
‘There’s always a first,’ she muttered. ‘And these roads—’
‘Are only dangerous if you take risks. Which I won’t. You’re perfectly safe with me.’ He gave her a very quick sideways glance. ‘And I’m nowhere near the speed limit, so you can stop braking.’
‘I am not braking,’ Kirsty muttered.
‘Yes, you are. Typical surgeon—you don’t like it when you’re not in charge,’ he teased. ‘Gran, this ceilidh tonight—are we talking posh dress?’
‘You won’t need your “Prince Charlie”, if that’s what you mean,’ Morag said.
‘I didn’t bring a dress or anything with me,’ Kirsty said.
‘Didn’t bring a dress? She doesn’t actually own one, Gran,’ Ben added, laughing.
‘A skirt’s fine, lass.’
Kirsty didn’t do skirts either. ‘How about trousers?’
Morag chuckled. ‘They’re fine, too. Clothes really aren’t that important. But you’ll need pumps or ghillies—the floor can be a bit slippery. What size shoes do you take?’
‘Five.’
‘Perfect. You can borrow my spare pair,’ Morag said.
‘Thanks.’ There was no way she was going to get out of dancing, Kirsty thought glumly. And Ben was probably good at it. He was good at everything.
Especially kissing.
No. She wasn’t going to think about that.
‘Kirsty?’
‘Huh?’ She hadn’t realised he’d been talking to her. ‘Sorry. I was…er…’
‘Rapt in the scenery. I know. It’s gorgeous. What I said was, I thought I’d drive us round the loch, then we’ll have lunch at Drumnadrochit,’ Ben repeated. ‘That OK with you?’
‘Fine.’
‘Good.’ As they drove round, Ben told her all about the history of the area, from ruined castles to cairns to the iron bridge. When Morag remarked how beautiful the walking was around Glenmoriston, Ben said immediately, ‘I’ll take you there next time we come.’
The way he was talking, Kirsty thought it was almost as if he really were her fiancé, making plans…But of course not. Forget that kiss. They were doing this for his gran, that was all—and she had to remember that.
‘They pioneered trial marriages here,’ Ben said, giving Kirsty a sideways look as they passed through one village.
‘Trial marriages?’
‘There’s a special stone in the churchyard. The couple used to join hands in the hollow of the stone and agree to be married for a year. If they didn’t have children in that time and their love cooled, they were free to go their separate ways.’
Separate ways. Just like she and Ben would have to go their separate ways. End their fake engagement, when he finally met the woman of his dreams…
Kirsty was silent until they finally reached Drumnadrochit.
‘I know it’s a bit of a touristy thing to do,’ Ben said, ‘but we just have to go Nessie-spotting.’
‘Ben Robertson, remember your tongue,’ Morag directed, laughing.
‘Since you clearly want me to ask,’ Kirsty said, ‘have you seen Nessie yourself?’
‘No.’
‘And do you think Nessie exists, or are all those pictures fakes?’
Ben shrugged as he climbed out of the car and unlocked the boot. ‘Who knows? Nessiteras rhombopteryx—that’s our Nessie, to you—was first spotted in AD 565 by St Columba. Apparently, he drove the monster away by prayer.’
Kirsty took the picnic rug while Ben hauled the hamper. She linked her arm through Morag’s and followed him down to a picnic spot at the side of the lake, where they spread the rug on the grass and sat down.
‘A big-game hunter claimed to have seen it in the 1930s,’ Ben continued, ‘but he’d rigged the footprints with a stuffed hippo’s foot he’d borrowed from the Royal Zoological Society.’
Kirsty laughed. She could almost imagine Ben plotting a prank like that as a child. ‘But all the famous pictures—they were all fakes?’
He nodded. ‘’Fraid so. Expeditions
Similar Books
