Scotlander, page 31
‘Just because you’re Scottish doesn’t automatically mean you love offal.’ He was properly laughing now.
‘You’re being awful.’ She was laughing too, but also a tiny bit panicked that she was completely misreading the situation.
She closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her hands to them, willing her brain to regroup and separate fact from the land of hopes and dreams.
When she opened them, Finn was flicking open a small box. She gasped as her eyes focused in on the ring. It was propped upon a whorl of evergreen velvet and was, quite simply, the most stunning piece of jewellery she’d ever seen. Tiny little trinity knots adorned the three bands of the ring that was inlaid with small but perfect emeralds.
When she failed to locate the power of speech to express just how bone-achingly happy she felt, Finn got panicky. ‘They had all sorts. Ones with standing stones and ones with trees of life and solitaires and then there were all of the different colours of gold—’
She silenced him with a kiss. ‘It’s perfect,’ she eventually whispered against his lips. ‘But . . .’
‘No buts . . .’ he whispered back. ‘You’ve already survived a fake marriage to me. And if it’s easier to think of this as a promise ring, let’s do that. If it works, we’ll start finding out today. If it doesn’t . . . at least we’ll know we tried. That’s better than wondering “what if”, isn’t it?’
She smiled and gave an invisible wink to The Rock, wherever he was.
Agreeing to marry at any point in a relationship was a risk. After one breathtaking night or fifteen years of gradually getting to know everything there was about one another. The former could last forever, the latter could end the next day. Things changed. People changed. But losing Valentina, Willa’s BFF and family all rolled into one for eight precious years, had taught her one very important lesson: life was too short to waste time with guessing games. It hurt. And there would be tears. And some days she probably wouldn’t like Finn very much, just as there would likely be days he wouldn’t be her greatest fan. But there would also be days like this one where it didn’t matter how awful the weather was because with him the world was made of sunshine.
Life had put her and Finn in one another’s paths. She didn’t know if she believed in destiny or fate or even the tarot card the Ancient Chinese Man had given her all those weeks ago back on Venice Beach. The star. A card indicating she was on the brink of leaving behind a dark, confusing time in her life and, if she was willing, about to step into a period of hope and faith. A moment in time when it would be truly possible to believe that dreams could really come true.
She laughed, looking out of the small window to the sky above where she knew Valentina was giving a triumphant fist pump. Gracias, mija, she silently thanked her friend. For everything.
‘C’mon now, lassie!’ Finn was pleading, hands in prayer position. ‘Please tell me what is happening in your brain!’
She grinned a happy, toothy smile. ‘Isn’t it hilarious that I thought all of my dreams would come true in Hollywood and that pretty much the opposite was true?’
‘Is this your version of a yes, please, Finlay, even though you’re not a movie star and smell like the back end of a goat, I’d like to marry you and love you until the end of time?’
‘Goat?’ she protested. ‘Cow, more like.’
They laughed and when their smiles grew soft and dreamy, she said, ‘Will you take a plain old yes, please?’
Finn looked her straight in the eye and in a tone one might think was more fitting for a rebuke he said, ‘There’s nothing plain about you, Willaford Jenkins. Not a single, solitary thing. I love you and if you’ll let me, I will do my very best to spend the rest of my life showing you just how special I think you are.’
At last, she let what was happening sink in. This man, this beautiful kind man, who had unzipped something in her that felt wild and courageous and still a bit unfamiliar to her, was hers to explore life with. Her partner. Her future.
She finally allowed herself to reach out and touch the ring. It was beautiful. He explained how the delicate knots symbolised interconnection with a loved one as well as the seamless flow from one life event to another. She’d never seen life like that until now. How everything you experienced mattered. The ups, the downs, the tartan. And she couldn’t wait to see what happened next.
Finn slid the ring on to her finger, then lowered his mouth to the back of her hand to give it a soft kiss.
When he looked up at her she told him she loved him. His blue eyes lit up as if she’d ignited actual flames in them. Or perhaps it was a reflection of what she felt burning bright in her heart. A hunger for the future they would share. And a heartfelt desire to begin it now.
‘Can we just circle back to something you said earlier?’ she asked.
‘Aye.’
‘Next time we go out there,’ she flicked her thumb towards the stables, ‘there won’t be bagpipes?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid from here on out there won’t be bagpipes until you’re walking down the aisle to me. Or corsets. Or haylofts or pinafores made out of tattie sacks, for that matter.’
‘What will there be?’
‘Whatever we want, lass. The future is ours for the making.’
Chapter Forty-Three
TWO YEARS LATER
‘Lights . . .’
Willa’s eyelashes fluttered against Finn’s hand as he removed it.
‘Camera . . .’
He put his hands on her shoulders and slowly spun her round so that she was facing the stairwell she had been forbidden from climbing for the past year.
‘And action.’
The dozen or so guests who had gathered at the bottom of the swirling spiral stairwell whooped as Finn scooped Willa up, tipped her over his shoulder as he climbed, one hand tucked under her bum, the other holding on to the guide rope that led up to the top.
‘I cannae see!’ he shouted. ‘The woman’s got on one too many petticoats!’
‘Not for long if you’re gonna prove yourself a worthy husband!’ came a voice from below them.
‘Trevor?’ Willa asked her new spouse’s back.
‘Trevor,’ came Finn’s dry response.
In an impressive move straight out of 1-800-ROMANCE, Finn shifted her round in his arms and carried her over the threshold into the room they would occupy as the official caretakers of Balcraigie Castle.
‘That was McSexy.’ She popped a kiss on to his cheek.
‘You’ve not seen anything yet, McWifey. Hold thy horses . . .’ He set her down so that her back was to him, then slipped his arms around her waist. ‘Behold . . . the Laird and Lady’s Suite.’
She’d not been permitted even a tiny glimpse of this upstairs suite – the only room with a proper roof on it – while they’d been renovating. A restriction that had nearly driven her wild with anticipation. But now that she was here in the arms of her shiny new husband, she realised it hadn’t been the room she’d been waiting for at all. It had always and only ever been him.
‘C’mon,’ he encouraged when she kept looking up and over her shoulder to moon at him. ‘Say something appreciative.’
‘You look McFabulous.’ He did as well. He was knee-weakeningly perfect in his formal kilt. He’d chosen the muted purple, green and red Mackintosh tartan, his mother’s. And a kilt pin from his father’s clan that included three tiny little sailing ships that felt like a nod to his overseas wife. He also wore a thistle buttonhole with a twist of ribbon in Duncan’s family tartan. ‘Mmmm.’ She nuzzled into him. ‘You’re McEdible. McYummy.’
‘Not about me, woman. The room!’
‘How can I appreciate a room when my husband is—’
He cupped her head between his hands and turned it so that she was forced to look at it.
Ohhhhh. She could appreciate a room. She could appreciate a room a lot.
The castle was still a massive work in progress. Though it felt like they’d achieved some heroic milestones two years ago during that first immersive Jacobean experience, all of their work had proved to be the first of countless steps yet to come.
Today, there were a handful rooms that were mostly finished – the kitchen, elements of the great hall and a wee snug where guests could gather for private whisky tastings. But it turned out the price of a potato harvester was just a drop in the bucket compared to what it took to renovate a building that had stood open to the elements for over a hundred years.
Castles were expensive. Luckily, they’d learnt early on that the finished product wasn’t so much the goal as the experiences they shared with the specialist craftspeople, as well as the scores of volunteers who’d joined them for the various immersive experiences Orla was now running as a proper business.
Here, in the only room that would be just for them, the ceilings were high, as was frequently the case in Scotland. They’d kept the far walls clean of paint, preferring instead to enjoy the gorgeous grey solid stone that was used throughout the castle. Behind the indulgently large four-poster bed, a sprawl of wallpaper covered with purple, white and green speckles made it look as if the bedroom was in the centre of a field full of heather in bloom. There was a fireplace big enough to stand in. A cosy little bed for their new puppy, Skye. A claw-footed tub that looked so inviting that if there hadn’t been a hundred plus guests outside – including her entire family who’d flown over a week earlier for their own immersive holiday – she would’ve suggested a bubble bath. Immediately.
But they were all here. Everyone who’d played a role in bringing the two of them together. Everyone except her bestie. Willa had decided Val was best symbolised by the Star tarot card and, as such, was tucked in the clutch bag Jennifer had embroidered for her. The bag was a deep midnight blue silk covered in brilliant gold-thread bees and the card was a reminder that change was a choice.
A peek out of the window showed that everyone was beginning to file into the great hall, where Orla and Jules had prepared the wedding breakfast: vegetarian haggis rolls, deep-fried haggis bon bons, wild Scottish salmon smoked right here on the shores of Balcraigie and countless more platters celebrating local cuisine. Rosa and Jeff had flown in on the proviso that Willa and Finn wouldn’t mind if, after the wedding ceremony, they renewed their vows again. Willa was convinced they were handfasting addicts.
Diego and the girls were here, as were Lachlan and Gabe. The two of them had been living between Palm Springs and Scotland and were shortly off to a Highlands photo shoot for Lachlan’s new Rogue Yoga book, the eagerly anticipated follow-up to Desert Yoga. ChiChi and Alastair were fresh back from a holiday in Nigeria. Fenella and Trevor could be heard bickering about whether or not a kilt was meant to fasten on the left or the right if you were a woman. Fenella’s husband, the ‘Aussie plonker’ turned out to be a shy and utterly love-struck accountant.
‘It’s incredible,’ she finally said, breaking through Finn’s stream of increasingly worried commentary about how actually, really, if she looked very closely there wasn’t a solitary element of the room that was finished yet.
‘It’s a work in progress,’ she said. ‘Just like us.’
‘Is that how you see us?’ He feigned offence. ‘I was under the impression we were absolutely perfect.’
‘No!’ she protested. ‘Well . . . yes, but . . .’
‘Willa?’ Finn put on his stern face. ‘Now is not the time to inform me that you’d have been better off opening a tuna melt cafe in Pendleton.’
She sniggered. ‘A town that size couldn’t handle two tuna melt joints.’
Finn pulled her close to him. ‘So what are we then, if we’re not perfect?’
‘In love,’ she finally settled on.
‘Is that it?’ he asked.
She pulled back, aghast. ‘Isn’t that everything?’
‘Aye.’ He nodded, a quiet smile playing on his lips. ‘It is, darlin’. Now that I know what it actually feels like, it most certainly is.’ He tipped his head to her uplifted one and gave her a soft kiss. As if on cue, the warm, predatory notes of a bagpipe about to launch into song sang out. ‘Right, then, missus. What do you say we go on out there and show them how a ceilidh’s really supposed to be?’
She put her hand in his and, running down the stairs to begin the rest of their lives with the people they held most dear, they did just that.
Later, when the high of being a newlywed kept her up long after the guests had gone to bed and Finn had fallen asleep with a soft dopey smile on his face, Willa snuck back down to the great hall – a room that had, in its several hundred years of existence seen countless formative events like today’s wedding. She went over to the fire, took a stick out of the massive wicker basket and stuck a marshmallow on it, because that’s what newlyweds who lived in partially finished castles in Scotland did after their wedding. She toasted it, burnt the roof of her mouth on its brown-sugar exterior, then popped the stick into the embers, a sacrifice to the gods of fluffy, nice things. Much like the kitchen fireplace, the great hall’s massive stone fireplace was huge. Large enough to fit a family of five in. She knew because she’d forced Orla and her growing brood to be photographed in there countless times since she’d returned. Along the internal stone walls they’d hung mementos from the past they’d unearthed as the renovations trundled ever onwards. A belt buckle. A spur. A sgian-dubh bearing the interlocked Luckenbooth hearts and crown, symbolising affection, loyalty and love.
She hovered her hand above the engraved words and symbols carved into the stone by one of the guests who’d come along to a specialised stonemasonry week. As ever, she grew glassy-eyed as her fingers worked their way along the letters.
She didn’t even bother to swallow back the tears. Today had been utterly perfect. All the people they loved had been here to support them as they publicly declared their love for one another. They’d even shouted their I Dos up to the heavens expressly for Valentina to hear, but now, here, alone in this quiet space, she could admit it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. She would always be missed and, as such, Finn had long ago suggested they find a way for her to be with them. So here she was, engraved into their hearth. Their home. The place where she had led Willa when she was most lost in the world. Her very best friend. The person who’d taught her that the impossible was, in fact, entirely possible if only you held out your hand to the terror of loss and let it guide you out of the darkness and into the light.
THE McENDING
ORLA’S READY BY TEATIME MILLIONAIRE’S SHORTBREAD
THE SHORTBREAD
Ingredients
250g mix of crushed shortbread and ginger biscuits (you could try Graham Crackers and Nilla Wafers if you’re American and can’t get hold of the former. Use GF if needed.)
55g melted butter
Method
Smash everything together (or whizz, if you prefer) until a fine-ish crumb. Mix with melted butter and press into a buttered or parchment paper lined 8″ x 8″ or 9″ x 9″ pan. Chill for 20 minutes.
NB: If you’re out of biscuits or don’t feel like smashing someone else’s into bits or crushing them in a food processor – so cathartic! – you can easily make your own shortbread. It’s all-purpose flour (240g), caster sugar (120g), butter (230g) and a pinch of salt all whizzed together until crumbly. Press into a buttered or parchment-paper-lined 8″ x 8″ or 9″ x 9″ pan, bake at 350F/170C for 30–35 minutes until golden. Cool completely.
THE CARAMEL
Ingredients
150g butter
150 g soft dark brown sugar (but whatever you have that is darker than white will work if you are out of dark)
1 x 400g tin of condensed milk (the big one, not the half-sized one – don’t open another can if yours is 395-397g)
Method
Heat butter and sugar in a non-stick pan on low-ish heat until melted. Add condensed milk and, if you’re feeling a bit sassy, a good pinch of ground ginger. Turn up heat and stir continuously as you bring to a rapid boil. Cook until sauce has thickened – should be about a minute or two. Remove from heat and pour the beautiful caramel over your baked biscuit base. Cool, then pop in the refrigerator until set.
THE CHOCOLATE TOPPING
Ingredients
200g dark chocolate (or whatever favourite flavour chocolate you like, or the melted-down remains of your Easter chocolate if that’s all your cupboards have to spare)
Method
Melt chocolate, pour over caramel. Chill until set.
To divide into slices, if you are going to share, dip knife in hot water, dry on towel, slice.
ENJOY!
AUTHOR’S NOTE AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This is probably the most autobiographical – without being at all autobiographical – book I have ever written. I was an entertainment news producer in Los Angeles and absolutely loved it. Film and television have always been magical worlds to me and getting to interview the people who created the shows and movies I adored was a dream come true. Until it wasn’t. And please believe me when I say this is not a slight to my job. I simply found myself wanting to do the things I was observing as much as I enjoyed watching them. This peaked when I was filming a series on trainee RSPCA inspectors in the UK. Whatever they learnt, I learnt too. And I itched to do more. At the same time I met and fell in love with a Scotsman who was looking for a ‘wee place’ out in the country. Instead, we found a small, neglected farm that landed me at the bottom of a very steep learning curve. I can now proudly announce I have had my arm inside the back end of a cow and, after some hair-raising moments rearranging his limbs, produced a live calf. We’ve also had pigs and bees and chickens and, for a fleeting period, an injured crow (he flew away all healed). When my former employers heard about my new line of work, they said I should write my autobiography. Instead, I came up with this. The research was great fun. I got to read and watch the Outlander series (it was six TV series and a gazillion books deep by the time I got to it). Thanks to my amazing friend and Outlander superfan Karin Bain, who gave me the heads up on a last-minute book signing in London where I nearly died of delight when Diana Gabaldon not only signed my book, but liked my dinosaur pinafore dress (she is a dinosaur fan), and then, later, featured me in her monthly newsletter (I am the grinning idiot in the dinosaur pinafore). The fans were pure joy. They are a passionate group of readers and fans of the series. One even showed up in a redcoat outfit (a tri-cornered hat tip to you, m’lady). As part of my research, I also went on a two-day Jacobean history tour with the incredible Diane and Andrew Nicholson who offer Outlander: The Past Lives Experience tour. We went to castles and Culloden and touched standing stones and ate cream tea at Culloden House. Their passion for Scottish history and Scotland is top notch. It was an extraordinary experience. Who knew I could wander round the Highlands with a couple dressed in Jacobite clothing and think absolutely nothing of it.
‘You’re being awful.’ She was laughing too, but also a tiny bit panicked that she was completely misreading the situation.
She closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her hands to them, willing her brain to regroup and separate fact from the land of hopes and dreams.
When she opened them, Finn was flicking open a small box. She gasped as her eyes focused in on the ring. It was propped upon a whorl of evergreen velvet and was, quite simply, the most stunning piece of jewellery she’d ever seen. Tiny little trinity knots adorned the three bands of the ring that was inlaid with small but perfect emeralds.
When she failed to locate the power of speech to express just how bone-achingly happy she felt, Finn got panicky. ‘They had all sorts. Ones with standing stones and ones with trees of life and solitaires and then there were all of the different colours of gold—’
She silenced him with a kiss. ‘It’s perfect,’ she eventually whispered against his lips. ‘But . . .’
‘No buts . . .’ he whispered back. ‘You’ve already survived a fake marriage to me. And if it’s easier to think of this as a promise ring, let’s do that. If it works, we’ll start finding out today. If it doesn’t . . . at least we’ll know we tried. That’s better than wondering “what if”, isn’t it?’
She smiled and gave an invisible wink to The Rock, wherever he was.
Agreeing to marry at any point in a relationship was a risk. After one breathtaking night or fifteen years of gradually getting to know everything there was about one another. The former could last forever, the latter could end the next day. Things changed. People changed. But losing Valentina, Willa’s BFF and family all rolled into one for eight precious years, had taught her one very important lesson: life was too short to waste time with guessing games. It hurt. And there would be tears. And some days she probably wouldn’t like Finn very much, just as there would likely be days he wouldn’t be her greatest fan. But there would also be days like this one where it didn’t matter how awful the weather was because with him the world was made of sunshine.
Life had put her and Finn in one another’s paths. She didn’t know if she believed in destiny or fate or even the tarot card the Ancient Chinese Man had given her all those weeks ago back on Venice Beach. The star. A card indicating she was on the brink of leaving behind a dark, confusing time in her life and, if she was willing, about to step into a period of hope and faith. A moment in time when it would be truly possible to believe that dreams could really come true.
She laughed, looking out of the small window to the sky above where she knew Valentina was giving a triumphant fist pump. Gracias, mija, she silently thanked her friend. For everything.
‘C’mon now, lassie!’ Finn was pleading, hands in prayer position. ‘Please tell me what is happening in your brain!’
She grinned a happy, toothy smile. ‘Isn’t it hilarious that I thought all of my dreams would come true in Hollywood and that pretty much the opposite was true?’
‘Is this your version of a yes, please, Finlay, even though you’re not a movie star and smell like the back end of a goat, I’d like to marry you and love you until the end of time?’
‘Goat?’ she protested. ‘Cow, more like.’
They laughed and when their smiles grew soft and dreamy, she said, ‘Will you take a plain old yes, please?’
Finn looked her straight in the eye and in a tone one might think was more fitting for a rebuke he said, ‘There’s nothing plain about you, Willaford Jenkins. Not a single, solitary thing. I love you and if you’ll let me, I will do my very best to spend the rest of my life showing you just how special I think you are.’
At last, she let what was happening sink in. This man, this beautiful kind man, who had unzipped something in her that felt wild and courageous and still a bit unfamiliar to her, was hers to explore life with. Her partner. Her future.
She finally allowed herself to reach out and touch the ring. It was beautiful. He explained how the delicate knots symbolised interconnection with a loved one as well as the seamless flow from one life event to another. She’d never seen life like that until now. How everything you experienced mattered. The ups, the downs, the tartan. And she couldn’t wait to see what happened next.
Finn slid the ring on to her finger, then lowered his mouth to the back of her hand to give it a soft kiss.
When he looked up at her she told him she loved him. His blue eyes lit up as if she’d ignited actual flames in them. Or perhaps it was a reflection of what she felt burning bright in her heart. A hunger for the future they would share. And a heartfelt desire to begin it now.
‘Can we just circle back to something you said earlier?’ she asked.
‘Aye.’
‘Next time we go out there,’ she flicked her thumb towards the stables, ‘there won’t be bagpipes?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid from here on out there won’t be bagpipes until you’re walking down the aisle to me. Or corsets. Or haylofts or pinafores made out of tattie sacks, for that matter.’
‘What will there be?’
‘Whatever we want, lass. The future is ours for the making.’
Chapter Forty-Three
TWO YEARS LATER
‘Lights . . .’
Willa’s eyelashes fluttered against Finn’s hand as he removed it.
‘Camera . . .’
He put his hands on her shoulders and slowly spun her round so that she was facing the stairwell she had been forbidden from climbing for the past year.
‘And action.’
The dozen or so guests who had gathered at the bottom of the swirling spiral stairwell whooped as Finn scooped Willa up, tipped her over his shoulder as he climbed, one hand tucked under her bum, the other holding on to the guide rope that led up to the top.
‘I cannae see!’ he shouted. ‘The woman’s got on one too many petticoats!’
‘Not for long if you’re gonna prove yourself a worthy husband!’ came a voice from below them.
‘Trevor?’ Willa asked her new spouse’s back.
‘Trevor,’ came Finn’s dry response.
In an impressive move straight out of 1-800-ROMANCE, Finn shifted her round in his arms and carried her over the threshold into the room they would occupy as the official caretakers of Balcraigie Castle.
‘That was McSexy.’ She popped a kiss on to his cheek.
‘You’ve not seen anything yet, McWifey. Hold thy horses . . .’ He set her down so that her back was to him, then slipped his arms around her waist. ‘Behold . . . the Laird and Lady’s Suite.’
She’d not been permitted even a tiny glimpse of this upstairs suite – the only room with a proper roof on it – while they’d been renovating. A restriction that had nearly driven her wild with anticipation. But now that she was here in the arms of her shiny new husband, she realised it hadn’t been the room she’d been waiting for at all. It had always and only ever been him.
‘C’mon,’ he encouraged when she kept looking up and over her shoulder to moon at him. ‘Say something appreciative.’
‘You look McFabulous.’ He did as well. He was knee-weakeningly perfect in his formal kilt. He’d chosen the muted purple, green and red Mackintosh tartan, his mother’s. And a kilt pin from his father’s clan that included three tiny little sailing ships that felt like a nod to his overseas wife. He also wore a thistle buttonhole with a twist of ribbon in Duncan’s family tartan. ‘Mmmm.’ She nuzzled into him. ‘You’re McEdible. McYummy.’
‘Not about me, woman. The room!’
‘How can I appreciate a room when my husband is—’
He cupped her head between his hands and turned it so that she was forced to look at it.
Ohhhhh. She could appreciate a room. She could appreciate a room a lot.
The castle was still a massive work in progress. Though it felt like they’d achieved some heroic milestones two years ago during that first immersive Jacobean experience, all of their work had proved to be the first of countless steps yet to come.
Today, there were a handful rooms that were mostly finished – the kitchen, elements of the great hall and a wee snug where guests could gather for private whisky tastings. But it turned out the price of a potato harvester was just a drop in the bucket compared to what it took to renovate a building that had stood open to the elements for over a hundred years.
Castles were expensive. Luckily, they’d learnt early on that the finished product wasn’t so much the goal as the experiences they shared with the specialist craftspeople, as well as the scores of volunteers who’d joined them for the various immersive experiences Orla was now running as a proper business.
Here, in the only room that would be just for them, the ceilings were high, as was frequently the case in Scotland. They’d kept the far walls clean of paint, preferring instead to enjoy the gorgeous grey solid stone that was used throughout the castle. Behind the indulgently large four-poster bed, a sprawl of wallpaper covered with purple, white and green speckles made it look as if the bedroom was in the centre of a field full of heather in bloom. There was a fireplace big enough to stand in. A cosy little bed for their new puppy, Skye. A claw-footed tub that looked so inviting that if there hadn’t been a hundred plus guests outside – including her entire family who’d flown over a week earlier for their own immersive holiday – she would’ve suggested a bubble bath. Immediately.
But they were all here. Everyone who’d played a role in bringing the two of them together. Everyone except her bestie. Willa had decided Val was best symbolised by the Star tarot card and, as such, was tucked in the clutch bag Jennifer had embroidered for her. The bag was a deep midnight blue silk covered in brilliant gold-thread bees and the card was a reminder that change was a choice.
A peek out of the window showed that everyone was beginning to file into the great hall, where Orla and Jules had prepared the wedding breakfast: vegetarian haggis rolls, deep-fried haggis bon bons, wild Scottish salmon smoked right here on the shores of Balcraigie and countless more platters celebrating local cuisine. Rosa and Jeff had flown in on the proviso that Willa and Finn wouldn’t mind if, after the wedding ceremony, they renewed their vows again. Willa was convinced they were handfasting addicts.
Diego and the girls were here, as were Lachlan and Gabe. The two of them had been living between Palm Springs and Scotland and were shortly off to a Highlands photo shoot for Lachlan’s new Rogue Yoga book, the eagerly anticipated follow-up to Desert Yoga. ChiChi and Alastair were fresh back from a holiday in Nigeria. Fenella and Trevor could be heard bickering about whether or not a kilt was meant to fasten on the left or the right if you were a woman. Fenella’s husband, the ‘Aussie plonker’ turned out to be a shy and utterly love-struck accountant.
‘It’s incredible,’ she finally said, breaking through Finn’s stream of increasingly worried commentary about how actually, really, if she looked very closely there wasn’t a solitary element of the room that was finished yet.
‘It’s a work in progress,’ she said. ‘Just like us.’
‘Is that how you see us?’ He feigned offence. ‘I was under the impression we were absolutely perfect.’
‘No!’ she protested. ‘Well . . . yes, but . . .’
‘Willa?’ Finn put on his stern face. ‘Now is not the time to inform me that you’d have been better off opening a tuna melt cafe in Pendleton.’
She sniggered. ‘A town that size couldn’t handle two tuna melt joints.’
Finn pulled her close to him. ‘So what are we then, if we’re not perfect?’
‘In love,’ she finally settled on.
‘Is that it?’ he asked.
She pulled back, aghast. ‘Isn’t that everything?’
‘Aye.’ He nodded, a quiet smile playing on his lips. ‘It is, darlin’. Now that I know what it actually feels like, it most certainly is.’ He tipped his head to her uplifted one and gave her a soft kiss. As if on cue, the warm, predatory notes of a bagpipe about to launch into song sang out. ‘Right, then, missus. What do you say we go on out there and show them how a ceilidh’s really supposed to be?’
She put her hand in his and, running down the stairs to begin the rest of their lives with the people they held most dear, they did just that.
Later, when the high of being a newlywed kept her up long after the guests had gone to bed and Finn had fallen asleep with a soft dopey smile on his face, Willa snuck back down to the great hall – a room that had, in its several hundred years of existence seen countless formative events like today’s wedding. She went over to the fire, took a stick out of the massive wicker basket and stuck a marshmallow on it, because that’s what newlyweds who lived in partially finished castles in Scotland did after their wedding. She toasted it, burnt the roof of her mouth on its brown-sugar exterior, then popped the stick into the embers, a sacrifice to the gods of fluffy, nice things. Much like the kitchen fireplace, the great hall’s massive stone fireplace was huge. Large enough to fit a family of five in. She knew because she’d forced Orla and her growing brood to be photographed in there countless times since she’d returned. Along the internal stone walls they’d hung mementos from the past they’d unearthed as the renovations trundled ever onwards. A belt buckle. A spur. A sgian-dubh bearing the interlocked Luckenbooth hearts and crown, symbolising affection, loyalty and love.
She hovered her hand above the engraved words and symbols carved into the stone by one of the guests who’d come along to a specialised stonemasonry week. As ever, she grew glassy-eyed as her fingers worked their way along the letters.
She didn’t even bother to swallow back the tears. Today had been utterly perfect. All the people they loved had been here to support them as they publicly declared their love for one another. They’d even shouted their I Dos up to the heavens expressly for Valentina to hear, but now, here, alone in this quiet space, she could admit it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. She would always be missed and, as such, Finn had long ago suggested they find a way for her to be with them. So here she was, engraved into their hearth. Their home. The place where she had led Willa when she was most lost in the world. Her very best friend. The person who’d taught her that the impossible was, in fact, entirely possible if only you held out your hand to the terror of loss and let it guide you out of the darkness and into the light.
THE McENDING
ORLA’S READY BY TEATIME MILLIONAIRE’S SHORTBREAD
THE SHORTBREAD
Ingredients
250g mix of crushed shortbread and ginger biscuits (you could try Graham Crackers and Nilla Wafers if you’re American and can’t get hold of the former. Use GF if needed.)
55g melted butter
Method
Smash everything together (or whizz, if you prefer) until a fine-ish crumb. Mix with melted butter and press into a buttered or parchment paper lined 8″ x 8″ or 9″ x 9″ pan. Chill for 20 minutes.
NB: If you’re out of biscuits or don’t feel like smashing someone else’s into bits or crushing them in a food processor – so cathartic! – you can easily make your own shortbread. It’s all-purpose flour (240g), caster sugar (120g), butter (230g) and a pinch of salt all whizzed together until crumbly. Press into a buttered or parchment-paper-lined 8″ x 8″ or 9″ x 9″ pan, bake at 350F/170C for 30–35 minutes until golden. Cool completely.
THE CARAMEL
Ingredients
150g butter
150 g soft dark brown sugar (but whatever you have that is darker than white will work if you are out of dark)
1 x 400g tin of condensed milk (the big one, not the half-sized one – don’t open another can if yours is 395-397g)
Method
Heat butter and sugar in a non-stick pan on low-ish heat until melted. Add condensed milk and, if you’re feeling a bit sassy, a good pinch of ground ginger. Turn up heat and stir continuously as you bring to a rapid boil. Cook until sauce has thickened – should be about a minute or two. Remove from heat and pour the beautiful caramel over your baked biscuit base. Cool, then pop in the refrigerator until set.
THE CHOCOLATE TOPPING
Ingredients
200g dark chocolate (or whatever favourite flavour chocolate you like, or the melted-down remains of your Easter chocolate if that’s all your cupboards have to spare)
Method
Melt chocolate, pour over caramel. Chill until set.
To divide into slices, if you are going to share, dip knife in hot water, dry on towel, slice.
ENJOY!
AUTHOR’S NOTE AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
This is probably the most autobiographical – without being at all autobiographical – book I have ever written. I was an entertainment news producer in Los Angeles and absolutely loved it. Film and television have always been magical worlds to me and getting to interview the people who created the shows and movies I adored was a dream come true. Until it wasn’t. And please believe me when I say this is not a slight to my job. I simply found myself wanting to do the things I was observing as much as I enjoyed watching them. This peaked when I was filming a series on trainee RSPCA inspectors in the UK. Whatever they learnt, I learnt too. And I itched to do more. At the same time I met and fell in love with a Scotsman who was looking for a ‘wee place’ out in the country. Instead, we found a small, neglected farm that landed me at the bottom of a very steep learning curve. I can now proudly announce I have had my arm inside the back end of a cow and, after some hair-raising moments rearranging his limbs, produced a live calf. We’ve also had pigs and bees and chickens and, for a fleeting period, an injured crow (he flew away all healed). When my former employers heard about my new line of work, they said I should write my autobiography. Instead, I came up with this. The research was great fun. I got to read and watch the Outlander series (it was six TV series and a gazillion books deep by the time I got to it). Thanks to my amazing friend and Outlander superfan Karin Bain, who gave me the heads up on a last-minute book signing in London where I nearly died of delight when Diana Gabaldon not only signed my book, but liked my dinosaur pinafore dress (she is a dinosaur fan), and then, later, featured me in her monthly newsletter (I am the grinning idiot in the dinosaur pinafore). The fans were pure joy. They are a passionate group of readers and fans of the series. One even showed up in a redcoat outfit (a tri-cornered hat tip to you, m’lady). As part of my research, I also went on a two-day Jacobean history tour with the incredible Diane and Andrew Nicholson who offer Outlander: The Past Lives Experience tour. We went to castles and Culloden and touched standing stones and ate cream tea at Culloden House. Their passion for Scottish history and Scotland is top notch. It was an extraordinary experience. Who knew I could wander round the Highlands with a couple dressed in Jacobite clothing and think absolutely nothing of it.
