The weather was fine, so there was no need for cover as they tied flies to their lines and began to fish for their supper. The lochan’s coverlet of green lily pads offered shelter to the brown trout whose burnished scales were the same colour as the peat-infused waters of the lochan, so they cast close to the edge of the lilies, hoping to tempt the fish to the surface. Soon they had a good-sized one, and Alec cleaned it while Flora got the fire going in the hearth of the ruin. She put a dab of butter into a blackened frying pan that they’d brought with them, and set the trout fillets to fry. Before long, the skin was crisped and golden at the edges, and the flesh of the fish, basted with brown butter, turned to succulent flakes. They ate it with a few potatoes, fried in the same pan, and a handful of sweet green peas.
Alec lay with his head cushioned on Flora’s lap while she leaned against the fallen stones of the bothy wall, and they talked long into the evening, about how well Roy was doing in his recovery – which had a great deal to do with the care he was receiving from Mairi and her family on the farm – and how Bridie seemed to be starting to regain her spirits just a little.
‘How are Stuart and Davy getting on?’ Alec asked.
The Carmichaels were still struggling with their grief and Flora had been worried that the two wee boys weren’t getting much attention. So she’d suggested to Mrs Carmichael that they come and help her in the garden and give her father a hand with some of the chores on the estate. Three days a week all through the summer holidays they’d turned up at Keeper’s Cottage and thrown themselves into the jobs that Iain had found for them, helping him with the pony and the dogs, digging up tatties and pulling weeds from the kitchen garden. Stuart was growing as fast as a thistle, skinny wrists and ankles protruding from the cuffs of his trousers and jacket, but the extra fish and meat the boys ate at the Gordons’ table were helping him fill out a little. Braan was the boys’ constant companion and Davy, especially, loved the garron, too, and would happily spend hours combing the tangles and burrs out of her long blonde mane.
‘They’re looking well. They’re off back to school again this week, but they’re going to keep coming over in the evenings to help Dad and have their tea with us. They’re old enough to help with the shoots now, too. Dad says they’ll make good beaters.’
‘Has their mum been able to get up to see them over the summer?’
Flora shook her head. ‘I know the Carmichaels invited her to come and stay, but she’s not managed to get here. She said she was coming for Davy’s birthday, but never turned up in the end. It was awful, seeing him try not to show his disappointment. He was so brave – told me she’s too busy helping make bombs to stop the Germans to come just now, but that she’ll come and bring him and his brother home just as soon as the war is over. For the time being, they’re better off here, I reckon.’
Alec propped himself on one elbow and threw another peat on the fire. It wasn’t cold, but the smoke helped keep the midges at bay.
‘Look at that,’ he sighed, settling himself against her again and reaching for her hand. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever grow tired of watching west coast sunsets.’
Silhouetted on the crest of the hill, a herd of red deer hinds stood stock-still, facing the setting sun as it painted the western horizon in shades of crimson and vermillion. The colours grew bolder and deeper before they faded finally and night drew a blue-black curtain across the sky, obscuring the deer.
In that moment, safe in the hills, the shadows of her doubts lifted a little. Alec seemed at peace, sounding more like his old self again, and Flora felt the tension in her neck and arms relax. She wriggled closer to him, resting her head on his chest as the stars began to appear.
She knew a few of the constellations: the Plough, which wheeled around the constant point of the North Star, was an eternal feature of the night sky over the loch,