It had been a hard night’s work, but a hard night’s work was exactly what Konstantin didn’t mind anything like as much as he’d always thought he might, and he couldn’t sleep anyway so it had made sense.
Now he was hovering, waiting for sunup. He couldn’t help it; he wanted to see her face. However alone he felt, there was someone who might be happy to see him.
Also he was dreading going back to the Rock. Having to face Isla. Knowing she felt he’d let her down, that she hated him, thought him some sleazy, lying player. It had taken so long to break down her defenses so she felt she could trust him, like a little bird, in a funny way. And then just as he’d thought they had reached an understanding, and as he was getting to know someone better than he ever had before—certainly better than any of the girls he’d been with—well . . .
He could see it from her point of view. But he had wanted to get away, desperately at first.
Now, though, as Christmas Day dawned bright and frosty, the ice crackling over the fields with the short, shaggy cows with their big horns mooing enthusiastically; the beautiful, endlessly long beach with the clear blue sea to the horizon; the little painted houses huddled round the harbor; the fresh air with the scent of warm baking—he could see why people loved it too. He didn’t mind it at all, in fact, as he strode through it, warm in his darned jacket.
As he reached the MacKenzie farmyard, he saw that the family was up, could see smoke billowing from the chimney and figures moving inside the low windows.
Taking a quick breath, he knocked at the door.
“It’s the prince,” said Fintan uninterestedly, when he opened it up.
“I am not a prince,” said Konstantin awkwardly.
“Is everything okay at the hotel?” said Flora immediately, taking two seconds off from looking at her beautiful new ring from every angle and waking Mark and Marsha at four A.M. in New York, as was traditional.
“Why should he care? He’s only passing through,” said Fintan.
“I wish you cared as much as he does,” shot back Flora, then remembered what Joel had said and held her fire.
“Actually . . .” said Konstantin politely.
“Come in, come in, it’s freezing,” said Innes, who knew exactly what was up, beckoning him in and handing him a cup of tea, which left both Flora and Fintan feeling rather ashamed of their lack of goodwill.
“Happy Christmas,” said Flora. “Sorry.”
“She was just shouting at me,” said Fintan.
“Well, I like your local Scottish traditions,” said Konstantin, taking a sip of the tea, which was disgusting to him. He had never gotten used to it.
“I have coffee too,” said Flora hastily.
“I was actually looking for Miss Agot,” said Konstantin gravely. Agot had in fact woken up when the knock at the door had come and stood rubbing her eyes at the hall entrance. “I owe her something.”
“Are you really a prince?” she said.
Konstantin shrugged. “Oh well, for you, why not?”
Agot took a look at Douglas’s pile of presents by the wall, all wrapped in blue animal paper.
“And who are they for?” she said suspiciously.
“I have brought you something,” said Konstantin quickly.
Agot blinked. “Did you bring anything for Bugglas?”
“I brought nothing for Bugglas.”
“Okay.”
Konstantin winked at Innes, who vanished obediently.
“What’s going on?” said Eilidh suspiciously.
Presently, Innes arrived back, bearing a white box.
“But!” said Eilidh, but Innes hushed her and handed it over to Agot.
Eyes wide, she opened it.
Inside were the most perfectly beautiful little pair of skates, white and trimmed with white fake fur, with pink laces.
Agot gasped. “Nooooo!!”
She lifted them out of the tissue paper wrapping as if they were the most stunningly lovely things she’d ever seen. The silver blades caught the light, flashing and glinting in the early winter sun.
“But where is she . . .” started Eilidh.
“Shh,” said Innes.
“And you see here,” said Konstantin, pulling out a pair of skates. “I too have my skates.”
“You brought your skates from your palace in Norway,” said Flora.
“Of course,” said Konstantin, looking confused.
He lent the little girl his arm.
“Would you like to come skating with me?”
And he led her out into the farmyard, to a sight that provoked a gasp from all the others too.
On a flat piece of grassy ground, out by the cowshed, Konstantin had done something very simple. With Innes’s help, he had built a small wooden fence in a rectangle, about fifteen centimeters high. He and Innes had had a conversation the day before and had met in the night. Then they had used an old tarpaulin as a liner, filled it half full with water, waited overnight—and now, Konstantin was using a kettle and a broom to carefully smooth it flat.
It was a perfect little rink.
Agot’s eyes were wide as saucers.
“Now,” he said. “You have to be careful not to trip over the ends. That is why you have to hold my arm.”
“I would like to hold the arm of a prince going around an ice rink,” said Agot gravely, and she sat up in the tractor seat while he tied her laces carefully, and then, after he’d bundled her into her warm clothes, he took her hand and Innes took another, and slowly and steadily, they led the little girl round and round the rink.
Everybody laughed and cheered as she went round and round, until she finally found the courage to go off by herself, her low center of gravity helping, her tiny knees knocking together.
“I have to get all my friends! For skating!” she shouted, her cheeks pink in the cold and her eyes bright with happiness and desperate to share it.
The others gradually retreated inside as Eilidh took endless hours of footage, and Flora took Fintan’s arm. He was resistant at first, but she dragged him back over to the dairy, normally busy turning out the island’s sensational butter and with the milk suppliers turning up to take the milk, but quiet today.
Fintan spent no time in here these days; it was run by a lad from the village. But he missed the happy days he had spent in here, experimenting with cheese—fabulous, some of it—tinkering and working and simply being his own man.
“What are you showing me this for?”
“I was wondering,” said Flora shyly. “If . . . if you would like it as a gift?”
Fintan frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Look. Me and Joel have discussed it. I’m useless on maternity leave. It’s not that I don’t love Douglas . . .” she added fiercely.
“Uh, nobody said that,” said Fintan.
“. . . but I love the Rock too, Fintan. I loved what Colton was trying to do, right from the start. It’s where I met Joel. Where I fell in love. Where everyone fell in love. It’s where I’ve had more fun than I can remember. I want his legacy to be right. I want to do it, Fintan. I can do it. If you like . . . I could take over the Rock. As a real job. And you could go back to making cheese.”
He looked at her suspiciously. “What’s the catch?”
“There’s no catch,” said Flora. “The only catch would be if you desperately wanted to keep doing the Rock and didn’t want me to do it.”
“Oh God,” said Fintan, his face brightening suddenly. “I’d love you to do it! Then I wouldn’t feel like I was letting down Colton by selling it or giving it away.”
“You’ll need to pay me,” said Flora.
“No, I realize that. But I don’t . . . I mean, this is . . . this is . . .” He looked at her, eyes red. “Thank you!” he said. “I thought you were just interfering to be a putz.”
“And I thought you were being lazy because you too are a putz,” said Flora.
They grinned at each other and hugged in the freezing dairy.
“I miss him,” said Fintan, starting to cry. “I can’t believe I still miss him so damn much.”
“Because you’re not an idiot,” said Flora. “Of course you do. Make the best cheese you can in his memory. That’s what made him fall for you in the first place.”
“Actually, I think it was my fabulous butt,” said Fintan.
“Yeah yeah, whatevs,” said Flora. And properly arm in arm this time, both beaming, they made their way back to the house.