Free Unknown by Unknown

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    "Everything is ready, Garranmure,” she told him. Judith had learned during her holiday that Stuart was often addressed by the name of his house. He introduced her to Mrs. McKechnie, who led them into a dining room overlooking the garden and showed them to a large, square table almost entirely covered with all that goes to the making of a good Scottish tea. A dozen different kinds of bread; baps and bannocks; scones, girdle cakes, a richly dark plum cake and one with walnut icing.
    “I’ll bring the tea now,” Mrs. McKechnie said briskly, “and if there is anything else you will be wanting, then just to ring the bell.”
    “We’re not expected to eat all this, are we?” Judith whispered when Mrs. McKechnie had gone.
    “She’ll be upset if you don’t make considerable inroads into everything. It’s all home-made and she’s probably one of the best cooks in the country. Even Granna has to admit that when she comes here.”
    After tea, and the food was so delicious that Judith admitted that she had made a pig of herself, she and Stuart walked down towards the shore of the loch. Now she was trying to etch on her memory every detail of this last happy day in Stuart’s company.
    “Oh, if I were here a month, two months or even the whole summer, I could never hope to explore properly this part of Scotland, the islands and lochs. I’ve never realised how beautiful it is.”
    He was watching her face. “You must come again. In the autumn, perhaps? That’s one of the best seasons for the Highlands.”
    “I shall try,” she murmured vaguely, knowing that a further holiday was out of the question.
    They dawdled home to Cruban, but she refused his suggestion of dinner at one of the hotels. “I think Barbara and Andy will expect me to have an evening meal with them, as I’m leaving tomorrow.”
    He nodded understandingly and drove her to the Kylsaig ferry. She sat in the car with him while they waited for the motor-boat to cross the Sound, and suddenly sadness closed in on her. This was the end of a pleasant friendship, for she would not see Stuart again. There would never be a second visit for her. Sooner or later, Barbara would persuade Andy to leave Kylsaig, and Judith might never come again to Scotland.
    Stuart was talking about his plans for the island. “Next time you come, we might have the slipway finished and even have started on the inn.”
    “Yes, then it really will be ‘The Pride of Kylsaig,’ ” she answered lightly.
    “Not ‘Pride.’ It’s ‘The Bride of Kylsaig.’ There’s a legend about—oh, here comes Donald with the boat. I’ll have to tell you the story another time. Goodbye, Judith.” He held her hand in his warm clasp, then leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Don’t forget us too soon. We’ll be glad to welcome you back again.”
    Sudden tears blinded her as she stepped into the boat and she blinked them away angrily, furious at her own weakness. She sat in the bows facing him as the gap of water widened and he stood on the slipway waving to her. Not until she and Donald had almost reached the island did Stuart give her a final wave and walk back to his car.
    “I suppose Mrs. Greenwood, my sister, has already come home to Kylsaig?” she asked Donald, the ferryman’s son.
    “Maybe my father ferried her across,” the lad replied. She took her time walking over the hilly path and down to Andy’s croft, for this was the last time she would see the view from the island, the shimmering Sound, the sun sinking behind the hills. Tomorrow morning Andy would rattle her in the tractor down to the ferry.
    Susan gave Judith an eager greeting and hug and her eyes glistened with excitement when she saw the various parcels Judith had brought.
    “Where’s everybody?” Judith glanced around the empty living room.
    “Oh, Daddy and Robbie are somewhere in the garden. Where’s Mummy? Didn’t she come home with you?”
    “No. I went somewhere else. Oh, I expect she’s decided