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to acquaint Mrs Ross with Ruari MacDonald’s proposal but, alas, the old lady was past clear-headed conversation. There was no one else she could or would have wanted to turn to.
    Mentally Kirsty allowed herself to list Ruari MacDonald’s virtues. He was an Isle man and for that reason alone she was prepared to trust him. Island men were shrewd. His decision to offer marriage would not have been made without keen observation and after deep reflection. He struck her as being quiet and clean. He gave every indication of being considerate, kind and intelligent. Even Meggy had spoken of his thoughtfulness. Would it be unwise of her to encourage him by agreeing to discuss the possibility of becoming his wife? There would be so much she would need to ask him and doubtless there was much he would want to know about her. She reviewed her own qualifications. She was a good cook and a competent housekeeper. She was strong; she was penny-wise yet not frugal. She reckoned she wouldn’t be the sort of wife an Island man would be ashamed of.
    After forty-eight hours wrestling with her misgiving she decided she would agree to his suggestion that they should meet and discuss the subject of marriage. She would slip into his bedroom the following evening while the guests were in the dining room and put a note on his dressing table telling him she could be certain of having the kitchen to herself the next evening once the meal was over. Isabel and Mac were invariably out until after midnight on Monday evenings and he would be welcome to come and take a ‘strupak’ with her. She thought her use of the word ‘strupak’ would serve to put him at ease although she herself hadn’t heard or used the word for ‘a cup of tea and a chat’ since she had left her Island home after her Granny had died, but she’d never forgotten the cosiness of the image it brought to mind.

Chapter Four
    The following evening, a few cautious minutes after the front door had closed behind Isabel and Mac, Kirsty heard footsteps approaching the kitchen. To spare him, for she was certain it was him, the embarrassment of knocking and possibly risking being observed by another guest she rose from her chair and opened the door before he reached the threshold.
    â€˜ Ciamera a Tha! ’ he greeted her. There was a bashful grin on his flushed face and a smell of whisky on his breath, not strong but evidently he’d felt the need to stiffen his courage before confronting her. Detecting it made her feel obscurely reassured.
    â€˜ Ciamera a Tha! ’ she responded, smilingly indicating a chair she’d already placed between the stove and the table and opposite her own, but before he sat down he produced an unopened half bottle of whisky from his pocket and with eyebrows raised enquiringly held it for her approval.
    She nodded perfunctorily. As a child she’d once been coaxed into taking a ‘wee dram’ at New Year ‘to condition her’ as had been explained. She’d hated the smell, the taste and the effect it had had on her and even after she’d reached adulthood, save for a rare medicinal hot dram when she’d been suffering from a heavy cold, she’d taken whisky only on each New Year’s eve when Mrs Ross, whose regular Saturday night ‘tassie’ it had been, had prevailed upon her to share a celebratory drink. But she’d known instinctively that Ruari MacDonald would take it as a rebuff if she were to refuse the drink he offered.
    Compliantly she took two glasses from the cupboard above the sink and set them, along with a jug of water on the table and while he opened the bottle and poured the whisky she busied herself making a pot of tea and putting out a plate of scones she’d baked that afternoon.
    â€˜ Slainthe Mhath! ’ he declared, raising his glass with a flourish and taking a mansize gulp.
    She, too, raised her glass. ‘ Slainthe Mhath! ’ she echoed,