The next six weeks passed in a strange pattern of slow-dragging weeks of work spent looking forward, interspersed with rare days of leave with Hew that whizzed past at lightning speed.

Faith managed one visit to the Highlands, when she spent one of the days at the veterinary clinic with Greg and Alex. This time she stayed with Hew at Boathouse Cottage. He’d cleared all the paintings out of his spare bedroom, put in a bed and a dressing table, and turned it into a lovely guest room, especially for her.

Twice, Hew came to Edinburgh and stayed overnight in a hotel. The first time, Fergus came too, and the three of them had a fun time together like a family, visiting Edinburgh castle and Hollyrood Park, where they took the footpath up the hill to Arthur’s seat, an extinct volcano with a hill fort dating back two thousand years. From the top was a magnificent view over Edinburgh and the surrounding countryside.

The second time, Hew came alone and they had a chance to talk. They walked hand in hand through the old part of the city along Victoria Street past the brightly colored shop fronts and the cobbled street in the Grassmarket. As darkness fell and the city lit up, they ended the walk on Rose Street in a small Italian bistro. In a private corner lit by a candle in the center of the red-checked tablecloth, they ate pasta and drank wine, Faith’s hand resting in Hew’s as they talked about the future.

“You’re very talented, Hew. I’m sure if you contact some of the galleries in Edinburgh, you’ll find one willing to put on an exhibition of your work.”

Hew looked down at his plate, his dark eyes hidden by his lashes. He was reluctant to try to sell his paintings; she already knew that. She’d mentioned this a few times since they met, and in her mind, it was the key to boosting his belief in himself. There was no doubt he loved managing Kindrogan Estate and was very good at it, but it was equally clear he believed himself to be inferior to his siblings, the underachieving brother living in the shadow of his army-doctor brothers.

“Let me think about it,” Hew responded and immediately changed the subject.

Despite Hew’s reluctance, Faith kept her eyes open for galleries while traveling around Edinburgh. Once she had a list, she prioritized them in order of how favorably they were located and how nice they appeared, and called them one by one until she found a gallery owner interested in seeing Hew’s work.

When she stopped by Snakeswood Gallery, the owner was intrigued, not only by the photos of Hew’s paintings, but also by his story. Apparently, who he was and what he did enhanced the appeal of the paintings, as they were so relevant to his life and work. It wasn’t good enough to paint well; artists needed to have an intriguing platform to promote themselves, she was told.

Now standing inside the historic Edinburgh Waverley station, Faith leaned against one of the ornate green-and-white columns that held up the network of metal girders supporting the glass roof, and stamped her feet to keep warm while she waited for Hew’s train to arrive. It was nearly the end of March, but a cold spell had come in and the temperature was only a few degrees above freezing.

As she waited for Hew, a pang of uncertainty hit her. How would he take it when she explained the appointment she’d made with the gallery owner? In her eagerness to help him, had she overstepped the mark?

• • •

As the train from Kinder Vale approached Edinburgh, Hew’s phone chimed, signaling a text from Faith.

Faith: I’m at the station. Can’t wait to see you. XXX

Hew smiled and sent her back a few kisses and a smiley face. He had never been much interested in his mobile phone before. Half the time, he was in wild areas with no signal anyway, and he tended to forget about his phone until it made that crazy white-tailed eagle’s call that Fergus had set as his ringtone for a laugh. Hew had intended to change it, but in truth, he wasn’t sure how.

The last six weeks, he’d used his phone more than in the rest of the time he’d owned it. Every few minutes, he seemed to be fishing it out of his pocket to see if he had a text from Faith, or to look at one of the photos of Edinburgh she often sent him. He used to keep his phone tucked away, but now it was in an outside pocket of his coat for easy access. He’d even taken a few selfies at her request, although the thought still made him cringe with embarrassment.

Peering out the train window, he recognized they were nearing the station, so he stood, pulled his bag off the overhead rack, and made his way to the door. The carriage was half empty. At this time on a Friday afternoon, he was going against the flow. Most passengers using the railway would be commuters heading out of Edinburgh after the work week.

Brakes squealed, the train slowed, and when it stopped, he opened a door and stepped out. The public address system droned a message about a delayed train as he strode along the platform, heading for the area near the shops where Faith usually waited for him.

He slung his bag over his shoulder out of the way, ready to throw his arms around her. He saw her before she saw him, standing next to the pillar by a flower stall. She wore skinny jeans, brown ankle boots, and a puffy blue jacket with a matching hat, her long blond hair falling around her shoulders.

His pulse speeded up at the sight of her. He sucked in a breath and released it slowly, calming himself. He spent every quiet moment dreaming of holding her and kissing her, and the moment her gaze found him, he opened his arms in invitation.

Faith’s face lit up with a smile, causing his heart to thud against his ribs. And then she was there before him, stepping close, leaning into him, her face against his neck. He closed his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her hair over her ear.

“Hello, lassie. It’s so good to see you.”

He wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t give her more than a quick peck on the cheek. Proper kisses were something to be shared in private.

“Oh, I’ve missed you.” She pulled back in his arms and grinned up at him.

He didn’t want to release her, but he did, and she burrowed her gloved hand into his before they made their way towards the exit.

“I have a surprise for you,” she said.

He cast her a sideways glance. “You’ve found a gallery?”

She’d been looking for such a place, he knew, and although the thought of exhibiting his paintings made him want to hike to the most remote bothy on Kindrogan Estate and hide, the fact she was eager for him to hold an exhibition of his work persuaded him to at least try it, if only to prove to her he would make the effort. He wanted to impress her, and this seemed to be the only way possible.

“It’s a potential place for your exhibition. The woman who owns Snakeswood Gallery loved the painting you gave me and wants to meet you. She likes the idea that you work and live in the landscape you paint. It makes you more authentic, apparently.”

“Authentic what?” Sounded like a load of twaddle to Hew.

“Do you want to take a taxi or walk? The place is up a narrow alley not far from the cathedral.”

“What do you think?”

“Hmm.” Her eyes twinkled as she pretended to consider, a finger pressed to her lips, her forehead furrowed. “You want to walk.”

Hew smiled. She knew him by now. Anyway, it was always nice to stroll up the Royal Mile to the Saint Giles Cathedral.

They walked hand in hand through the wide thoroughfare in the historic center of Edinburgh, still crowded with tourists even in the cold.

A short way past the cathedral, Faith led him up a side street into a wynd, one of the narrow old streets full of shops selling traditional Scottish goods and clothing that appealed to tourists.

Snakeswood Gallery had an unremarkable door, but once they stepped inside, Hew paused and gazed up at the high ceiling, impressed. The walls were white, the subtle lighting angled to show the artwork to its best advantage.

“Like it?” Faith asked.

Hew nodded as he continued on, not greatly impressed with most of the pictures on the walls. The current exhibition was mainly abstract art, and he wasn’t a fan. Small metal sculptures of native wild animals topped podiums dotted around the room. He spotted a hare, a fox, and a squirrel, and he did like those.

Although the shop front had appeared modest as they wandered around, he realized the gallery space went back quite a way, extending into four different rooms. At the moment, each room housed work by a different artist.

An older woman with short dark hair, obviously dyed, wearing sensible low-heeled shoes and a plaid skirt of blue-and-green Campbell tartan topped by a navy cardigan, approached them with a polite smile.

Hew tensed, sensing this was the gallery owner. He couldn’t understand why she was even considering his work for an exhibition when she must be approached by many artists more talented than he.

“Captain Wallace,” she said, extending a hand to Faith. “Lovely to see you again.” She turned her attention to Hew, her smile warm. “And this must be the artist.”

“Hew Mackenzie, please meet Isabella Franklin who owns Snakeswood Gallery.”

Hew shook her hand. “Franklin? You do know your skirt is Campbell plaid.”

She laughed. “Yes. I’m a Campbell by birth. Franklin is my married name. I’m afraid I fell for an Englishman, but I did persuade him to move here.”

Her friendly manner eased Hew’s apprehension, and it helped that she didn’t launch into lots of questions about his work.

To start with, she led them around the gallery, explaining the way she used the different spaces. One room she kept to display local artists’ work, another she used for international artists looking to show their work in Edinburgh, and the largest room, where they had entered, was her main space for exhibitions by artists she personally took an interest in.

She spun around, her hands spread to indicate the room. “This is where I would like to display your work, Mr. Mackenzie.”

“I thought you’d want to see some of the pictures first.” Hew felt like they had jumped from the initial introduction to the conclusion with nothing in between.

“Captain Wallace showed me one of your paintings and photographs of many others. I like your style and compositions. Your pictures will sell, Mr. Mackenzie. Ultimately, that is what matters.”

“Uh, right.” Hew suspected he sounded like an idiot, but things were moving so fast, he was nonplussed.

They discussed commission rates, what promotional spending the gallery was willing to offer, and before Hew could overcome his sense of unreality, they were in the small office at the back of the gallery discussing dates.

“I suggest we hang your work for at least two weeks, and I like the artist to be present for the press preview to give interviews and on the opening night. Please feel free to invite family and friends to the opening night; it helps draw people in if the gallery is busy, obviously hosting a popular artist.”

Press interviews…a popular artist. Hew swallowed. The remote bothy on Kindrogan estate sounded very tempting right now. It was one thing to put his paintings on display in a gallery miles away from Kindrogan where he wasn’t known, so if they didn’t sell, nobody would find out. It was quite another to invite friends and family to witness his potential failure.

What if the promised crowds didn’t turn up, or worse still, what if they did?

He had never been good with busy social events. He had half a mind to ask for time to think about this, yet one glance at Faith’s excited expression stalled the words in his mouth. This was his chance to show her he could be a success, probably his only chance.

Forcing a smile, he nodded. “Two weeks, then.”

“I’m normally booking at least six months in advance, but I’ve had an artist pull out who was scheduled for the last two weeks of May.”

“May?” His voice came out strangled, and he swallowed.

“That’s wonderful.” Faith squeezed Hew’s hand.

Mrs. Franklin discussed timings for shipping the paintings and recommended a carrier, handing Faith a card with the details.

“I can’t wait to see more of your work, Mr. Mackenzie.” She shook his hand again and walked with them towards the door.

“Such a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to talking again soon.”

Hew blinked as the cold air touched his face. He realized he was hot, sweating, an uncomfortable prickle above his collar where his wool pullover touched his skin.

Faith threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I’m so excited for you. Your work will be a big hit. I know it will.”

Hew held her close for a moment, breathed in her floral fragrance, and felt the tension drain away from his neck and shoulders.

“Yes,” he said. “I hope so.”

He would do this even though the thought terrified him. He would do it for Faith.