Mallory agreed with alacrity. Having insisted that she wanted to work off her debts, she had had to wait for Torr to stop work first.

‘At least this end is clean enough to unpack some of our stuff,’ she said, sitting back on her heels and wringing her cloth into a bucket. ‘These cupboards here are as clean as they’re going to get.’

‘We’ll do that after tea, then we might as well call it a day.’

‘OK.’ Mallory got to her feet and stretched. She was tired and dirty and stiff, but strangely she felt better too. There must be something therapeutic about cleaning, she decided, and working side by side with Torr had been much easier than she’d expected. They had cleaned in silence, apart from occasional requests to pass over a dustpan and brush, or offers to fetch more hot water, but it hadn’t been uncomfortable, she realised in some surprise.

She was very glad now that she had plucked up the courage to talk to him before she had had a chance to lose her nerve about the idea of earning a divorce. She had wondered how Torr would react, and she still wasn’t really sure what he thought, but he had agreed. That was the main thing.

The discussion had cleared the air, too. Now they both knew where they stood, and that meant that some of that terrible tension had seeped out of the atmosphere. Mallory didn’t mind getting dirty now that she knew that she would be able to leave eventually. She even welcomed the idea of pushing herself physically so that she would be too tired to think about Steve.

That had been her mistake, she decided. She should have kept herself busy before now, instead of retreating into a frozen state where even the smallest activity was an effort of will.

Well, that would change, Mallory resolved. She was tired of feeling powerless and wretched. From now on she would just think about the next job to be done.

Now that she wasn’t feeling so trapped, she could even see that there might be some satisfaction in bringing the castle back to life. It would certainly be a challenge, if not the ultimate displacement activity. It could be a healing process, she mused. If she threw herself into the project for a year, by the time she left she would be stronger, steadier and ready to face the world again. She could go back to Ellsborough with her head up and her pride intact.

Perhaps Torr would have changed his mind about staying by then. The restoration of Kincaillie was a massive project-surely too much for one man?

Not that Torr was the type to admit it. Mallory couldn’t imagine him ever giving up once he had decided to do something.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she collected up their cleaning materials. He was lighting a gas ring, his fingers deft with the matches, and she was struck anew by how competent he was, how reassuringly solid and immediate. All she could see of him was the austere profile, his brows drawn together in concentration as he adjusted the flame, but as her gaze travelled unthinkingly down to the stern mouth she suddenly found herself remembering the feel of his body the night before, and an unaccountable little frisson snaked its way down her spine.

As if that weren’t disconcerting enough, Torr chose that moment to lift his eyes without warning and caught her watching him. Mallory’s heart gave a strange little jerk, but it was only when she saw his brows lift in an unspoken question that she realised that she was staring at him.

Oddly shaken, she wrenched her gaze away and cleared her throat.

‘Why are you using the gas ring?’ She asked the first question that came into her head. Well, she had to think of some reason to explain why she’d been watching her own husband. ‘I thought you’d got the range working?’

‘I cleaned it out and lit it this morning, but it will take a good eighteen hours for the heat to come up. We’ll just have to use the gas rings tonight.’

‘I could make some pasta,’ Mallory offered, busying herself wiping a non-existent smear off the front of a cupboard door so she didn’t have to look at him directly. They had heated up some soup for lunch, but she was starving now. ‘We can boil the pasta on one ring and make the sauce on the other.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ said Torr.

They sat at the table to drink their tea, but for some reason constraint had seeped back into the air, and Mallory was absurdly conscious of Torr sitting opposite her. She couldn’t understand why. Nothing had changed. He looked just the same. The same dark features, the same blue eyes, the same mouth…

Why start noticing his mouth now, when she had never noticed it particularly before? It had just been a mouth, but now it was as if she couldn’t take her eyes off it, which was absurd. It was still just a mouth. There was nothing special about it at all, she pointed out stringently to herself.

Torr wasn’t even smiling. He was just sitting there, drinking his tea, and if he was feeling awkward he certainly didn’t show it. That only made Mallory edgier than ever.

She was glad when she had finished her tea and could get up to start unpacking some of the boxes they had brought with them. She stored the contents neatly in the newly cleaned cupboards, which was really quite satisfying. Torr let her get on with it while he laid the fire again. It was dark by then, and the flickering flames gave an illusion of warmth and cheerfulness even if the heat they gave out did little to alleviate the chill of the vast kitchen unless you were sitting right in front of it.

Fortunately, the cleaning had kept Mallory warm enough, but she was feeling decidedly grubby by the time she had finished, and was glad to take off her cleaning clothes and have the first bath. Torr bathed later, while she made a simple sauce to go with the pasta. She had found her iPod when unpacking the kitchen equipment, and it was amazing how comforting it was to have familiar music in the background as she cooked. If she carried on like this she would start feeling at home, Mallory thought wryly.

After supper they sat in the armchairs on either side of the fire, just as they had done the night before. Mallory kept her eyes on the flames and tried not to think about going to bed with Torr again-because whenever she did she found herself getting ridiculously nervous. At least last night she had been too tired to care where she slept, but it was different now. She had just convinced herself that her strange awareness of Torr had been no more than a momentary aberration when he came in after his bath. His hair was wet, and he was wearing a clean jumper and jeans, and her stomach did that funny little flip again.

Something else to put down to tiredness and the strangeness of living in a ruined castle, Mallory decided firmly. No wonder she was imagining things in this bizarre place.

‘Here,’ said Torr, handing Mallory a glass.

‘What is it?’ she asked, eyeing the golden liquid in surprise.

‘Whisky. This is the best malt there is,’ he added as he sat back down in his chair, ‘so don’t chuck it back. I just thought we should toast our first day at Kincaillie.’

Mallory’s smile was a little twisted, but she lifted her glass. ‘Here’s to living with our choices,’ she said in a dry voice, and then Torr did something totally unexpected.

He smiled.

‘To living with it,’ he echoed, and toasted her in return.

Thrown by the suddenness of his smile, Mallory took a bigger sip of whisky than she’d intended, and promptly started coughing and spluttering as the liquid burned her throat.

‘I told you not to gulp it,’ Torr admonished her.

‘Sorry,’ she croaked.

Eyes watering, she stared into the fire. Better that he thought her a reckless drinker than guessed just why she had gulped his precious whisky. Who would have thought that a simple stretch of the lips, a mere curve of the mouth, could be quite so startling?

She supposed it was because she was so unused to seeing Torr smile. There was something daunting about his usual expression, so forbiddingly unreadable, that when he had smiled just now it had been like looking at a stranger. His eyes had gleamed and his cheeks had creased, revealing strong white teeth and warming his expression in a way that left her feeling really quite…strange.

Mallory took another sip of whisky. She could feel it sliding down her throat, its warmth spreading out from her stomach. That would explain the peculiar tingle underneath her skin, anyway, and the way her cheeks felt as if they were burning.

She slid a sidelong glance from under her lashes at Torr on the other side of the fire. He was watching the flames too, legs stretched comfortably out in front of him and one hand loosely clasping his glass on the arm of the chair. He looked quite relaxed, Mallory thought enviously, as if it were perfectly normal to be sitting here in this draughty old kitchen while the entire castle crumbled about his ears.

Outside, the wind was picking up again, but here in the kitchen the only sounds were the spit and crackle of the burning logs and Charlie’s sighs of contentment from the hearthrug as he hogged the best of the fire.

‘Are you serious about doing most of the restoration work on your own?’ Mallory broke the silence abruptly, jerking Torr out of his abstraction, and he glanced across at her.

‘I won’t be on my own now,’ he pointed out. ‘You’re going to help me.’

‘Only for a year,’ she reminded him.

‘Ah, yes.’ Torr resumed his study of the fire. ‘Well, a year is a long time. We can make a good start.’

‘What will you do when you finish? If you ever do, of course! Sell it?’

He shook his head. ‘The estate is entailed, so I couldn’t sell it if I wanted to. No, I’m going to make Kincaillie the best and most exclusive hotel in Scotland.’

‘A hotel?’ Mallory couldn’t help laughing. ‘You’ve got to be joking! Who on earth would pay to come here?’

‘You’d be surprised,’ said Torr, a slight edge to his voice. ‘You may not appreciate peace and quiet and stunning scenery, but I can assure you that lots of people do. Kincaillie will be the place for those who want to get away from it all. There’ll be no gimmicks, no deals, just style and exceptional comfort, superb food and impeccable service in a wonderful setting. Oh, yes, people will come-and the more exclusive we make it, the more they’ll pay,’ he added confidently.

He cocked an eyebrow at Mallory. ‘So, you see, I’ll need your talent for interior design eventually.’

Mallory thought of the damp, dismal rooms she had seen that afternoon. It was hard to imagine ever getting to the decorating stage, but what a challenge it would be! In spite of herself, she felt a flicker of interest.

She sipped her whisky thoughtfully. ‘You’d need proper building plans,’ she warned.

‘I know,’ he said. ‘I’m going to see an architect in Inverness next week. She’s worked on a number of innovative restoration projects, and comes highly recommended, so I’ve asked her to do a preliminary design. She’s been here to do a survey, and I want to go and see her initial ideas.’

‘Can I come?’ asked Mallory, brightening at the prospect of a trip away from Kincaillie.

He looked surprised. ‘I didn’t think you’d be that interested.’

‘I’m interested in the idea of a town,’ she said, ‘and I certainly don’t want to be left here on my own!’

‘Of course you can come, if you want, but you may have to get used to the idea of staying on your own sometimes,’ he warned. ‘We can’t spend the whole year without ever having a night apart. Anyone would think we were married,’ he finished dryly.

Mallory sat up straighter in her chair. ‘You don’t really expect me to spend the night here on my own, do you?’

‘You’d have Charlie for company,’ said Torr.

‘In case it’s escaped your notice, Charlie’s just a dog!’

‘He’d be protection against any intruders-not that you’re likely to get any round here.’

‘It’s not intruders I’m worried about,’ said Mallory, a tart edge to her voice. ‘At least a burglar would be some human company!’

‘You’re not telling me that you really believe in ghosts, are you?’ Torr said with a touch of exasperation. ‘I thought you were just being silly last night.’

‘No, I don’t believe in ghosts. It’s everything else that makes me nervous. I’m a city girl. I hate the isolation. The silence. I can’t tell you how much I long for the sound of a siren, or of someone’s door banging, or the neighbours shouting! And those mountains give me the creeps.’ She shuddered, thinking about the hills looming above them. ‘They’re so bleak and so big…Don’t they make you feel trapped?’

‘No,’ said Torr. ‘I feel trapped in a city. The hills and the sea make me feel free.’