CHAPTER TWOThe red squirrel leapt from tree to tree.
As it settled on a branch, Celina Stirling, her bright hair as red as the squirrel’s, raised her shotgun and took careful aim.
She took in its frothy tail, its delicate paws and its enquiring face and then lowered the gun for just a moment before bringing it up again and pulling the trigger.
The animal swiftly leapt from its branch to one on a neighbouring tree.
Celina looked up with satisfaction at the centre of a large knot on the tree, now riddled with her shot.
There, that would prove it to Hamish MacLean her accuracy with a gun and there was no need to slaughter a poor squirrel.
Unconsciously she glanced again at the citrine set in a gold ring on her engagement finger.
Two weeks ago now Hamish had asked her to be his wife.
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