Among the Heather （The Highlands, #2）
Samantha Young
About the Author
Samantha is a New York Times, USA Today, and Wall Street Journal bestselling author and a Goodreads Choice Awards Nominee. Samantha has written over 50 books and is published in 31 countries. She writes emotional and angsty romance, often set where she resides—in her beloved home country Scotland. Samantha splits her time between her family, writing and chasing after two very mischievous cavapoos.
Acknowledgments
For the most part, writing is a solitary endeavor, but publishing most certainly is not. I have to thank my amazing editor Jennifer Sommersby Young for always, always being there to help make me a better writer and storyteller. Thank you for working extra hard with me to make sure Aria and North’s story concluded the way it was meant to.
Thank you to Julie Deaton for proofreading Among the Heather and catching all the things. I’m so glad you loved Aria and North and are excited for what’s next!
And thank you to my bestie and PA extraordinaire Ashleen Walker for helping to lighten the load and supporting me more than ever this year. I really couldn’t do this without you.
The life of a writer doesn’t stop with the book. Our job expands beyond the written word to marketing, advertising, graphic design, social media management, and more. Help from those in the know goes a long way. A huge thank-you to Nina Grinstead, Kim Cermak, Kelley Beckham and all the team at Valentine PR for your encouragement, support, insight and advice. You all are amazing!
Thank you to every single blogger, Instagrammer, and book lover who has helped spread the word about my books. You all are appreciated so much! On that note, a massive thank-you to the fantastic readers in my private Facebook group, Samantha Young’s Clan McBookish. You’re truly special. You’re a safe space of love and support on the internet and I couldn’t be more grateful for you.
A massive thank-you to Hang Le for creating a beautiful cover that literally made readers gasp when it was revealed. You are a tremendous talent! And thank you to Regina Wamba for the beautiful couple photography that brings Aria and North to life.
As always, thank you to my agent Lauren Abramo for making it possible for readers all over the world to find my words. You’re phenomenal, and I’m so lucky to have you.
A huge thank-you to my family and friends for always supporting and encouraging me, and for listening to me talk, sometimes in circles, about the worlds I live in.
Finally, to you, thank you for reading. Funny, how as a writer, I find myself unable to express just how much it means to me. It means everything and the moon, dear reader. Everything and the moon.
For Sam’s Clan McBookish.
Thank you for reading my stories, and for your tremendous kindness and support. It means the world to me.
Fly we to some desert isle,
There we’ll pass our days together,
Shun the world’s derisive smile,
Wand’ring tenants of the heather
— Robert Tannahill, Fly We to Some Desert Isle
Prologue
ARIA
Ardnoch Estate, Scotland
July
Sitting on my porch, sipping my morning coffee, I gazed out at the North Sea. Waves gently lapped at the shore below, seagulls squalled in the cloudless sky above, and I felt … content. If not happy, then content. The heat wave that hit the rest of the Western Hemisphere had found a home in the Scottish Highlands too. The early-morning sun turned the waters of the North Sea a Mediterranean turquoise along its shallow depths toward the beach. A slight breeze offered a cool caress against what was an unusually warm temperature for this time of the morning. Thank goodness my father had thought to fit the house with air conditioning, despite being advised it was pointless in this part of the world. If he’d listened to that advice, I wouldn’t have slept last night.
Last summer, my first as hospitality manager at the exclusive members-only club in the Highlands, was a roller-coaster ride of weather. This summer, the film and television professionals who paid a fortune to have access to one of the most secure estates in the world had spent much of it outdoors because of weeks filled with sunny days. I’d never seen so many members take advantage of our private beach or require security to protect them as they enjoyed guided tours of the Highlands. Not to mention, the use of the spa doubled. In fact, I’d hired extra seasonal staff this year, more than Ardnoch had ever required.
Ardnoch Castle was meant to buzz with life and energy … but, honestly, I wanted Hollywood to return to work. I longed for September to arrive so they’d hurry home or onto their next project in whichever corner of the world it took them to. As long as it wasn’t here.
The estate could never be like LA, but fill it with people from LA and it became uncomfortably close.
Glancing at the elegant Rolex my mother had given me for Christmas, I quickly threw back the last of my coffee and hurried into my house. It was technically my parents’ house, but I lived in it year-round while they （mostly my mother） visited for the summer. Spotting Mamma’s jewelry scattered over the breakfast nook, I hurried quietly through the downstairs. I didn’t want to wake her.
My mother had descended upon Ardnoch weeks ago, and even though I was busy at the castle with work, she still wore on my last nerve.
Grabbing my purse, phone, and car keys, I tiptoed toward the front door so the sound of my heels wouldn’t echo upstairs.
“Buondì, coccolona.”
My mother’s husky voice stopped me in my tracks. I’d inherited that sultry huskiness, but not the sultry Italian accent that went with it. Taking a deep breath, I turned and watched Mamma descend the staircase like she was on a photo shoot. Her silk robe billowed open, flashing her long, perfect legs. Dark hair that she’d been dyeing since she was thirty to cover premature gray was tied up in an artfully messy bun as she frowned at me. Because of the fillers she had injected into her lips every few months, it seemed as if she was perpetually pouting. To be fair, she usually was.
“Morning, Mamma,” I answered, straightening instinctually. My entire life, my mother, the supermodel, had drilled it into me to keep my shoulders and spine straight.
“No daughter of mine will have a hunchback.”
“Coffee?” she asked as she stepped down into the hallway and crossed the distance between us.
“There’s some in the kitchen.”
Her dark eyes narrowed. “You’re leaving? Again?”
I sighed inwardly. “Mamma, you know I work here.”
“All you do is work. Do you not get a break?”
“Summer is our busiest time. You know that.”
“I’ve hardly seen you.”
Biting back a response, I took a second to control my irritation. Snapping at Mamma only led to days of drama. However, I found it ironic that my mother wanted to spend time with me only after I became an adult and no longer needed her in the way I used to. As a child, I spent a lot of time with nannies and overworked personal assistants. My dad was Wesley Howard, legendary movie director, and he spent a lot of time away from home when I was a kid. My mom, a famous Italian supermodel, was always off in some exotic location shooting for a magazine or an ad campaign.
When they were home, I wouldn’t say they weren’t involved because they were. My parents did their best to show that they loved me and my sister, despite how busy they were. But the truth of the matter was, they didn’t raise me. And when Allegra unexpectedly came along when I was ten years old, I—and not our absent parents—raised my younger sister.