Song of Rhanna (The Rhanna series)

by Christine Marion Fraser

  Ruth and Lorn were left to stare at one another. ‘The bairns like her,’ Ruth sounded surprised.

  Lorn nodded and said slowly, ‘Ay, it would seem so – though fascinated might be a better word.’

  ‘And I always thought she wasny keen on wee ones.’

  ‘They’re certainly keen enough on her. It was aye said that Rachel had the power. Maybe she has it over the wee folk and can spirit them away as easily as she once spirited Squint away from Lewis and me.’

  Ruth shivered. ‘Ach, don’t say things like that. I had enough of folk spiriting Lorna away when she was a baby – first Mam thinking she was me, then Shona thinking she was Ellie – I couldn’t bear anyone else to take my family away from me – I think if that happened I would leave Rhanna and never want to come back.’

  Lorn put his arm round her and drew her close. ‘Daft wee thing,’ he murmured against the delicate shell of her ear. ‘It’s no wonder you’re a writer – you let your imagination run away with you at every turn. No one is going to take anyone away from you – not while I’m around.’

  Ruth snuggled against him. ‘Oh, Lorn, I’m glad you’re my husband, you’re so strong and sensible – when you’re not being pig-headed that is.’ She sighed with deep contentment. ‘Och, I’m that happy. I wanted Rachel here – yet I was a wee bit worried about how it would all turn out. But it’s been a bonny evening, I’m glad the bairns have taken to her so quickly and – and that you were so good tempered about everything. Now I won’t worry about anything and will have a fine time while she’s here.’

  Lorn nuzzled her hair. ‘Ay, you will that – and don’t you fret yourself about me. I – I canny promise that there won’t be times I’ll look at Rachel and remember what she did to Lewis, but I promise you I won’t go all moody and dour and take my temper out on her.’

  She chuckled. ‘If you feel a temper coming on, Lorn McKenzie, just you go right out of this house and take a long walk by yourself.’

  ‘If you promise not to leave Rhanna and never come back.’

  She moved against him. He squeezed her arms. She felt soft and warm and reassuring. ‘I promise,’ she murmured.

  The drumming of the horses’ hooves beat an insistent but pleasant tattoo inside Lorn’s head as he galloped with Rachel over the wide white sands of Mara Oran Bay, Bay of the Seasong. It was a clean fresh windswept day with a soft mackerel sky embracing the sparkling blue waters of the Sound of Rhanna, softening the sombre grandeur of the great cliffs which sheered up from the shoreline, the grey basalt columns scarred by the Atlantic winds, pitted with vast caverns that gulped in the swirling sea then spat it out again in a disdainful flood to send it leaping and foaming against the stark pinnacles of rock which gashed the coastline.

  The wind tore through Lorn’s hair, sculpting it into rich brown waves against his head; his ears tingled; his skin felt icy cold yet glowing. The blood in his veins coursed quickly, making him feel very aware of the great panoramas of sea and sky unfolding in ever-changing patterns in front of his eager vision. The horse felt powerful beneath him, its strong muscles rippled under its sable hair; the veins stood out on the arch of its neck, its ears were laid back, its coffee-coloured mane streamed backwards so that all was movement and speed and grace.

  Lorn was aware that the blackness of the mood which had beset him since morning was rapidly dispersing in the exhilaration of the ride over the bay. It had been a long time since he’d sat on the back of a horse, a long time since he’d felt such freedom. With each powerful thrust of his horse’s hooves he felt himself to be unfettered, free of the responsibilities of the farm, free even of the duties of being a husband and father. All the little cosy domesticities which he had clung to as being safe and secure now faded into insignificance, and he wondered why he hadn’t sought such times of freedom more often, why he had craved dull routine and the monotony of day-to-day living with such fierce and jealous possession. Yet little more than an hour ago he had rebelled at the very idea of taking a couple of hours off to go riding with Rachel.

  Ruth hadn’t felt well that morning. She had looked white and strained and when he had asked anxiously if she was ill she had been unusually irritable, had snapped at him and told him she would be a lot better if he didn’t ask such silly questions all the time. But a few minutes later she had been apologetic and had admitted to feeling squeamish and out of sorts.

  ‘You’re not pregnant again?’ he had asked rather sharply and she had sighed and told him no, it was just a pain in the stomach. All she wanted was a quiet seat by the fire and she would be fine. ‘Except – I won’t be much company for Rachel,’ she had said slowly then almost pleadingly, ‘Lorn, why don’t you take an hour or two off and go riding with her? She would love that. Do you remember how you and Lewis and Rachel used to go riding together? She was as much at home on a horse’s back as she was on the ground.’

  Lorn remembered all right – he remembered that Ruth had always been wary of horses, unlike her daredevil friend who had often gone riding bareback, simply borrowing any horse she found grazing in the fields or wandering on the machair near the shore. But Lorn had had no intention of taking Rachel riding. He had quite successfully managed to evade her since her arrival, always having some excuse to get out of the house as quickly as he could. She had done nothing to antagonize him or annoy him in any way, in fact, she herself was inclined to slip away whenever she could, sometimes to take solitary walks over the hills, at others to go to her room and quietly compose little tunes that came into her head. She indeed appeared to have come home with the sole intention of having a well-earned rest and Lorn was gradually allowing himself to relax, to even chide himself for having read something in Rachel’s eyes that had no existence outside his imagination. She gave him as much attention as he gave her, which was next to none. She had proved a help to Ruth, never shirking mundanities like washing up or tidying the house. She had lavished a great deal of her time on the children so that they had come to trust and like her; she hung out washing; baked mouthwatering apple pies, and seemed positively to be revelling in a way of life long gone for her.

  She and Ruth shared so many common interests that often he watched them laughing together and was annoyed at himself for feeling shut out. It was what he had wanted, yet he was beginning to suspect that Rachel was going out of her way to avoid him so that he could find no fault with her. That morning the realization came to him that he wasn’t avoiding Rachel, she was avoiding him, to such a degree that almost a week had slipped by and he had hardly taken in the fact that she was staying at his house at all. When he came in at mealtimes she had either packed a picnic lunch and gone off on one of her solitary wanders or else she was away visiting her numerous relatives scattered all over the island. She was playing him at his own game and while he appreciated her quick wits he wasn’t taking kindly to the idea of being almost ignored by her for a whole week and he was damned if he was going to climb down now to go meekly seeking her company. So he had rejected Ruth’s suggestion fiercely, using the excuse of being too busy with the lambing to have any time to spare.

  ‘Och, Lorn, you’re still behaving like a big baby,’ Ruth had retorted wearily. ‘Bob and Donald can manage fine without you for an hour or two and anyway – I was talking to your father yesterday and he said it was high time you had a day off. I thought we might take the bairns for a picnic this afternoon, they hardly know what it’s like to have an outing with their father. If I could have the house to myself for a whily this morning I could catch up on myself a bit. Kirsteen is coming over to take the bairns over to Burnbreddie, she and the laird’s wife are going to Oban in a day or two and I thought it would be a good chance to get them to get some new things for Lorna and Douglas. They will need to be measured and so Kirsteen thought . . .’

  ‘You have it all worked out, haven’t you?’ Lorn had begun bitterly, but the look of tiredness on Ruth’s face had stilled his tongue though it was with bad grace that he had gone to Rachel and sugges
ted that they go riding. She had conceded without enthusiasm which had not improved his mood, though the vitality that he knew so well came into her eyes at sight of the horses in Laigmhor’s fields, running to meet them, blowing down their noses with pleasure as they were led to the stable to be saddled. Lorn had given her Lewis’ horse, a sturdy fourteen-year-old black stallion who had once been frisky enough for Lewis’ taste but who was now quiet and respectful in his prime. Lorn had Dusk, the shaggy hill pony he had known and loved since its arrival at Laigmhor as a sweet-tempered four-year-old. When Lorn’s brother had been alive they had gone riding as often as they could, glorying in the vast, empty spaces of Rhanna, the thunder of horses’ hooves in their ears. Lewis had always ridden faster, harder, than his brother, tempting danger at every turn, shouting with abandon as he hung over his horse’s neck, urging it on, faster, and faster, leaving Lorn far behind in his seeking after excitement.

  Now Lorn felt as his brother must have felt, a heady intoxication pounding through his veins as he urged Dusk to go faster so that the sand flew up under his hooves and his nostrils worked furiously like twin valves.

  Yet Lorn was aware that a greater part of his exhilaration owed itself to Rachel, the sight of her astride her horse, her long, graceful limbs exuding an earthy sensuality, her raven-black hair streaming back against the wind, her face alive, aglow with life. It had filled out in the last week, had lost its look of maturity, she was abloom with youth and vigour and the same sort of excitement that was in him ran swift and mercurial through her. A huge bubble of joy swelled deep in her breast, exploded out to every fibre of her being so that she wanted to cry out with the exuberance she felt. She opened her lips as if to shout her delight to the skies, but only the sounds of her own swift breathing escaped so that frustration and joy mingled as she arched her neck and lifted her face to the clouds which roamed free and clear above.

  Lorn saw the swan-like grace of the slender column of her neck, saw her breasts, silhouetted against the racing mosaic of sea and sky. Sweat broke out on his brow. He wanted to leap off his horse, pull her down from hers, remove the flimsy garments from her body so that her breasts fell full and free against his chest. Desire, strong and treacherous poured through him. Combined with his exaltation it was a heady concoction. All the fetters that he had allowed to ensnare him fell away so that he felt unsafe and defenceless without those familiar bonds. All at once Lewis seemed very near, goading him on, making him very aware of his new sense of freedom and to his own surprise his voice rang out.

  ‘Lewis! Lewis! This is how you felt! I can understand now – and I’m not afraid of life anymore!’

  Rachel heard his wild cries, but the wind distorted the words so that she couldn’t understand what he was saying. But she understood the rapture that had made him call out in such abandon. She had never seen Lorn McKenzie like this – the Lorn that she knew was back there at the cottage, his dark, brooding gaze turned away from her, his body hunched as if against any eventuality that might force him out of the self-contained world he had created for himself. Since her arrival, since her sensing of his decision to ignore her as much as possible, she had thrown herself into anything that might exclude him from her world. She would let him see that her strength of will could outmatch any McKenzie’s any day and she was perfectly aware of the fact that she had succeeded. After just one short week she had beaten him at his own game and she had smiled to herself because he hadn’t been able to hide his annoyance at her.

  It had given her a good deal of satisfaction to have thwarted him and she felt that in some small measure she had managed to pay him back for all the dark looks, the innuendoes he had cast at her ever since the death of Lewis. Nevertheless she was intensely aware of the thrill she experienced at the sight of the unleashing of his hitherto hidden carefree spirit. Perhaps he himself had never been conscious that such feelings existed within himself. He had never been abandoned like his brother, Lewis, he had been shy and awkward, too concerned about what the world thought of him. His natural reserve had often been a stumbling block in his life – until now, these moments of sheer escapism astride his horse. The sight of his powerful, leaping body, his handsome, animated face, his dark curls tossing in the wind, excited Rachel more than she could have believed possible. It was an excitement she hadn’t known for a long time – not since Lewis. She had thought she could never feel like that again but it was here now, throbbing deep within her, accelerating her heartbeats, tingling her skin. The great tracts of beach and ocean seemed to have been created for their pleasure alone that day. She could have gone on and on, riding forever, riding to the end of the rainbow which was slowly disappearing over the misted seas far far to the east, but the horses were tiring and Lorn brought the wild chase to an abrupt halt, reining in Dusk, leaping off his broad back to send him with a slap on his rump towards a patch of machair above the beach. Rachel followed his example. Her horse, trailing his reins, wandered to join Dusk and soon the two were munching contentedly at the sweet shoots of new grass.

  Now that she was no longer divorced from Lorn by speed and distance, Rachel felt strangely awkward and she turned away quickly to seat herself on a rock. Clasping her hands round her knees she gazed with dark, restless eyes far out over the sparkling sea. The sun was breaking through the clouds, beating warmly on her back, making her roll up her sleeves and shut her eyes in blissful concentration on the warming rays. She didn’t look to see what Lorn was doing – she didn’t want to know – the very idea of being out here alone with him on the wide empty shore was almost too much for her to bear.

  She knew she would have to maintain a cool front, never give Lorn one inkling of the emotions his presence wrought in her. It was better that way – it was the only way to keep things safe between them. She thought of Jon; dear Jon. He was so far away from her. She had written of course to let him know her plans, had explained that she was staying with Lorn and Ruth – Ruth . . . She lowered her chin to her knees and thought about her friend. She loved Ruth, for her innocence and her trust, for the unwavering loyalty she had always given to her so freely – yet, she wished sometimes that Ruth was less naïve. She was all but throwing Rachel and Lorn together, the thought never entering her head that her husband and best friend could possibly betray her . . . Rachel shuddered. Nothing like that must ever happen, there was too much at stake, too many people that could be hurt . . .

  The sea lapped the shore at her feet. It was soothing and peaceful with the sun warm and delicious on her bare arms . . . The light was suddenly obliterated and she looked up startled to see Lorn standing over her, a look on his flushed face that she had never seen before – but yes, she had seen that look before – only it hadn’t been on Lorn, it had been on Lewis – many, many times had she seen it on Lewis, a look of dazed desire, of need and want that wouldn’t be quenched until . . . Her heart pounded and she got up quickly to run from the danger that Lorn McKenzie all at once presented. But he was too quick for her. One bronzed arm flashed out to pull her so swiftly against the hard wall of his chest she was powerless to prevent it. Momentarily she glimpsed his eyes, hard and black with desire – with wanting.

  She tried to turn her head to ward off that which was inevitable, but his hand on the back of her head was a vicious clamp that forced her mouth ever closer to his. He made no sound, said no word, his breath was quick and sharp in her ears. His mouth came down, hard, firm, seeking, his lips cool but in seconds charged with fire. It was a kiss of fierce and burning passion and the flame of it curled into her, unleashing fires she had thought could never be wakened again. The kiss went deeper and deeper, she opened her mouth as if to voice a protest and immediately his tongue probed the warm moist recesses. One imprisoning hand on the small of her back forced her in closer against the hard bones of his pelvis, the other explored the soft curves of her hips and all the time he moulded her body ever further into his. Her limbs weakened as a shaft of response seared deep inside her belly.

  She was te
mpted to return his passion but a spasm of anger seized her with an intensity that matched her trembling of desire. Who did he think he was? To ignore her, then to think he had the right to take possession of her whenever the mood took him? She struggled against him, the palms of her hands braced against the solid, unyielding wall of his chest. But he was beyond all resistance and her struggles only served to make him hold her tighter. His lips were doing things to her that almost made her relinquish her hold on her temper. It would be easy, so easy to give in to the demands of that warm, persuasive mouth . . . She concentrated on her anger – the reasons for it – she concentrated too on reality, on the dark, deep knowledge that if she was to let this thing between them get out of hand there would be no turning back for either of them . . . Raising her knee she pulled it up under him with all her strength and as he staggered back in pain her hand shot out to slap him resoundingly on the face.

  She ran from him then, her long legs swiftly covering the space that separated her from her horse. Mounting she rode back the way they had come, her breath heaving rapidly. She didn’t look back to see if he was following, something told her he wouldn’t ever again. He would need time, time to calm down, to come to his senses, time also to consider the folly that could have grown from the interlude if she had allowed it. Yet she knew she would be lying to herself if she pretended she hadn’t wanted it to happen. She had wanted Lorn McKenzie every bit as much as he had wanted her. The heat of passion still burned deep within her and she knew it would never be assuaged, not now, not after she had rejected and humiliated him. He was a proud one, this McKenzie and her one great surprise over the whole episode was that he had behaved so uncharacteristically. She tossed the hair back from her eyes and lifted her head. He might never look her way again, but at least she could face Ruth with a clear mind. Ruth’s friendship was one that she cherished and she never wanted anything to jeopardize it – not any man – particularly Lorn McKenzie who, for years, had made it plain she was someone to be despised. Yet, despite herself, she couldn’t stop the niggling feeling of regret that tugged at her heart nor could she help the fillip to her spirits at the realization that Lorn had wanted her badly enough to completely lose his head and make a fool of himself over her. It had been there all along of course, simmering under the surface, just waiting for an opportunity like today to bring it all to the boil.