Table of Contents
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Pronunciation Guide
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Discover more New Adult titles from Entangled Embrace… Cinderella and the Geek
Leaving Everest
Maybe Someone Like You
Too Hard to Resist
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2018 by Beth Anne Miller. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
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Suite 105, PMB 159
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Embrace is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Stacy Abrams and Alexa May
Cover design by Fiona Jayde
Cover art from iStock
Skye Trail Map from Harvey Maps
Skye Overview Map copyright Cicerone Press Limited, and Helen and Paul Webster. Contains OS data © Crown copyright and database right (2018)
ISBN 978-1-64063-486-2
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition April 2018
To Julie Young, for reading countless scenes and several full drafts of this book; for your enthusiasm, suggestions, and eagle eye; for all these years of friendship, and for being the bestest roomie ever.
To Nicole Pinto, for reading many drafts and scenes, for your advice and suggestions, and for being a sounding board and a dear friend. We may not have Grimm anymore, but at least we have Kiefer and Milo!
Prologue
All I’d known for the last few hours was pain. Four small summits, they’d said, like it was no big deal.
Lies. All lies.
I wanted to drop to the ground and refuse to go any farther. But there were so many reasons why that wasn’t an option, not the least of which was tall, Scottish, and sexy. And had been the bane of my existence since the beginning.
He was keeping pace with me, looking over every few minutes to make sure I was still there. It was mortifying, but I took some sadistic pleasure in knowing that his long legs were probably aching from the effort to go slowly as much as mine were from trying to keep up with the group.
My thigh and calf muscles screamed on the ascents, and my knees screamed on the way down. My eyes burned from the wind, and my shoulders ached from my pack.
And we hadn’t even made it to lunchtime yet.
What the hell was I doing here?
Chapter One
Amelia
Two Days Earlier
“Welcome to the Isle of Skye!”
The enthusiastic shout startled me from the weird stupor I’d fallen into following my overnight transatlantic flight from New York to Glasgow, the four-hour train ride from Glasgow to Fort William in the West Highlands, and nearly three hours in a van, broken up by a few stops along the way to stretch our legs and take photos of the increasingly more spectacular scenery as we ventured deeper into the Highlands before crossing the bridge to Skye.
Where I’d spend the next week walking over eighty miles from the northernmost tip of Skye down along the eastern side of the island.
I had a vague impression of the other people in the van from our brief meeting in Fort William before we were picked up by the guys from Scotland By Foot, the trekking company I’d be hiking with: a couple from Florida and two women from London, all around my parents’ age, and two bearded brothers in their thirties from somewhere in New England. They had all looked super-fit and super-excited, and if their well-used gear was any indication, super-experienced, too.
Unlike me.
And they were all pairs. Couples, friends, brothers—and me. Traveling by myself, sitting in the front bench seat of the van with the two male guides. As if being a novice hiker doing a week-long trek on the Isle of Skye wasn’t bad enough, I would be the only solo traveler in a group full of pairs.
Rather than dwell on that, I focused my attention on the jagged mountains in the distance, a blue-gray haze against the bright blue sky.
I sat up straight. Wait, were those mountains part of the Skye Trail? Carrie, what the hell were you thinking? And what the hell was I thinking when I decided to do this?
It was so wrong to be doing this trip without her. Carrie was the hiker, not me. We did everything else together, but not this. I was from flatter-than-flat Long Island, New York—how the hell would I be able to hike that mountainous trail?
Somehow, I would do it. I had to do it. For Carrie.
“How much longer?” asked one of the women in the back.
“About another half hour,” said Tommy MacDonald, the guide who sat next to me on the bench seat, the one who’d just welcomed us to Skye.
“If we don’t get stuck behind too many tourists,” muttered Rory Sutherland, the other guide and driver of the van. If Tommy was the “friendly guide,” as evidenced by the way he’d bounded up to us in Fort William with a blinding smile on his face, Rory appeared to be playing the role of “surly guide,” barely saying a word on the three-hour drive except to swear at the drivers ahead of us.
Hopefully his grouchiness was due more to the long, slow drive on the narrow, one-lane-each-way roads—which I could relate to, coming from Long Island, where every hour was rush hour and every road was permanently under construction—and not an indication of how he’d be on the hike.
Otherwise, this would be a really long week.
God, the scenery was awesome. On one side of the road, jagged mountains stretched off into the distance as far as I could see; on the ot
her side was the sea, sapphire blue in the afternoon sunlight. And all around were hilly, green fields dotted with fluffy, white sheep and frolicking lambs. Skye was remote, stunning, and intimidating.
But Carrie, did you really have to hike it?
I lowered the window so I could take a few photos. Then I looked at them to make sure they came out okay.
Rory said something under his breath.
“I’m sorry, were you talking to me?” He hadn’t spoken to me at all other than a mumbled hello when Tommy introduced them both in Fort William.
“I said, ‘there she goes again with her phone.’”
I stared at him. “Do you have some kind of problem with me?” I knew I sounded bitchy, but I so did not need this guy’s attitude after eleventy million hours in transit.
He glanced at me, then back at the road, his facial features obscured by dark sunglasses and a ball cap. “I just don’t understand why people travel thousands of miles from home to see a new place, and then spend the entire time on their phones. You haven’t put yours down for more than five minutes since you got in the van. Maybe you should try stepping away from Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook for a little while and experience Skye for yourself rather than for all your many friends and followers.”
I opened my mouth to tell him to piss off, but Tommy cut me off before I could speak. “Not this again,” he said, looking at me apologetically. “Rory’s like a broken record. He hates technology, would probably toss his phone and live off the grid if he could. Don’t pay attention to him.”
Tommy’s diplomatic response derailed most of my angry retort. But I couldn’t let Rory’s condescension go unanswered. “You don’t know anything about me, Rory,” I hissed. “Not. One. Thing. So how about you don’t make snap judgments, and I’ll show you the same courtesy and not call you a jerk to your face.”
“Burn,” muttered Tommy.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Rory acquiesced after a moment, looking over at me again.
I couldn’t tell if he was sincere, but at least he’d sort of apologized. I nodded once and then focused my attention out the window again.
I was right. This was going to be a long week.
My room at the B&B in Portree was charming, with a large bed that was covered with a white duvet that looked like a cloud. I emailed my folks, gushing about the beautiful scenery.
Then I gave in to the lure of the white duvet and napped for an hour. That, plus a long, hot shower, went a long way to making me feel human again, as did the soothing routine of running my fingers through my long hair as I blow-dried it. I wasn’t much for makeup, but with some concealer on the dark circles beneath my eyes and a touch of eyeliner, I looked less like a zombie.
I pulled on jeans and a black V-neck top and scrutinized myself in the mirror. Still pale, still tired-looking, but otherwise not bad. Besides, dinner in a pub I could handle easily enough.
It was hiking eighty-odd miles on the mountainous Isle of Skye over the next week, camping out nearly every night along the way, that might very well kill me.
Chapter Two
Amelia
The “welcome” dinner was at a pub a short walk down the street from the B&B. A long table was set up for us in the middle, and I took a seat next to Lucy, the woman from Florida.
“How are you feeling, dear? You look more rested than you did before.”
I smiled. “Don’t underestimate the value of a hot shower and some makeup.”
“Oh, I never do.”
The table filled in with the rest of the group, including two women who hadn’t been in the van, and Tommy, Rory, and another woman, all in polo shirts bearing the “Scotland by Foot” logo of a figure with a walking stick.
Rory had ditched his hat and shades, and I finally got a good look at him. The light in the pub was dim, but there was enough sunlight coming in through the curtains to see that his wavy, longish hair was a lovely dark red color and his eyes were light—I couldn’t tell the color from where I sat. He was also younger than I thought, probably not much more than twenty-one, like me.
Unlike Tommy, whose default expression seemed to be a cheerful grin, I’d yet to see Rory smile, even a little. In spite of the attitude, he was hot, and I couldn’t help but imagine what he would look like if he did smile.
We all ordered drinks, and then the woman from SBF stood. She was in her thirties and lean and pretty, with a blonde ponytail.
“Hi, everyone, I’m Scarlet. I’ve been in touch with all of you via email, and I’m thrilled to welcome you to Skye in person. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, Skye has an extremely varied landscape. It won’t be an easy week, but I promise you that it will be amazing to experience Skye on foot. You will feel small in the shadow of the Cuillins and the Quiraing, and you will feel tall when you stand atop Beinn Edra on the Trotternish Ridge.
“Rory Sutherland and Tommy MacDonald will be your guides. They’re both certified Mountain Leaders, trained in first aid and with extensive experience leading treks all over Scotland, so you’re in excellent hands.”
She paused while the waitress passed around our drinks. “A quick toast to the start of our trek. Slàinte mhath!”
I raised my glass of white wine and repeated the toast.
We ordered our dinner, and then everyone went around the table to introduce themselves. The new arrivals were sisters in their mid-twenties from Edinburgh, who’d driven up that morning. I was glad there were some girls my own age, though it made my chest ache to look at them. Their constant touches—a hand on the other’s arm as a story was shared, a shoulder jostle when one of them razzed the other—was so reminiscent of how Carrie and I were together that it just made me miss her even more.
Each of the others mentioned some of the previous hikes they’d been on. I mumbled something about some of the day hikes I’d done with Carrie back home (when I was like fifteen, which I didn’t mention), but reality was setting in fast.
I was so out of my league.
The group seemed nice, and dinner was fun. But before long, I could feel my body begin to crash.
“I can see that you’re all tired, so we’re going to wrap this up,” said Scarlet. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll meet at eight forty-five, at the market right across from your B&B so you can get your lunch for tomorrow and the day after. You’ll also want to have at least two to three liters of water with you, as well as some bags for trash.”
We settled the bill and exited the pub into the early evening. It was May, and although it was after eight p.m., the sun was only now beginning to set. The road we walked along was atop a hill, providing a view of the brightly colored buildings along the waterfront below.
“I’m going to take a walk by the water,” I said to Pat, the fifty-something woman from London, who was traveling with her friend Linda while their husbands were golfing in St. Andrews. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“You sure you can find your way back to the B&B?”
She sounded like a British version of my mother, and I had to smile. “Yes. I’ll be fine.”
“All right, then. Good night.”
“’Night.”
I snapped a few shots of the waterfront and then followed the road down and leaned against the railing. Small boats and dinghies were tied off to cleats, and sailboats sat quietly at anchor.
I glanced at the time. Just after three p.m. back home. I dialed the number.
“Amelia? Where are you?”
“Hey, Helen,” I said to Carrie’s mom. “I’m on Skye. We just had dinner, and we start the walk tomorrow. How is she?”
“No change. But that means she’s not any worse,” she added brightly.
Every day for three weeks now, it was the same. No change. And every day, it killed me a little more to hear that desperate brightness in Helen’s voice. She was right; “no change” meant that she wasn’t any worse. But would she ever get better?
“We just have to stay positive,” I said, knowing I should take
my own advice. “Can I say a quick hi to her?”
I gave Carrie a quick rundown of the scenic drive to Skye and briefly described the group, making sure I sounded as upbeat as possible.
After I ended the call, I gazed out at the harbor, willing the serenity of the scene before me to seep into my soul and relieve some of the ache that had been there for so long.
The two sisters from Edinburgh, Molly and Megan, walked on the shore below, their arms linked, laughing about something.
One blonde and one brunette, just like Carrie and me. They could be Carrie and me, the way their strides matched exactly, the way their long ponytails swung from side to side as they walked. The way they laughed so hard that they had to hold onto each other to keep from toppling over.
Tears filled my eyes, and a wave of pain washed over me, so intense that I had to clutch the rail. Would Carrie and I laugh like that again?
Yes, we will. I had to believe it. Anything less was unacceptable.
“You should get to bed. We have a long day tomorrow.”
I wiped my eyes and turned to see Rory standing a few feet away. Something about his tone got my back up. “Scarlet didn’t mention that we had a curfew.”
He frowned, clearly not expecting my sarcasm. “You don’t. But even though it’s only about eight miles tomorrow, I don’t want you holding up the group because you’re tired and jet-lagged.”
My whole body stiffened. “First I’m addicted to social media, now I’m holding up the group. Looks like I’m off to a good start. Thank you for your concern,” I hissed. “It’s time for me to go, anyway.”
He looked down for a moment. “Amelia—”
I held up a hand. “You’re right. I am tired, and it’ll be a long day tomorrow. But you don’t need to be a jerk about it. Again.”
I stomped up the hill, all of my earlier serenity gone. Why was he such an ass to me?
It didn’t matter. I didn’t need him to like me. He just had to do his job and guide the trek.
Only eight miles tomorrow, he’d said. I’d done a few ten-mile walks back home over the last two weeks in an effort to prepare myself. But as I looked at the hills overlooking Portree and remembered the peaks that loomed in the distance on the way here, I didn’t think that those flat, paved paths on Long Island were going to be any help at all.
Under a Storm-Swept Sky Page 1