When everyone was situated, we moved out, shortly coming upon the bog, which was basically puddles of water and muck, sometimes hidden by long grass that made it look deceptively safe to step on but was actually a trap for innocent hiking boots.
If I occasionally looked up from my feet and happened to notice how Rory’s tall, lean figure filled out his long-sleeved Under Armour shirt and cargo shorts, that was just so I could take mental notes for Carrie when she asked about the “hot guides.” Not so I could remember how that strong body had felt beneath mine last night.
Our progress through the bog was slow. Rory stopped us when we reached one particular section, waiting for the group to catch up. As far as I could see, the ground was one big puddle, interspersed occasionally by a patch of grass or a heather shrub. How the hell did we cross that without getting soaked?
“The key to this is to keep moving,” said Rory. “Step on the clumps of grass and heather. Just hop from one to the next, without letting your weight settle for more than a second or two.” He led the way, his long legs carrying him easily through the bog as he hopped from one sturdy patch to the next without stopping.
He made it look so simple. I plotted out my path as best as I could, my attention focused on spotting those “safe” bits.
“So, what’s up with you and Rory?” asked Tommy.
I froze with one foot on a patch of heather, the other in midair, and would have toppled right into the muck if Tommy hadn’t grabbed my arm to steady me. “Sorry,” he muttered. “I’ll wait until we’re out of the bog to ask.”
“Don’t bother. There’s nothing to tell,” I said, trying to gracefully hop to the next clump of long grass. I felt his eyes on me and risked a quick glance. “Seriously. Nothing is ‘up’ with Rory and me. Why are you even asking?”
“I felt…something…during breakfast when I looked at the two of you.”
“Aw, Tommy, I’m flattered, but I’m not into that sort of thing,” I quipped.
He let out a surprised laugh at that. “It’s always the quiet ones who say the dirtiest things. But you’re deflecting…again. There was definitely some tension there this morning.”
Crap. “Tommy, there’s been tension between Rory and me since the first minute of the first day. You know that.”
“This was different.” At my glare, he held up his hands in surrender. “Look, if you’re sure everything is okay, I’ll stop bugging you about it.”
I looked him in the eye and smiled. “Everything is okay. I promise.”
“Okay. You seem to be doing great—as long as I’m not distracting you—so I’m going to go check on Pat and Linda.” He caught up to them, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“So, wait. Did something happen with you and Rory?”
Startled, I turned to see Molly and Megan blinking at me like ponytailed owls. Shit, I thought they were up ahead with the brothers and Rory. “What? No.”
“I think she’s lying,” said Megan.
“She is so lying,” said Molly. “Come on, you can tell us. You know you want to.”
I forced myself to look them in the eyes, one after the other. “Guys, I swear, nothing happened with me and Rory. I don’t even like him.”
“Since when did liking someone have anything to do with it?” said Megan. “That lad is fi-i-ine, with that glorious hair and those sad eyes. I wouldn’t need to like him to make out with him.”
“Me, neither,” said Molly, and the two bumped fists like kids on a playground.
“You guys,” I said, smiling in spite of myself.
They linked arms with me, one on each side, and before I could say a word in protest, they dragged me the rest of the way through the bog, their quick, agile steps getting me over the tricky ground a lot faster than I would have done by myself.
By the time we reached the other side, we were all giggling. It felt so good to have someone to be silly with, even though I’d lied to them. I couldn’t tell them what had happened without telling them why, and Rory’s story wasn’t mine to tell.
But it would have been nice to confide in someone.
Once we got through the bog and ascended to the grassy turf at the top of the cliffs, the rest of the day’s walk was mostly uneventful. Beautiful views, of course—it was Skye, and everywhere had a beautiful view—but compared to yesterday’s dramatic almost-eighteen-mile hike along the Trotternish Ridge, with its seemingly endless succession of high, windblown peaks, today’s less-than-nine-mile walk to Portree was almost a letdown.
I stopped short. Had I really just thought that a day without ten summits, in bright sunny weather, was a letdown? That was a change from the first day, when I thought I would croak after eight miles. Carrie would be proud of me. I was proud of me.
Scarlet met us on the road leading into Portree and walked the rest of the way in with us. “Three days down, four to go,” she said with a big smile.
It was weird to think that in three days of walking, we’d only come the distance we’d driven in under an hour that first day. And a bit of a bummer to be back in the same place we’d started, but we were only passing through, and from tomorrow on, it would be all new territory again.
But knowing we were minutes away from a hot shower and a comfy bed gave us all an adrenaline boost, much like horses who speed up near the end of a trail, and we all walked a little faster to the B&B.
“Your rooms are ready. I didn’t make any dinner reservations for you because I thought you might like to do your own thing tonight,” Scarlet said. “I’ll be at the bar in the restaurant we ate in that first night from six to seven or so this evening if anyone needs to talk to me about anything—any concerns about the rest of the trek, any issues you’re having, whatever. And feel free to come say hi even if you’re not having any issues. I’m much better company than these two numpties,” she added with a grin, gesturing at Tommy and Rory.
I watched her walk off with Rory. She laid her hand on his shoulder, and he angled his head to talk to her, their bodies falling into step as if they were completely in tune with each other. I felt a sudden, sharp pang of jealousy. Was there something between them? Was Scarlet the one he’d thought he was kissing?
An image came into my mind of the two of them in an embrace, his hands sliding into her blonde hair as he kissed her. I shook my head to clear it. She didn’t seem the type to shack up with her employees. I needed to get a grip. And I needed a shower.
But first, I needed to call Carrie.
Finally, I’d be able to tell someone about Rory.
Chapter Fourteen
Rory
Less than an hour later, after a debrief with Scarlet, Tommy and I sat in the dark corner of a pub, pint glasses of beer in front of us.
“Start talking,” he said.
Tommy’s perpetually cheerful demeanor led most people to think he was just a simple, happy-go-lucky lad who liked walking in the hills, but he had a psychology degree and had always been one for talking things out. He listened to every word, even if he didn’t appear to be paying attention. He offered advice when he had some, but more often just acted as a sounding board. It made him a fantastic guide. Everyone responded to him, and by the end of the week, he knew their life stories—their hopes and dreams, their biggest regrets, whatever shit they’d be facing when they got home. And everyone always felt better after talking to him.
It was how we’d become friends in the first place. But that meant it was a pain in the ass to be around him if there was stuff I didn’t want to discuss.
“What do you want to talk about?” I asked, being deliberately obtuse.
He rolled his eyes. “Come on, man. We’ve been mates for what, seven years? We’ve been through a lot of shit—shit that we’ve always been able to talk about. Why are you being so cagey now? Something’s going on with you, and it involves a lass from the group we’re guiding. You need to talk to me.”
I took a long pull on my beer, wishing it was whisky. “I…had a rough night.”
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He nodded, unsurprised. “Nightmare?”
“Yeah.”
“But that’s not all, is it?”
I sighed. He wasn’t going to stop until I told him everything, and he knew me too well for me to lie. I drained my glass and stood. “You ready for another yet?”
He raised his eyebrows. I wasn’t usually a beer drinker, let alone a multiple-beer drinker. “Don’t worry, Mum, I’m only having one more. I know we’re working tomorrow.”
“In that case, I’ll be finished with this by the time you’re back with my fresh one.” I got us two more beers and sat back down, sliding one across to him. He accepted it with a nod of thanks. “Okay, now talk.”
“I was having the nightmare—the unabridged version, complete with suffocating mist. I couldn’t see, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were full of sympathy, and his mouth was tight with regret. “Shit, Rory, I should have crashed in your tent. I almost asked if you wanted me to. But you didn’t look like you would have welcomed the company. I’m so sorry.”
I shook my head, waving off his apology. “I would have said no. After that stupid fight with Amelia, I was in a shit mood.”
He nodded. “Okay, so you had the nightmare. Then what happened?”
“I guess I was thrashing around, calling out, whatever,” I muttered, feeling my face get hot. I cringed just imagining it, a twenty-two-year-old man crying out in his sleep like a wee lad—like the lad my father had loathed. “And Amelia heard and came in to check on me.”
His eyes widened. “Shit—you hit her?”
I nearly spat beer at him. “What? Why the hell would you think that?”
“You said you were thrashing around in your sleep. I assumed you were going to say you flailed around and hit her.”
I sighed. “No. I kissed her.”
Now it was Tommy’s turn to choke on his beer. “You did what?”
“You heard me.”
“Aye, I heard you say you kissed her. I want to know how.”
I felt my face get even hotter. “Fuck’s sake, do I need to draw you a picture?”
He just stared at me. I leaned in so I could talk quietly. “I heard her calling me in my dream. I opened my eyes, and she was right there—I guess she’d been leaning over me, shaking my shoulder or something. I was still out of it, and she was like two inches away, and it just happened.” He didn’t need to know about the rest of it. “I’m sorry, man.”
His brow furrowed. “Why are you apologizing?”
“I know you like her, and—”
He held up his hand. “Stop right there. I do like her, but just as a friend.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping my relief wasn’t too obvious. “Really,” I said skeptically.
“Aye, really.”
“Then why is it that every time I look over, you’re laughing with her or she has her hand on your arm, or vice versa?”
“Och, that’s just a bit of flirting. You know I do it with everyone. Why, did it annoy you?” he asked slyly.
Yes. “No, why would I care?”
“Why, indeed.”
“Stop psychoanalyzing me.”
“Nope. Anyway, this would have been just a few hours after that ridiculous argument you two had, aye? So, did she slap you?”
She probably should have. “No, she was actually pretty understanding about it. But I’ve apologized a few times now, and she got mad at me for that.”
“Interesting.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I’m just saying that if she’s mad at you for apologizing”—he made air quotes—“a few times now, then maybe there’s more to it than you think.”
“Oh, aye? Please, don’t stop there, Doctor MacDonald,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Maybe she doesn’t want you to be sorry you kissed her.” He took a long swig of beer, then made a show of setting it down. He sat back with a smug look on his face. “What do you think about that?”
“I think you’re a fucking numpty.” There was no way she wasn’t angry that I kissed her.
“Aye, that’s not exactly breaking news,” he said cheerfully. “But what if I’m right?”
“You’re not.” But what if he was?
“Are you sure? How did she respond when you kissed her?”
Even now, my body grew hot when I thought about it. “I…guess she might have been into it after the shock wore off.” More than into it, if I believed what she’d said that morning. But I couldn’t say more to Tommy without it feeling like I was betraying her trust.
“I dunno, man. It just sounds like there’s more going on here than her being mad that you kissed her. There were definitely some…undercurrents…at breakfast, and when I asked her what was going on, she hedged as much as you did. Maybe she’s not as immune to you as you think.”
“Don’t be daft.”
“Just think about it.”
“No, Tommy. I’m not going to go there. I can’t go there. First of all, she keeps recording videos for someone back home, and she ends them by saying “I love you,” so more than likely, she has a boyfriend. Second, we have half a week left on the trek, and then she’s gone. Oh, and third, she hates me. And even if she didn’t hate me, you know what happened with Emma. I’m not going through that again.”
“First,” he said, holding up his index finger, “you’re totally speculating about the possible boyfriend back home. She was totally checking you out last night when you came out of the water all wet and muscley—even if she thought you were mental for going in the water in the first place. And that wasn’t the first time, or the last. Second, I’m not saying you need to propose to the lass. Who’s to say she wouldn’t be up for a no-strings fling on the trek? Third, I don’t think she hates you, and even if she did, it doesn’t necessarily preclude her having a fling with you. And four, are you really going to compare her to Emma? I know that whole situation messed you up, but this could be just what you need to get over that.”
“I’m pretty certain that Amelia is not one for a quick shag in a tent with a virtual stranger.”
“Maybe you should find out.”
A series of images popped into my head like a staticky film reel: Amelia in my arms, her lips parting for my kiss, her bare skin glistening with sweat as our bodies came together. I shook my head to clear it, shifting uncomfortably on the chair. “Enough, Tommy. I just have to get through the next four days of the trek without any more fucking nightmares or fights with Amelia, and I’ll be happy.”
“If you say so.”
But as I finished my beer, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was any truth to what he’d said.
Chapter Fifteen
Amelia
The evening in Portree was nice. I had a glorious, hot shower to wash off the grime from two days on the trail, and then dinner (and drinks) at a pub. I talked to Gordon about the tourism company he owned in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. When I mentioned that I was going to be moving to Miami to work in a hotel, he gave me his card and invited me to reach out to him when I got there. I also had a beer with Scarlet, during which she told me about how she got into being a guide and starting her own company, and I told her about my upcoming job at the hotel.
But my burger and fries, while decent enough, didn’t taste nearly as good as last night’s Chicken Pad Thai, eaten with a spork out of a packet after being reconstituted with hot water.
And the bed, while infinitely more comfortable than a sleeping mat atop a bed of pebbles, felt almost like cheating.
“It sounds like you’re enjoying the hike,” my mom had said on the phone when I called after dinner. “I’m so glad.” But how could I let myself enjoy it? I couldn’t forget why I was doing this—for Carrie, who should be the one hiking this trail. And I shouldn’t be thinking about Rory, but it seemed like every time there was a quiet moment, my thoughts went right to him.
Thin
gs had been strained between us all day, after his umpteenth apology. Not that they’d ever been great, but now it was worse.
There’d been one awkward moment when we’d stopped for a break, and I’d happened to look over at him as he was wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt. When I finally tore my gaze away from his abs, I made eye contact with Tommy, whose huge grin indicated that he’d totally busted me checking out his friend. My face had grown hot, and I’d quickly busied myself with adjusting my pack, wishing I was bold enough to have just owned it. Looking away with my face bright red only made things worse.
But in spite of my embarrassment, as we’d continued the afternoon’s walk, I couldn’t stop my mind from wandering. And it kept goddamn going to the way Rory’s lips had felt on mine.
My traitorous mind continued to torture me all through the night, showing me images of him chugging from his water bottle, the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed far more mesmerizing than it should have been. It showed me images of him running his long fingers through his windblown hair, and it showed me images of him striding from the water, droplets streaming down his chest.
It wasn’t entirely the fault of the too-comfy bed that I didn’t sleep well.
After a hearty breakfast at the B&B with Scarlet and a restocking stop at the market, we had a pre-walk briefing with Rory.
“Today’s walk is about twelve miles. The terrain is pretty straightforward until we get to the last section along Loch Sligachan, where the path is rough and requires several river crossings, which can be a challenge if the water’s high. But there’s a great restaurant at the hotel in Sligachan, and you’ll be sleeping in the bunkhouse there, so you’ll be amply rewarded for getting through the day.”
“Okay, everyone, have a good day, and I’ll see you at the Slig for dinner,” said Scarlet, reminding us that even though we’d be walking all day, she’d get to Sligachan in roughly twenty minutes on the road.
With the exception of about a mile of salt marsh, which required us to carefully navigate so we didn’t get our feet wet, the first few miles were on paved road. Which I discovered was utter hell while wearing hiking boots, which were not made for pavement.
Under a Storm-Swept Sky Page 8