Under a Storm-Swept Sky

by Beth Anne Miller

  “Did they say anything?”

  “No, they just stared at me. My mum—for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something. I took a step toward her, but then my father led her away. She glanced back once, and then that was it.” And that still fucking hurt.

  “I’m so very sorry,” Amelia whispered. “Sorry that you lost your brother, but even sorrier that your parents threw you away. Their sweet, smart boy.” She wrapped her arms around me, her breath hitching, and I felt the dampness of her tears.

  I reached up to wipe them away. “No one’s ever cried for me before,” I said, swallowing the lump in my own throat.

  “Well, someone should have! I can’t—”

  I kissed her, long and deep, cutting off her angry rant. “Thank you,” I said when we came up for air. And then I pulled her on top of me, and we didn’t speak again for a while.

  …

  I awakened to a pinkish gold sunrise—a welcome sight after two days of rain—and a soft, warm body in my arms.

  Last night had been…indescribable. If Amelia wasn’t lying in my arms right now, if my body didn’t feel so sated and relaxed, I would think I’d dreamed it all. To have gone from the terror of my nightmare and the shame of telling Amelia about Connor to her warm embrace, first comforting, and then…

  Hot. Sexy. The opposite of comforting.

  The way she’d responded to me, the way her body had felt in my hands, over me, under me, around me. The way she’d touched me, with her hands and her lips. The way she’d made me feel, again and again—not just with her body, but with her compassion, with her understanding, with her tears.

  The pain of Connor’s death was still there—would always be there—but it had felt good to talk about him, to laugh at some of those memories.

  I looked down at Amelia, sprawled across me, her hand tucked up against my chest. The dark shadows that had been under her eyes—from exhaustion, fear, worry, pain—had faded.

  She murmured in her sleep and cuddled closer, her breath tickling my chest. A lock of hair slid across her face, and I reached up to tuck it back, winding the soft strands between my fingers.

  Even though I’d known her for just a few days, I cared for her in a way that was more than just lusting after a pretty face and a sexy body. I liked her. I liked talking to her about books. I liked arguing with her about…everything. She was the first person since Tommy that I was able to tell my story to, and she didn’t judge me, didn’t do anything but understand me and want to take away my pain.

  In all the time I was with Emma, I’d never felt compelled to tell her about Connor. She’d been a good companion—for a while—and I’d liked spending time with her, liked the idea of her. But she’d never known the real me. And in these few short days, Amelia did know the real me—knew more about me than Emma had ever learned after half a year of being together.

  The few lasses I’d been with before and after Emma had been casual, girls I knew around town, or a friend of some girl Tommy was seeing. I’d made sure they were looking for the same thing as me: a brief hookup with no strings attached. No deep conversation, no sharing of hopes and dreams. Fun for a night or two, a kiss goodbye at the end, and that was it.

  But this was different. Amelia was different. I’d tried to stay away, but it turned out that I had no willpower when it came to her. If she wanted to be together for the duration of the trek, then we would be—as together as two people could be, for as long as I could stretch it out. And then I’d say goodbye. It would kill me.

  But it would be worth it.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Amelia

  I woke from the best sleep I’d had all week to bright sunshine streaming in through the window, turning Rory’s hair to brilliant flame. To the sight of his bare chest and abdomen, strong and beautiful in the morning light. And to gray-green eyes, as luminous as a rainy morning, gazing down at me.

  It had been exciting and mysterious to be with him in the dark, but it was glorious to see him in the light.

  He kissed me—a sweet, tender kiss, so different from the passionate ones we exchanged just hours before. When I would have taken it further, he drew back.

  “We need to talk, Amelia,” he said, his eyes serious.

  My heart sank. No good conversation in history ever began that way.

  “Last night was…a gift. You made me feel alive, when I’ve been empty for so long.”

  I sat up, wincing at the ache in my knee. “I’m sensing a ‘but.’”

  He sat up, too, and took my hand. “In a few days, we’ll finish the hike in Broadford, and you’ll be on a plane back to New York.”

  “I know.” Only too well.

  “I know what I said the other night about how I couldn’t be with you for just a few days and then say goodbye. But, I’d rather have that than nothing. If you agree.”

  I looked into his eyes, seeing a maelstrom of emotions swirling around in their silvery-green depths. Hope, doubt, dread, uncertainty. And something else, something more. And that was what I focused on.

  “Rory, life is short. It’s a phrase that’s so widely flung around that it barely means anything. I know I’d never even given it a moment’s thought, and I bet fifteen-year-old you never did, either. But seven years ago, that phrase took on a whole new meaning for you. A few weeks ago, it took on a whole new meaning for me. Life is short, and in a careless second, it can be irrevocably altered or yanked away completely. And we need to live it while we can. I don’t want to go home and regret that I didn’t make the most of my time with you.” I grinned. “Not to mention that Carrie would kill me.”

  He smiled. “Then I guess I have my answer.”

  “I guess you do.”

  After our breakfast of porridge and coffee, we packed up. “We have a lot of ground to cover today,” said Rory. “It’s four miles or so to Elgol, and part of that is along eroded cliffs, so we’ll have to take it very slowly. And then it’s another ten-ish miles to Torrin. I’d like to get at least halfway from Elgol to Torrin before we stop for the night.”

  So, roughly nine miles today. My knee was feeling a little better, but after yesterday’s epic rain, I knew it wouldn’t be easy.

  “We can get some supplies at Elgol and then camp out on the beach near Kilmarie tonight,” he continued. “How’s your water supply?”

  I pulled the CamelBak out of my pack. “About two liters.” I’d filled it in Sligachan yesterday morning, and hadn’t had much of it before the storm distracted us. Which wasn’t good, I knew, but it was hard to concentrate on walking and remember to drink even if I wasn’t thirsty.

  “I have about the same amount. We can restock in Elgol. We’ll have our lunch there, too—there’s a nice café. You should be able to get good signal there to get online or call to check in on Carrie.”

  “Thanks, that would be great. Maybe there’ll be some good news.”

  “I hope so,” he said softly, his thumb grazing my cheek. “Ready to go?”

  I took one last look at the plain bunk bed where we’d had such an unforgettable night, full of so much sadness—and so much passion. I pulled out my phone and took a quick photo of it, and then of Rory when I saw him gazing at it just as wistfully as I had.

  We headed south along the shore on a path that was very boggy and slow-going due to all the rain the day before. But now when Rory occasionally took my hand to help me through a tough spot, he held onto it, his thumb stroking mine. And when I occasionally took his arm for balance, I leaned into him, breathing in his scent, loving the feel of his strong forearm under my hand.

  For the most part, my knee behaved, but I picked the wrong patch of grass to step on at one point, and just barely managed to catch myself on my pole. After that, he held onto me for the rest of the way through the bog.

  And I didn’t mind at all. Nor did I mind the way he’d smile at me every so often. We didn’t talk too much, needing to pay close attention to the path. It was warm in the sunshine, and I peeled off
my fleece, then turned to say something to Rory.

  And I just stared. He had taken off his fleece, too, and had raised the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. His shorts rode a little low, and I could see the indentations of his hips and the line of pale skin beneath his belly button. I remembered tracing that line with my tongue just a few hours ago—and everything that had followed.

  “Eyes up here, Benson.” Startled from my stupor, I snapped my gaze back to his to see him grinning at me.

  “What?”

  “The ground’s a little boggy here, but I’m up for it if you are.”

  He was clearly joking, his words light and flirty. But I had the feeling that if I said okay, gave any indication I was on board, he would ravish me right there in the heather.

  And I would let him.

  “I mean, the idea is not totally unappealing,” I said, “but you’re the one who said we have a long day ahead of us.”

  “Aye, I did,” he said, sounding regretful. “It can be our reward for making it to Kilmarie by tea time.”

  “You’re on.”

  We continued through the boggy muck, finally reaching drier ground as we headed up a grassy slope. Then the cliff path—if it could even be called that—came into view ahead.

  It looked terrifying.

  “Um, Rory? Pardon my language, but are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll take it slow. Just pay attention to your feet, and let me know if you need to stop. And maybe don’t look down,” he added.

  “Great, thanks for the tip.” I snapped a few shots for Carrie—there was no way I was going to stop for pictures while we were on the cliff. And there was no way she’d believe that I willingly went on that “path.”

  “I’ll go first. Watch where I step.”

  “Okay.”

  I followed in his footsteps, slowly and carefully picking my way over loose rock and crumbly bits with his helping hand, doing my best not to look at the sheer drop to the frothy sea below.

  I paused to watch Rory traverse the next section. Keeping his weight on his left foot, he took a tentative step with his right, slowly bringing more of his weight forward—just as the earth dissolved under his foot and he tumbled from view.

  “Rory!” I screamed, lunging forward to try to grab him somehow. OhGodOhGod…

  “Stay back—I’m all right!” He’d grabbed the edge and was pulling himself up, his powerful forearms straining against the weight of his body and his heavy pack. I’d run my hands up and down those forearms last night, finding the ripple of tendon and muscle to be so hot, loving how he’d easily lifted me all those times on the trek, the way he’d held me as we’d made love.

  Last night, his arms were sexy, now they were saving his life.

  I inched forward, testing the ground as I went, until I could reach out and snag the loop at the top of his pack.

  Rory hauled himself up, and together we scooted back from the unstable edge. A sob escaped me, and I threw my arms around him, nearly knocking him on his back.

  Those strong arms crushed me to his chest. “Shh, I’m all right.”

  Then he winced, hissing through his teeth, and I pulled back. “You’re hurt!”

  He shook his head and rotated his shoulder a few times. “I just wrenched my shoulder a little bit. I’ll be fine.”

  “I thought…” I thought I’d lost you, just when I’d found you. I couldn’t even say the words out loud, so I took his face in my hands and kissed him, channeling all my fear and relief into that kiss.

  He kissed me back, then rested his forehead against mine.

  “We can’t go that way, Rory,” I said. Not. A. Chance.

  “No, we can’t. It must have gotten hit hard with the wind and rain yesterday—it’s eroded worse than I’ve ever seen.”

  “Is there another way to Elgol?”

  “Not from here.” He looked off into the distance behind me and then nodded once, as if to himself. He turned back to me. “But there is another way to get to Torrin, bypassing Elgol. We can go over Bla Bheinn.”

  I gaped at him. Bla Bheinn. The mountain that killed Connor, tore apart Rory’s family, and nearly destroyed him.

  I stood, leaning on my poles. “No. Absolutely not. We can just go back to Sligachan and…”

  “And what?” he said, getting to his feet, too. “Abort the trek? No, we’re not doing that. I promised I’d help you finish.”

  “It’s not worth it! It’s just a stupid trek that I decided to do on a stupid whim! I can’t ask you to do this. Please don’t make me ask you to do this.” I couldn’t bear the burden of making him face that particular demon because of me.

  “You’re not,” he said, taking both my hands in his. “You’re not asking me to do it, Amelia. I want to do it. You need to finish the trek, not because of a whim, but for Carrie, and I…” He broke off, swallowing hard, “I need to go over Bla Bheinn. For my brother. For fifteen-year-old me, who died up there with him and then drifted aimlessly until I came back to life. I said last night that I needed to face it, and I can’t think of anyone I’d rather face it with.”

  His eyes were bright green, boring into me like lasers, pleading with me to agree. How could I argue with that? Maybe he did need to face that demon, in order to finally be free of it. In order to finally be at peace with himself.

  I turned to look at the imposing peak. “But it’s over three thousand feet high—will I even be able to do it with my knee?”

  “Och, it’s just a wee bump,” he said, his attempt at humor not quite hitting the mark for either of us. “We’ll take it slow. It’s steep, and will be worse on the way down. And if we need to abort, we will, but I think you can do it.” He shook his head. “No, I know you can do it. Look how far you’ve come since that first day, when you had blisters from your boots and could barely manage the climb up from Rubha Hunish. You made it over the Trotternish Ridge, you made it across all the rivers. This is just one more thing to conquer.”

  His words, spoken so sincerely, had me swelling with pride. I literally felt myself stand up straighter, as if he’d pulled a string at the top of my spine.

  But then he looked down. “Unless you don’t think I can do it. I wouldn’t blame you…after I told you what happened, after my nightmares—”

  I lifted his chin so I could look him in the eyes. “I told you I trusted you when you said you’d help me finish the trail, and that hasn’t changed. Not even a little.”

  I put my arms around him, and he leaned into me with a sigh. “Thank you for saying that.”

  I pulled back and smoothed his hair out of his eyes. “Do you know the way, after all these years?”

  He nodded. “Aye, I know the way. I see it every time I dream.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Rory

  We have to go over Bla Bheinn… I want to do it…

  Somehow, I’d said all those words, and somehow, I’d said them without my voice shaking and without puking. Last night, I’d said that I would climb it one day soon—and I’d meant it—but I figured it would be with Tommy, after days of psyching myself up for it.

  Could I really do it now? With Amelia, no less, without freaking the fuck out? Did I have any right to subject her to that? She would understand if I changed my mind.

  I stared up at Bla Bheinn, outlined perfectly against the cloudless blue sky just about two miles away. Then I looked down into Amelia’s warm brown eyes, full of so much emotion: trust, worry—for me?—and something that I couldn’t so easily identify, but it made my heart jump to see it.

  It was the same look I’d seen in her eyes this morning when she woke up.

  If that expression meant she felt for me even a fraction of what I felt for her, then I could do this. I would do this. I’d get us over that fucking mountain and down the other side, and maybe I’d finally be able to stop dwelling on the past and start looking toward my future.

  “We have to backtrack to Camasunary,” I said. “Carefully, now.”
I did not need a repeat of that moment when the cliff had crumbled beneath my foot. In the split second between when my foot slipped and when I caught the edge and knew I’d be able to get back up, all I could think about was that if I fell, Amelia would be out there, alone. And while not helpless, she’d be at a dangerous disadvantage, since the emergency phone was in my pack. No, hiking over Bla Bheinn was preferable to worrying that one of us might go over that cliff.

  We slowly made our way back along the cliff and up the shore. Where the path turned left toward the bothy, we turned right. The path curved left, and we had to ford a few streams, but we were able to cross on stones and stay dry.

  And then ahead of us loomed the steep climb up the south face of Bla Bheinn. “Let’s take a quick break before we start. Do you have any granola bars left?”

  “I think so,” Amelia said. She rummaged into her pack and pulled out one that looked a little squished, but still edible.

  “Good—eat that, and have some water. And I want you to remember to drink as we ascend.”

  “I will.” She looked nervous—though not nearly as nervous as I felt. But the sky was clear all around, and the path itself was actually pretty straightforward until you got near the top.

  “Is it all right if I look in your pack?” I asked.

  She cocked her head to the side. “Um, sure. Go for it.”

  I rummaged through her pack, pulling out her toiletry bag, a well-read book, which I turned over with interest. “Outlander? Och, were you hopin’ ye’d find braw Jamie Fraser out here, lass?” I asked, purposely exaggerating my Scots, loving the way she sighed as I did so.

  Her eyebrows shot up. “You’ve read it?”

  “Aye. After the umpteenth woman on one of my treks asked where the ‘standing stones from Outlander’ were, with a hopeful look in her eyes, I finally read it to see what the fuss was about.”

  She tipped down her sunglasses, her eyes slowly roving over me. It might as well have been her hands for the way my whole body came to attention. Her lips parted slightly, and a hot bolt of lust ran through me. Christ, what the hell was she thinking about?