Under a Storm-Swept Sky

by Beth Anne Miller

  “Amelia?” I said through clenched teeth.

  She jolted, her eyes snapping up to mine. A pink flush stained her cheeks. “Um, I’m sorry, did you say something?”

  I stared at her, trying to get my body under control. “No, but I’d give nearly anything to know what was in your head just then.”

  She smiled. “Maybe I’ll tell you later. Did you like it?”

  Hell yes. “The look in your eyes, as if I was lying naked before you and your hands were sliding over my body? Yeah, I liked it.”

  “I meant the book! Did you like Outlander?”

  We were still talking about the damn book? “I liked it well enough. I got up to the third one, and haven’t had a chance to get back to them. So, were you? Hoping to find Jamie Fraser?”

  “Maybe. But I found something else instead.”

  “Oh, what’s that?”

  “A real-life braw and handsome red-haired Scotsman.”

  “And how does he compare to Mr. Fraser?”

  “It’s hard to say…”

  There was no more talking for a few minutes as I showed her some of the advantages of a real-life Scotsman. “I’ll ask again,” I said when I drew back, “how does your real-life Scot compare to Jamie?”

  “Pretty well,” she said breathlessly. “But I think I’d need to see him in a kilt to be certain.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  I continued my inventory of her pack, removing a small stack of tightly folded clothes and some other stuff, and jamming it all into my pack with the book and her toiletry bag.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Transferring some of your things to my pack to lighten yours.”

  “I can handle it, Rory—I’ve been handling it all week.”

  “Aye, I know you can. But I don’t want you to, not for this climb. So don’t argue,” I added with a smile that probably looked like a grimace. She didn’t argue, which meant she was worried. I squeezed her thigh. “It’ll be okay. Like I said, let’s see how it goes for the first part of the climb. If you’re in pain, we’ll scrap it and go back to Sligachan and figure out something else. No heroics, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Five minutes later, after I checked the bandage around her knee, we were on our way. The trail was steep, covering over four hundred meters of ascent in the first mile. We went slowly, with Amelia leaning on her trekking poles and me scouting ahead for obstacles and then doubling back to walk at her side.

  “Let’s take a break here,” I said after the first fifty meters or so. She sank onto a boulder and took a drink of water. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m okay, actually,” she said. “It’s strenuous, and I know I’m moving slowly, but my knee is doing okay so far.”

  “Are you good to keep going?”

  “I am if you are.” She peered at me over her sunglasses. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m okay.” And I was. It was a beautiful day, and the ascent was going okay. Maybe this would be all right.

  When I did this all those years ago, I was so focused on getting up to the top and proving to my father that I could do it, that I didn’t even look up. I was just focused on the ground beneath my feet.

  Now, wandering ahead to check out the trail and then going slowly with Amelia, I was able to actually see the beauty of the scenery around me: the craggy rocks, the green grass, the view behind us to the blue waters of Loch Scavaig.

  We gained the ridge that would take us most of the way to the top, and we continued to stop every fifty meters or so for a short break and a sip of water. Neither of us spoke much, other than me asking Amelia if she was okay, and Amelia asking if I was okay.

  The trail got steeper, and I knew we were within about two hundred meters of the false summit. That was where things would get difficult, because we’d have to scramble down a rocky path before ascending again to the true summit.

  Clouds had started to roll in from the west, and the wind had increased. We needed to pick up the pace. No more breaks. I backtracked a few meters and took Amelia by the arm.

  “What are you doing? I’m fine!”

  “I know you are, and you’re doing great. But we need to pick up the pace.” I tried to keep my tone calm, but I guess I did a shit job of it, because she glanced to the west. Her eyes grew wide and she let me support her as we hurried up the ridge.

  “We’re almost at the top!” Amelia exclaimed a few tough minutes later. “Look—we just have to get over that last bit!”

  “That’s not the true summit.”

  “What? Ohhh, I remember you saying that there was a false summit.”

  “Yeah. We’re at 926 meters now. The actual summit is 928 meters—a little over three thousand feet—and there’s a smallish gully between them. Let me have your poles. It’ll be easier for you to scramble down without them.”

  She handed them over, and I flipped open the locks so I could compress them to their shortest length, then attached them to the back of her pack. “Okay, you’re going to go down this section on your butt. Just sit on the rock, reach down with your left foot, and scoot down to the next rock, and so on. But always lead with your left foot.”

  I focused all my attention on helping Amelia negotiate the scramble down the gully. We reached the bottom without incident. And then I looked up at the path to the true summit. The way was clear, but the wisps of mist we’d seen below us earlier were now all around us.

  My heart was pounding and my breath came in gasps. Even though we really had no time to waste, I was grateful that Amelia had stopped to take a quick photo. I needed a minute.

  I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing. I can do this. I’m a Mountain Leader with years of experience. I’ve done the Skye Trail countless times, in all kinds of conditions. I’ve climbed Munros all over Scotland. This is just one more. I know what I’m doing.

  Hands came down on my shoulders. I opened my eyes to see Amelia’s lovely face before me, her eyes like twin pools of melted chocolate. There was no concern there, no fear that I’d fuck up.

  “You can do this, Rory. ‘No fear,’ right? That’s your clan motto?”

  “Sans Peur. You remembered.”

  “I told you, I remember everything you say. By the way, and this may not be the right time to say this, but while I like hearing you speak French, the Gaelic is really what does it for me.”

  I smiled. “When we get through this, I’ll speak Gaelic to you all night, though it’ll mostly be the names of mountains and a few curse words.”

  “Maybe tomorrow. I don’t intend for there to be much talking tonight,” she said, looking at me from under her eyelashes, her voice full of promise.

  My smile got bigger. “Well, we’d best get to it, then,” I said.

  She took my hand. “Together. For Connor. And for you.”

  A few minutes later, hand in hand, we stepped on to the summit of Bla Bheinn.

  I’d done it—I’d gotten us to the top without incident.

  All of the emotion I’d been suppressing for the last seven years crashed over me. My vision blurred, and I sank to my knees, my legs as shaky as a wee lamb’s. I covered my face with my hands, my breath coming in harsh gasps.

  Amelia’s arms came around me, her lips grazing my forehead. “You did it, Rory,” she said.

  I did it. I pulled her close and kissed her until she melted against me and my body was no longer trembling from relief, but something else entirely.

  I kissed her one last time and then gently pulled back. “Go take your photos for Carrie.” There was something I needed to do.

  “On it,” she said with a grin, and carefully stood, peeled off her pack, and pulled out her phone. Wiping my eyes, I got to my feet and shed my own pack, then searched the ground, picking up a few stones.

  “Oh my God, Rory, it’s incredible!” She gaped at the spectacular views of the Cuillins and Loch Scavaig, clearly visible even with the thickening clouds. She slowly circled in place, t
aking a video of the view all around.

  No, she was incredible. I set the stones on the ground and took out my phone. “Amelia,” I called.

  She turned, a huge smile on her face. I snapped a photo, then moved to her side. I put my arm around her, tipped my head to hers, and snapped a selfie, then took one with her phone. I wanted to be able to look back on this moment.

  I scooped up the stones, then knelt beside a boulder that sat right near the edge where we’d just come up.

  “Just hang in there.” The mist suddenly dissipated, and I saw his face. He smiled and took a step, his gaze holding mine. “There you are.” Another step. And then…

  I touched the weathered surface of the boulder, which had probably sat there for tens of thousands of years, which a terrified fifteen-year-old lad had desperately clung to, watching in horror as his brother had died. I closed my eyes, picturing Connor’s peaceful face that could almost have been asleep except for the small trickle of blood and the gray pallor to his skin, and a shudder ran through me. Then the vision changed to his last smile, and all the irreverent grins before it. That’s how I wanted to remember him—how I chose to remember him.

  “I miss you, Connor. So fucking much.”

  I piled the few stones I’d gathered into a small stack on the flattish top of the boulder. Then I reached into the zipper pocket of my cargo shorts.

  Amelia came to stand beside me. “Is that…Rory, is that the stone Connor pulled from the loch when you were kids? Your skipping stone?” She stared at the flat, round stone I’d taken from my pocket.

  “It is.”

  “You’ve carried it around with you all this time?”

  “It…it’s kept him close to me, you know? Like he was watching over me. But now I want to give it back to him.”

  I touched my lips to the purply-gray stone and carefully set it on top of the pile. “I’m so sorry, Connor. Sorry that I came up here by myself that day, and that you had to come up after me because I was an idiot. And I’m sorry that I haven’t been back to see you in all this time. I’ve tried to honor you by doing what you loved—what I now love.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “It’s been really hard without you.”

  I glanced at Amelia through a veil of tears, reaching out my hand. She took it, blinking back tears of her own. I looked back at the cairn. “But…I think I’ll be okay now. And I’ll be back to see you again soon, I promise.”

  The silvery vein in the stone suddenly began to glow with a strange light. A chill ran down my spine, and I heard Amelia gasp. What the—?

  I looked up. A beam of sunlight had filtered down through the slate-blue clouds, hitting the vein in just the perfect place for the stone to shine. Almost as if Connor was there. And maybe he was. “I love you, too, brother,” I whispered. “Goodbye.”

  Just then the light in the stone winked out. It took me a moment to realize that it wasn’t Connor saying goodbye.

  It was the mist, closing in around us.

  I couldn’t see anything but Amelia, who clutched my hand in a death grip. I couldn’t see the path we’d taken up to the summit, or the path we needed to take down the other side.

  And I couldn’t see the edge.

  Oh God, it’s happening again.

  It was exactly like my nightmare, that feeling of being smothered by the mist, completely disoriented and unable to move, for fear of tumbling off the side.

  “Rory?” whispered Amelia, her voice shaky, “what are we going to do?”

  “I don’t—” I started to say I don’t know, but then I heard Connor’s voice in my head, as clearly as if he was standing in front of me.

  You don’t know? You’re not that inexperienced, scared, bullied lad anymore. You’re a goddamn Mountain Leader. You’ve guided groups through worse weather than this many times, and you didn’t suddenly forget what the fuck you’re doing just because this is Bla Bheinn. You know what to do.

  “Rory?”

  Your lass is counting on you to help her finish this trek. Now do what you need to do to get you both the hell off that rock!

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Amelia

  One minute, I was staring through tears at a shining rock that I could swear was Connor’s spirit saying goodbye to Rory, and the next I was staring at a thick mist that had come from nowhere. “Rory?” His hand went rigid and clammy in mine, and he didn’t answer.

  Oh no. Not now. Not here, on top of this mountain that took away everything from him. Not after that heartbreaking, beautiful eulogy.

  I knew—I knew—that we were on level ground, that although we faced the edge, there was plenty of space right behind us. But not being able to see that edge—it was like being underwater in the dark, where you have no sense of which way is up. Suddenly, I didn’t know for certain that we faced the edge. Maybe we’d gotten turned around when we looked to see where that beam of light had come from. Maybe the edge was to the right, or maybe it was behind us.

  I couldn’t see anything, Rory had said when he told me about Bla Bheinn. It was…like being smothered with a blanket. I couldn’t see the edge, so I was afraid to move.

  That was exactly how I felt.

  “Rory? Are you okay?”

  His hand remained locked around mine, and his eyes had gone vacant.

  “Rory?” Nothing. Shit, was he having another flashback? “Please tell me you’re okay, because this mist is really freaking me out.”

  Then he turned to me…and smiled. “It’s okay, love, I know what to do.”

  His smile was so unexpected that it took me a moment to realize he’d spoken. He knew what to do? Of course he does. This is his job, what he’s trained for. Surely he’s been surrounded by mist before while on a mountain. It’s fucking Scotland.

  “We’re just going to sit down, right here,” he said.

  “What?”

  He knelt beside me. “Hold on to me, and just sit down.”

  “Are you sure it’s okay to sit here?”

  “Aye, we’re fine here. Just sit.”

  I braced my hands on his shoulders and lowered myself to the ground, wincing at the ache in my knee. “Okay, now what?”

  “We’re going to wait until the mist dissipates.”

  “For how long? I mean…does it generally disappear as fast as it came?”

  “Hard to say—sometimes yes, sometimes no. But the clouds have been fast-moving, so hopefully it’ll clear enough for us to descend.”

  “And if it doesn’t?”

  “It will.” He said it so confidently that I believed him. Also, I had no choice.

  “I saw fog like this once before,” I said. “Back home, with Carrie.” I’d forgotten about it until just now.

  “Tell me,” he said.

  “It was a few years ago. I live on Long Island, which may not be much for hills and terrain, but it does have beautiful beaches. The ones on the south shore face the Atlantic Ocean, and Lido Beach is Carrie’s and my favorite. We went down there one day in early spring to walk on the beach. It was a mild afternoon, but overcast, and there was no one else out there. And between one minute and the next, we were completely surrounded by fog. You couldn’t see anything—not the sand, not the ocean, nothing.

  “We were weirdly frightened. I mean, it wasn’t like being on a mountain top, where if you can’t see, you could…”

  “You could fall off the edge,” Rory said, squeezing my hand. “It’s okay, you can say the words.”

  I leaned against his shoulder. “Right. We were just on the beach. The worst that would happen is we’d stumble into some cold water and get our feet wet. But we just froze in place and clutched each other’s hands like scared children. We were afraid to head back the way we came, because we didn’t think we’d find the path between the dunes. We stayed there for maybe half an hour, damp and shivering, until the fog cleared enough for us to find our way back.” I smiled up at him. “It seems silly to compare that to this, I guess.”

  “No, not silly at all.
We fear the unknown, and suddenly being unable to see is a huge unknown. I’m glad you and Carrie were there together.”

  “Me, too. And Rory? I’m glad I was with you today, even though it’s my fault you had to come this way.”

  “What are you talking about? How is it your fault?”

  “If I hadn’t insisted on continuing the trek after hurting my knee, you wouldn’t have been two days behind the group. You would have taken the path along the cliffs with no problem and avoided Bla Bheinn.”

  He shook his head. “Amelia, I knew I’d have to go over Bla Bheinn eventually. I guide the Skye Trail often enough that it’s shocking that it hasn’t happened before now.” He laughed. “I always figured Tommy and Gav would get me pissed on cheap beer and convince me to do it, then drag my ass up here before I sobered up enough to refuse.”

  His smile faded, and he gazed at me with eyes the soft green of sea glass. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, then traced my cheek with his thumb.

  “There’s no one I would have rather had here with me than you. Because of you, I can think of my brother—and talk about him—without being crushed by grief and guilt. I don’t think I can ever repay you for that.”

  “You don’t have to.” I laid my hand on his thigh, blinking away a sudden rush of tears. “But if you insist, I might be able to come up with a few ways.”

  This time, his grin was wicked. “Oh, I definitely insist.”

  …

  We spent the next hour talking. He shared some more stories about Connor, and asked me more about Miami.

  “It’s beautiful there. You can go to the beach year-round. There’s no real hiking, but Carrie’s already started looking into other outdoor things we can do, like scuba diving.”

  “My mate Tristan, Mrs. Mac’s son, is a scuba diver. From everything he’s said about it, I think you’d love it.”

  I probably would, though thinking about Miami was making me sad. No jagged mountain ranges outlined against the sky, no otherworldly-looking rock formations jutting up from the sea, no towering peaks half-collapsed by some ancient landslide. No misty glens, no sapphire-blue lochs. No terrain at all.