The Road to Love ; Hearts in the Highlands

by Linda Ford

  With a sigh she turned back to the mountains. The pink-and-lavender tinge along the horizon was deepening as the sun fell below the highest peaks. Down below, the loch looked a silvery lavender.

  Thank you, Lord, for bringing me here. “You know my downsitting and my uprising,” she quoted from the psalm You knew this was just the place I needed to come. Her glance strayed back to the Ben Lawers. Who knew? Maybe someday she would scale its summit. She smiled at the remarkable thought.

  * * *

  Maddie didn’t see Mr. Gallagher at all the next day until dinnertime. He entered the great room where the rest of the family had already assembled and glanced about. As soon as he spotted her in one of the far recesses, he smiled.

  He looked rested and refreshed, and she felt a twinge of envy at his freedom to be out and about enjoying the hills and dales, while she’d been cooped up most of the day. It wasn’t that she’d had so much to do. Lady Haversham had spent most of her time with her niece, so Maddie felt at loose ends more than anything. Even her duty of walking Lilah had been co-opted by the children, under the watchful supervision of their nursemaid. When Lady Haversham had discovered that the young woman had grown up on a farm with dogs, she’d entrusted her precious pet to her.

  Before Mr. Gallagher could make a move toward Maddie, Vera approached him with a drink. “Where have you been the whole day, while we’ve been sitting around trying to amuse ourselves?”

  He rubbed his hands together before the massive stone fireplace, his cheeks ruddy from the outdoors.

  “Exploring the region. I talked with the local gillie and found out the best salmon beats along the river and where to hire a boat to fish on the loch. I also scouted around a bit and discovered some good walking trails on the property.”

  Vera frowned. “I hope you discovered some local families, as well. I don’t mean to spend all my time in my own company.”

  He took a sip of the amber liquid. “I thought I’d leave that part of the exploration in your capable hands, Vera. There’s a good brougham and wonderful stables. You can ride into Kenmore or farther afield to Aberfeldy and make the rounds.”

  His sister’s lips firmed in a distasteful line. “You are impossible. You expect me to leave my calling cards without your lifting a finger to help.”

  He grinned. “That’s right, my dear. I’m here to enjoy the river and loch.”

  “I hope you don’t mean to become a hermit. I expect you to accompany us on a few of those visits.”

  “As long as it’s only a few. I don’t mind talking with some of the local anglers.” He turned to Maddie. “Do you fish?”

  “Does she fish?” Lady Haversham spoke up for her. “What kind of a question is that for a lady’s companion? Of course she doesn’t fish. I hope you don’t plan to spend all your time at the river.”

  “No, Aunt Millicent, I propose to rise early and spend the mornings there.”

  Once again, Maddie had to swallow her disappointment that she couldn’t share a moment with Mr. Gallagher.

  As they were walking into dinner, however, he approached her. His eyes narrowed as he studied her face. “You look pale. Didn’t you get outside today?” His tone was stern.

  “No.” Was he angry with her?

  His frown deepened. “Did my aunt keep you too busy?”

  “Not at all. I just didn’t want to stray too far in case she might need me.”

  “I never did hear whether you fished or not.”

  “I used to...with my brothers.” She was taken aback by the quick switch in topic. “That was a long time ago and in a little mud hole near home, so I don’t know if that qualifies.”

  “You’ll find it a bit more challenging here. The area has the best salmon fishing of any in Britain. If you’d care to have a go, I’ll be leaving at sunrise, if that’s not too early for you.”

  She stared at him. He was inviting her to go along with him. “No, it’s not too early.”

  “In that case, you can meet me at the front door. Don’t worry about breakfast. I’ll have the cook prepare us some sandwiches.” He glanced toward his aunt as they entered the oak-paneled dining room. “And don’t worry about Aunt Millicent. We’ll most likely be back long before she’s up.”

  She nodded her head, again grateful that he seemed to know her concerns without her having to voice them.

  She found it hard to swallow at dinner and every once in a while took a surreptitious glance Mr. Gallagher’s way. He had singled her out and invited her fishing. She knew from her brothers and father that fishing was not a social activity. Those passionate about the sport enjoyed the peace and quiet of it. It would be no more than working alongside Mr. Gallagher in the library. Yet, she knew from those moments the sense of companionableness she’d experienced with him.

  Why had he invited her along? She couldn’t fathom an answer.

  * * *

  Maddie woke to the shrill sound of birdsong. A second later she remembered Mr. Gallagher’s invitation. Was she too late? She breathed a sigh of relief when she read the clock face. It was just past four.

  The sky was still dark, although a pale tinge along one horizon signaled that daylight was not far off. Maddie closed her casement window and hurried to dress.

  Hoping he hadn’t left without her, Maddie walked softly down the stairs toward the front door. Mr. Gallagher was already there, looking properly like a country gentleman in his tweed jacket and trousers tucked into high leather boots.

  “Good morning, I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.”

  “No.” He eyed her gown with a frown and she bit her lip, wondering what was wrong with her old black serge skirt and bodice. She pulled her knitted shawl more tightly around her shoulders.

  “Let me see your shoes.”

  Beginning to worry, she lifted the hem of her skirt just enough to reveal her low walking boots.

  “What you really need is a pair of Wellingtons.” He gave her skirt another critical glance. “You won’t be able to do any wading in that. Why women’s dress has to be so impractical is beyond me,” he muttered. “Here, this might keep you warmer.” He handed her a folded woolen square.

  “Oh!” She took the tartan shawl. “Thank you.”

  “Wrap it around yourself like the local women do. It’ll keep off the morning chill.”

  She discarded her own smaller shawl and did as he suggested. She felt immediately cozier.

  “Let’s see if we can find you a pair of better footwear in here.” He led her to a small room that held an assortment of cloaks, mackintoshes and umbrellas. A row of boots was ranged along a low shelf. He inspected one pair of boots, then another, glancing at her feet as he did so. He finally approached her holding a black pair in one hand. “Here, try these, they’re the new rubberized Wellingtons.”

  She sat on a bench under a rack of coats along one wall and bent to unbutton one of her boots. Her fingers fumbled in the dark, aware of his gaze on her. He was probably regretting having to wait for her.

  “Let me.” Before she knew what he was about, he crouched down in front of her and gently moved her hands out of the way. “Your fingers feel like ice,” he said, his own nimbly undoing the row of buttons. The next second he slipped her boot off, his fingertips gently brushing her heel. “All right, let’s see how this fits.” He held out the knee-length boot and she grasped it by the top edges and pulled it on.

  She wiggled her toes in the space in front.

  “It seems fine.”

  “Good. Now for the next one.” This time, without asking her permission, he took her other foot in his large hand and undid the top button. In a few seconds, he had that one off, as well, and was holding out the second boot. Maddie was glad of the dark, afraid he’d see how ruffled the contact left her.

  “Well, at least they should keep you from getting pneumonia,” he said, looking down a
t her feet. “If we could do something about those long skirts, you would be in fine shape to wade. Have you ever worn a pair of those bloomers?”

  Her eyes widened at the mention of the controversial female garment. Only suffragettes and sporty women wore the wide, knickerbocker-like garment, to the scandal of respectable females. “No.”

  “Pity. Well, come along then, the morning’s advancing.”

  He picked up a collection of long rods and baskets he’d left by the door. She offered to carry one of the baskets.

  She had no time to do more than take a deep breath of the cool morning air before he was disappearing down the drive. She hurried after his long strides, the memory of his gentle hands touching her feet lingering in her mind.

  He glanced over his shoulder. “Do you mind a bit of a walk?”

  “No. I’m used to walking.”

  “Good. We’ll head toward one of the pools on the river this morning,” he said, his tone clipped from his stride. “It’s one of the gentler areas. It’s said even a lady in long skirts might fish it without having to wade.” He waited for her to catch up and held a branch to one side to allow her passage.

  The vegetation around them was wet as if it had rained in the night, although she hadn’t heard anything. More likely just the mist Scotland was known for. The air smelled of earth and leaf mold and green vegetation. Swirls of white mist drifted upon the trees and over the lake below them. All around them birds lifted up a cacophony of sound as if impatient for the day to get under way.

  After about a mile of walking, they reached the village of Kenmore and heard the rapids at the head of the River Tay. The sounds of rushing water drowned out the birdsong. They bypassed the village and continued along a narrow track along the river, which flattened and widened as it meandered through the forest.

  A short walk along the north bank took them away from all signs of civilization. When they reached a bend in the river, Mr. Gallagher stopped.

  He set everything down on the damp grass and she followed suit with her basket. “We’ll try this pool today. The gillie tells me the salmon are running. There are also plenty of trout and grayling. Have you ever fly-fished?” He glanced up at her from where he squatted by an open basket.

  She shook her head.

  He held up a feathery object. “These lures mimic the insects the trout and salmon are accustomed to feeding on in these waters.”

  Maddie peered over his shoulder at a colorful array of feather-clad hooks. “How pretty.”

  He held one out to her and she took it. It was an intricate design of feathers tied around a hook. “Mayflies, dragonflies, stone flies, midges, take your pick,” he said, turning to survey the river. He was quiet a long time and Maddie knew better than to speak. Too much commotion would scare the fish away.

  He inspected the flies again. “I think...a nymph for you.” He selected one of the smaller hooks and picked up one of the rods from the grass.

  She crouched beside him and watched as he attached the fly to the line. “The trick is to tie one of these flies to this thin line called the leader, which then attaches to the heavier line.” As he spoke, he demonstrated what he was saying, amazing her with how deftly his fingers managed to tie a knot in the thin filament. She thought once again of his fingers undoing the small buttons on her boots.

  He proceeded to select a fly for his own rod and secure it to the line. As he prepared his own rod, she stood quietly, enjoying the break of day. “Bless the Lord, oh my soul, and all that is within me, bless His holy name,” she recited to herself. Suddenly she felt freer than she had in a long time.

  He stood and motioned for her to follow him to the edge of the bank. “The next thing is to learn how to cast.” He pointed forward. “See the insects hovering on the surface?”

  She nodded, seeing the dancing insects above the dark waters in the pale light.

  “You want to emulate them. Watch.” He set his own rod down and took hers from her. “Instead of flicking your wrist as you normally would, you need to use a longer, slower movement in order to get the line to go in a wide arc into the water. Unlike a lure, the fly won’t offer any weight to aid you, only the line.”

  His arm arched behind him then moved forward in a long, smooth curve. Unaware she held her breath, she watched the line flow out in a smooth curve and land halfway out in the river, upstream from them. She let out her breath, scarcely making out the fly on the barely rippling river surface. Then it floated with the current downstream. A moment later, there appeared a tug on the line.

  “Yes...” She glanced at Mr. Gallagher, detecting the slight smile playing beneath his mustache. “Now, to make sure he’s well secured on the hook.” His wrist barely moved as his other hand came up to switch hands on the rod. He used his right hand to play the line in. In a few moments he had reeled in a good-size speckled trout. Handing the rod to Miss Norton, he waded in to land it in a net.

  He hefted it in his hand. “Half a stone, perhaps a bit lighter.”

  She beamed at him, enjoying his satisfaction. “Wonderful.”

  After depositing the fish in the creel, he came back to her. “All right, now it’s your turn.”

  She gave a nervous laugh. “You make it look so easy. I’m sure it’s not.”

  “It’s not as complicated as it might seem if I try to explain it to you. It’s best you just try it and then keep on practicing it.” He handed her the rod and stood away from her.

  She could feel herself grow nervous under his observation. Her first attempt landed the line somewhere close to the bank. She turned to him shamefaced. “It doesn’t go where I want.”

  He approached her. “That’s because there’s no real weight on the end. Here, let me guide you through it.” The next thing she knew, he stood just behind her, his hand covering hers. She couldn’t breathe, feeling the length of his strong arm against hers. His other hand held her gently by the opposite shoulder. Before she could react, she felt him take her hand and the rod it held and move it swiftly up and behind, then forward. She watched, openmouthed, as the line made its wide arc far above the water and land.

  “Not perfect, but you get the general idea.” Mr. Gallagher’s voice sounded somewhere above her head.

  He let her go and stepped away from her. He cleared his throat. “Keep an eye on the fly. Let it drift with the current. If nothing happens in a bit, take it up and cast it once again.”

  She was too overwrought to hear much of what he said, much less follow his instructions. She blindly moved her wrist, but that only jerked the line.

  “Easy there or you’ll scare the fish.” He took the rod from her and reeled in the line. Then he guided her through the casting just as before. “Let gravity do its work once you let it go.”

  She nodded, hardly knowing what he meant.

  He stepped away from her and watched her do it on her own. “That’s better. All it takes is a little practice. I’m going to move a little farther upstream but within sight. Just call me if you need any help.”

  She nodded, feeling half-relieved that his too-observant eyes would be away from her, and extremely sorry to lose his closeness.

  * * *

  Reid selected a spot about twenty-five feet away from Miss Norton. He knew he liked to master something without someone hovering over him. From where he stood, he could easily watch her if she got in trouble, but still remain far enough removed to give her a sense of solitary peace.

  He tried to dismiss the sensation of holding her while guiding her through the fly casting, yet, like the mysteries the artifacts he dug up produced, it teased him, compelling him onward to discover more thoroughly the reason for its origin.

  The feel of her smaller hand in his, his larger frame so close behind her had been... He searched for a word to describe what he’d felt. Unsettling came to mind. He still felt unsettled.

  He realiz
ed he hadn’t held a woman in a very long time. The rare times he’d come home he gave his great-aunt and sister a mere peck on the cheek and moved away from them.

  He waded out a bit and cast his line, determined to shake off the memory. It was merely the strangeness of it. Unsettling, he repeated to himself for the third time before relegating the word and sensation to the outskirts of his mind, like an unsolvable but insignificant mystery.

  He felt a tug on his line and, with relief, concentrated on the fish caught by his hook. It was hardly a challenge, but it was satisfying. The fish were biting and they were plentiful.

  After landing a few more trout, he began to feel the kind of calm that he hadn’t experienced since arriving in England, the kind that came only with solitude, the kind he was used to in the desert. He gazed around him. The morning was glorious. Light and shadow began to dapple the area as the sun rose above the trees.

  He felt a sense of satisfaction that he had accomplished what he’d set out to do with this trip to the Highlands. He had Miss Norton away from the stuffy atmosphere that surrounded his aunt. He hadn’t liked the pale look of her last evening. He wouldn’t have this trip be in vain even if he had to personally escort Miss Norton on a daily fishing or hiking excursion.

  The notion wasn’t in any way displeasing, the more it lingered in his mind. For one so used to being in the company of men, the thought of her presence was at once peaceful and gentle.

  In a short time Reid had caught half a dozen respectable trout. He removed the hook from his last trout and placed the fish in the creel when he heard Miss Norton shout. His gaze flew to her and he saw her body jerk forward.

  He dropped everything and sprinted toward her. She must have hooked a good-size salmon for that kind of force on her line.

  “Mr. Gallagher! I think I’ve caught something!”

  A few seconds later he was at her side. Seeing her in danger of being dragged off the edge of the bank, he didn’t think but wrapped his arms around her and grasped the rod with her.

  For the next several moments the two fought the fish. “Keep a firm hold, play out some line.” His voice remained calm, even as he gripped the rod.