Winds from the Sea

by Margaret Pargeter

  “Signs?” Mystified, Sara frowned, her eyes intent on Jill’s face, unable to stop herself from asking the question.

  Idly Jill’s fingers went on pulling the white petals from some daisies which she had found on the lawn. She loved to talk at any time, and especially when she had an audience that seemed to be hanging on her every word as Sara was.

  “It doesn’t take good eyesight, or foresight, or what have you, to see,” she remarked smugly. “I’ve put two and two together! Hugh’s thinking of staying at Lochgoil, as I’ve told you before. Well, now it seems that he’s ordered two puppies from a breeder on the mainland, and he has plans to start breeding ponies. He’s always been interested in horses, you see. And on top of this, I believe he intends to build some new cottages on the estate as some of the old ones are in a very bad state of repair, almost past converting. So taking everything into consideration, Beth should be pleased!”

  “Pleased?” Sara echoed carefully, taking off her sun-glasses and placing them neatly on the wooden garden table by her side. “How do you mean, she was pleased? You could be mistaken ...” She swallowed the constriction in her throat. “Hugh might actually have decided to leave Lochgoil altogether, and sell the castle after he’s tidied it up a bit. Beth might not want to live here at all.”

  “I think you’re mistaken,” Jill retorted, losing interest in the daisies which she flung with final cruelty into the garden pool. “Anyway,” she shrugged vaguely, “time will tell. And, by the way,” she turned her sharply derisive eyes from the pool to Sara again, “why all the ‘Mr. Frasers’ this afternoon? Yesterday, when we came back from Iona, it was Hugh. In fact if Beth hadn’t been around, and you’d been any other than his secretary, I might have thought he was quite taken with you, darling Sara.”

  “Don’t be silly! Sometimes I do call Mr. Fraser Hugh.” Confused, Sara jumped to her feet, flushing scarlet. Jill was impossible! She moved restlessly, a sudden urge to get away from the castle overwhelming her. It was pleasant in the garden, but somehow she felt unable to sit any longer, dwelling on what Jill had just told her.

  “Would you mind, Jill,” she pleaded, “if I borrowed your Mini for a couple of hours? I feel like having a walk somewhere, probably on Ben More. I’ve spent the whole afternoon in the cottage with Gwen, so I could do with some fresh air. Please tell Biddy not to keep dinner for me. I’ll just have a snack when I get back.”

  “Okay, my pet.” Jill waved her hand carelessly. “But I don’t know how you can be bothered. I’m going to take a long hot bath myself. Then after dinner I’m taking Katie down to Salen to see her aunt, so I won’t be needing you any more tonight.”

  Sara smiled, against her better judgement, at the regal note in Jill’s voice. She knew exactly what Jill would do. She would drop Katie off at Miss Black’s cottage, then go on to spend the evening with Colin.

  However, she made no comment, apart from murmuring briefly, “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

  For her there was no satisfaction to be gained from the excitement of secret meetings and deceiving Hugh. She shivered suddenly as she turned away. She was constantly aware of the deception she practised, and the knowledge weighed heavily. Her nerves, she knew, were stretched almost to breaking point, but it hadn’t seemed to matter so much until these last few days. Now, although at times he didn’t seem aware of her existence, she was constantly aware of him and the tumult he could raise inside her. Much of what had happened between them had been entirely her own fault, and she had only herself to blame if talk of his engagement to another girl hurt. No man regarded a few kisses seriously, but even so she longed to feel his arms around her again, even if it had to be in a mood of antagonistic reaction.

  “‘Don’t worry about hurrying back,” Jill called as she came downstairs with a cardigan. “I can always take the Land-Rover.”

  Perhaps she should have taken it herself, Sara thought, as she drove down the side of Loch na Keal. The setting was beautiful, the weather more so. May and June in the Highlands could be beautiful, with long hours of daylight and sunshine, and a dry warmth which banished from the mind the wild cold days of winter.

  Carefully she slowed down, looking for a suitable place to park. Clouds built up from the west, changing the colour of the loch perpetually, from muted greys to blues more brilliant than many of the Mediterranean seas she had seen on holiday during recent years.

  She stopped the car and sat for a moment before getting out. The skies here were wide, the land open. For months of the year the islands might be ravaged by rain and desolation, but never gloom. Yet there was a certain starkness which instilled a pang of misgiving in Sara’s heart. At close quarters the bare hanging rock, the lonely waste of brown land, could give an impression of unmitigated bleakness.

  In spite of the involuntary shudder that ran through her, Sara found that she didn’t really mind the bleakness. Today, it seemed to find an answering echo in her own heart. The sun came hot on her head, but she took her cardigan from the car. Up here, as Hugh said, temperatures could change with alarming suddenness.

  With a feeling of exhilaration slightly shifting her mood of depression, she started off over the rough moor. She found a stream—a burn it would be called in these parts, she supposed—and watched it trickling over the stones on its rocky bed before stooping to scoop a handful of the clear cool water to her dry lips. Farther on she removed her cardigan, then crouching on a rocky outcrop of the burn she took a handful of small stones and carefully spelt out her first name, laying the stones in close formation, a frown of concentration creasing her smooth brow.

  When she had been a child her mother had sometimes played with her by the small stream near their Welsh home. It had been a game, spelling out their names, racing to see who could be finished first. Her mother’s name had been Emma, four letters, the same as her own, so there had been no handicap. Looking back, it didn’t take a lot of imagination to see why she had usually been allowed to win, but to Sara, then a five-year-old, the winning of the amplest game had been a huge victory.

  A sigh escaped her as she continued on her way, following the sparkling water until the sight of a young deer standing on a crag diverted her. There could be more. Carefully she approached, but the deer, alert and wary, nervously threw back its head, spotted her coming and ran off. There didn’t appear to be any more.

  Slowly, staring, half dreaming in the still warm sunshine, Sara wandered on, letting the silence and the pine-scented air lull her into a state of almost drugged tranquillity. She left the burn and went to sit on the sheltered side of a rock-strewn boulder before returning to the road. Already she had come a little way up Ben More. It was known to be a fairly easy mountain to climb, but not without a map and compass. She knew these to be essential. However, she hadn’t set out to climb. She only sought to tire herself out physically, to get away from her thoughts. And as she sat down with her bade against the warm rock she seemed to have achieved just that.

  Out in the distance a hawk hovered in space, its wings vibrating through the stillness, hypnotic to watch. Sara watched until her heavy eyelids fell. There was only the hawk and the sun, and the wind sighing. Soon she was fast asleep.

  It was as simple as that. Afterwards she couldn’t remember the moment, nor what woke her up, unless it was a sort of built-in warning system which operated even while she slept. For a frightening space of time she couldn’t even remember where she was. A suspended moment of a nightmare, with no clues to be derived from the thick blanket of fog all around her. She could well have been in another world, or half-way between two planets. Never had she seen such cotton wool whiteness, such a thickness of air, which to her frightened eyes appeared solid and impenetrable.

  After what seemed an eternity she moved, though only very slowly and carefully, scarcely daring to break the eerie silence. Silence, such as she had never known before, although she seemed to remember reading a poem about it. Something about the Hebrides, and the silence of the seas. With a wry sm
ile she wondered if the poet had ever been stuck like this.

  Her flash of humour seemed to dispel a little of her fear and she scrambled to her feet. Cramp shot through one leg as she glanced at her watch, stabbing her with pain so that she winced on a quickly indrawn breath. It was almost eight o’clock. She must have slept well over an hour. As the pain eased, panic replaced it. Tragic stories of people lost on mountains flooded her head. Her father had been a member of a mountain rescue team once, and she knew that they didn’t always get there in time.

  Rather desperately she tried to remember some of the rules. She must stay put. This was the first thing. Not to do anything foolish so as to risk falling over a precipice before help arrived. Help? Sara sat down again, huddled in a small heap. This started off another devastating train of thought. Help could only arrive, if it ever did, in the form of Hugh Fraser! He would be the only one to know. Jill would mention where she had gone, and when she didn’t come back ... Thoughts of his reactions swirled her brain into ice-cold chasms. She had been foolish, but he wouldn’t describe it that way. His temper, she knew from experience, was uncertain, and she shuddered to think what he would say if he found her like this. She could only pray that the mist would clear so that she could find her own way back before such a contingency arose.

  Impatiently she pushed back her heavy hair and tried to take stock. Her clothes, she realized, were totally inadequate for a night in the open, but her position was sheltered and fairly warm, almost as if the heat of the day had been trapped in the rock. Apart from discomfort, she would probably take little harm until morning if the mist didn’t clear and no one came. Hastily she thrust from her mind frightening thoughts of the lonely darkness yet to come. All she must do was to listen quietly and be ready to answer if someone called.

  According to her watch she had only waited half an hour before she heard the shout, but to Sara, sitting beside the rock, it seemed more like days.

  That was how Hugh found her, crouched beneath the lofty crag, shivering. Sara didn’t hear him until he stood, almost on top of her.

  “You must have been born under a lucky star,” he said soberly, as she gazed up at him, her face pale and immobile, her eyes wide with a curious mixture of fear and gratitude.

  The damp cardigan clung to her thin body, and her heart raced with a sudden rush of emotion as his eyes flicked her defenceless face.

  “How did you find me?” she gasped, unable to get up because her legs trembled so. “I didn’t shout.”

  “Well, I did,” his eyes glittered, “and if you’d been listening and answered, I might have been here sooner. It could have been a help.”

  She shook her head mutely, “I’m sorry,” she murmured at last, her voice unsteady. “I’m afraid I didn’t hear you.” Her hands were clenched so tightly that the knuckles were white. She could see from the set of his head that he was in a dangerous mood.

  He still towered above her, giving nothing away. “I found your name at the burn,” he said, his face expressionless, “and that of your mother. Your friend in London talked of her as Emma. It put me on the right track, but I was just about to give up when I stumbled across you. As it is I was crazy to come so far on my own.”

  “So far?” Sara choked. What did he mean?

  “Far enough.” He stared tersely, his eyes darkening. “You must have wandered miles.”

  It didn’t seem possible, but she didn’t dare protest as he crouched down beside her, his head bent towards her. “Didn’t you realize the danger of wandering around a place like this by yourself, without any equipment, not even a proper coat. If I hadn’t been able to find you, you could have been frozen stiff long before morning, dressed as you are now.”

  His eyes ran over her lightly clad body boldly, and she shook like a leaf in a storm. His voice was torn between exasperation and concern. “It wasn’t really worth it, was it?”

  Her sharp little indrawn breath was quite audible in the fraught air. “You think I did this deliberately?”

  “Perhaps. Some people enjoy being rescued.” His dark face swam above her, coolly ironic, sharpening the pain in her breast.

  Quick stabbing darts of anger were piercing her. “I can’t prove anything,” she whispered vehemently. “You’ll just have to take my word for it.”

  Cynicism touched his clearly defined mouth, “We’re all apt to be misjudged,” he commented drily.

  She stared at him, suspended in a strange void. Angry words rushed to her lips, but she could say nothing. Could he be right? Could she possibly have come up here hoping subconsciously that he would come after her? If only she could get away from his sceptical eyes and find a hole to crawl into! He must be offering fervent thanks for women like Beth Asquith, who had probably never done anything so foolish in her life.

  “Even if it was true ...” he watched her closely, “you obviously don’t understand how dangerous a mountain can be.”

  “You put it so baldly. I didn’t even think of getting lost!”

  “What did you expect?”

  She started to struggle unsteadily to her feet with a jerky movement away from him, but his lean brown hand descended with enough force on her shoulder to hold her quite still.

  “You may as well stay where you are.” He gave a slight, scarcely perceptible shrug. “I don’t know about you, but I’m not risking my own neck twice. We could as easily take the wrong track as the right. As I said before, I must have been crazy to come up here by myself.”

  A million prickles ran over her skin as she tried to pull away from that hard hand. The mocking quirk to his mouth actually hurt her. She gave him a swift imploring glance as he dropped down beside her, his strong boots clattering on the rough stony ground.

  He relented slightly, his eyes flickering over their position with brief appraisal. “We’ll wait here for a while. Maybe the mist will clear. The wind’s rising a bit, and the forecast’s good. With any luck it could be gone in half an hour. We’re a fair way up the mountain, but not nearly to the top.”

  She was shaken and stared at him, a faintly perplexed expression on her face. “Won’t they be worrying at Lochgoil?”

  He flexed his shoulders against the rock, seeking a comfortable spot as he released her with a careless gesture. “I told them to give me until ten. With any luck we’ll make it, it’s only after eight. If not, with any luck, we might get help.”

  “I’m surprised you don’t throw me over a precipice,” she said in a rush, almost recklessly.

  He smiled ironically, his gaze on her hot cheeks. “I assure you I don’t abandon my responsibilities so lightly. Even supposing I could find a precipice.”

  She evaded his eyes, turning away blindly, looking out at the gathering darkness, asking inconsequently, “Have you had dinner?”

  “In the kitchen,” he drawled, “in a hurry. I’m afraid I’m not the sort of hero who goes running up mountains on an empty stomach, not even for a girl as attractive as yourself.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly, concentrating on the darkness. How could she tell him that she had been driven out here by the strength and uncertainty of her own feelings? Knowing that he was spending the afternoon with Beth had induced a delicate kind of torture, past enduring. But better that he should think her completely irresponsible, than he should guess the depth of emotion which had tumbled her headlong into her present dilemma.

  Silently he drew a small flask from his pocket and passed it to her. “Drink that.” His quick eyes narrowed over her. “You’re cold.”

  She took the flask, unwillingly, holding it in her cold hands.

  “Drink it!” He looked at her intently. Her eyes were huge in her pale face, her hair disordered by the wind, a thick swirling mane about her cheeks which were smudged with brown earth.

  Obediently she tilted her chin, choking a little as the fiery liquid ran down her bare throat. While she drank he brought a Thermos from his other pocket and poured hot black coffee.

  “From Biddy,”
he said briefly, screwing the top on the whisky again as she passed it back. “I managed to consume some dinner while she fixed it up.”

  The whisky and coffee together had a magical effect. Warmth flooded back into Sara’s body, driving out the chill, lifting her drooping spirits although the mist still swirled.

  Controlling the tremor in her voice, she said softly, “I shouldn’t like you to think that I’m not grateful.”

  “Oh, God,” he groaned sardonically, “spare me that!”

  She stared at him, her face utterly bewildered, puzzled by his sudden change of manner, “I’m sorry,” she murmured a shade sharply.

  When he made no comment she wrapped her arms around herself and huddled lower. Her face felt dirty and her shirt was rumpled with one button torn off, but she didn’t much care. Her hair bothered her. She had long since lost the elastic band which held it back, and it was loose about her shoulders, the fine strands blowing across her mouth.

  Impatiently she tried to thrust it back. “When I get time I’m going to have this cut! A short style would be nice and easy to manage.”

  His eyes slipped over her downbent head. “Don’t ever do that!” His voice held soft menace. “Leave your hair as it is. I like it.”

  “It won’t be long before I’m gone, so it can’t matter.” A quiver ran through her, a painful tremor, and she clasped her arms tighter, so that he shouldn’t see.

  He misconstrued her reaction, and instantly his mood changed. “You’re still cold?”

  His arm caught her, hauling her close up against him, his dark face taut. “We could be here a while, and cold can be the very devil.”