by Lizzie Lamb
‘No. I’m fine. Thanks.’
‘My pleasure. Now don’t stay out too long in the dusk - the midge machine won’t be fully effective for two days.’ Swinging his tool kit over his shoulder he made for the path which led to the Factor’s cottage further along the shore. He half-turned, ‘Just one more thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘It was Ruairi’s idea to have the midge machine installed down here. He paid for it; not Angus - I thought you should know that. You’ve got off on the wrong foot with each other; Ruairi’s a great guy and a loyal friend. You’ll see.’
If I’m here long enough, she thought.
Going into the Wee Hoose, she closed the door behind her. As she slid the bolts home, she wished that Murdo’s magic machine had the power to keep the Urquharts at bay as well as the midges.
Then her life would be just peachy.
Chapter Twenty Two
A gust of wind stirred the voile curtains and sent the casement windows in Fliss’s bedroom crashing back on their hinges. Getting up from the dressing table, she looked through the slanting rain at the bruise coloured clouds scudding across the loch. She closed the windows and shivered, it was like a scene from Independence Day. She’d been warned that the summer weather they’d enjoyed recently wouldn’t last and it looked like the weather mongers were right.
Downstairs, the grandfather clock struck the quarter hour and reminded her that she was running late. She caught her frown in the dressing table mirror as she put the finishing touches to her make-up and gave a sigh of exasperation. She’d spent two sleepless nights denying how much it rankled that Ruairi had asked Murdo to escort her up to Tigh na Locha tonight for dinner instead of escorting her himself.
She’d gone over what he’d said countless times, trying to make sense of it: I thought - in the circumstances - Murdo would be a better choice. What circumstances was he referring to? Was asking Murdo to deputise for him his subtle way of underlining the differences in their situations without spelling it out? His way of sparing her feelings? He was the laird and she was the therapist; she got it, she really did - and fully understood that it wasn’t appropriate for her to be escorted into dinner on his arm when she was on Angus’s payroll.
But his actions - and this was her sticking point - not only highlighted their respective places in the Kinloch Mara hierarchy, but defined the boundaries of their relationship. It appeared that he still regarded her with suspicion and was hedging his bets until she dropped her guard and revealed her true colours.
She’d decided soon after meeting Ruairi Urquhart that she wouldn’t let his opinion of her - good or bad - influence her in any way. So what had changed?
The grandfather clock struck the hour.
Pushing herself away from the dressing table, Fliss gave a huff of annoyance at the conflicting thoughts running through her mind. Spraying a fine mist of Clinique Happy into the air, she walked through it and let the droplets settle over her hair and underwear. Then she slipped into her only posh frock - a vintage wrap dress she’d found in Oxfam on Westbourne Grove Road, collected her clutch bag and went downstairs.
As arranged, Murdo was waiting for her in the hall and dressed for the worsening weather in a full-length waxed coat and an Akubra. He looked like a cross between a dandy highwayman and a hunky cowboy. She fixed a smile on her face - better not shoot the messenger.
‘I’ll just get a coat and umbrella and I’m good to go, Murdo.’ She nodded towards the jumble of waterproof coats, wellingtons and umbrellas in the canopied porch. She negotiated the turn in the stairs where the tread narrowed, holding the hem of her maxi dress in one hand and her strappy sandals in the other.
‘Not Murdo. Ruairi.’ She stopped dead in her tracks and her heart stuttered at the sound of his voice.
‘What is it? What’s happened?’ she asked, suddenly fearful. There must be an emergency or bad news, what other reason would he have for coming down here?
He removed his Akubra, shook the raindrops off it and then glanced up at her, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. And in that moment she saw beyond the man who troubled her waking hours and kept her from sleep - and realised what his life entailed, his obligations towards family and his estate. He looked so careworn, so bowed down by responsibility that, in spite of everything, her heart contracted and she sent a silent wave of sympathy towards him. And all the negative thoughts she’d harboured about him only minutes earlier, vanished.
‘We’ve had to cancel dinner I’m afraid. The phone connection between here and Tigh na Locha is down at the moment - it often happens when it blows a gale. I wanted to warn you to batten down the hatches and stay indoors until the storm blows itself out. I’m on my way to join Murdo, apparently there’s an emergency up on the main road.’
‘Thanks for thinking of me,’ she said and immediately wanted to kick herself. Thanks for thinking of me? What was she - twelve years old?
He was simply concerned over her welfare, as he would be for any tenant on his estate. She shouldn’t read any more into his words or his actions. Embarrassed, she concentrated on watching the rain water run off his wellingtons and soak into the turkey rug, anything other than looking at him and giving away too much of her innermost feelings. When she’d regained her composure and raised her head, she became aware of how the rain had dampened his hair and clung to the edges of his lashes, making them darker, thicker. He looked like an organic part of the wild domain over which he was laird and in her heightened state, she imagined she could detect the scent of the storm on his clothing and the wind in his hair.
‘My pleasure,’ he replied politely, breaking the mood.
‘What about Mitzi and Angus?’ she asked to gain a breathing space.
‘Fine. They flew in ahead of the storm and are safe and sound up at the Big Hoose. I’m sorry that all your effort has gone to waste.’ He nodded towards the wrap dress that picked out the green flecks in her eyes and accentuated the copper threads in her hair. ‘We’ll reschedule for next week.’ His eyes darkened and his pupils dilated - all the better to see her with, she thought wildly, as he took in her hair, make-up and bare feet with a second, more comprehensive sweep.
‘Oh well.’ She licked her lips, her mouth feeling suddenly dry. ‘Beans on toast for supper instead of Aberdeen Angus beef.’ She laughed at her pun but Ruairi didn’t join in. ‘Now what have I said?’ She clicked her tongue in exasperation; sometimes it was hard going with him. Was it really worth the effort she asked herself, and glared at him?
‘Sorry, I’m just a bit preoccupied. And I should be going …’ Yet he made no effort to leave. ‘I’ve had to initiate the Kinloch Mara Emergency Plan. Two mini buses full of wedding guests are stranded on our side of a collapsed bridge. The river’s in spate and the emergency services can’t get through by the usual route and will have to go the long way round. And, as you can see, it’s too windy to send up a helicopter.’
Realising what an airhead she must appear, talking about beans on toast when his mind was on rescuing people stranded in the worsening storm, Fliss felt she had to make amends. On impulse, she abandoned her high heels on the stairs and walked towards the weatherproof coat and wellingtons in the porch.
‘What are you doing?’ Ruairi asked as she lifted the hem of her dress and pushed her feet into a pair of wellingtons. ‘Didn’t you hear me? Dinner’s been cancelled.’
‘I heard you,’ she replied patiently, ‘and I’m coming to help.’
‘Help? You?’ Ruairi raised a sceptical eyebrow. She knew she looked all wrong - from her pinned up hair fastened with diamante clasps, full war paint and posh frock, down to the wellingtons which were several sizes too big for her.
‘I’m tougher than I look,’ she said, squaring her shoulders.
‘I don’t doubt that for a second,’ he said with some of his usual asperity. But it was accompanied by a smile. ‘But I really don’t see how your skills as a beauty therapist will be of much help to us tonight.’
> Fliss ignored the subtle put-down.
‘There’s more to me than aromatherapy and tea tree oil. Which you’d find out if you gave me a chance,’ she said employing a brisk tone. ‘For your information, I was a St John’s Ambulance cadet …’
He didn’t need to know that her dad had encouraged her and Becky to join to keep them off the streets and out of trouble. Or that she and Becky had agreed, hoping that as first aiders they’d get free access to gigs and football matches. Not to mention wall-to-wall boys. But, during their five year stint, she’d gained triage skills, become a competent first aider and learned how to deal with people who were anxious or in pain.
‘You never cease to amaze me, Miss Bagshawe. But I haven’t got time to debate the issue, Murdo’s gathering the team together and I must join them.’ He picked his walkie-talkie up off the pier table, jammed the weather-beaten Akubra back on his head and turned his back on her.
Fliss felt dismissed, but swallowed her hurt pride. She put her hand on his arm and forced him to turn round. ‘Seriously, I really could help. I have triage skills and could act as first responder when you bring the injured back here. Hold the fort until the medics arrive. That sort of thing,’ she trailed off. Then she looked up into his face, pleading to be given the chance to be taken seriously; to show what she was made of.
The real Fliss Bagshawe.
He gave her a measuring look and it was as if the scales had fallen from his eyes and he as seeing her for the first time. Really seeing her. And although he frowned down on her hand on his arm, he didn’t shrug it off. In fact, it seemed that - just for a second, he actually welcomed the physical contact and her reassuring, comforting touch. As though intimacy and tenderness had been missing from his life for a long time. The air around them felt charged, electrified, but whether that was because of the storm and the falling barometer or the way his arm muscles flexed under her hand, Fliss couldn’t say. Whatever the reason, they both took a deep breath and of one accord took a step away from each other.
And it was down to business.
‘I guess we’ll need all the help we can muster tonight.’
He took a heavy riding mac off a coat peg and held it out for her to slip her arms into. She knew he was only acting the gentleman and she shouldn’t read anything more into the gesture than that, but she was touched by his show of good manners. She shivered. Not because his fingers had grazed the back of her neck when he’d untucked the collar, or because his breath touched her cheek. But, because the coat was cold and damp from hanging unused in the porch - or at least, that’s what she told herself.
Then, not caring for her carefully styled updo, she removed the clasps holding it in place, shook her curls loose and crammed on an unflattering but practical sou’wester.
‘Ready?’ His voice was gruff, as if watching her shaking her curls free had affected him in some fundamental way.
‘Ready,’ she replied, buttoning up the last fastening on the riding mac and shoving her shoes in her coat pockets.
When Ruairi opened the door, the force of the wind blew her backwards into his arms and he caught her and steadied her against his chest. She thought she could feel the heat from his body pulsing through two thicknesses of coat - and wondered if that was possible, or if it was just her imagination. They stayed in that position longer than was strictly necessary, neither of them seemingly keen to break free.
Then Fliss muttered her thanks and they drew apart. And she was glad, as they made their way up the windswept path towards the Tigh na Locha that conversation was impossible and her burning cheeks couldn’t be seen in the darkness.
They entered the house via the kitchens where volunteers were heating soup and spreading sandwiches. Ruairi said a few encouraging words to them en passant and Fliss saw the respectful way they responded to him. She didn’t know what constituted the Kinloch Mara Emergency Plan but she guessed that if Ruairi and Murdo had drawn it up, it would be near enough bombproof.
Murdo, Cat, Angus and Mitzi were waiting for Ruairi in the hall.
‘Fliss has volunteered to organise triage for the stranded passengers until the emergency services arrive. I want everyone to help her, once they’ve finished their allotted tasks,’ Ruairi ordered, without preamble.
‘Good for you, Fliss,’ Murdo said, patting her shoulder encouragingly. ‘Our designated first aider is stranded on the other side of the bridge. As is our local GP, Jack Dunbar.’
Isla chose that moment to saunter out of the dining room a little worse for wear. She gave them a scalding look, clearly none too pleased that Murdo’s hand was resting lightly on Fliss’s shoulder. Since the episode on the veranda, she’d been very cool towards Fliss - freezing her out, giving her a killing look and behaving like a dog in the manger where Murdo was concerned. Fliss moved away from Murdo; she liked him and enjoyed his company, but had no intention of being party to whatever game the two of them were playing.
The thought was quickly dismissed as Ruairi and Murdo pulled on neon safety jackets and hurried back towards the kitchens looking suitably manly and heroic. Isla turned towards the stairs, making plain that none of this had anything to do with her. She made her way unsteadily upstairs and Cat was about to follow suit when Fliss grabbed her by the arm.
‘Are you mad! Don’t you see that this is your big chance to prove to Ruairi how capable you can be in a crisis? Your helping tonight could be the very thing that makes him think twice about sending you to a crammer this summer. Perhaps even persuade him to find you the placement at the vet’s in Port Urquhart you’re so keen on.’
Cat threw her arms round Fliss’s neck.
‘Fliss - you are a bloody genius.’
When Fliss disentangled herself from Cat’s enthusiastic hug, Mitzi and Angus were standing by the fireside waiting for her instructions.
Letting her take the lead as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Chapter Twenty Three
‘Several years ago, a landslide blocked the road to Kinloch Mara and we only just managed to hold the fort until help arrived,’ Cat explained as Fliss set up her triage station in the hall. ‘Ruairi vowed that he wouldn’t allow that to happen again and drew up a contingency plan - after consulting the emergency services and WRVS, of course. But essentially the Kinloch Mara Emergency Plan is his baby.’
The pride in her voice was unmistakable and Fliss hid a smile. Cat had certainly changed since the night of the party when she’d called Ruairi everything from a pig to a dog. Ever since their heart-to-heart in the Wee Hoose two days ago she appeared to have gained a new respect for him - and a developing understanding that he had her best interests at heart.
‘We certainly appear to have everything necessary to cope with an emergency,’ Fliss replied as she laid out the first aid equipment on a carved chest draped in white cloth. ‘Antiseptic, butterfly closures and cold compresses; bandages and sterile dressings; tweezers, barrier gloves and some generic analgesics. That should keep us going until the emergency services arrive.’
‘Urgh. What about this?’ Cat held up a box containing a defibrillator. Fliss took it from her and pushed it out of sight under the hooded porter’s chair.
‘I’m not trained to use one of those. It’s best that we don’t let people see it. In my experience, even the most unflappable person can freak out at the sight of medical equipment.’
She half expected some flippant remark from Cat, but she was carrying out tasks without a fuss, obviously seizing the opportunity to show herself in a positive light to Ruairi and increase her chances of becoming a veterinary nurse.
By the same token, Fliss knew this was her big moment, a chance to show how capable she was in a crisis. She was mulling over the idea and composing herself for what lay ahead when the first of the Land Rovers pulled up in front of the house. Jaimsie, who’d been vigorously stoking the large fire in the grate, raised his head and announced self-importantly: ‘It’s Himself.’
‘Oh,’ Cat responded,
nervously.
‘Just do everything I say and you’ll be fine.’ Hiding her own nerves, Fliss put a reassuring hand on Cat’s arm. Despite her brave words, her fingers were transformed into thumbs and the rolled up bandage slipped out of them as Ruairi swept into the hall - waxed coat billowing out behind him, leaves and debris swirling in his wake.
Full of authority, he paused in the doorway and took in Fliss’s triage station, the staff and volunteers going about their allotted tasks and Cat folding blankets with one encompassing glance. For a few seconds everyone stopped and turned towards him, seeking reassurance and leadership. Although they were in the middle of a full blown emergency, Fliss sensed that he welcomed the opportunity to be put to the test. He was the Laird of Kinloch Mara - it was what he’d been born to.
Removing his Akubra, he skimmed it Frisbee-like towards a stag’s head mounted on the wall. It caught on one of the stag’s antlers and perched there at a rakish angle. This was clearly a well-practiced trick and made everyone laugh, releasing the pent-up tension in the hall.
‘Spot on, double - oh - seven,’ giggled Cat, playing Miss Moneypenny to his Bond. He flashed a smile as he slipped off his neon safety waistcoat and tossed it onto a chair.
‘You’ve all been busy. Well done. Everyone’s skills will be called upon this evening.’ He addressed them collectively but Fliss felt his remarks were addressed to her alone. She sensed his scorching regard and stress on the word skills was his way of warning that her Florence Nightingale Act had better be genuine. Not some new game she’d thought up to take advantage of the situation.
She knew she was here under sufferance. She didn’t need him ramming it home every five minutes. Especially not tonight when she needed to be on top of her game and remember her first aid training from years ago. She glared back at him, look for look, and hoped he got the message!
As if suddenly recalling why Fliss was wearing a large apron over her wrap dress and had set up a triage station in the hall, Ruairi shook off his mood.