by Lizzie Lamb
‘On Ruairi’s instructions,’ Fliss put in, keeping her temper. ‘To check that everything’s ready for the Open Day? Make your mind up, Isla. Either its Ruairi I’m after, or Murdo.’
‘Or both,’ Isla spat out jealously.
‘Oh - kay,’ Fliss let out a long breath. ‘And are Angus and Jaimsie the piper on my To Do List, too? You really are a dog in-the-manger, aren’t you?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning you don’t want Murdo but you don’t want anyone else to have him, either.’
‘Think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?’ Isla’s blue eyes blazed with suppressed anger.
Fliss shrugged. ‘Forget it - this conversation is getting us nowhere. I’ll finish your head massage and -’
‘Tell me one thing,’ Isla demanded, grabbing Fliss urgently by the wrist. ‘Will you speak to Ruairi on my behalf?’
‘As I’ve tried to explain, I haven’t offered to act as go-between for Cat and Ruairi I don’t think I should for you, either. Talk to your brother, instead of pushing him into a corner and you might be surprised at his reaction.’ She pulled her wrist free of Isla’s death grip and rubbed the reddened skin with her free hand. ‘Your family needs to sit down and talk to each other.’
‘Spare me the psychobabble. I don’t need your insightful comments and neither does my family.’
‘Suit yourself.’
Fliss gave another shrug and Becky’s acronym sprung into mind. P.I.N.T.A - pain in the arse. Although monumental pain in the arse would be nearer the mark this morning.
‘Oh don’t worry,’ Isla assured Fliss, her eyes hard as flint. ‘I intend to do just that.’
‘Nothing new there, then,’ Fliss commented unconcernedly.
If she was burning her bridges with Miss Isla - up - her - own - bottom Urquhart, so be it. She gave Isla a bring it on challenging look, the one that had seen her through many dodgy situations on the mean streets of Pimlico, and gathered her equipment together.
The therapy centre Open Day was next week, she was half way to earning Ruairi Urquhart’s approval and was hero of the hour for delivering little Iona safely.
What was the worst Isla could do?
Chapter Twenty Six
Fliss was standing by the kitchen sink deep in thought, staring across the beach towards the loch when Ruairi called out to her.
‘Fliss?’
‘In the kitchen.’ She pulled herself out of her daydream, turned round and acted as though she was totally cool about everything that had happened last night. But her heart was thumping and her mouth was dry as sand when Ruairi walked into the kitchen.
‘Fliss - about last night …’ he cut to the chase.
Knees buckling and blood pressure rocketing, Fliss was glad she had the sink unit to lean against for support. She shut her mind to how sexy he looked in combat trousers, faded Superdry t-shirt and ancient gilet. She ignored the way the light from the window gave his hair a dull bloom, like a chough’s wing; and how his eyes - usually so flinty and full of mistrust - were now regarding her with a mixture of amusement and something deeper.
Something more dangerous.
‘Tea. You’d like a cup of tea wouldn’t you?’ To maintain her tenuous grip on reality she fetched mugs, teabags and sugar out of the cupboard and made a great play of arranging them on the island unit; using the action to delay the moment when he said: last night was a mistake. Can we put it behind us and pretend it never happened?
‘No, I wouldn’t like a cup of tea. Can you please stop behaving like a demented Stepford Wife and listen to me for a few minutes.’ He leaned against the larder unit, folded his arms across his chest and gave her an impatient look.
Minutes? What did he have to say that would take minutes to deliver? Clearly, things were a lot more serious than she thought. Distracted, she started spooning sugar into Ruairi’s mug - six heaped spoons of the stuff.
‘Are you trying to give me diabetes?’ He laughed, covered the floor in three long strides, took the spoon out of her hand and placed the sugar out of harm’s way. Then, quite unexpectedly, he took her hands in his and stilled them. Aware that she had to maintain an appearance of dignity if she was to cope with his rejection, Fliss freed herself from his grasp. ‘Relax.’ He gave her a lopsided smile. ‘I just wanted to thank you for everything you did last night. And to say …’
‘It was nothing - nothing,’ she stammered. But when he captured her hands for the second time, she didn’t snatch them away.
‘Hardly nothing. You started the night off as first responder and by the end of it had safely delivered a baby. And throughout you remained cool, calm and collected.’ His eyes never left her face, and his thumb slowly massaged the blue veins on the underside of her wrist. He looked as if he was a different person this morning and was seeing the world - and her - through new eyes. And it was a revelation to him.
‘Well,’ she gulped as his touch did crazy things to her pulse, ‘probably two out of the three.’
He laughed at her quip and then was suddenly sober. ‘I’ve been hard on you since you set foot in Kinloch Mara, Fliss - and I’m sorry.’ The last three words made goose bumps break out all over her; and when he bent his dark head and kissed her upturned wrists, she found it hard to breath. But she knew she had to concentrate, ignore the siren call of her body and say her piece.
‘You did what you felt was right. But you were wrong; very wrong. You’ve made my life difficult - almost impossible - because of a preconceived idea you had about me and my intentions. Which have always been to make the therapy centre a success, to hope that I might be regarded as a friend of the family - and be treated as such - for as long as I remain in Kinloch Mara.’
‘Believe me - I’ve been a lot harder on myself.’
‘Oh really? In what way?’
She snatched her hands away. It would take more than honeyed words and the rhythmic stroking of her erogenous zones to win her over. His apology was long overdue and she wanted it in its entirety: chapter, verse and available for download.
‘You know - yomping over the hills, hardly getting any sleep, taking no pleasure in food and drink.’ He ignored her less than enthusiastic response. ‘Snapping at the staff - including poor old Murdo. Everything tasted like ashes in my mouth; and when I did managed to swallow something it stuck in my craw, because I knew - deep down - how unfair I was being towards you. But I couldn’t stop myself suspecting the worst of you; it became a compulsion. A daily fix I couldn’t do without.’
‘And -’she prompted.
‘I want to make amends.’
‘How do you propose doing that?’
‘Well - for starters …’ He ran his fingers through his thick hair, making it stand on end like a cockscomb. ‘I thought I’d ask you out on a date.’
‘A date?’
‘Yes. What do you say? I’ve got to sail over to the island in the middle of the loch - An t-Eileen Molach - to check the equipment.’
‘What sort of equipment?’
‘We monitor the island for evidence of global warming and pass on the data to Scottish Natural Heritage - Dualchas Nadair na h-Alba, if you want the full Gaelic version. What’s so funny?’ he frowned.
‘Is “come over to the island and help me check my equipment” the Gaelic equivalent “come up and see my etchings”?’
‘It is, if you want it to be,’ he informed her with a wicked grin. His cobalt eyes darkened and he gave her a searching look, clearly trying to gauge her mood. It was as if he was wondering how to proceed, how to win her over; little knowing that he had her at: I’ve been wrong about you and I’m sorry.
‘I - I’d like to sail over to the island with you. For scientific purposes, you understand.’ She tried to hold out against him, to prolong her cool regard but a bubble of happiness threatened her outward show of sang-froid. It welled in her throat and came out as a hiccup of laughter. Everything was going to be all right between them. Inside she was doing a happy dance,
while to all outward appearances she remained as he’d said earlier: cool, calm and collected.
‘Purely academic,’ he agreed, nodding solemnly. ‘Now?’
‘What - now?’
‘It’s the global warning, you see, it waits for no man.’
‘I thought that was time and tide,’ she corrected.
‘Time, tide and global warming wait for no man. I’m shocked to find that amusing Miss Bagshawe.’ He tutted and shook his head like an old professor of climatology as she laughed.
‘There.’ She covered her face with her right hand and when she lowered it, her expression was grave. ‘Better?’
‘Much better.’ There was a definite glint in his eye as he took a step towards her, pressing her back against the sink. ‘Still, it all might be an act. You might come over to the island, help me check the equipment and collect stats and then not take it seriously.’
‘Oh, I’m taking this seriously; believe me.’ Boldly, she bought her face closer to his and concentrated on his lips, the stubble round his chin, the laughter lines fanning out from his gorgeous blue eyes. Then his features swam out of focus and she was forced to close her eyes or go cross-eyed. So she didn’t see his head bending towards her, or the corresponding flush of colour spread along his cheeks as he drew closer. But she felt the kiss when it came, so soft and light that it was over in a second - leaving her wanting more. She let out a little moue of regret that was matched by Ruairi’s throaty groan, as though he’d tired of their playacting
‘Enough, Fliss. For the love of …’
Putting his hands on either side of her hips, he drew her into his body. His arousal was unmissable and her nipples hardened in response as warm heat, like melted dark chocolate being freed from the centre of an exotic desert, spread through her. They kissed properly for the first time. It was an untidy kiss - a clash of lips, teeth and questing tongues as they sought out the essence of each other. Then Ruairi placed one hand behind her neck and pulled her more tightly into the clinch as though he couldn’t get enough of her.
His stubble grazed her soft skin. She felt his heart hammering against her breasts and revelled in the knowledge that she had won this proud man over. He released her from the kiss and she became aware of the hard edge of the sink against the small of her back, their rapid breathing and the bruised feel to her lips. She raised her fingers to his mouth, wonderingly, and he drew them into his mouth and sucked each one in turn – his eyes never leaving her face. Lost in the moment, she tipped her head back and closed her eyes as he took the weight of it in his hand. Then, after long seconds, he released her fingers with a playful nip.
‘I take it that means,’ he coughed, to clear his voice, husky with desire, ‘that you would like to come to the island?’
She slipped sideways out of his grasp and made a great play of straightening her clothes. ‘For purely scientific reasons you understand,’ she said firmly. Although she guessed that the sparking light in her grey-green eyes made her intentions pretty clear.
‘Very well, you’ll need to change,’ he said pragmatically, although his roving gaze seemingly revelled in the sight of her tight fitting t-shirt and shorts. ‘Otherwise you’ll be a feast for the midges. Trousers, socks and a long sleeved top. We’ll both spray ourselves with insect repellent - the midges will be dancing after last night’s storm. But there’s a beach on the island - the island’s name: An t-Eileen Molach means shingly beach - where the midges will leave us alone. We can have a picnic there.’
‘Oh, should I make sandwiches and a flask of coffee,’ she reached out for the cupboards but he caught her hand and drew her into his arms again.
‘In true Blue Peter fashion, there’s one on the boat I made earlier.’
‘You made earlier?’ she raised an eyebrow.
‘Okay, the kitchen staff made earlier. What’s the point in being laird if you have to make your own sandwiches?’ he asked and gave her another stonking great kiss before freeing her. ‘Five minutes. Then I’m gone.’ He glanced at his watch and then gave her a get-on-with-it look that turned her insides to molten chocolate once more.
‘I’ll be down in four.’
‘Three and a half,’ he admonished and rooted in the fridge in search of something to drink while she scooted upstairs, with wings on her feet.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Ruairi led the way through the rhododendron bushes and along a well-trodden path before fetching up at boathouse. A jetty reached out into the loch like a pointing finger and moored at the end was a boat which took Fliss’s breath away. She’d been expecting a dinghy with an outboard motor and a couple of life jackets tossed casually in the back to take them to the island. Instead, here was a beautiful launch all burnished teak and glass - with a cabin taking up half the deck, and a scallop edged canopy on brass stanchions covering the remainder.
‘Wh-what is it?’
‘It’s a 1920’s saloon launch commissioned by my great-great-grandparents shortly before their wedding. See the name?’
‘The Heart of the Highlands. Oh, that’s so romantic.’ Embarrassed by her outburst Fliss ran along the jetty to touch the gleaming prow with its brass fittings, coiled ropes and inlaid teak gratings.
‘My great-great-grandfather was gassed in the closing stages of the First World War,’ Ruairi explained when he caught up with her. ‘A hurried marriage was arranged because he wasn’t expected to live - and, less romantically, because the Urquharts could see my great-great grandmother’s considerable dowry slipping out of their hands. At one point, it was uncertain whether the priest would be administering the last rites or conducting a wedding service. My great-great-grandmother nursed him back to health and the boat was their wedding present to each other.’
‘How romantic is that?’ Fliss asked as she clambered on board and then grimaced as she realised she’d used the word romantic twice in under five minutes. He must think her an idealistic airhead! ‘So was it a love match in the end?’ she asked, to move the conversation along.
‘Oh yes, they weren’t denied their happy ending,’ Ruairi smiled. Then his face clouded over briefly, as if he was thinking about his and Fiona’s story, which didn’t have such a happy conclusion. The more Fliss learned about their disastrous engagement, the more she longed to find out. But today - she told herself firmly - was neither the time nor the place for twenty questions.
They climbed on board The Heart of the Highlands and the deck rocked beneath their feet. Fliss let out a little yelp and grabbed at his sleeve. That appeared to bring him out of his dream because he caught her by the elbow, then after a moment’s hesitation, pulled her into his arms. He tilted her chin and regarded her with apparent wonderment; and then he spread his hands along the small of her back and bent his head to kiss her. Their mouths touched - and the gentle swaying of the boat at its moorings was forgotten as his hand found the hollow between her shoulder blades and he deepened the kiss. Fliss’s heart lurched at the intensity of emotion channelled into the kiss and twined her fingers into his thick dark hair. When they finally pulled apart, they were both breathless and she was surprised that she could stand unsupported.
‘Woops.’ She tried to make light of her reaction to being kissed so thoroughly, but the current pushed the launch against the side of the jetty and she was pushed into his arms. ‘I’m such a landlubber,’ she laughed, moving from him on the pretext of examining the beautiful launch.
She let out a long, shaky breath. Time to slow things down or she’d burst into flames and the vintage boat would be reduced to a pile of charred timbers beneath her feet. As if reading her mind, Ruairi gave a rueful smile and then guided her to a companion seat near the helm, located in the middle of the deck. He slipped a life jacket over his head and then passed one to her and left her to tie the fastenings. Patently thinking it was best to keep physical contact between them to a minimum.
‘We’re sailing over to An t-Eileen Molach,’ he said. His voice was gruff and betrayed his pent-up emo
tion.
‘Shingly beach. See, I remembered.’
‘So you did. I’ll reward you later.’ He gave her a look of such promise that she shivered with anticipation at what might unfold on the island, far away from prying eyes.
She smiled to herself, secretly wondering at the change in him - from bad tempered wolf to sexy, beguiling laird. Surely, this change in him - in her - was too sudden to be more than pure physical reaction. Too unexpected to be real? She held on to the thought and used it to armour herself against the full onslaught of his charm which was slowly chipping away at her resolve. All she wanted to do was lay down with him on the padded couch under the glass-sided saloon and make love until the sun sank below the western hills.
But she knew that wasn’t a good idea and wrapped her arms around herself as her skin prickled all over with goose bumps. In contrast, Ruairi appeared in command of his emotions as he turned the key in the ignition and steered The Heart of the Highlands out into the open water. A picnic basket had been placed on a table in the middle of the glassed-in saloon next to an apple box containing scientific equipment. So it was a bona fide expedition after all! That would give them something to think and talk about other than themselves and keep the atmosphere light and teasing.
Not to mention help them to keep their hands off each other.
‘I can’t believe the change in the weather from last night. Little Iona was certainly born on the back of a storm.’
‘It often happens that a summer storm blows itself out as quickly as it arrives.’ Clearly, he was following her lead and manoeuvring the conversation onto less controversial topics. ‘Don’t worry about sailing conditions - the weather’s set fair for today. I checked the forecast and the barometer. Apart from which, the boat has a draft of two feet - which means it will float in very shallow water, making it ideal for mooring close to the island.’