Tall, Dark and Kilted

by Lizzie Lamb

  They fell silent as The Heart of the Highlands made its way along the loch, the beautiful scenery providing the necessary distraction to the thoughts running through their heads.

  The gently sloping hills on either side of the loch appeared to touch and Fliss was disappointed to think that their journey would soon be over because they’d reached the far end of the loch. But as they rounded each promontory, the loch stretched out before them all the way to the sea. The sky was a pure, clear blue and at vanishing point, where the faint outline of an island could be seen, puffy clouds hung over the distant hills.

  It was all too perfect for words.

  The wind ruffled Fliss’s hair and she was filled with a sense of happiness and well-being. She felt so at home in this beautiful setting, drinking in the colours and scents of Kinloch Mara, that her senses - already under siege from Ruairi’s passionate kisses - were momentarily overwhelmed. A sob rose in her throat. Feeling suddenly foolish - and anxious to escape Ruairi’s knowing gaze, she leaned over the side of the launch and trailed her fingers in the water as the launch chugged along.

  ‘Be careful. The each-uisge has been known to drag unsuspecting maidens down to his lair.’

  ‘Ech ooshskya,’ Fliss copied his pronunciation as she took her place back by his side. ‘Sounds like the Gaelic for whisky: ooshkie bah-ha. So it must be something to do with water?’

  ‘You learn quickly, young apprentice,’ Ruairi laughed and put his free hand on her shoulder. ‘Must be all that Klingon you picked up as a child.’ Fliss had a suitable retort ready, but then she saw the laughter in his eyes and smiled back. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t resist.’

  ‘Well, you should have tried harder - Klingon, indeed.’ She pretended to be offended but her heart leapt in her ribcage and she revelled in his praise. ‘I - I would love to learn Gaelic,’ she began hesitantly, ‘so I can speak it to my clients. But …’ I’m only passing through. Like the birds that fly away at the end of the season.

  The unspoken thought hung in the air and Fliss experienced a pang of sadness. She never wanted to leave this beautiful place and for the first time in years she felt that she actually belonged somewhere. Then she pulled herself up sharply, no point in spoiling the day worrying over what the future held, so she changed the subject.

  ‘What is an each-uisge, exactly? A monster?’

  ‘A water horse. The old legend tells how An t-Eileen Molach was guarded by a particularly fierce one. But a fearless Urquhart ancestress - for, it goes without saying that Urquhart women laugh in the face of danger - sailed over to confront the beast and demand that she and her descendants be allowed to land on the island.’

  Urquhart women laugh in the face of danger.

  Fliss was transported back to the night of the party when Isla had been totally unconcerned at the prospect of being arrested and charged with affray. Now she realised it was her way of scoring points off Ruairi, no matter what the cost to herself.

  ‘And?’ she prompted, dismissing Isla from her thoughts.

  ‘The water horse agreed, on condition that he was allowed to father a child on her.’ He took in Fliss’s expression and laughed. ‘Men, huh? I’m only telling you how it was in those days.’

  ‘Not so different from now. Go on,’ she sent him an arch, I don’t believe any of this, look.

  ‘A child was born. A boy - with sand in his hair and on his chest. A sure sign of union between a human and a water horse. This was the Urquhart who conquered Kinloch Mara all the way to the sea and claimed it for himself - with the help from his father the water horse.’

  ‘That is a weird and wonderful story. But everything about Kinloch Mara is so magical that I’m half inclined to believe it.’ She looked up at him, feeling a sense of freedom at being able to reveal - at last - how much she’d grown to love this place. He smiled, and his grip on her shoulder tightened as he swallowed hard and visibly struggled to hide his emotion.

  ‘Is that what you really think about Kinloch Mara?’ he asked, staring ahead with the wind ruffling his dark hair. It was plain that he didn’t want to look at her and influence her in any way. Fliss, sensing that her answer mattered and that it was important to be completely honest, thought for several long seconds before she spoke.

  ‘This is a special place. Supernatural, almost.’

  ‘Ah; you feel it, too.’ After that, there seemed nothing left to say and they remained silent - watching the dark mass of An t-Eileen Molach draw nearer.

  The island was almost entirely covered in tall pine trees, different from any she’d seen before. Some were past their prime and leaned drunkenly against their neighbour, like they’d had a hard night carousing in Port Urquhart. Others grew tall and straight - a metaphor for all that was best in highland manhood.

  Ruairi threw the engines into reverse and tossed a small anchor with a buoy attached to it over the side.

  ‘Come on,’ he pulled Fliss to her feet. They’d anchored a little way off from the shore and Fliss looked warily over the side of the launch.

  ‘How do we …’

  By way of an answer Ruairi took off his boat shoes, laced them together, slung them round his neck and then dropped over the side. He held up his hands and asked Fliss to pass him the picnic basket.

  ‘I’ll come back for the scientific stuff - and you.’

  ‘I can wade ashore.’

  ‘What. And risk losing you to the each-uisge? No way,’ he laughed at her stubborn expression. ‘You stay in the launch; then you can pass me the apple box on the next trip, otherwise I’ll have to climb back on board for it.’

  ‘Yes, Cap’n,’ she saluted, ironically. He waded through the shallows with the picnic basket, returning minutes later for the apple box of test tubes and monitoring equipment. Then it was her turn. She didn’t want him to think she was a wimpy southerner, so she slipped over the side into water which came up to her crotch.

  ‘Uh - uh. M - My God, you didn’t tell me the water was so cold.’

  ‘You are such a Sassenach. The loch gets its waters from the hills - although it is warmed by the Gulf Stream.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel like it.’

  ‘That’s why I told you to wait until I fetched you. Now we’re both wet. Come on, I’ll get a fire going on the beach and soon warm us up.’ He took her by the hand and led her through the shallows; the look he shot her enough to send the blood racing through her frozen extremities and bring the colour back to her cheeks. As they waded ashore, Fliss hoped that the cold waters would cool their ardour and help to keep her mind on higher things.

  Half an hour later, Ruairi had a fire going on the beach well away from nearby vegetation, although after last night’s downpour he’d judged it unlikely that anything would catch a stray spark.

  ‘The trees are so tall and slender,’ Fliss remarked, looking upwards as she drank hot chocolate laced with hazelnut syrup while her trousers dried on a makeshift clothes horse. ‘I’m used to the trees in London parks being deciduous and wide enough to give shade from the sun. But these are magnificent.’

  ‘These are the remnants of the Caledonian Forest that once spread over Scotland. When climate change brought a wetter, warmer environment their roots became waterlogged and they died. There are clusters of the original Caledonian Forest to be found throughout Scotland - our nearest is Beinn Eighe near Inverewe.’

  ‘A bit like overwatering the plants on the kitchen windowsill?’

  ‘Exactly. Now … Dulchas Nadair na h - Alba - Scottish Natural Heritage,’ he paused and shot her a considering look. ‘Are you sure you want to hear all this? Most women aren’t interested.’

  ‘I’m not most women.’ He gave her an old fashioned look that suggested he’d worked that one out for himself. ‘I want to learn more about this island and your heritage.’ The steady look, she sent him demanded that he take her interest seriously.

  ‘Okay; but I warn you, I can be quite evangelical on the subject.’

  ‘I’d expect nothing less.’
She was surprised when he leapt to his feet and held out his hand.

  ‘Come on. If you dare.’

  ‘Dare what?’

  ‘See the island from the best vantage point. Be warned though, you’ll need a head for heights and nerves of steel …’

  ‘I braved the water horse, didn’t I?’

  ‘Aye, ye did that,’ he said in his best highland brogue. ‘Yer a brave lassie, and no mistake - braving the habitat of the each-uisge, but …’

  ‘But nothing! Let me put my trousers back on.’ She was very aware of the Brazilian cut lacy underwear beneath the tartan rug she’d wrapped round herself like a sarong. She got dressed - much as she had done as a child on Clacton sands when she’d changed into her swimming costume on the beach beneath a large bath towel. She saw his amused, engaged look as she tossed the rug aside and stood in her still damp clothing.

  ‘Don’t laugh at my modesty. You have the blood of an each-uisge running through your veins. I’m not sure you’re entirely to be trusted - alone on this island with an unmarried female.’

  ‘Very proper,’ he drawled. The look he gave her suggested that the same thoughts had been running through his head on a loop ever since their arrival on the island. Taking her hand he led the way through the plantation of pine trees, their passage muffled by a thick carpet of pine needles and moss. Eventually, they stopped at the foot of one tree which looked three quarters dead and leaned against its neighbour at a forty five degree angle.

  ‘If you’re sure.’ Ruairi gave her a chance to back out of whatever he had in mind.

  ‘I’m sure. Bring it on.

  ‘Very well. You go first.’

  ‘First?’ She hung back while he demonstrated how to climb the pine tree using a long knotted rope dangling from its canopy.

  ‘I’m right behind you. I’ll catch you if you slip. Don’t worry; the Urquharts have been climbing this tree for as long as I can remember.’

  She was about to say: But I’m not an Urquhart, but stopped herself in time. Instead, she substituted: ‘If the tree’s dead, why don’t you chop it up for firewood?’

  ‘I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Miss Bagshawe. It might look dead to you, but its home to crypto-fauna - small creatures you can’t see but who thrive in this woodland habitat.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll try not to tread on any - crypto fauna? - as I make my way along it.’ She shinned up the tree branch by branch, trying to ignore that Ruairi had a grandstand view of her bottom and still wet underwear pressing against the thin stuff of her trousers.

  Luckily, she’d always been a bit of a tomboy so it didn’t take long before she dismissed the thought and relished in the challenge instead. Soon she was at the top of the tree leaning into its canopy and shading her eyes as she looked out towards the horizon.

  ‘I didn’t realise that Kinloch Mara was so big,’ she said as Ruairi came up behind her. Two thoughts immediately sprang to mind: one, it was no surprise that he was proud of his inheritance. And, secondly - no wonder mothers in the Highlands and Islands considered him a catch for their daughters, although relatively impoverished.

  ‘You climb trees surprisingly well - for a girl,’ he teased, standing with his arms on either side of her, his chin resting on top of her head. ‘See there? Straight ahead at twelve o’clock?’ She caught his signature aftershave as he pointed out over the pines and his sleeve grazed her cheek. She took in a deep breath and held it. ‘The sea. The old Gael name for our settlement is Ceann Loch na Mara: the head of the loch by the sea. But over time it became Kinloch Mara - easier to say, I guess.’

  Fliss sighed deeply and leaned back against his chest almost without thinking. ‘I love the history and culture as well as the scenery of Kinloch Mara. Bit different to Walthamstow where I grew up - or Pimlico where I have my flat.’

  ‘Everyone’s location is exotic to someone else,’ he breathed into her ear and turned her round to face him, taking care that she didn’t lose her balance. ‘You’re exotic and intoxicating; know that?’ She shook her head and looked down at the ground and then wished she hadn’t. She suddenly had a sense of how high up they were and lost her nerve and her footing. She lurched forward and clung to him as though her life depended on it and the intense moment passed. ‘Come on, let’s climb down and I’ll show you more of the island. Then we can take our samples and head back.’

  Five minutes later they were carrying the apple box between them, the test tubes and phials clinking together like champagne glasses as Ruairi explained how global warming was raising the temperature of the water in the loch.

  ‘We have to send water samples to be analysed to see if the water is becoming more - or less, acidic. Changes in the loch’s temperature and alkali balance affects what can grow on the island. Some of the rare native species we’ve got here: tooth and wood hedgehog fungus could be swamped by foreign invaders such as New Zealand Pygmy Weed and Nuttall’s Pondweed. The peat bogs on the island are host to an amazing collection of dragonflies and we don’t want to lose that because the climate’s becoming milder and damper.’

  ‘Tooth fungus?’ she questioned as she watched him fill the phials with water from a peat bog where weeds grew round the margins. It was the perfect habitat for dragonflies and she longed to return in August to see them shed their nymph skins and morph into beautiful creatures with iridescent wings.

  ‘Yes. Tooth fungus - here’s some. When Cat was little she called it the ‘tooth fairy’ and thought that the fairy lived on our very own island. I didn’t like to disillusion her.’ Fliss knelt down and examined some pinkish brown stripes on the fungus which did look like a row of teeth.

  ‘You know, Cat’s a great girl and has been very helpful, setting up the therapy centre.’ Maybe this would be a good time to broach the subject of her training as a veterinary nurse. ‘She’s practical and hardworking and I - I’ve had several heart-to-hearts with her.’ She took a deep breath before continuing. ‘She says she doesn’t want to go to university but would like to become a veterinary nurse.’

  ‘She does?’ he looked surprised.

  ‘She’s got a great way with animals and …’ she didn’t say any more because she could tell that he was mulling over the idea.

  ‘A veterinary nurse? Hmm. I suppose I could call in a few favours and organise some experience for her at the vet’s practice in Port Urquhart over the summer and see how she gets on. To be honest, I was beginning to think that Cat wasn’t cut out for academic life, given her last few reports.’

  ‘That’d be great,’ Fliss added casually, not wanting to overplay her hand. ‘It’d keep her occupied, on the estate and far away from London and temptation. I’m sure Murdo would be happy to keep an eye on her.’

  ‘I’ll give it some thought.’ Then he changed the subject. ‘While you were drying out your clothes I checked that the monitoring equipment hadn’t been damaged in the gale, and took the latest readings of air pollution so I can email the results to Scottish Natural Heritage.’ It was clear that he took the job seriously and Fliss felt sudden sympathy for him - being pulled away from his degree course when his father had died.

  ‘Dulchas Nadair na h - Alba.’ She read the name on the label Ruairi stuck over the phial, rolling the strange vowel sounds around her tongue.

  ‘Work’s over for today. I brought you out onto the island as a reward for everything you did last night, not to use you as an unpaid lab assistant. Come here.’ He spread the rug over a small mound of moss and springy heather which, as she sank down onto it, Fliss discovered was almost like a mattress topper. ‘Fancy a wee nip?’ He brought a hip flask out of the pocket of his combat pants and passed it to her. Fliss wasn’t sure that she’d ever learn to like whisky but she took a sip and handed the flask back to him. He leaned on his elbow and twined one long strand of her hair round his finger, using it to pull her closer.

  ‘Freckles,’ he grinned. ‘You’ve got freckles. Lots of them. Must be your auburn hair and pale skin,’ he reflected, apparently
in no hurry to release her. He traced his fingers over her cheeks and lips and examined her face, minutely. ‘Quite a combination; and your eyes, are they grey or green?’

  ‘Bit of both, I guess.’ All her life, Fliss had hated her freckles, but given the way he was examining her face, she thought she might learn to love them.

  During the pleasurably drawn out seconds, Fliss reached out and curled her fingers round the exposed skin on the underside of his wrist where the ragged cuff of his shirt fell short. Reaction to the touch sparked between them like an electrical charge. For a moment, the world became peripheral, the entire universe contained in this sunlit glade where the light filtered through the pine trees and the whine of midges sounded in their ears.

  Then Fliss took hold of his other wrist and, catching him off guard, rolled him onto his back and straddled him. Unhurriedly, without taking her eyes off his face, she undid the buttons of his shirt and traced her fingers over the fine dark hair on his chest. Putting his hands behind his head, he closed his eyes and allowed her to trace the line from the firm column of his neck to just above the waistband of his combat pants where the dark hair tapered downwards. Although he appeared unmoved by her far from clinical examination, she felt the rapid beat of his heart beneath her outstretched palm and his penis press against the inside of her thigh, strong and impatient to be released.

  ‘Looking for something?’ he asked huskily, keeping his eyes closed.

  ‘To see if the legend of the each-uisge is true and you’ve got sand on your chest.’

  ‘This much is true.’ He flipped her over on to her back and putting his hands on either side of her face, pressed the length of his body against hers. Now it was Fliss’s turn to close her eyes and part her lips as she revelled in the length of him and his weight on her. He let out a sexy growl, lowered his head and kissed her with such diligence that for long moments all that could be heard was their ragged breaths and the soughing of the wind in the pines. Fliss untucked his shirt and moved her hands inside so that her fingers fanned out across the strong planes of his lower back. Then, carried away by his kisses, she slid her fingers underneath his belt and raised her pelvis towards him instinctively, seductively.