by Lizzie Lamb
There. It was out; she’d given him something back - a confession that she hid behind the curtains every morning in the hope of catching a glimpse of him.
‘I think I know the one,’ he said, gentleman enough not to acknowledge her confession. But when he turned towards her, his eyes were shining and he couldn’t conceal his joy at her volte-face. ‘Shall we say half an hour? Afterwards, I’d like you to come up on the hills with me there’s something I’d like to show you.’
‘More etchings?’ she raised her eyebrow.
‘A Brocken Spectre - if we’re lucky.’
‘A what spectre? Like Most Haunted?’ Now her curiosity was piqued.
‘You’ll see.’
‘What should I wear?’
‘Plenty of protection against the -’
‘Spectres?’
‘The midges.’
He bent down and took the mug from her slack fingers, his face just inches from hers. Fliss sensed that he badly wanted to kiss her and his ardent look showed how much he wanted to climb into bed with her and conclude last night’s lovemaking. But, clearly he thought better of it, because he turned on his heel and left her to finish her coffee and cold toast alone.
An hour later, they made their way along a ridge towards a triangulation point high above Kinloch Mara. They walked in silence, aware only of the uneven ground, the damp atmosphere and drop below them hidden by enshrouding mist and cloud. The grass was wet and Fliss was glad of her waterproof walking gaiters, otherwise, her jeans would have been sodden. Out of breath from having walked up a punishing incline, she stopped and pressed her hand into her right side where a painful stitch was making itself felt.
‘I am so out of condition,’ she said and flopped onto a large boulder.
‘Here,’ Ruairi rooted around inside his rucksack, found a bottle of water and passed it to her. She took a large swig from it and handed it back. Without taking his eyes off her, he drank from the same bottle and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. The gesture was highly erotic and Fliss felt as if she’d been kissed by proxy when she took her turn with the water bottle. His searing look made it plain that last night’s interrupted lovemaking hadn’t been consigned to the past; it had simply been put on hold.
‘I’m surprised you don’t bottle your own water off the hills. Remember the episode of Only Fools and Horses where Del and Rodney sell tap water as Peckham Spring Water? Maybe you and Murdo could set up a profitable sideline doing that. Aren’t landowners supposed to diversify or die?’ Fliss made the joke to cover her churning emotions - this man rocked her to her core, even when he was just drinking from a water bottle!
‘Diversify, yes; break the law? No.’ He held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. ‘Come on. Not far now until you see the spectre.’
‘Is this one of those rituals where the heir is shown some hideously deformed monster mummified behind a brick wall on coming of age and is sworn to secrecy? Like the monster of Glamis?’ She gabbled on as goose bumps travelled the length of her arms - was he really going to show her a ghost?
‘I’m impressed that you know your Scottish history. But no; it’s nothing like that. Wait and see.’
They climbed higher and were soon above the clouds with the sun on their backs. Ruairi’s grip on her hand tightened as they climbed the last few feet to the summit. Then, taking her by the shoulders he looked down into her eyes.
‘Do you trust me?’ Her teeth were chattering with a mix of fear and anticipation but she nodded. He positioned her so that the low sun warmed her back and the mist-shrouded valley was in front of her. ‘Close your eyes and put your hands out like you’re flying. Now don’t move. I’m going to take a few steps away and then I’ll ask you to open your eyes.’
She heard the long grass brush against his waterproof gaiters, smelled the crushed blades beneath his boots and heard the wind singing in her ears. Behind her closed eyelids it was semi-dark, but she wasn’t afraid; she knew he wouldn’t place her in any danger. Holding her arms out like Kate Winslet on the prow of the Titanic, she gave a nervous giggle.
‘Aren’t you supposed to say: “I’m King of the World”?’ She rocked on the balls of her feet in borrowed boots that were too large for her. ‘Oops.’
‘Okay. Open your eyes.’
It took a few seconds for her to become accustomed to the light, and then she saw it. Not a ghost or a spectre, but her own form cast as a huge shadow onto the cloud bank below her. She wiggled her arms up and down like she was indeed flying and her shadow followed suit. When she saw the nimbus around her ‘shadow’s’ head - all red, gold and green, like a pre-Raphaelite saint’s, she drew in a breath and instinctively reached out for him.
He’d taken precious hours out of his busy schedule to bring her here and share something special with her. Her eyes pricked with tears and she knew in that instant that she was falling, deeply and irrevocably in love with this proud, complex man.
‘Oh My God. What is it?’
She clung to him as if she couldn’t believe her eyes or trust her brain to make sense of the tumultuous feelings rocking her. Their shadows merged onto the clouds and the nimbus of light encompassed them, making it seem like they were literally standing beneath the arc of a rainbow.
‘It’s called a Brocken Spectre and it’s a natural phenomenon.’
‘But how - how does it happen?’ she asked in a whisper.
‘Okay - here’s the science bit. First, the weather conditions need to be perfect - like today. The spectre - in this case, you - must climb to a high point while the morning sun is low in the sky. That’s why I got you out of bed so early.’
‘I get that bit, but …’ Ruairi pulled her into his side and silenced her with a kiss.
‘The spectre must stand with her back to the sun so the shadow is formed. The spectre’s halo - or glory - occurs when droplets of water are suspended in the air and sunlight reflects off them, shines back toward the sun and … us.’
‘Wow.’ The word was inadequate and hardly described the spectre or what she was feeling.
‘Wow - indeed. You make me feel King of the World - know that?’ Unexpectedly serious, Ruairi turned her round and looked as if he was committing her face to memory. Then he drew her into his arms and kissed her. If they hadn’t been lost in the kiss they would have seen themselves surrounded by glory as the light shimmered and diffracted around them. Ruairi was first to break off. ‘Forgiven?’
‘Nothing to forgive.’ To hide the catch in her voice she moved away from him and their shadows broke apart. ‘But, Ruairi how can this work - you and me?’ He turned his back on the Brocken Spectre as if it was too distracting, and looked instead across the wide acres of Kinloch Mara just visible through the shifting mist.
‘Fliss, it’s no secret I was in a relationship which I thought would go the distance. But it didn’t - and the fault’s entirely mine. My fiancée - Fiona, was used to the diversions of Edinburgh, London and Paris, foolishly I brought her to Kinloch Mara where none of those things exists.’
He drew breath as though it was important that she understood. She knew how much it cost him to admit that he’d failed at something as fundamental as getting his bride to the altar and making a life with her, so she gave his hand an encouraging squeeze.
‘Go on …’
‘It can be really bleak here in the winter when the tourists leave and everything shuts down. That particular winter, Mitzi and the girls decamped for Angus’s villa in Barbados in early December as soon as their term ended at boarding school. As a result, Fiona spent a lonely Christmas at Tigh na Locha, waiting for me to return home from Australia. When I came back for the New Year I was so immersed in estate business that I didn’t see how isolated and neglected she was feeling. Now, looking back - I realise that I didn’t court her enough or pay her enough attention. That was the kiss of death on our relationship.’
Fliss knew that in Fiona’s place she would have stayed at his side, reading by the big fire in the library whil
e he and Murdo went over the accounts. Driving out with him to rescue animals caught in the snowdrifts. Organising parties and making Tigh na Locha so welcoming that he would never want to leave. She would have cemented their relationship with nights of passion in the Laird’s old-fashioned bed, making love until the weak sun pushed through the curtains and drove everything else from their minds.
Not because she felt it was her duty as his fiancée, but because it was what she wanted to do, as his woman.
‘But then, I imagine that any woman - cut off by the winter snows, miles from Edinburgh and its allure would find it hard to settle to life as the laird’s wife.’ He excused Fiona’s desertion by putting the blame squarely on himself.
‘Not every woman,’ she demurred. But he was too lost in his own thoughts to register her moue of protest.
‘Eventually, the reality of being the laird’s wife, the social demands of the role and her position in the community hit home. That, coupled with the realisation of the years of hard work necessary to make the estate profitable, proved a bridge too far. The gilt wore off the gingerbread - in this case, me - and she left. One month before we were due to walk down the aisle together.’
‘When - how?’ Now she was hearing the whole story she wanted all the gaps filled in.
‘She packed her cases one morning while I was out on the hills with Murdo, called a taxi and left a note with her engagement ring - a family heirloom - explaining why she couldn’t marry me.’ Pain was etched on his face and Fliss wanted to find the faithless Fiona and shake her, make her realise what she’d thrown away. But she also felt a grudging sympathy for the runaway bride - Kinloch Mara was undoubtedly beautiful, but Ruairi’s love came at a price. That price was sharing the burden of lairdship and helping to preserve his inheritance for the next generation. It was his life’s work and any prospective wife who didn’t understand the importance of his birthright was the wrong candidate for the position.
‘Maybe it was for the best …’ she began, taking his hands in her own. But Ruairi was lost in the past and seemed almost oblivious to her presence. Moving away, he stepped over to the edge of the ridge, rested his hand on the triangulation point obelisk and stared into the middle distance. Momentarily, Fliss was transported back to the night of the party when she’d imagined him - tall, dark, and kilted - striding romantically along a highland mountain ridge.
That fantasy had become a reality.
‘When she left, it became clear that that it was asking too much of Fiona - of any woman to give up everything for me. Or, to expect anyone to understand what Kinloch Mara means to me.’
‘Wouldn’t that rather depend on the woman?’ Silently, Fliss willed him to see the difference between the fiancée who’d broken off the engagement and … well, herself.
‘You think?’ His brow furrowed in concentration, as though that hadn’t occurred to him.
‘I know,’ she said simply, too proud to tell him how much she loved Kinloch Mara. Or to beg for the chance to prove him wrong.
She longed to explain how - in her humble opinion, the estate could become profitable and he could stop travelling the world and spend his every waking moment on his beloved estate. She’d driven round Kinloch Mara on many occasions with Murdo in the Land Rover and seen its untapped potential. Words, phrases and ideas were buzzing around inside her head like angry wasps, demanding release. She knew she had to say her piece, her future - their future - depended on it.
Taking a deep breath, she opened with: ‘Don’t you think it’s time you thought outside the box? Stopped thinking what you can’t do and concentrated instead on what could be achieved in Kinloch Mara with a little imagination and some forethought?’
‘Such as …’
‘Accept Angus’s offer of an interest free loan, use it to establish your conservation scheme and build up ecotourism on the estate. It’s what you were studying at university, wasn’t it? Angus reckons you could probably make twice as much if you ran ecotourism alongside the more traditional aspects of estate management: farming, shooting and deer stalking.’
‘And you and Angus would know all about that, would you?’ She was so focused on delivering her speech that she didn’t detect the ice in his voice.
‘Yes! We - Angus, Murdo and me, have discussed how the estate could easily accommodate eco-friendly lodges … built well away from Tigh na Locha.’ Her eyes were bright with missionary zeal as she outlined the plans neither Angus nor Murdo dared broach with him because he was so protective of his inheritance.
Only she, it appeared, was prepared to go head to head with him.
‘Go on.’
‘Stressed out businessmen and women would jump at the chance to experience Kinloch Mara’s peace and tranquillity. You could build a profitable health spa to run alongside the ecotourism, licence it for weddings etc. - make it a complete package. And that’s something I could help with.’
‘You’ve been giving this some thought, haven’t you?’ This time there was definite frost in his voice.
‘I’ve had plenty of time to talk it over with Angus while I’ve been setting up the therapy centre.’ She turned and smiled, convinced that he’d see how diversification coupled with Angus’s financial help could make his estate thrive. One glance at his darkening countenance was enough to wipe the smile off her face and douse her enthusiasm. ‘What? Have I said something wrong?’
‘Ah, yes; the therapy centre. Do you really think that Mitzi will sustain her interest when she has Angus’s oil millions to spend? If the therapy centre closes then you’re out of a job … And what would happen to the health spa and eco-friendly lodges then? It can’t work; and to think otherwise is no more than a pipe dream.’
‘Well I think you’re wrong.’
‘It’s my land, my responsibility and I think I know what’s best for Kinloch Mara.’
‘Do you now?’
‘You’ve done a wonderful job of setting up the therapy centre and everyone’s grateful. But you’re returning to London in a few months and no one - least of all me - would blame you for trading Kinloch Mara for the big city. No one expects you to stay forever, or would think any the worse of you for leaving.’
There it was again; that damning little word: expect. Why did everyone assume what she wanted, instead of asking her? If he asked her, she would say she wanted to stay forever. Then it occurred to her that maybe history was repeating itself and he was pushing her away, sacrificing his own happiness for the sake of the estate. Just as he had done with Fiona.
‘That’s the difference between you and me, isn’t it?’ she asked, aware she was ramming her point home with a little too much vehemence. But she was fighting for something significant, even if he didn’t realise it yet.
‘What is?’
Having gone this far she knew there was no turning back. She took a deep breath and ploughed on, ignoring his warning frown.
‘You - running away from the estate, the place you love. Using the fundraising scheme as a convenient cover for the fact you haven’t yet come to terms with your father’s death, or your fiancée getting cold feet.’ She steeled herself as their argument played out in mime, silhouetted on the clouds below.
‘You know nothing about it,’ he said quietly, but with a wealth of emotion in his voice.
‘I think I do. I’ve lost my parents and -’
‘It’s not the same thing at all,’ he said, his jaw tight.
‘How? Do you think because you live in a grand house the pain and loss is any different? Only the scale is different. And - and at least you still have your family.’
He gave a snort of derision.
‘Mitzi and the girls? Let me tell you about them, shall I? Isla made my ex-fiancée’s life a misery; calling her Princess Fiona and saying she turned into a troll at sundown - like the character in Shrek. Mitzi, despite her promises, made no effort to leave the Tigh na Locha or give a firm date when Fiona and I could take it over and get married. She preferred having the girl
s in boarding school so she could go gallivanting round the globe, spending Angus’s money. Or any man foolish enough to subsidise her extravagances. Dressing it all up as a desire to escape the Scottish winter; getting sympathy because she was a widow with two wayward daughters. Then refusing to back me up when I tried to rein them in.’
‘But that’s all changed - hasn’t it? Mitzi’s ready to move onto Angus’s estate, Cat’s keen to train as a veterinary nurse and Isla …’
‘I think the YouTube viral sums Isla up rather neatly.’
‘She has a God-given talent for art. Which you would see if you stopped being so bloody towards her and opened your eyes,’ she declared passionately, even if she was no friend of Isla’s. ‘I know she’s acted like a fool, but why not encourage her to take a foundation course at a Scottish University and then see if she’s got what it takes to make a career out of her paintings. You might be surprised.’
He glanced at his battered Fossil wristwatch and turned back to her, grey-faced, as though the argument was all too familiar - and he didn’t have the time or energy to go over it all again.
‘And what do you get out of this?’ he asked cuttingly.
‘Me? I - I don’t understand?’
‘Well, according to your plan everybody wins. So I’m asking … what’s in it for you?’ She didn’t like the way he looked at her; it was as if he’d reverted to default mode: shuttered and suspicious.
‘Nothing - except I’d be willing to stay on and help to set up the eco-lodges and health spa - if asked.’
‘No surprise there, then,’ he said coldly.
‘Meaning what exactly?’
He shrugged, gave her a telling look and turned away from her.
Then she got it.
Evidently, he believed that she’d somehow convinced Angus and Murdo what a good idea the proposed Kinloch Mara Health Spa and eco-lodges were and had offered to run the spa side of the venture. Providing her with a job for life - or, at least for however long it took before she got bored with the idea. The last hurdle - as he apparently saw it - would be getting him onside, and she was evidently prepared to use everything at her disposal to win him over.