by Lizzie Lamb
By asking Angus and Mitzi not to renew her contract he’d made his position very clear - he wanted her out of his life - and the sooner the better.
Chapter Thirty Four
‘So,’ Ruairi said, as the silence stretched out. ‘Is this how it’s going to be? A war of attrition?’
‘I don’t want to fight you. There’s nothing left to fight over, is there? It’s all been decided.’ Ruairi looked at her questioningly and she stared back, unsmiling, waiting for him to fill in the gaps.
‘Oh, you mean the therapy centre? I thought you would have been happy about the change in arrangements.’ He stumbled slightly over the word change.
‘Happy! Are you mad? The centre is my life - there is nothing else.’ Her voice snagged and tears pricked her eyes.
‘Nothing?’ Looking disappointed, he was deep in thought for a few moments. Then he removed his jacket, hung it over the newel post, walked over to the CD player, checked the disc in the machine and pressed the play button. The late September dusk closed in and softened the edges of the distant hills visible through the open front door. The haunting strains of a Strathspey drifted out of the speakers and he held out his hand: ‘Dance?’
‘Dance? With you? You’re the last man on earth I want to dance with’ Fliss knew her voice sounded shrill and unattractive but was too put out with him to care. He certainly had some nerve, she fumed; but then, she already knew that - didn’t she?
‘Yes, show me what you’ve learned. Murdo has kept me up to date with your progress.’
‘Has he now?’ She viewed him with suspicion, trying to guess his motive in asking Murdo to report to him, like she was under surveillance or something. And why was he being so nice and conciliatory towards her when they’d parted on bad terms? Maybe they - Angus, Mitzi and himself - wanted her to stay on long enough to oversee the induction of the new therapist. Well, if they thought she’d be agreeable to that, they were whistling in the wind.
‘A Strathspey, how can you resist?’ He cocked his head on one side and held out both hands, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips. And then he pulled her into his arms - slowly, seductively, as though sensing her reluctance. For the first few minutes she held herself poker -stiff, only just managing to keep her treacherous body from moulding into his, in response to his nearness and the memory of the last time he’d held her.
‘Oh, I can resist most things, believe me,’ she said waspishly. Especially men like you her eyes flashed, though her heart sang a different song.
‘Of that I have no doubt. But -’ he weakened her resolve by sending her that sexy, beguiling, ghost of a smile again. The one which said he was weary and full of regret over how things had ended up between them, and acknowledged he’d made a hash of things that morning on the hillside. Although she found his show of regret dangerously attractive, she wasn’t about to fall into his arms like a heroine in a romance prepared to settle for a happy ending at any price. As he was about to discover …
‘Yes?’ she asked, sharply.
‘Look, I know you’re smarting over the therapy centre. But believe me - it’s for the best.’
‘You think so?’ At her sharp intake of breath, he stepped closer, as if realising that words weren’t going to cut it. And, in fact, might actually be making things worse.
‘I came straight over here when I arrived home, Fliss. I dropped my cases in the hall and came straight over,’ he repeated, seemingly thinking she didn’t get the message first time. ‘I’ve missed you, know that?’
Concentrating on trying to work out how losing her job would benefit anyone - apart from him, and maybe Angus - it was a few seconds before she registered what he’d said: I’ve missed you. Completely caught off-guard, she tried to think of some caustic response but instead found it hard to breath as her heart swelled to fill her ribcage.
‘I haven’t missed you. Not for a second. Just so as you know,’ she managed to gasp out as they stood poised to begin dancing on the downbeat.
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ he said, his lips quirking, as though he sensed her surrender, in spite of her sharp words. ‘Because I’ve missed you. More than I thought possible. More than I’ve missed anyone in my whole life. I couldn’t wait to return to Kinloch Mara and to you.’
This time she didn’t pull away from him, because the touch of his body against hers was too beguiling. He curled his forefinger into her palm, drew his fingernail along her heart line and brought a thousand nerve endings to attention. Fliss closed her eyes, the fight almost having gone out of her. She heard him take a step to bridge the infinitesimal gap between them.
They were standing so close, the heat and strength of his arousal seemed to scorch its way through the floaty material of her skirt. Her brain tried to remind her of their scathing adieu but her body recalled each teasing kiss. How it’d felt when he’d taken her nipple into his mouth and sucked, and when his hand had slid along her thigh. And it wanted to relive those sensuous, seismic moments over and over.
The three-four rhythm of the waltz went round several times but they made no attempt to dance. This is wrong, this is very wrong, she kept telling herself as her world contracted, and she could no longer deny how right it felt to be in his arms. Desire sizzled along her nerve endings, like a flame along a trail of gunpowder and Fliss knew she had to call a halt before she combusted. Or they ended up on the yellow Knowle sofa, making love with nothing resolved.
‘You haven’t missed me - not even for a second?’ Ruairi prompted, his pupils dilating with desire until she could almost see her reflection in them.
‘Not even for a nanosecond,’ she lied, wondering why dancing with Murdo had never been this intimate, so charged with longing. The music forgotten, they stood tableau-still, each waiting for the other to take the first step. Then Ruairi moved his hand to span the space between Fliss’s shoulder blades and pick up the beat and then discovered that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
He seemed to find the fact that only a thin t-shirt stood between him and her nakedness very affecting. Bending closer, he whispered in her ear: ‘Fliss-ss,’- drawing out the syllables so that, his breath along her jaw line became a pleasurable torment. A tremor rippled through her and she raised her shoulder to her ear to rub away the tingling sensation left in the wake of his whisper.
Swallowing hard, she looked up into his face and saw the shadows of fatigue underneath his indigo eyes and the desire he no longer bothered to hide. She wanted to tilt her head back, offer him her throat and beg him to cover it in soft, nibbling kisses that would drift downwards to her suddenly heavy breasts. And she wished she could take back the hasty words she’d spoken on the hilltop. Because instead of this awkwardness and a sense of unfinished business, there would be love, laughter and a joyous reconciliation. And she’d be able to admit just how much she’d missed him and lead him upstairs to her bedroom, close the curtains and pick up where they’d left off, eight weeks earlier.
She wanted to tell him that; but pride and self-respect wouldn’t allow her to show how much she longed for him - cared for him - loved him!
The realisation was like a thunderbolt. But how she asked herself, could she love him when he’d turned her world upside down? Replacing her with another therapist, telling Angus not to renew her contract? Her struggle must have shown in her eyes - because Ruairi raised his hand to the nape of her neck and made her look up at him.
‘Do you trust me?’
‘Trust you?’
‘There are things that need to slot into place. Things I can’t reveal just yet, not until I’m sure.’
‘Sure of what?’
‘Of you.’ His fingers curled round the nape of her neck, drawing her closer and his lips lightly touched hers. ‘And me.’ His questing fingers found their way under the bottom of her t-shirt and before she could utter a word of protest, had curled around her breast. In the same instant, his mouth came down upon hers, hard. She returned the fierce kiss, breath for shaky breath and as her tongue pushed into his mouth,
her nipple hardened against his palm. ‘God, Fliss - don’t you know what you do to me?’
She knew exactly what she wanted to do to him. Her body had dreamed of little else for the last two months; it was what kept her awake at night and made her stare dreamily into the middle distance. Removing his hand with a show of reluctance, he sighed and took a distancing step away from her. The cold air blowing off the loch and through the open door covered her in goose bumps. She wrapped her arms protectively around herself to keep warm and to hide how readily her body had responded to his touch.
Clearly, the physical connection between them was as strong as ever - that part of their relationship had never been in question. But everything had undergone a sea change in his absence and she had to resist him with every fibre of her being.
But it was hard. God, it was hard.
‘Am I forgiven?’ He yawned, and looked so heartbreakingly jet lagged that she wanted nothing more than to close the gap between them, throw self-restraint away and make love to him. Then hold him in her arms and watch as he slept away the draining fatigue written on his face.
‘Trust is one thing - forgiving might take a bit longer. By which time I’ll be back in London and it’ll all be academic, won’t it?’ She’d shown herself for a weak fool by falling too readily into his arms once before and she wouldn’t do it again. She moved away, knowing she had to maintain the act, right up to the moment when Murdo drove her back to Inverness Airport.
Had to make him believe that she could dismiss him from her life with a so-what shrug and return to Pimlico with no regrets.
‘At least let me -’
The CD track came to an end, and a cheesy version of ‘Scotland the Brave’ started up. Ruairi grimaced, moved over to the machine and pressed STOP. When he turned back, the dangerous moment had passed.
‘Everything’s ready for the ball,’ Fliss said, moving the conversation adroitly onto safer ground. ‘They’ve been erecting a large marquee over by the - what’s it called - the Muster Ground? They’ve laid a duckboard path all the way from the back entrance of the house where guests will park their cars, right up to the door of the marquee. It’s taken them the best part of two days and the mobile kitchens have just been installed.’
Ruairi’s burning look said this wasn’t the conversation they should be having, but he’d play along for now.
‘The Highland Ball will be quite an event this year with Mitzi and Angus’s engagement being announced,’ he said in equally prosaic tones. ‘That’s why we’ve hired a marquee and outsourced everything to an event management team. The guest list is as long as my arm and beyond the capacity of Tigh na Locha staff; but what Mitzi wants - Mitzi gets.’
‘Which is as it should be. A bride’s wishes - even second time around - should be paramount.’ She gave him a fierce look as if expecting him to contradict her. He didn’t.
‘I gather they want a Christmas wedding and a honeymoon in the West Indies, which means, come Hogmanay, I’ll have Tigh na Locha to myself for the first time in years - unless I see it in with Murdo and his family.’ Somehow, he didn’t look as if this thought brought him much cheer.
Fliss had been looking forward to seeing in the New Year on a highland estate, perhaps snowed in - picturesquely, of course - shut off from the world, with Ruairi doing the first footing. Now she’d be getting drunk with Becky and the rest of the gang, teetering round the damp, cold streets of Pimlico on a pub crawl. Not wrapped in tartan and furs as she’d envisaged, but wearing a bum-freezing skirt, killer heels and a smile.
‘Well, nothing stays the same for ever, does it?’ she asked.
‘I guess not.’
She removed his jacket from the newel post and handed it to him.
‘You look all in. Go get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow at the Highland Ball.’
With a heavy heart, she watched him turn on his heel with his jacket hooked over his thumb, and walk into the autumn gloaming.
Chapter Thirty Five
Next evening, Fliss walked up to the Muster Ground where a huge marquee had been erected.
Pulling Mitzi’s borrowed pashmina around her against the cutting wind, she looked up at the faint opalescence of the Milky Way streaking across the north-western sky. It saddened her to think that when she returned to Pimlico she’d never see the planets and constellations projected against a pitch-black sky so clearly again.
The Port Urquhart Ceilidh Band started playing a familiar tune and her stomach twisted into a Celtic knot. She was unsure how to react when she met Ruairi tonight. She longed to question him over his reasons for asking Angus not to renew her contract, but this need was tempered by Murdo’s words of caution: ‘If I had just one piece of advice to give Fliss, it would be this: Trust Ruairi.’
Trouble was, by trusting him she was granting him the power to destroy her dreams, deprive her of her livelihood and break her heart. She’d been a complete pushover last night, falling into his arms and putting all her longing into one kiss. She should have kept him at arm’s length and made her anger and disappointment clear. However, she did not intend to compound her folly by begging for her job in front of everyone tonight.
That particular conversation could wait until they were alone.
‘Champagne, Madam?’ A waitress looked at her expectantly.
‘What? Oh, thank you.’
Fliss handed over her gilt-edged invitation and was escorted to a table. She sat down and tried to dismiss her troubles and concentrate instead on the scene before her. She’d probably never attend another event of this kind and she wasn’t going to waste a moment of it stressing over Ruairi Urquhart.
But that was easier said than done. A quick glance round at the place names revealed that not only was she sitting on the Urquharts’ table, she was sitting at Ruairi’s right hand.
Was this his way of saying sorry, she wondered?
Or was it the beginning of a long goodbye?
Half an hour later, everyone got to their feet as Jaimsie entered the marquee playing his pipes and the band took up the refrain. Mitzi, Angus and the girls were escorted in with due ceremony, while their guests and clansmen clapped in time to the bagpipes and snare drum. Then Jaimsie played a different, more blood-stirring tune and Ruairi was escorted in between a phalanx of his clansmen. He looked handsome and dashing in his ancient Urquhart tartan, evening shirt and short, black velvet ‘Bonnie Prince Charlie’ jacket belted at the waist. He seemed in his element - masterful, in control and graciously accepting of his clansmen’s homage. In contrast, Fliss was experiencing a complete physical meltdown - her traitorous heart leaping around in her ribcage and her legs unable to support her weight.
Ruairi addressed the gathering in Gaelic first, and then English.
‘Thank you for attending this Clan Gathering but more importantly, Mitzi and Angus’s engagement. Thàinig Chlann Airchartdan - the Urquharts are come!’ This battle cry was taken up by his clansmen and repeated, accompanied by thunderous applause and much enthusiastic foot stomping.
Ruairi appeared to be in his element. The very epitome of noble highland manhood as he acknowledged their homage and the last cries of Thàinig Chlann Airchartdan faded away. Then, as the candlelight caught the silver buttons on the folded back cuffs of his velvet jacket, he scanned the room. Fliss raised a gloved hand to Mitzi’s tiara which had taken a box of hair pins and half a can of Elnette to fix into place, anxious that the tiara/diamond and sapphire necklace combo looked rather OTT on a soon-to-be-redundant therapist. Apparently catching her tell-tale gesture, Ruairi glanced over at her and held her gaze. He appeared to lose his train of thought for a moment and then gained command of himself, and he was back in the room.
He nodded to the Master of Ceremonies to outline the night’s events.
‘The ball will commence with champagne and canapés to allow the ladies time to fill their dance cards. The reels will begin with the Dashing White Sergeant and we’ll take a break after the Reel of the 51st Highland
Division - number four on the dance card. At which point Mr Angus Gordon will say a few words and dinner will be served. The reels will continue until breakfast is served around 1am. The celebrations will draw to a close with John Peel at 3.30am, after which ‘carriages’ will be brought round.’
‘Thàinig Chlann Airchartdan,’ the assembled Urquharts repeated as Ruairi kissed Mitzi’s hand and then gave Angus a fierce handshake and a man hug.
‘I think - on this auspicious occasion - we should add YEE HAW, in Angus’s honour!’ Ruairi’s announcement was followed by much laughter and rebel yells, after which Angus and Mitzi were surrounded by guests keen to offer their congratulations. Then he was called away and it was left to Murdo to escort Cat and Isla to the family table.
Isla marched straight up to Angus’s place, picked up his name card and ripped it into tiny pieces which she then threw on the floor.
‘Ruairi and Mumma have sold us down the river,’ she began without preamble, her blue eyes shimmering with tears.
‘How? I mean - why?’ Fliss asked.
Isla threw herself into the nearest chair, plainly beyond speech and Cat offered up a whispered explanation.
‘The trustees have agreed to wind up the fund we inherited on Papa’s death. Ruairi, Mumma and Angus have spent the last half hour explaining all the ins and outs to us. The money in our trust fund will revert to the Kinloch Mara estate on Mumma’s marriage and in its place, Angus - as our prospective step-father, will set up two new trust funds.’
‘But we can only draw interest from the capital until we reach our twenty-fifth birthdays. We could be dead by then,’ Isla protested.
Fliss made no comment, but she and Murdo exchanged a look over Isla’s head which said they thought changing the terms of the trust was a good move. It would bring much needed funds back into the estate, and the new trust fund would establish Angus’s authority over Cat and Isla by controlling their spending.
‘Surely,’ Fliss began, treading carefully in view of Isla’s volatile mood, ‘money is money. I don’t quite see why you’re so upset …’