by Lizzie Lamb
‘But, when you see what he’s done for you …’
‘Murdo,’ she released his hands. ‘You once advised me to trust Ruairi and look where it’s brought me. I’ve run out of faith, from now on I’m only trusting my gut instincts and they’re telling me take the first available flight home.’
Murdo looked at her sadly but nodded, evidently seeing that the lady was not for turning.
‘In that case, let me do one last thing for you.’
‘Yes?’
‘I brought you from Inverness to Kinloch Mara so, please Fliss, let me be the one who drives you back to the airport.’ Fliss’s heart contracted and she dug her nails into her palm to stop herself from crying afresh at Murdo’s last kindness to her.
‘Very well, I’ll book my ticket when you leave and phone you at the Factor’s House with my flight details and times.’ As she walked them over to the front door, Isla turned and tried to say something, but Fliss ignored her. As far as she was concerned, Isla had placed herself beyond the pale by her scheming and conniving - and she would have to live with the knowledge of what she’d done
Just as she would have to spend the rest of her life without Ruairi.
Chapter Thirty Nine
Murdo put the last of Fliss’s bags in the back of the Land Rover.
As they drove away from Shona and Archie’s hotel, the weather conspired with the scenery to turn Fliss’s last morning in Kinloch Mara into a glittering jewel. However, the beauty of the loch and the autumn colours were seen through a sheen of Fliss’s tears as she fastened her seat belt and waved Shona goodbye.
‘Okay,’ Murdo said slowly as they drove along in silence, ‘you’re not going to ask, so I’m going to tell you.’
‘Tell me what?’ Fliss choked out, dashing away a tear from her cheek with a forefinger.
‘How cut up Ruairi is over everything that’s happened between you.’
‘So cut up he hasn’t been in touch? So upset that he didn’t turn up this morning to drive me to the airport?’ she rounded on him, tears forgotten.
‘Fliss -’ Murdo let out a sigh a parent might use with an unreasonable child. ‘Didn’t you tell Shona that you wouldn’t speak to him if he rang?’
‘Yes. But …’
‘Would you have got in the Land Rover if he’d turned up this morning?’
‘Probably not,’ she conceded. ‘But, even so …’
‘Even so - nothing. You are both as stubborn and pig-headed as each other, throwing away your chance of happiness because you won’t dismount from your high horses and admit that you love each other.’
‘Murdo, I don’t! He doesn’t …’
‘See. There you go again. And for what it’s worth, he does - and you do!’ Murdo frowned, apparently at his use of bad grammar and their intransigence. ‘Fliss, I’ve wasted years waiting for Isla to grow up and realise that we were meant to be together. Don’t do the same.’
They drove along in silence after that.
The two-hour journey to Inverness gave Fliss plenty of time to think. She didn’t need Murdo to tell her she’d been a fool, or that running away from Tigh na Locha had been a mistake. She realised that she’d shown herself to be no better than the faithless Fiona. How had Isla put it: If she’d really loved him and not just the idea of him, she would have stayed and toughed it out.
Her appointment had only ever been temporary, she was aware of that when she’d signed the contract. When a new contract hadn’t been forthcoming she should have acted like a proper businesswoman and demanded to know what other position Ruairi had in mind. He’d been about to reveal it just before he’d seen that the gates were open. With the value of hindsight, she realised she should have given him time to calm down, come to his senses and then pressed home her advantage to demand the terms she wanted.
Instead, she’d flounced off like a stroppy teenager, and would probably never know what lay inside the tissue-wrapped parcel. Judging by its size and shape, it most definitely wasn’t an engagement ring. She blushed, one-night stands didn’t usually result in marriage proposals. One-night stand? No, it was much more than that. It had been the beginning of something wonderful, something perfect - but then …
She groaned and laid her head against the window, watching the miles disappearing underneath the Land Rover’s chassis. Every mile took her nearer to the airport and further away from the man she loved.
‘So, you and Isla - how’s that going to work out?’ she asked Murdo, thinking she’d dwelt on her own problems long enough.
‘Ruairi’s arranged art lessons for her, as you probably know. I believe she has you to thank for that? She’s hoping to hold an exhibition next summer in Port Urquhart - maybe it’ll even become an annual event like the Pittenweem Art Festival in Fife. Then art school, as close to Kinloch Mara as possible, and after her degree show - who knows? She’s young and I don’t want to stand in her way.’
‘But you’re an item?’ Fliss asked, keeping things light.
‘Yep. We’re definitely an item,’ Murdo grinned, as though he liked the sound of it. Then he changed the subject. ‘Do you want to stop for a coffee en route or go straight to the airport? We’re in no rush.’
‘Straight there.’
‘No second thoughts?’
‘None,’ she lied and returned to looking at the scenery.
Half an hour later, she retrieved her mobile phone out of her handbag and checked it for a signal. Three bars - a miracle - but when she rang Becky she was put straight through to voicemail.
‘Bex. Where are you? I need to talk to you. Looks like I’m back on the floor in your bedroom for a couple of months at least. Ring me. Pleeeeeeease.’
Murdo glanced at her. ‘Still no luck?’
‘No. Don’t know where she is. Probably found a hot bloke and imprisoned him in the stock room of my old salon. Not like her not to return my calls though.’ She put her phone back in her bag and pulled the leather string tight.
As they journeyed on, the words of the old Stevie Wonder song I Just called to Say I Love You played through her brain like an earworm. Maybe, if she rang Ruairi and left a message on his voicemail everything would come right. However, she suspected that their relationship was beyond the stage of cheesy lyrics. Besides which, apart from endearments such as chuisle mo chroí and mo chridhe, their liaison had been too brief to fit in declarations of undying love.
No. Any message she had for Ruairi had to be delivered in person.
Delivered in person.
‘Murdo. STOP!’ She grabbed his arm urgently. ‘Turn the Land Rover around – we’re going back to Kinloch Mara.’
‘To Shona’s? Have you left something behind?’
‘No - to Tigh na Locha. And, yes, I have left something behind - Ruairi. The man I love.’ Her voice snagged and the ever-present tears welled up. But she swallowed them down, she’d cried a river and now it was time to call a halt. She had some serious thinking to do.
‘Fliss, thank God you’ve seen sense.’ Murdo straightened in his seat and urged the Land Rover forward. ‘Putting the pedal to the metal, Ma’am - and hoping the speed cameras don’t catch us.’
‘If they do, Ruairi pays the fine,’ she said. She and Murdo high fived each other and her heart sang as the Land Rover bowled along. But this time, the tune running through her head was Steppenwolf’s Born to Be Wild and she grinned as Murdo got the motor running and headed out on the highway.
After all, she was going home.
When Murdo pulled up at the back door of Tigh na Locha, Fliss leapt out of the Land Rover before he had time to switch the engine off. She ran through the kitchen, past surprised staff and into the hall where she took the stairs two at a time until she reached Ruairi’s bedroom. It didn’t look any different from the morning when he’d discovered that the gates were open and she’d bolted. The mattress was still on the floor, although it looked as though someone had tucked a tartan shawl round it in an attempt to make it - and the room, look presen
table. The Vivienne Westwood bustier was where she’d left it - draped over the foot of the brass bed, as if waiting for her to slip back into it.
Purposefully, she walked over to the tallboy - quite prepared to rifle through the top drawer in search of the tissue-wrapped parcel, if the need arose. But she didn’t need to. It was lying sad and forlorn on top of the chest of drawers where Ruairi had left it, next to a bottle of his aftershave, cufflinks, a stubby pencil and other masculine detritus.
Picking it up, she sat down on the window seat, trying hard not to get emotional or sidetracked into remembering how passionately they’d made love on the padded cushion. She peeled back the faded blue tissue paper to reveal a silk sash in Urquhart dress tartan with a heavy silver brooch fastened to it. She frowned and searched the room for more clues - she couldn’t afford to get this wrong. Her gaze soon lit upon a large silver-framed photograph on the side table by the brass bed.
It held a photograph of a dark haired woman wearing a long white dress in a style that was nearly thirty years out of fashion. The tartan sash was fastened at her shoulder by the silver brooch Fliss held in her hands. She wore the sapphire and diamond necklace Mitzi had loaned Fliss for the ball at her throat and on her upswept hair was the matching Urquhart tiara. She wore both with becoming style and grace.
In a moment of epiphany, Fliss realised that in giving her Urquhart family jewels to wear at the ball, Mitzi had sent out a clear message to Ruairi. Go get the girl or lose her to someone else. Small wonder that he’d stalled briefly in delivering his welcome speech when he’d caught sight of her wearing the jewels. Heirlooms last worn by his mother.
Giving the photograph a more searching look, Fliss noticed that a handsome man in full highland dress was standing by Mairi Urquhart’s side. A very young Ruairi was in front of them and each had a hand resting lightly on his shoulders, as though he was overexcited and needed a firm but loving hand to calm him down. She didn’t need to learn any more. It was now plain that Ruairi had been about to offer her his mother’s sash as a token of his feelings towards her, but the bloody gates had got in the way. She let out a cry of frustration and dismay and buried her face in the sash, breathing in the faint scent of lavender and Este Lauder Youth Dew that still clung to it.
‘Oh, Ruairi,’ she said, kissing the sash in lieu of kissing the man. ‘I love you.’
Then she placed it back in its tissue paper and left it exactly as she’d found it. Turning away from the tallboy, she noticed a letter weighed down with a bottle of Chanel aftershave. There was something about the handwriting that caught her eye, something familiar.
‘It couldn’t be,’ she said aloud and her solemn mood was broken as she gave an incredulous laugh.
Stealthy as a cat burglar, she moved the bottle of aftershave to one side and picked up the letter. Stifling her instinctive response that rifling through another person’s possessions was wrong, she read the letter. This was her future she was fighting for … scruples and the difference between right and wrong could go hang.
‘I thought so!’ she exclaimed as she read to the end of the letter with its almost childish signature. ‘But why would they be writing to each other without telling me?’ Then she remembered what Murdo had said in Shona’s hall yesterday: when you see what he’s done for you.
She put the letter back under its paperweight. ‘Oh, Ruairi,’ she said again, with a catch in her voice. She knew she had to find him; explain how much she loved him. She was suddenly filled with the belief that everything would come right and they could have a future together. If only she could talk to him. If only he would listen.
Galloping down the stairs and jumping into the hall, she almost fell into Murdo’s arms.
‘Ruairi. Where is he?’
‘Stalking on the hills. I can get him on the two-way radio,’ he unclipped the handset from his belt but she forestalled him.
‘No, just drive me to where he is - or as close as you can. I’ll take it from there. What I have to say to Ruairi has to be said face to face.’
Murdo’s worried expression vanished, replaced by a broad smile. ‘Now you’re talking, lassie. Come on, and take this spare radio, I’ll show you how to use it - should you get lost.’
‘I won’t lose my way,’ she said determinedly. ‘Not this time.’
She found Ruairi standing by the triangulation point where he’d shown her the Brocken Spectre nine weeks earlier. He was viewing the valley through a telescopic sight unscrewed from the high-powered rifle propped up against the trig point’s stone pillar. He looked like a very lonely monarch surveying his mist-shrouded glen and his body language seemed to reflect his mood. His shoulders were hunched, he was tapping his foot on the base of the stone pillar agitatedly and - even in profile - he looked dejected. As if he owned all these acres but had lost something much more precious.
Heart in mouth, Fliss tiptoed up to him. At first, she thought he hadn’t heard her approach through the long grass because he remained with his back towards her. But then he spoke.
‘If I turn around, will you melt away like a spectre in the mist?’
‘No,’ she said softly, her heart slamming into reverse at the sound of his voice.
‘Only … if you did - I don’t think I could … I mean, I wouldn’t be able to …’ His voice thickened. He lowered the telescopic sight but remained where he was, watching the light fading over the loch as the autumn twilight descended.
‘I’ll never go away again,’ she vowed.
‘Never’s a long time, Fliss,’ he replied, putting the sight in the pocket of his gilet and turning round. She stood stock-still, not sure what to say, all she’d known for certain was that she had to find him. Now that she had, the words simply wouldn’t come. It felt as if years had passed since they’d last been together and they were strangers to each other.
‘Ruairi … I,’ she managed on a sort of strangled half-cry. Deciding that actions in this case spoke louder than words she flung herself into his arms, almost knocking him over and sending them both rolling down the hillside. ‘Say it,’ she begged, grabbing his gilet in both hands and giving him a rough shake.
‘Say that I’m sorry, I’ve been an idiot? That the gates don’t matter. The only curse is the one I’ve brought on myself by putting my obligations as laird before my needs as a man? I’ll say it, and gladly - because that’s what I did. And that’s what everyone in Kinloch Mara from Mitzi down to Jaimsie the Piper thinks; if their accusatory looks are anything to go by.’
‘No, not that,’ she said impatiently, and stepped back from him. ‘There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Repeat what you said to me in the bedroom before we made love. I can hardly say it to myself, now can I?’ she asked archly, standing with her hands on her hips. He frowned and then his face lightened as he remembered.
‘Shut up wumman and kiss me,’ he commanded.
‘Tha mo cridhe buin do Thu,’ she replied, hoping that her stilted – Ha Mo Kree boon daw OO - was enough to let him know her heart belonged to him. Then she kissed him and he pulled her into rib-crushing embrace, holding her like he’d never let her go. For a long moment they stood on the hillside with the purple gloaming settling round them. Then they kissed as if they drew their life’s blood from the scorching touch of mouth on mouth. As if being together was the reason for their existence and nothing in this world - or the next, mattered.
‘Where did you learn to say that?’ he asked, when he finally broke off the kiss. He brushed away the tear on her cheek with his finger and Fliss’s heart swelled when she saw tears misting his eyes, too.
‘Shona. She taught me a few other phrases last night. Rude ones, too, in case I should have need of them. Do you think she has second sight?’
‘Nothing about Shona would surprise me,’ he laughed. Then he bent down, picked up his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. ‘Come on, it’s a long walk back to Tigh na Locha and we don’t want to be out on the hills in the dark.’
‘Don’t
worry, Murdo’s waiting for us at the foot of the hill,’ she explained, slipping her hand quite naturally into his and giving it a reassuring squeeze.
‘Let’s go home, mo chridhe. The old house is empty without you,’ he said roughly. He delivered the words with such feeling, that Fliss stumbled on the path - her ability to walk seemingly affected by his passionate words. Determinedly, she righted herself and led the way back to Tigh na Locha - to the untidy bedroom with the tartan sash on the tallboy and the mattress on the floor.
And she knew it was the most wonderful place in the world and that it was waiting, just for them.
Chapter Forty
The bedroom smelled of tuber rose and fig from the candles Fliss had brought up from the sitting room and arranged on the mantelpiece of the Victorian fireplace. Ruairi had pulled the mattress up to the fire and was now kneeling on it, twisting a half-empty champagne bottle in an ice bucket to cool it down. The firelight softened his features and Fliss, standing in the shadows over by the window, felt her heart swell with love as she watched his deft movements. When he turned and smiled at her, she felt as if she’d won the Euro Millions on a double rollover week.
There were thirty rooms in Tigh na Locha but tonight she wanted nothing more than to be in this simple, almost Spartan room, with the man she loved. Mitzi and the girls were over on Angus’s estate for a few days and Ruairi had dismissed the staff for the evening. Letting out a happy sigh, Fliss glanced behind her to where frost was riming the roof and turrets of Tigh na Locha, and smiled. Outside it was a freezing cold October night, but in her heart, it was high summer.
However, ever pragmatic, she knew that before she joined Ruairi on the mattress there were things they needed to talk through - sort out. So she applied the brakes to her runaway emotions, and broke the silence.
‘Will we drink champagne every night?’ she teased, as he topped up their glasses. ‘Or only every other night?’
‘Whatever your heart desires,’ he replied seriously, as she joined him on the floor, tucking her legs beneath her. Then he stretched out along the mattress, laid his head in her lap and closed his eyes. ‘You’re very quiet, Fliss,’ he said after some time. ‘And that worries me.’