“What are you doing out here alone?” she asks as her brows knit together.
I glance around. There’s no one else here except the two of us.
“I could ask you the exact same thing,” I say, and she laughs.
“Yes, good point. Although I’m guessing you’re not from around these parts?”
“You mean the fact I’ve slipped down the bank? I simply wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“No, the fact you didn’t use the path that leads down to the water.”
I gaze to where she’s pointing and my cheeks burn once again.
“Oh, I guess you’re right. I didn’t notice that track before.”
The stranger shakes her head. “Never mind. Let’s get you up and make sure you’re okay.”
She looks as though she’s going to try and help me, so I rise to my feet unaided, to prove I’m quite capable and still in one piece.
“So, no bones broken, then?” she asks, and I’m touched by her concern.
“Honestly, I’m fine. I’m just a little shaken, that’s all.”
“Do you need a drink or anything?”
I shake my head. “No, thanks. I have water in my rucksack if I need it.”
Jamie pops into my head, his words of warning bouncing against my brain: Take the rucksack, ye ken? Just in case ye get lost, or worse, injured. I despise that he clearly has more sense than I do, not that I’m about to admit it.
The woman takes a step back and I try to brush the dirt from the back of my clothes.
“By the way, I’m Maddie,” I say, in way of an introduction.
“Hi, I’m Bridget.” She gives me a cute little wave. We both laugh and I don’t feel quite so uncomfortable in her presence anymore.
“Do you live locally?” I ask.
Bridget shakes her head. “No, I’m on holiday. I’m staying in a remote cottage a couple of miles from here.”
“What? Alone?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice.
“Yes. I try to visit here three or four times a year. I write, so it’s a perfect location.”
I nod. If I was a writer, this would be exactly where I’d want to be, too.
Bridget points to the stone. “Did you come here today to see the memorial?”
I nod again. “Yeah, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”
She stands aside to let me pass. “Go ahead. It’s certainly worth the trek.”
I hesitate, fearful I might slip again, but Bridget powers full steam ahead and makes her way to the edge of the stream. I’m not so sure-footed and walk behind, treading with care in her footsteps.
The stone is little more than two metres high by a metre wide, but there’s something haunting about it. I brush my fingers against its solid rock. It’s ice cold to the touch and I’m quick to pull my hand away.
Bridget stands beside me and explains the history of the memorial.
“This rock is a symbolic reminder of the clansmen who died fighting in a most harrowing battle in April seventeen-forty-six. This monument was erected to face north, towards the battlefield of Culloden. Those who come here pay their respects to their ancestors whose souls will forever wander along the moor.”
My gaze sweeps across the chiselled words cut deep into the stone. They’re written in Gaelic, though, a dialect centuries old and one I cannot understand.
“I have no idea what the words mean?” I sigh, and turn to Bridget.
“It’s the same inscription that’s written on a wall at Culloden,” she explains. “Translated, it says: ‘Our blood is still our father…And ours the valour of the hearts…’.”
She speaks softly, her lips rounding as she says each word with careful precision. A cold breeze appears from nowhere, perhaps blowing in from off the distant sea. In my mind’s eye, I see those fateful clansmen fighting for their lives, for Scotland. A river of red lies before them, the ground soaked in their own blood. I shiver.
“Wow, I have to say: the way you conveyed those words just now sent a chill down my spine.”
Bridget shakes her head. “I just think, if you’re going to remember the dead, then you do it from the heart.”
I nod. “Yes, and you caught the mood perfectly.”
“Thanks. I appreciate you saying so.”
I glance at my watch. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. I didn’t realise the time, and I’d better get back before my husband sends out a search party.”
She gives me a wide grin. “No problem. It’s been great meeting you.”
“Likewise, and at least my fall wasn’t counterproductive.”
“Oh, in what way?”
I grin. “I met you.”
Chapter 7
When I reach the farm gate, I see Jamie sitting on a low wall next to one of the many raised flowerbeds. His rich curly hair has fallen into his eyes and I have a sudden urge to go over and brush it aside. He looks up and waves. I lift my hand and automatically wave back, then push open the gate and make my way along the path towards him, the gravel crunching noisily beneath my feet.
He’s playing with one of the farm dogs, a cute black fluffy Collie with a white patch splashing one ear. Its inquisitive eyes flick towards me, then he barks and jumps up onto his hind legs, keen to make my acquaintance. A long, narrow nose twitches as he takes on board my scent. Jamie holds his collar and the dog wags its tail. I hold my hand out and it’s diligently sniffed before the tips of the fingers are licked. I chuckle, the dog’s tongue is like sandpaper, and it tickles.
“What happened to ye,” Jamie asks, pointing to my filthy jeans. I look down and see streaks of dried mud running past my thigh, right down to just below my knee.
I shrug. “Nothing much. I just had a fight with a tuft of grass.”
He chuckles, and I’m about to confess all about my good Samaritan when Callum calls my name and I see him heading from the cottage towards us.
“Hey, you’re back,” he says. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
I nod. “Yes, very much, and to be honest, it was quite an eyeopener.” He pecks me on the cheek then turns to his brother. “Have you finished up for the day?”
“Aye, I have, and I’m making the most of it.” He throws a tennis ball down the yard for the dog, who shoots off like a bullet out of a gun. I laugh, and so does Jamie.
“He’s fast,” I say.
Jamie grins. “That he is, and he’s intelligent, too.”
The dog comes back with the ball in its mouth and drops it at my feet.
“Och, he likes ye,” Jamie teases, and I roll my eyes and grin. I crouch down to pick up the ball, but Callum kicks it out of my reach.
“Hey, what did you do that for?” I moan. “I wanted to play.”
“Never mind the damn dog, we’ve got to decide what we’re going to do with the rest of our holiday.” The words have no sooner left his mouth when his phone rings. He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and removes it, peering at the screen.
“I’ve got to take this,” he says and pushes a button, placing the phone to his ear.
“Hello. Yes, this is Callum McKinley speaking.” His voice, his tone, is now sweet, like honey. He can be such a charmer and I move closer, curious to learn who’s on the line, but he walks away from me, although I can still hear his every word.
“Uh-huh, are you sure? So, when did this happen? Yes, of course. Leave it with me and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
He swivels around, his face a picture of pure joy, his elation so infectious that I smile back at him.
“Who was that?” I ask, “on the phone.”
“It was Lord Fornhill’s solicitor. By all accounts, his lordship has sacked Bradley. The solicitor says the millionaire wishes to come back to the firm.”
He scratches his head, clearly unable to digest the unexpected conversation he’s just had, then he looks back at me.
“Apparently, he’s seen Bradley for the conniving scumbag he is and requested that I run his account.”
>
He beams at me and I’m genuinely pleased for him.
“That’s fantastic news, honestly; I’m so thrilled it’s all worked out in the end.” My smile fades. “But does this mean we’ll be leaving straightaway?”
He shakes his head. “No, of course not, but I’ll have to set off early Thursday morning.”
He does a sideways glance at Jamie, who then jumps to his feet.
“Right. I’ll…er…leave ye to discuss yir plan of action,” Jamie says, and strolls off, the dog close at his heels.
“But tomorrow’s Wednesday,” I huff at Callum. “It doesn’t give us much time.” A wave of sadness washes over my entire body, and I guess it shows in my face, because he comes closer.
“Don’t worry. I won’t be gone forever. Why don’t you stay here and I’ll come back once everything’s sorted?”
I force my lips into a pout. “And how long will that take?”
“Not long. Just a few days. I’ll be back after the weekend. Stay here and unwind. Keira won’t mind running the shop for a few more days, surely? She loves it.”
I seriously don’t know what to say. Part of me wants to stay, but the other wants to return with my husband.
“But, Cal, there’s no point me being here on my own. This trip was supposed to help us reconnect. It isn’t right me being here without you.”
He shakes his head. “Maddie, I insist. There’s no point in us both being dragged back to work. Enjoy your time away and get to grips with the great outdoors. We’ve got the rest of our lives together, so a few days apart won’t hurt. And besides, this place is good for you. Already you’re far more relaxed than I’ve seen you in ages.”
“Okay,” I whisper, without an ounce of enthusiasm. “If that’s what you want.”
He nods, “It is. And this way, everyone’s a winner,” and his cheeks dimple into a smile. “Come on, let’s go inside and tell granda the good news.”
***
“I’m telling you, you could have knocked me over with a feather.”
Granda lets out a chuckle. “Well, it dinnae take Bradley long to show his true colours. And what a bonus. Fancy Lord Fornhill askin’ for ye personally.”
It’s after supper, and I’m sitting in one of the red Chesterfield sofas, listening to Callum talk tirelessly about his return to favour. I snuggle down. The leather is soft against my skin and the room warm and cosy. A fire roars in the hearth. The orange and red flames dance wildly and the heat has turned everyone’s cheeks pink.
The room reminds me of something out of Country Life magazine. It’s quaint with its large picture windows and classy antique furniture. The floor is highly polished, covered in thick colourful rugs, and the pristine curtains are made of raw silk. I’m aware it’s down to Hetty keeping everything spick and span. I’ve yet to meet her. She’s like a ghost, invisible, and I swear she only comes out at night. Yet, when I went into the kitchen earlier, I found a mountain of goodies she’d brought up from the village.
On the wall, there’s a large coat of arms. The McKinley crest is red, emblazoned with two stags, both standing tall on their hind legs. I’m reminded of Callum’s heritage, of a family tree which originated on the rocky Hebridean islands. Their name is said to go as far back as the tenth century.
I know little of my own. My parents were killed in a car accident when I was just nine years old. Their death left me with no family. I’d been in the car with them when it happened, but I have no recollection of the accident. My only memory is of being in hospital and of the kind nurse who tended to the severe cuts and bruises I suffered. I clung to her as though she was a lifeline, but it was no use. Within days she’d been sent to another ward and I was left to fend for myself.
A strange man with narrow eyes and large black glasses came to visit me whilst I was still in hospital. He carried a shiny black briefcase with a gold-plated combination lock. He opened the case to reveal a thick wad of official paperwork. He explained to me, in words which I was too young to understand at the time, that I was deemed far too old for adoption and therefore fell under the care of Social Services. He checked my details, my date of birth and my last known address, before taking my hand in his and guiding me to his car, a sleek racing green Jaguar, as I recall. I sat on the cold back seat, fearful of where I was heading—terrified of being left alone. The fear, and the abandonment I felt that day, has never truly left me.
I stand up and go over to the mantelpiece, from where I pick up a photograph of Callum’s mum and dad, both living in America now. I glance over at Callum. He’s discussing with Jamie the undoubted demise of Bradley O’Conner. I glance back at the photograph, staring down at a woman who barely finds the time to speak to her sons twice a year.
I brush my fingertips across the glass, over her face, as though this gesture will enable me to touch her physically.
“Can ye see a resemblance?” Alasdair asks, close to my ear.
I replace the picture and turn towards him.
“Yes, I can; it’s the curly auburn hair.”
“Aye, and the shape of the eyes. Dougal ne’er got a look in.”
I glance at their father. He’s a thin weedy man with a long neck and jet-black hair.
Alasdair’s right: the twins look nothing like their father.
“Have you heard from your son or daughter-in-law lately?” I ask.
Alasdair shakes his head and sighs. “Are ye kidding me! They’re both too busy dinin’ with the president of the United States to think about the likes of us.”
I too let out a sigh. “I understand what you mean. They didn’t even make it to our wedding. She wrote us a letter, explaining that, with his dad being in the oil business, they couldn’t possibly get away at such short notice. Strange, considering we gave them eight months. More than enough time, I would have thought, to make any crucial arrangements so they could attend their own son’s wedding.”
Alasdair pats me gently on the hand. “It pains me to admit it, but they’ve grown a wee bit big for their breeches. However, their loss is my gain.”
I cup his hand in mine. He’s been a wonderful father figure to both Callum and Jamie. It must have been hard for the boys, though, to live at boarding school for most of their young lives and then to come home to just one grandparent. He raised them to work hard and be independent young men, and although he doesn’t have much money, Callum would never ask his parents for a penny.
I let go of Alasdair’s hand and he heads over to the drinks cabinet. To my surprise, he pulls out a bottle of Bollinger.
“I think we should toast Lord Fornhill for coming to his senses,” he declares, unscrewing the small metal cage that protects the cork. He throws it onto the counter before forcing the champagne cork out with his thumbs. “May he come to realise that a McKinley is always the right man for the job.” The cork flies into the air and hits the ceiling with a pop.
I clap my hands in celebration and stare over at my husband. He’s beaming from ear to ear, and I can honestly say I’ve never seen him look so proud.
Alasdair pours the bubbly into four crystal flutes, coming over and placing one in my hand. He gives me a wink.
“I always have a bottle handy. Ye ken? Just in case.”
I don’t catch his meaning, not at first, but then, to my horror, he gently pats my tummy. My heart skips a beat as I realise what he’s been trying to say. I suddenly feel like my life has no purpose without the child Alasdair’s expecting to appear at some point in my married life.
He turns away, unaware of the pain he’s caused, and offers a glass of champagne to Callum. “Ye see, boy, ye just needed a little patience. If this here Lord Fornhill has his wits about him, he’ll be thanking ye for taking him on.”
Alasdair thrusts a glass into Jamie’s hand and we all move to the centre of the room, so we can toast Callum’s success.
I refuse to let Alasdair’s innocent comment ruin the entire evening. It’s tough, but I’ll have to learn to live with unexpected remarks
like his for the rest of my life.
“To Lord Fornhill,” Alasdair cries.
“To Lord Fornhill,” we echo and raise our glasses into the air.
I sip my drink and the bubbles go up my nose. I laugh out loud, rubbing my nostrils to relieve the tickle.
“You’re supposed to drink it, not snort it,” Jamie chuckles, and I suffer a fit of the giggles.
“Oh, now you tell me,” I say, and my attention flicks over to Callum.
I don’t know why, but I expect him to be watching me, but he’s too busy talking to granda, thanking him for the champagne.
Jamie offers me a tissue, which I readily accept. His gaze jumps from me to Callum and then back to me again.
“Mark my words, he’ll be head of the company by the end of the year.”
I nod. I don’t doubt it for a second.
“So, are we still on for tomorrow night?” I ask.
To my surprise, Jamie chokes on his champagne, but he’s quick to regain his composure.
“Er, sorry, what do ye mean?”
My brows knit together. “The quiz night at the Scran and Sleekit.”
The tension in his face dissolves and he lets out a light sigh.
“Och, aye, that’s still on the cards if ye wannae go?”
“Yes, of course I do. I’ve been looking forward to socialising with the locals.”
“Aye, they’re a friendly bunch,” he declares, “and it’s guid you’re keen to mingle. Tell me, though, how did ye get on at the memorial stone today? Ye ne’er did say how ye ended up covered in mud.”
Heat flushes my cheeks, only this time it isn’t from the fire. I laugh again, take a gulp of champagne and give a dismissive flick of my hand. “Oh, it was nothing. I just wasn’t looking where I was going and ended up in a heap.”
Jamie’s forehead creases with concern. “Ye sure ye dinnea hurt yourself?”
I rub the back of my head to find the lump is still there. “I’m fine, if not a tad embarrassed,” I admit and quickly change the subject. “Besides, I saw a golden eagle on the way and took a photo to prove it.”
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