by Ally Forbes
That day came and Arlen helped Tara carefully into the passenger seat of the car he had arranged to take them to the airstrip.
‘You’re safe with me now Tara. I’ll never let you go again.’
He drove fast out of the castle grounds, and down the hill towards the small airstrip, desperate to leave the place and all the memories it contained. Shattered and exhausted, Tara watched Arlen drive, his strong jaw set in concentration and his deep brown eyes fixed on the road ahead. Her tentative first feelings for him had grown into a deep, strong and true love, her gratitude to him overwhelming. He had rescued her from his brother who would have treated her as his own, controlling her freedom, demanding obedience. Time with Xander had removed her choices and freedom and she had been a prisoner, a chattel. Still, she felt a deep sorrow for his loss, despite everything. A sorrow that drained the strength from her body.
A small jet waited for them on the airstrip and Arlen drove the car to the steps. His speed, efficiency and fluency of movement were balletic and he lifted her again from the front seat of the car, her strength gone for the time being.
Carrying her up the steps of the plane he placed her in a cabin seat, securing her lap belt. Kneeling beside her he held her hand and looked deep into her eyes.
‘We’re going to my place on the west coast of France. It’s by the Atlantic Tara...you’ll love it. We’ll stay for a while, just you and me. Now sleep. Recover.’ He kissed her slowly and ran his fingers through her hair and Tara closed her eyes and slept.
They arrived in France and the tension and fear she had felt as a heavy burden left her completely. Their journey ended at a beautiful beach house overlooking the Atlantic. It was a wild and stormy day and Arlen lit the fire and cooked a meal. Tara watched the waves crash into the sandy beach and the gulls circle and dive in the gusts of wind that drove onshore. Arlen had arranged to have clothes and groceries delivered and Tara jumped in fright when their arrival was heralded by a sharp knock on the front door.
But over a period of months she gradually relaxed. Arlen stayed with her when she needed company and left her on her own when she needed space. He intuitively knew what she needed and never had to ask. At first she worried she was being watched, a man with binoculars on the beach, a strange car parked nearby, a silent phone call. Arlen reassured her she had nothing to worry about but knew that she would need time to work through the trauma she had experienced. He dealt with his business by phone and on-line from a little office that Tara never ventured into. She often thought of the Gardens of Blackfell and cultivated a small area in the grounds of the house, a sandy coastal windswept corner but it gave her great pleasure. Her longing to return home to Scotland grew day by day.
Awakening one morning, she was sick and immediately knew that she was with Arlen’s child. Arlen’s delight was overwhelming and he immediately asked her to marry him. Two weeks later they married in a small flower strewn ceremony in the local village. As they lay on their honeymoon bed, Tara said, ‘I want to go home Arlen.’
They left the next day. Blackfell welcomed them home, Arlen as the new master of the Estate and Tara as the new lady. Arlen had arranged that every trace of his brother was removed before they arrived but they stayed in Arlen’s small cottage for a number of months as refurbishment work on the House was completed. Tara’s stomach grew and her happiness along with it but she didn’t want to go to the Gardens. It was a sharp and painful reminder of her introduction to Blackfell and all that had transpired.
It was on the day she gave birth to Arlen’s first son that she ventured into the Gardens of Blackfell for the first time since returning. The Gardens had been transformed from an overgrown tangle of ancient vegetation to a fully functioning kitchen garden, a romantic vision of beauty. The greenhouses were repaired and sparkled in the sunshine, the smell of herbs overwhelmed her senses. She held her breath in disbelief. A figure at the far corner of the garden stood up and waved.
As he approached Tara recognised the figure as Bert. Tara flung her arms round him.
‘I can’t believe this Bert. I just can’t believe it. How.....?’
Bert put his finger to his lips to quieten her.
‘We had an army of people in ‘ere. Master Ashbrook pulled out all the stops Miss. Wanted to get it right for you. He told me he wanted the gardens restored before he took you back from Italy.’
Tara rubbed gently at her stomach and sighed gently.
‘This place is yours Miss.’
The peace and beauty of the Gardens of Blackfell salved her pain. She turned her face into the warm sun, closing her eyes and the Garden enveloped her in quiet tranquillity, a blanket of peace.