What Lies Between

by Miller, Charlena

  The piper interrupted my thoughts. I had forgotten he was still there.

  “I’ll go ahead and get myself to the reception room.”

  “Good idea,” I replied, following him out of the room, eager for guests to arrive. I could scarcely wait to see Glenbroch filled with women in their finest gowns and men in their handsome dress kilts.

  Maggie stayed long enough to cluck and shake her head at every man wearing plain cream or white stockings before she scooted back to the pub.

  The sgian dubhs tucked into the top of the men’s socks caught my fancy. Could those tiny knives cut someone or were they only decorative? Had anyone ever pulled out a sgian dubh at a Burns Night celebration and used it on a guest?

  Ben found me, offered his arm, and I accepted. He led me into the library.

  “Ellie, I have to say this . . . you are so beautiful tonight, even more than you always are. You know that, aye?”

  I looked him up and down, doing my best to appear unfazed, but his words, the sound, the gentle tone, the melodic accent, nearly made me lose my balance. Thoughts crashed together in my mind as I took in Ben in his formal attire. I couldn’t help but like him as a person even though I shouldn’t, and then when he looked so handsome—it was a lot of work to keep him at arms-length. I managed a polite and neutral stance. “We look coordinated.”

  A pin at the lower side of his kilt sported the head of a boar in its center, the clan motto circling around its edge. Tassels decorated his sporran, which was accented by fur and silver. An ornate black handle topped the sgian dubh tucked into diced stockings accented with garter flashings.

  The way he’d looked in his casual Highland wear that first week had practically overwhelmed me, and then I thought I’d seen him at his most handsome at Hogmanay. Tonight he’d outdone himself. The black waistcoat fit perfectly over his athletic body, his crisp white shirt close against his broad chest. And the way he was looking at me . . . Ben MacIver, no matter the look he sported, came in one version: tall dose of trouble. I cast my eyes away to catch my breath.

  So much for neutral.

  “I prefer the green ancient MacIver tartan to the modern pattern.” It was unlike him to make small talk unless it was in a bantering way.

  “You have something on your mind? What is it?” I asked.

  “Right.” A shy smile appeared and vanished just as quickly. “You got my email, didn’t you?”

  Frustration flared in me at the reminder, and I bit back my angry response.

  “I didn’t want to fight my father about giving the Address to the Haggis.”

  Have you ever fought your dad on anything?

  “It doesn’t thrill me to have John heading the honors in my home. It’s like I’m sanctioning what he’s doing, as if the MacIvers own Glenbroch already. He shouldn’t even be here.”

  Even as I said the words, they sounded ridiculous. Of course the MacIvers should be here, and it would have been ill form if I had excluded them. To say nothing about the fact Ben had funded the night.

  “If it’s any consolation, he’s good at it, and entertaining. It will enhance your reputation in the community’s view for them to see you graciously allowing him this honour.”

  Grumbling under my breath, I had to concede he was right. Still, was this only the first of many concessions to the MacIvers tonight?

  “Is there a reason you don’t want to look at me? What’s the problem? Do I look like a silly shop souvenir?” he asked, his voice edged with irritation.

  Shaking my head, I said, “I have the house, all of this, on my mind, that’s all,” I said, gesturing to the room’s surroundings. “You look very nice.”

  Ben left to tend to his help in the kitchen, and I poured myself a dram of whisky to settle my nerves, taking several calming breaths.

  “A true whisky drinker? Thought your interest was for show.”

  I turned to see John MacIver entering the library. Eyeing him, I lifted my glass and swallowed what remained before setting the empty glass onto the table. “I’ve come to appreciate a dram occasionally.”

  “You must look like your mother. You don’t look much like Gerard. Hardly enough that I can see you’re a MacKinnon.”

  I stared at him, wondering where this was going.

  “There was a time when Gerard and I would get into a load of trouble on Burns night, always had some scheme going. But that was a long time ago, and everything has changed since then. He’s gone, and if you insist on running this place, Glenbroch will be gone as well. It deserves to continue, to be a destination, and provide jobs for people in the area. You need to understand you are putting at risk everything the MacKinnons worked for over many generations, and you’re affecting more people than yourself. Rather selfish, don’t you think, to run it into the ground?”

  His eyes chilled the room, and I swore the flames in the fireplace nearly died. I had to stand my ground.

  “You don’t have the best reputation around here for thinking of the community. The bottom line is I’m not going anywhere. I know you’re behind what happened to my gate, my computer, the inspector. Those kinds of tactics tell me you are lying and you’re not convinced I will fail on my own power. I shake you up enough that you feel you have to sabotage me to win. Although you’re a coward and get other people to do your dirty work for you, like Bethanne.”

  His face tightened and I was convinced my claims were right. I would deal with both him and Bethanne soon enough.

  John’s eyes bored into me. “You’re as daft as they come. You let your emotions blind you.” He wheeled around, his kilt flaring up, revealing surprisingly muscular, impossibly white legs.

  “And you don’t!” I shouted. He paused but didn’t turn back.

  I poured another dram. I hated to admit it even to myself, but his words affected me. The prospect of losing Glenbroch terrified me, but winning wasn’t a short-term, one-season effort. I would have to keep the estate going for years, decades. A hard future lay ahead. And what did he mean I was blind? Blind to what?

  John rose and made his way to the front of the full room to give the Address to the Haggis. If I could forget what a despicable man he was, I would have to confess he was dashing in his kilted finery. Scots words slid effortlessly off his tongue, and although it was hard for me to catch some or understand them when I did—what exactly is a sonsie face?—I could scarcely help but be charmed. I forgot for a magical moment he was one of the most black-hearted people I had ever known . . . but it was a short moment.

  John snatched the dirk from the piper’s sheath and raised it high above his head, a menacing scowl spreading across his face.

  My heart nearly stopped short.

  With tremendous flourish, he stabbed the haggis through. I recoiled in my chair as he lifted his eyes to mine, his implication clear. I broke his stare and saw Anna looking my direction. Her look was one of concern, and I returned it with a weak smile, hoping the protective steel in her eyes held the power Ben claimed it did. I had looked up the MacIver clan motto—I will never forget—and clearly John lived every breath of his life by it.

  Lifting my glass robotically at the toast to the haggis, again to the chef, and then to the piper, I didn’t look at John again. I refilled my glass with Old Pulteney and finished it off, knowing better. But this was my night in my house with the whisky I had chosen, and I was wearing a beautiful dress. I would do what I wanted.

  “Would you be interested in taking a whisky tour sometime?” Ben asked, settling into the chair next to mine.

  “Maybe.”

  Why did I say that?

  I changed the subject. “I think I drank too much. I need to load up on food and soak up some of the whisky in my system. Good thing it’s my party and there’s a ton of veggie haggis. You know, I’m thinking I might be ready soon to get my own collie. I’ve been working with Jazz, and I need to get my own dog.”

  Ben smiled, and it slowly became clear, after a long delay in my brain caused by my whisky intake,
that he found my abrupt change of topic amusing. “Jazz serves as stud for a few of the females around. I think there should be a couple having litters fairly soon. My mother could get you sorted.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. Now, could you refill my glass?”

  Ben filled an empty goblet with water, handed it to me. “Have a couple of these and we’ll have a dram later.”

  I downed the water and looked up from my glass. Ben’s eyes bore the same haunting quality I had seen in them for the first time on Skye.

  Just then the bagpipes let out a mournful wail, and the piper marched behind the haggis back to the kitchen, the knife still embedded. They would cut up the haggis and dinner would be served soon.

  The realization penetrated my foggy brain that I was beyond a good buzz. I needed to focus on the food, on anything, other than Ben.

  I scarcely ate my dinner even though I spent plenty of time pushing it around my plate. I was on edge and the whisky was loosening my emotions and my judgment. I could feel its effects, but it was too late to do a thing about it.

  Why couldn’t I play Ben like he had played me?

  I stood up, leaned over, and held my plaid to the side so as not to drop it into a glass or plate. Ben’s eyes riveted on my breasts, which even I had to admit looked pretty lush in a miracle pushup bra and strapless silk gown. “I’m going to fetch my wrap and take a walk, get some fresh air, such a beautiful night.”

  “You’ll catch your death. It’s far too cold for you to be outside in that”—he scanned my outfit, cleared his throat—“beautiful gown.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Mr. MacIver. I can handle a little cold.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  I turned on my heel and headed toward the door, affecting my best catwalk stride.

  Take it all in.

  Smugly pleased at the sound of his footsteps behind me, I stole a backward glance. He wasn’t in the hallway. No matter, he would find me.

  The hard wind bore through the glen straight into my pores, promising a storm and turning the air so bitter I swore the ancient stones in the old wall shivered. The cold was what I needed; it tempered the heat in my blood and chased my wild emotions back toward home.

  The weight of a long, wool coat fell around my shoulders. “You shouldn’t be out here . . . exposed to the elements.”

  “Thank you.” I looked Ben up and down as he stood there in his dress kilt, being too charming, looking too handsome for me to attempt to be the vixen I wasn’t. My heart urged me to be bold.

  I opened the coat wide and pressed my body against his, wrapping it around us both. “But you will catch your death. We should at least share.”

  “I can’t . . . don’t,” he protested as I nestled my face in the curve of his neck. “Ellie . . .” The sound of my name tumbled into the air, weathered and shorn.

  The heat of the whisky turned against me. Longings stirred my blood, stripping away my dark intentions, leaving me honest. His hands fell warm against my skin, and his eyes held mine firm in his intense gaze.

  “God knows you hold the power to redeem my gray and feckless heart or break it into ten thousand pieces. Whichever you choose, there is nothing I can do to save myself,” Ben said, and then his mouth enveloped mine.

  My heart warned that it would drown me at the bottom of the ocean if I lied to myself one more time. I offered no protest.

  “Ben, you’re needed in fifteen minutes.” Anna’s voice rang out over the wind whistling through the dark courtyard.

  A grumble vibrated Ben’s throat. He ran his hand around the edge of my face. As his mouth found the curve of my neck, my body melted into him in response.

  “Ben, are you smoking? You need to come now.”

  He let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ll be right there,” he yelled back.

  Holding my face gently in his hands, he said, “I am for you, Ellie Jameson, and I will find a way to prove it.”

  When he released me, I shook my head to indicate I didn’t want to go back in yet. I watched Ben fight the howling wind as he hurried back inside, his words repeating in my mind.

  My gaze caught the movement of someone retreating into the shadows at the edge of the house. The hair on my neck and arms bristled as a dark wind, far colder than the winter air, bore through my body. I didn’t want to leave the shelter of the tall hedge but my instincts urged me to head back toward the house. My nerves and muscles tensed in preparation.

  I stepped onto the path to the house, but running against the wind proved impossible. The only upside was it would take as long for the shadowy person to fight their way to me through the gale as it would for me to get back to the safety of the house.

  Reaching the door, I stepped inside and shut it behind me. As I let out a relieved sigh I heard John announce, “Ben MacIver will provide our night’s first entertainment.”

  The crowd applauded and I hurried to get to my seat, following close behind Ben as he strode to the front of the room. I slid into my seat just as he sat down on a stool in front of the massive window, which would have given an expansive view if not obscured by the darkness of the winter night. He placed the guitar strap over his shoulder and adjusted his microphone.

  “It’s nice to be safe and warm inside with all of you tonight. The wind is whipping itself into a frenzy. If the weather grows worse, we’ll put you up here at Glenbroch.”

  Everyone laughed, but I grimaced at the thought. It was becoming likely I would have to deliver on his offer as the weather shaped itself into a proper storm.

  “Most of you would know this. We’ll be singing Rabbie Burns’ poem, ‘My Luve is Like a Red, Red Rose.’ I’ll play the first stanza twice, once for you to get yourself ready, the second time we’ll sing together.”

  My mind flew back to the first time I had heard this song, in the van, as Ben sang along in his rough-hewn timbre.

  And now his gaze rested on me as he sang—the strum of his guitar and his voice the only sounds I could hear in the room. I couldn’t stop imagining what would have transpired between us had Anna not come looking for him.

  The plinks and thuds of what sounded like a handful of golf balls falling on the stone patio outside the window quickly became a roar, interrupting the singing. We all turned our heads toward the outside, but there was only darkness. The wind shrieked and slammed massive globs of hail against the house, vibrating the windows and inciting a few startled exclamations from within the room.

  Abruptly, the hail stopped, but the wind continued its loud complaint.

  I can’t say if I saw the dark mass coming toward me before I heard the first crack or the other way around. The shaking and the explosion came nearly simultaneously.

  People screamed, ran, dishes hit the floor, glass shattered, chairs fell.

  Whatever came down took me down with it, and the heavy thuds on my body told me it wasn’t done falling.

  Pushing and crawling forward, not sure which direction to go, I instinctively kept moving. Fear heaved itself from my gut as I headed toward a light. Wrong way. Every move entombed me deeper in the wreckage. And then, the screaming faded. Only ominous cracking and tearing sounds filled the dark, dusty air.

  Which way was out?

  Hands latched onto my legs, pulling me backward. I flailed my feet at the grabbing hands, not sure why my legs were fighting. My body seemed possessed of its own mind, separated from the one in my head.

  “Daft woman. You have to get out.”

  I recognized that voice, kicked harder.

  But John MacIver’s grip held me with the same cold steel that filled his bloody veins.

  I jerked his hands loose the moment we were outside. “Why did you pull me out?” I spat at him.

  “Stupid fool. You are completely mad.”

  “You think I’m the mad one?” My eyes widened, and a snort steamed the air. My house. Glenbroch! What had happened? Had he caused this somehow? Was anyone hurt?

 
; “You’re insane.” I shoved him away from me, catching him off guard.

  He staggered back.

  “Stay away from me,” I bellowed.

  Anna appeared in between us. “John, everyone is accounted for in the steading except Ben. He was next to the window, right underneath the tree as it fell. Where is he? Where is Ben?” Anna demanded, her voice rising with each word.

  John visibly jerked at the barely controlled anger in her voice, blinking at her as if she were speaking gibberish.

  “The guests and staff are okay?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she spit the word from her mouth without turning her attention from her husband. “John!” Anna’s use of his name hit as hard as a vicious slap. “Where is Ben?”

  John stared at her as if in a stupor, his words slow to come. “I thought he was out here. I caught sight of this one in there. She wasn’t coming out and I grabbed her.”

  “He’s still in there. Ben is in there.” Anna’s voice rose nearly to a shriek, laced with horror. “Find him!”

  Not waiting for John, I turned and ran back into the house, disregarding them both, pushing back the fear clawing at my heart. The only sounds inside were the rumblings and crashing of the house collapsing.

  “Ben!” I yelled out, desperation racking my voice. Beginning to see the ruin of my home, my limbs slowed to a stop. I closed my eyes, refused to be sucked under. I had to find him! “Ben!”

  A different sound—human—came from somewhere near me. I picked my way toward it. A body lay trapped under debris, a long, thick branch weighing down a pile of stones, wood, and glass covering the barely visible person.

  Don’t panic. Be strong.

  “Ben, it’s Ellie. I’m going to get you out. Everything is okay.”

  John appeared next to me, waving a small light into the wreckage. I turned to see Jim beyond his shoulder.

  “We have to get all this off him and get him out of here before more of the house caves in,” I said.

  “You need to get out of here,” John yelled at me.

  “I’m not going anywhere. Stop ordering me around and help me.”