by Lucy Gillen
He sat well in the saddle, with an ease that suggested long practice, and mounted on a shiny black stallion, who she assumed was the notorious Black Knight she had been warned against, he looked every inch the lord of the manor that John Stirling had dubbed him. The horse was a magnificent animal and it was obvious from the way he arched his neck and occasionally tried to shake his great head that he was impatient to indulge in something more exciting than the quiet trot that was all he was being allowed at the moment. Only the man’s firm hand on the rein kept him in check, and Neil McDowell held him confidently and with deceptive ease.
He was a man who suggested strength, perhaps even a certain ruthlessness, which was not at all as he had been described to her before she left Australia, and she wondered how much he had changed in the eight years since her friends had seen him last.
He was dressed very much as he had been yesterday, in breeches and boots, but today a blue shirt seemed to lend emphasis to the contrast between fair hair and a skin tanned to a deep golden brown by years spent outdoors in all-weathers. He was not at all as she had visualised him, but she found him rather intriguing all the same, And enigmatic enough to arouse her interest.
So convinced was she that he intended to ride straight past with possibly a polite acknowledgement of her as she stood at the window that when it became obvious that he meant to call at the cottage, she was caught unawares. She heard the violent and indignant snort of the stallion when he was brought to a halt, and hastily brought herself back to reality, brushing a hand over her hair as she hurried across the little room to open the door.
Neil McDowell was tethering his mount to one of the trees that half-buried the cottage on the side furthest from the drive, and he turned when he heard the click of the latch, his grey eyes regarding her with the same disconcerting steadiness she had noticed yesterday.
‘Good morning, Mr McDowell!’
Three long steps brought him to the door, but he made no attempt to accept the invitation she conveyed by stepping back and smiling in a vaguely uncertain way. He put one hand on the jamb of the door and leaned on it, while a hint of smile touched his mouth for a moment. ‘Good morning, Miss Carne—are you settling in? Is everything all right for you?’
‘Oh yes, thank you. It was very kind of whoever was responsible for the flowers and the supply of groceries. I should have thought of bringing something to somewhere as isolated as Ben Ross, but I’m afraid it just didn’t occur to me until it was too late.’
‘You’ll not be too uncomfortable, then?’
For a moment she wondered if he hoped she was uncomfortable enough to decide not to stay, and she hastened to disillusion him. ‘On the contrary, I’m very comfortable ! ‘
His manner suggested not so much terseness, as a desire to be away as quickly as possible, and she did not profess to understand him. ‘If you need anything more, I’m sure Mrs McKay will be able to find it for you.’
‘Oh no, I’m fine, thank you.’ She wished he would come inside instead of standing on her doorstep, as if he was merely making time to call because he felt he should. ‘Won’t you come in for a moment?’
He was shaking his head almost before she had finished asking, and he looked decided enough not to change his mind. ‘I’ll not trouble you, Miss Carne. Now
that I know you’re settled and not needing anything, I’ll be away.’
He had already unhitched the black and was preparing to remount before she found her tongue again.
‘Oh, Mr McDowell—thank you for coming to ask after me.’
He turned and looked at her over his shoulder and for a second the grey eyes held hers steadily. Then she caught another glimpse of that faint smile on his mouth as he shook his head. ‘You’re a guest of the estate, Miss Carne; Ben Ross is not lacking in hospitality, I hope.’
`No, of course not.’ She tried not to feel as if she had been put in her place, and made another effort to let him know that she appreciated what had been done for her. ‘Were—were you responsible for the flowers and the groceries ?’
He seemed to take a minute to consider whether or not to admit responsibility. ‘I guessed a young girl who was —arty by nature would not have the practical good sense to think to fill the store cupboard,’ he told her with unabashed frankness, and hastened to remind her how right he was. ‘And you said yourself you’d not thought of it until it was too late, did you not? The flowers must have been Mrs Stirling’s touch; I have to confess I’d not thought of that.’
‘Mrs Stirling?’ Surprise at the name overshadowed any objection she might have had to his opinion of her, and her reaction evidently amused him, for it showed in the grey eyes for a moment.
‘John Stirling’s aunt,’ he said.
‘Oh! Oh, yes, of course.’ She recovered herself hastily. ‘He told me he was staying with his uncle on the estate, I hadn’t thought of an aunt too. Maybe I’ll see her some time and be able to thank her for the flowers.’
He said nothing for the moment, but swung himself up into the saddle and held the restless black with the same apparent ease that had impressed her so much when she watched him ride down the drive. He turned the animal and held it in check a moment longer while he looked down at her.
‘I dare say John Stirling will be glad to pass on your thanks,’ he told her. ‘I’ve no doubt you’ll be seeing him before long!’
He put his heels to the black stallion’s glossy flanks, and Melodie followed their progress for as long as she could see them along the drive towards the house, her feelings strangely mixed. There was a consummate skill in the way he rode that was exciting to watch; the satiny black horse, streamlined for power and hard to handle, and the tall, fair man who controlled him so skilfully. It was an exciting and curiously disturbing combination, and her expression was thoughtful as she turned back into the cottage.
Just as Neil McDowell had suggested, it was not very long before she received a visit from John Stirling, not riding on horseback, as she half expected, but driving the same car he had brought her from the station in. He arrived a little after eleven and asked her out to lunch with him.
It was an invitation she would have liked to accept, but she had not gone for her walk after all the previous day. Various small jobs around the house had demanded her attention and she had still not made that necessary tour of reconnaissance, and she had to remind herself, as well as John Stirling, that she was there primarily to work.
‘I’d love to go with you, Mr Stirling,’ she told him,
hoping he would not put her resistance to the test by insisting, ‘but I really do have to try and get down to some real work. Yesterday I promised myself I’d take. a walk and get the lie of the land, but I didn’t go and I simply can’t allow myself to be—sidetracked again today, much as I’m tempted.’
He looked so genuinely disappointed that Melodie felt vaguely guilty about refusing to go with him. He was a nice, friendly young man and he felt towards her, much as she did towards him, she guessed. They had taken a mutual liking to one another from the beginning and so far there had been no suggestion of anything other than liking, though almost inevitably something more would develop before too long, she was not naïve enough to suppose it wouldn’t.
He had perched himself on the edge of the sitting-room table and he regarded her for a moment or two with bright speculative brown eyes, then he smiled. ‘Do you think you could call me John?’ he asked, and Melodie stared at him for a moment, then laughed and shook her head.
‘I don’t see why not,’ she agreed. ‘Could you manage to cope with Melodie? It’s rather more of a mouthful, I’m afraid.’
‘It’s beautiful, and I guess I could cope very nicely, thanks! ‘
She smiled at him, feeling she had in some way compensated for refusing to lunch with him, and walked into the tiny kitchen at the back of the cottage. Taking a coffee pot from the cupboard on the wall, she looked over her shoulder.
‘Can I persuade you to have coffee with me?’<
br />
He had followed her into the kitchen, and it was plain that he was as tempted to accept as she had been,
but he pulled a rueful face as he leaned against the door jamb with his arms folded one over the other. ‘I wish I could,’ he said, ‘but I promised Uncle Jamie I’d fetch some stuff for him from Corrie by early this afternoon. In fact I was hoping to kill two birds with one stone when I asked you to have lunch with me.’
‘I’m sorry, John.’
‘You insist on working?’
She probably imagined a hint of impatience in his voice, but it was possible he was not often refused, and disliked the experience. Dislike or not, she must be adamant if she was going to achieve as much as she hoped in the next couple of months.
‘I must, John. I’m here to work and so far I haven’t done a thing about it. I know it’s only one day,’ she added hastily when it appeared he was going to remind her, ‘but with someone like you around it could be all too easy to slip into the habit of going out and about when I should be painting, so I mustn’t let myself be persuaded.’
The smile she gave him suggested flattery, as much as the words did, and she used both, shamelessly, for her own ends. Apparently with some success too, for he stood and watched her for a moment or two while she put coffee into the pot, then shrugged and sighed. Heaving himself away from the doorway, he came and stood beside her while she busied herself at the kitchen dresser.
‘O.K.—I guess I’ve got the idea, but you surely don’t intend working all the hours God made, do you, Melodie?’
‘Not quite!’ She smiled up at him. ‘If you still want to take me out somewhere, ask me at a week-end. I’d really like to go with you, you know, it’s just that I
really must try and do something now that I’m here—start off on the right foot, so to speak.’
‘Yeah, sure!’
She paused in the act of taking a cup and saucer from the cupboard, and looked at him over her shoulder for a second before she spoke. ‘You are going to ask me again, aren’t you?’
An arm slid around her waist, drawing her against him, and the move was so unexpected that she caught her breath, then he bent his head and his voice murmured close to her ear. ‘You bet your sweet life, I am! ‘
Melodie eased herself away, using the near boiling kettle as an excuse to make the break. She wished he had not made such a move so soon, especially when she had not been expecting it, but she still treated the matter lightly. ‘I’ll hold you to that! ‘ she threatened.
While she made the coffee he watched in silence, then he shrugged resignedly. ‘You won’t change your mind, I guess?’
‘Not at the moment, John.’
She put all the things on a tray and he carried it into the next room for her. ‘O.K.’ He shrugged again, obviously not happy about being refused, but resigned to it for the moment. ‘I’ll see you, Melodie ! ‘
‘I hope so! ‘
The brown eyes regarded her for a second, seemingly in some doubt. `So do I,’ he said.
Walking had never seemed so enjoyable before, and Melodie found every aspect of the vast Ben Ross estate, and its surrounding countryside, well worth recording on canvas. The whole place was completely irresistible, and she found so many views and impressions that just
begged to be painted, that she was almost confused with a surfeit of good things.
A rather hair-raising drop from the side of the drive seemed to be her only means of access to a lush and fertile glen, and while she debated the wisdom of making such a hazardous descent she stood looking at the country around from her vantage point.
Rolling hills, their craggy outlines softened by a seemingly permanent mist caused by the summer warmth, and sweeps of dusty mauve heather and soft green turf—all soft muted colours that delighted the eye of an artist and made her positively anxious to start working. Not a breath of wind stirred, and the surface of a small loch below in the glen reflected the sky like mirror glass.
A river ran like liquid silver across in the distance, skirting the nearer hills, and great grey granite boulders thrust up through its racing waters, overwhelming the wind-dwarfed scrub that lined its banks. There were salmon, she knew, and she dwelt on the thrill of seeing them thrust their silver-grey bodies against the wild river.
It was an irresistible challenge to climb down to the glen below where she stood, and she managed with less effort than she expected, although it took every trick she had learned with two rock-climbing brothers to get her safely to the bottom without mishap. It was well worth the effort when she stood at last by the smooth stillness of the little loch, and it was so quiet that the silence was almost tangible.
The waters of the loch were green and clear, backed by more hills, softly rounded and draped in green and purple. She had never felt more at peace in her life, she thought, and closed her eyes for a second as she took in
a long, slow breath. Just imagining spending the next two months here was enough to convince her that she would be able to work as never before, and it gave her a sense of excitement just to think about it.
‘Miss Carne—good morning!’
Startled by the sound of a voice behind her, Melodie spun round quickly, her eyes wide open now, and blank with surprise, then blinking rapidly back to reality when she met the disconcerting steadiness of Neil McDowell’s gaze. He was mounted on the black stallion, and before she could return his greeting, he swung himself down from the saddle and draped the rein over his arm as he came to join her at the edge of the loch.
‘Did I startle you?’
Her immediate instinct was to deny it, and she shook her head, at the same time hastily avoiding that steady gaze that she found so disconcerting. ‘No, not at all,’ she said. ‘I just wasn’t expecting anyone else, that’s all—it’s peaceful here and I didn’t see anyone coming.’
‘You’d be too busy contemplating the loch; and I came down the hill from the house.’
She glanced up at the steep hillside automatically. It was strewn with outcrops of rock that looked dangerously hazardous for both horse and rider, and he must be a quite remarkable horseman to have achieved it without mishap. He had apparently noticed the direction of her glance and from the faintly amused smile that touched his mouth for a moment, she gathered he followed her train of thought quite easily.
‘It’s not as dangerous as it looks when you’re used to it,’ he said, and Melodie felt somehow that she had been gently chided for being over-anxious.
In truth she had been snatched from a reflective mood of pleasant tranquillity, and plunged into conversation
with a man who she freely admitted made her curiously uneasy. There was no good reason for her uneasiness, but nor was there much she could do about it. Whenever she came into contact with Neil McDowell she felt the same reaction to him, and it irritated her without her being sure why.
‘You ride very well,’ she said, attempting an off-hand compliment. ‘I wouldn’t like to tackle that slope even on the best horse there is.’
‘I would hope not! ‘
Something in his voice brought a reaction from her, though she could not have said why. ‘You feel a woman isn’t capable of it?’ she asked, and the grey eyes swept slowly over her face before he answered.
‘Some women might be,’ he said in his quiet voice. ‘Not you, I think, Miss Carne, you’re too much a—a womanly woman.’
It was a compliment, Melodie recognised a little dazedly, though it was doubtful if even he fully appreciated the fact. ‘I’m not a very good horsewoman either,’ she said, ‘I have to admit it.’
He looked around at the gentle beauty of the glen, and then looked at her with a raised brow. ‘Were you finding subjects for your paintings?’ he asked, and Melodie nodded. ‘You’ll find plenty to please you here.’
‘I’m—overwhelmed by it!’ She too looked around her and smiled, touched again for a moment by that sense of peace and satisfaction she had felt earlier. ‘I could live here forever, and never ru
n out of subjects. It’s all so unbelievably lovely, and the most marvellous thing, I think, would be the way it must change with every season—show a different face all the time. I’d love to see it in winter, in the snow!’
`You’d not be standing here in winter!’ He was smiling, and the difference it made to his normally serious features was stunning. It gave a glimpse of the man he might be, and warmed the grey eyes to a more gentle expression. The water literally floods down from the hill when the snows melt,’ he went on, ‘and this glen, often as not, becomes a loch, for a while at least.’
‘But it must be exciting, even then,’ Melodie insisted. `It’s part of the character of the place, isn’t it?’
He was watching her with a more thoughtful look in his eyes, as if he found her views surprising in some way. ‘You’ve a feel for the country, Miss Carne, you should do it justice.’
‘I shall try!’
His approval was somehow both unexpected and oddly gratifying, and it occurred to her for the first time to wonder whether his breakneck ride down that stony steep slope had been specifically so that he could join her, or if he would have undertaken it anyway. He must surely know the estate as well as anyone, and she speculated on just how willing he would be to help with names and locations, if she asked him.
`Were you thinking of painting Loch Laird ross?’ he asked, and she nodded, looking at him curiously.
‘Is that its name?’ She glanced up at the lean and sternly attractive face through the thickness of her lashes for a moment. ‘I don’t know the names of anything,’ she ventured. ‘That fall, for instance.’ She looked across to where a stream ran like a swift silver ribbon between ragged rocks, fed from above by a glittering waterfall that seemed to spring suddenly from nowhere, way up in the hillside. ‘That waterfall’s beautiful with the stream at the bottom—has it a name?’
‘The Ghyll burn.’ He provided the information willingly enough, and it gave her encouragement to ask more questions.
`Ghyll’s a local name?’