Master of Ben Ross

by Lucy Gillen

  think lucidly about moving away. It ought to be possible to appear cool and practical about it if she was firm with herself, but somehow she did not think John would be fooled—possibly because his own involved emotions made him able to judge hers more accurately.

  ‘Please—’ She swallowed hard, trying to rid her voice of its betraying huskiness. ‘Please don’t apologise, John, you’re—you’re quite likely to be right about me —I’ll probably find it quite easy to just move out of Ben Ross. I’m certainly not going to spend the rest of my life ‘ She caught her lip between her teeth suddenly, realising how close she was to crying, and dazedly unsure how she came to be in such a state.

  ‘Oh, Melodie, sweetheart!’ She was drawn into his arms again and held close with her head resting on his chest while he buried his face in the softness of her hair until it muffled his voice. ‘I didn’t mean to make you cry, honestly, sweetheart—I’m sorry ! ‘

  Melodie had her eyes closed, but she felt a tear squeeze between her lashes and raised a hasty hand to brush it away. ‘I’m not crying! ‘ She eased herself away, but her eyes were bright and glistening when she looked up at him. She had not felt this weepy and unhappy when she came out, and she wished she could do something about it now. ‘I need to be alone for a bit and clear my head—maybe I should go for a long walk before I make a fool of myself!’

  ‘No, John, please!’

  She was gathering up her things, heedless of how she did it, her hands unsteady and anxious only to have some time alone to think things out. So much seemed to be crowding in on her that she could not think clearly. Until now she had not seen her situation as in

  any way urgent, but now suddenly it seemed imperative

  that she made a move away from Ben Ross and from

  Neil and she had to think it all out carefully and alone.

  ‘When do you go home, John?’

  She realised the impression her question had given and saw the look that came into his eyes as she straightened up with her stool tucked under her arm and the rest of her stuff thrust untidily into a bundle.

  ‘I go the day after tomorrow. I’ll be busy packing tomorrow, but I thought

  ‘Then I’ll say goodbye! ‘

  He looked stunned, as if he found it hard to believe that it had finally come to an end, and she felt more touched by his reaction than she expected. ‘You won’t see me tomorrow?’

  She shook her head, her eyes dark and shadowed by thick lashes, hiding the turmoil that churned away inside her. ‘I’d much rather not, John.’ Her voice too was betrayingly unsteady again and she knew that he wanted to reach out for her. ‘I—I hate saying goodbye.’

  ‘I hate saying goodbye to you!’

  He had a hand on her arm and his fingers were curled tightly into her flesh. She tried hard to concentrate on his needs and his feelings while all the time her own emotions were hopelessly tangled and made it almost impossible to think of anything else.

  ‘You won’t refuse me a goodbye kiss, will you, Melodie?’

  She thought how long ago it seemed since she had first seen those brown eyes, gleaming with warmth and friendliness in that pleasantly rugged face. Since he had offered to drive her up to Ben Ross and issued a lighthearted warning about the dourness of Neil

  McDowell. It was hard to say goodbye, for she was really fond of John, but not fond enough. She was not in love with him as she was with Neil.

  ‘Of course I won’t refuse to kiss you goodbye!’

  She said it hastily and a little breathlessly, for it was the first time she had made the admission, even to herself, that she actually loved Neil and it made her feel curiously vulnerable suddenly. She was smiling, a slightly dazed and unsteady smile, as she put down the paraphernalia of paints and canvas once more.

  ‘Goodbye, John, and—thank you for—everything.’

  He scanned her face swiftly, searchingly, his hands on her arms ready to draw her close. ‘You won’t change your mind and come with me?’

  It was a curiously twisted smile she gave him and it did not reach her eyes, then she turned her head and looked down into the glen where the tiny loch lay smooth as a mirror in its setting of hills and mountains. When she laughed suddenly, it had little to do with amusement, and John’s arm tightened for a second about her.

  ‘I know it’s silly,’ she said, ‘but I’ve the oddest feeling of belonging here.’

  She raised her face to him and his mouth touched hers lightly. It was a gentle gesture of regret and farewell and it added to her already unhappy mood so that she slid her arms up around his neck and clung to him for a moment, needing his support.

  ‘Maybe you do belong, sweetheart,’ John said. ‘I only wish you felt you belonged with me.’

  It seemed to Melodie that a quiet ride on the moors

  was the ideal thing to help her clear her mind. The

  ever ready Rusty was available and nothing loth to

  take an unexpected trip, and it was a lovely day. An initial gallop had rid the gelding of his surplus energy and from then on their pace had been no faster than an easy walk for the most part, but far from its being conducive to thought she found herself relaxing as she so often did when she rode among the now familiar surroundings.

  Without intentionally choosing any particular direction she had made for the big loch on the western boundary of the estate, and from there veered north towards the towering slopes of Ben Midden. It was a much greater distance than she had done before, but she was unaware of how quickly time was passing and utterly content to let Rusty amble along at his present easy pace for as long as he liked.

  The air was warm, but still fresh enough to cool her cheeks and her forehead, and it was only when she caught sight of a spring, bubbling crystal clear from a rocky outcrop at the foot of Ben Midden, that she realised how thirsty she was. The water sparkled, clear and pure, from a cleft in the rocks some five or six feet up, and ran away over a stony bed to disappear somewhere among the bristling heather, and she felt Rusty’s head come up in pleasure at the sight and smell of it as they approached.

  Sliding down from the saddle, she climbed over the lower rocks and cupped her hands under the bubbling fount, flinching briefly from its icy coldness over her fingers. The gelding could help himself from the stream lower down, and take a well earned rest at the same time, while she looked around her.

  It was so quiet except for the occasional cry of a bird or the odd mysterious small noises that characterised the moorland and she felt at ease as she always did

  out there. The lower slopes of Ben Midden towered over her, looking much less soft and pretty close to than when seen through a haze of distance and the ever present suggestion of mist. It looked far more rugged and harsh but no less intriguing.

  Neil had said something about there being a family of wild cats in the area, and this rocky slope with its multitude of crevices and rock ledges was an ideal environment for them. The temptation to go searching was almost irresistible, but a glance at her wristwatch brought her up short, a silent whistle of surprise pursing her lips.

  She scrambled down hastily from the ledge where she stood, all thoughts of wild cats banished in her anxiety to get back without further delay. She was already nearly an hour late for lunch and, though Jessie McKay was remarkably tolerant of her somewhat erratic timekeeping, there was a limit to her tolerance.

  It was unbelievable that time should have passed so quickly, and yet when she looked at how far she had come it should not have surprised her. Arriving in the middle of the afternoon for lunch was likely to earn Jessie’s disapproval, and Melodie pulled a face when she anticipated the explanations she was going to have to make.

  Rusty was still drinking from the stream, dipping his head every so often and enjoying the cool water, and Melodie was never quite sure what happened next. Whether her own movements startled the animal into angry flight, or whether it simply objected to any kind of intrusion into its territory, she would never know, but a spitting
ly furious cat leapt suddenly from somewhere among the rocks and went hurtling down to the

  ground in a wild flurry of fur and claws.

  Legs stiff and straight, the cat landed close to where Rusty stood waiting, and the sight of it, back arched and every hair of its striped fur bristling in fury, was too much for even the patient gelding. Suddenly confronted by a shrieking creature with venomous yellow eyes, he panicked—he gave a shrill whinny of fear, tossed his head, then took to his heels across the moor before Melodie could make a move to stop him.

  Too stunned to move for a second or two, she stared-after her mount as he galloped off, tail and mane flying and heading for home as fast as he could go, then she let out a long breath and shrugged in helpless resignation. It would take her at least another hour to walk back to Ben Ross and she was already very late—Jessie was not going to forgive her so easily this time.

  She looked around far the wildcat, but it had disappeared. In direct contrast to its noisy appearance, it had vanished as silently as a ghost among the rocks, and she had not even the consolation of seeing it for a moment or two. Ben Ross seemed an incredibly long way off but, since there was no chance of returning any other way, she had no option but to walk.

  Trying to keep track of distance by an occasional glance at her wristwatch, Melodie thought she had walked roughly a mile when she caught sight of someone in the distance and blinked for a moment, not daring to believe it was possible assistance on the way.

  Her heart was pounding heavily as she stood for a moment shading her eyes against the sun and watched the figures coming closer, although still some distance off. It had to be Neil, she thought, and half smiled to

  herself at the thought. He would have seen Rusty come home without her and come looking to see what had happened.

  The indeterminate figures evolved after a surprisingly few minutes into recognisable shapes and she could make out Neil’s familiar fair head even at a distance. He was riding Tarquin and leading the runaway Rusty, and as soon as she was sure who it was she stood on tiptoe and waved a hand to let him know she had seen him.

  She thought he urged the horses along faster, and certainly he was with her in a very short time and both horses were breathing hard as he pulled them to a halt and slid from the saddle without pause. He came straight to her, his hands reaching out for hers before even he uttered a word.

  ‘You’re all right?’ The grey eyes scanned her face with a rapid scrutiny that was so intense she felt her cheeks colour furiously. ‘You’re not hurt?’

  ‘I’m perfectly all right, Neil.’

  She had not realised how soft her voice would sound, how much it would tell him, and she saw the response in the grey eyes at once. His fingers were tight and hard and he pulled her closer, pressing her hands to his chest so that she could feel the thudding beat of his heart which was much too fast for it to be normal.

  ‘When Rusty came back without you, I thought ‘

  He shook his head as if to rid himself of the thoughts that had gone through his mind. ‘What happened, Melodie?’

  ‘I stopped for a drink at the spring, and—’

  ‘The spring?’ His gaze went unhesitatingly to the towering height of Ben Midden. He knew every inch

  of Ben Ross land—he did not need to question which spring she referred to. ‘You’ve been that far?’

  ‘I—I didn’t realise the time until I looked at my watch while I was drinking from the spring, and then the wildcat ‘ She looked up at him anxiously, as if she feared he would not believe her story. ‘I saw a wildcat, I think I must have startled it, and It jumped down from the rocks right beside where Rusty was standing.’

  It did not really surprise her to see laughter gleaming in the ever-changing grey eyes, and her heart warmed to the glow it gave to his stern face, even though he found her predicament amusing. `So he took off without you and left you stranded,’ he guessed, and her bottom lip pouted reproachfully.

  Even so there was a smile in her eyes when she looked up at him and Neil squeezed her hands, pressing her palms to the warmth of tanned skin beneath his shirt. ‘You find that funny?’ she asked, and he shook his head.

  ‘Not really—I’m just so relieved that you’re not hurt I can laugh at any alternative.’ Again the grey eyes searched her flushed face and settled once more on her mouth. ‘Does that surprise you, Melodie? That I was worried sick about what I’d find when I came out here to look for you?’

  It was a moment before she shook her head. Her senses were reacting to Neil the way they always did, and she felt quite suddenly so lightheaded that she could have laughed for no reason at all—except that she felt so happy.

  ‘I seem to remember that you appointed yourself my guardian, didn’t you?’

  He said nothing for a moment, but the hands that held her close tightened their hold, and he looked in to

  her eyes with that steady and infinitely disturbing gaze that she always found so hard to bear. Only at the moment she did not find it hard at all and she met it head on, finding something there that shivered through her like ice and fire.

  Then she bent her head suddenly and touched her brow to the spot where his shirt opened. A small pulse at the base of his brown throat throbbed urgently and she raised her head just a little more to press her lips to it with a touch as light as thistledown.

  `Melodie !’

  His voice, softer and deeper than she had ever heard it before, sounded close to her ear, and his hands moved to slide around her, drawing her into his arms. Her head rested just below his chin and he held her for a second without moving. It was like a dream to Melodie, something not quite real, and she pressed closer to him, unwilling to break the spell now or ever.

  ‘I came out here because I had—things to think about.’

  Her voice was muffled, and the words much too prosaic for the present situation, and she closed her eyes in pleasure when his mouth sought a soft spot beside her ear and kissed her lightly, almost teasingly.

  ‘Do you have so much to think about?’

  It was a moment before she answered, and she wondered just how much it would take to shatter this dreamlike moment beyond repair. But she loved Neil, she had no doubts at all about that now , and she wanted there to be no secrets between them. Even so she ventured the truth with a wildly beating heart.

  ‘John’s going back to Canada, did you know?’

  He eased her away from him and looked down into her eyes for a moment before he answered. ‘Aye, I knew,’

  he said quietly. ‘Is that what you had to think about so deeply, Melodie?’

  His arms were still about her and she thanked heaven that at least that was unchanged. ‘He asked me to marry him. I said no, of course,’ she added hastily when she sensed the sudden tautness in the enfolding arms.

  Neil slid a hand beneath her chin, lifting her face to him and scanning it closely, as if he searched for something he was not quite sure of. ‘Of course?’ he prompted, and Melodie nodded.

  ‘How could I?’ she whispered. ‘I don’t love him, Neil.’

  ‘Did he have reason to suppose you did?’

  The question was unexpected and she frowned at him curiously for a second before she answered. ‘No, I’ve told him each time he asked me that I couldn’t marry him.’

  The grey eyes were deep, unfathomable and they sent a sudden shivering thrill through her whole body as she looked up at him. ‘And could you marry me?’ Neil asked.

  ‘Oh, Neil!’

  His arms were tighter, more urgent around her, and the lean hard body had a tautness that bowed her to its unyielding length like a willow to the wind. The grey eyes were closer, dark as grey steel in his tanned face, and his mouth only a breath away from hers so that his breath warmed her lips as he spoke.

  ‘Will you?’ His eyes swept swiftly over her face and came to rest once more on her mouth, soft and tremulous with anticipation. ‘I love you, Melodie, and I’ve near gone out of my head the past few weeks thinking y
ou were taking John Stirling seriously!’

  ‘Oh, Neil, of course I’ll marry you! I was only afraid that you still—’

  His mouth, hard and firm on hers, silenced her for a long time a silence that was broken only by the shifting of the restless horses and the calls of birds among the heather. From her mouth to the softness of her throat and neck, until her head spun with the sheer excitement of him, and she hugged herself close to him, content if they never moved from that spot.

  They were riding back to Ben Ross before she thought about how much of a rival the huge acres of the estate were going to prove. John had suggested that any woman who married Neil would have to take second place to his beloved Ben Ross, and she pondered on the possibility of how true it was as they rode into the stable yard.

  Neil lifted her down, holding her for a moment and smiling down at her, as if he found it all a little hard to believe, and Melodie stood for a moment in his arms. ‘I love you.’ His deep, softly accented voice was like a shiver of sensation through her whole being, and she lifted her face to be kissed.

  Her mouth warm and tingling when he released her at last, she looked up at him through the thickness of black lashes, her eyes on his mouth, usually so straight and firm, now half smiling. ‘As much as you love Ben Ross?’ she asked impulsively, and saw the swift frown that drew his brows together for a second only.

  The grey eyes were steady, studying her in the way she always found so disturbing. ‘That’s an odd question,’ he said. ‘What on earth prompts you to ask such a thing, my love?’

  He did not wait for an answer but led the horses into the stable while Melodie followed him, already wishing

  she had not let her impulsive tongue run away with her yet again. He did not press her to explain but turned and smiled at her in a warm, satisfied way over his shoulder while he unsaddled her horse.

  ‘I’m sorry, Neil.’

  He paused for a second, looking at her curiously, then draped the saddle over the partition between the stalls and shook his head. ‘I don’t begin to understand you, my darling,’ he confessed. ‘I’d best spend the next few months learning what makes you tick.’ He leaned across suddenly and planted a kiss on her mouth. ‘It’ll not be a hard chore,’ he whispered.