I laughed. I didn’t know the Scots word, but the sound of it alone was enough to describe the sordid disorder of the commune.
‘He comes up here almost every day,’ Rebecca continued. ‘He and Andrew were thinking of doing a children’s book together.’
Rebecca scooped up the chopped carrots and tossed them into a big soup pot, throwing the bunch of parsley on top.
She pushed back her heavy hair, stroking it down thoughtfully, and stood gazing out at the children again, as if deciding whether or not to speak.
‘I should not be saying this, Carrie, but I wish Seumas would stay clear of that place. He’s a good soul, and I don’t know about the rest of them. It was me who persuaded Andrew to let them have the place. I wish now I hadn’t. I don’t like what’s going on down there.’
‘What’s going on down there?’ I asked sharply.
She stopped, fidgeting nervously with the lid of the soup pot. ‘I don’t know, Carrie. But, you see, they have so much education, and such good backgrounds. Diana’s father is an earl, did you know? She’s Lady Diana. Well, it’s odd, isn’t it? What are they doing down there?’ she paused, troubled. ‘I … I just don’t know, Carrie. I just don’t trust them.’
She swung the heavy pot from the table and onto the big coal-fired cooker, clanging it down heavily. I knew the conversation was closed. What I didn’t know was how much of what she really knew Rebecca had told me.
I could not insult her hospitality by pressing the point, so, unwillingly, I let it drop.
The children came banging and thudding at the back door. Rebecca opened it and let them, mud-stained and panting, into the kitchen, deftly shooing out a brown hen that tried to follow. The hen jumped up on the broad stone windowsill and watched us through the glass.
Rebecca doled out slices of homemade bread and sent them out. Later, I helped her set the table, and when Andrew returned, stamping into the house in his tall wet Wellington boots, we all settled around the table and shared the soup and Rebecca’s bread and homemade goat’s-milk cheese.
After lunch, Rebecca brought Tommy, the white Highland pony, down from the hill and we set the children on his shaggy back, all three together, and led them around the barnyard.
Caitlin softly patted the thick white coat with her baby hands and clung to the heavy mane as she had clung to my hair. She protested with shrill outrage when I lifted her down from the pony’s back, and protested even louder when I slipped her into her back pack for the journey home.
‘Oh, you must bring her back soon,’ Rebecca insisted.
I promised I would, realizing I probably would get no peace from Caitlin until I did. Then we walked together down to the road and Rebecca set her children up on the gate and they stayed in a row of three, waving to us until we lost sight of them around the edge of the hill.
It was a golden late afternoon. Loch Broom was still as glass, a deep black pool far below the rich green hill. The sheep lay in soft clumps, chewing cud and watching with sleepy interest as I passed. In the woods, under the bending hazel trees, small birds flicked about the moss and brown leaves. There was no other sound at all.
Caitlin, having given up the battle to stay at Achbuie, leaned heavily over my neck, absently twisting a lock of my hair. Eventually, from the weight of her, I knew she was sleeping.
I was at the gate that marked the boundary, midway between the two crofts, when a sudden sharp cracking sound shook the woodland silence. I jumped, and Caitlin stirred. I didn’t know what it was. It sounded like a gunshot.
I slipped through the gate, glancing quickly about, wondering, and as I shut it behind me, there was another sharp crack and a quick skidding jump in the leaves, a flickering in the dirt too clean and fierce for the soft wings of a sparrow.
I froze, disbelieving. Then the cracking noise came again, and this time something hit the trunk of a white birch tree in front of me, slashing a fresher white across it. Caitlin woke and wailed dismally.
Her cry shook me from my shocked stillness, waking a sudden, alert mother’s instinct that drew three rapid, connected conclusions: someone was, incredibly, actually shooting at me; he was behind me; and Caitlin, on my back, was more vulnerable than I. I must run, down, away, off the road. The woods were shelter.
I leaped off the track, as another shot flickered through the lacy leaves of the birches, and ran, leaping and stumbling down the mossy bank. The hazelnut trees were bushy and thick on the hillside, bending low, making difficult arches to duck under with Caitlin’s awkward weight on my back. Dominic’s shepherd’s crook helped; I slashed through the bracken ahead of me, finding desperate, dangerous footfalls among the rocks. Four more shots followed me, but the last two were more distant; I heard only the sound of the gun itself, no skittering of leaves and branches.
A ravine fell off in front of my feet, wet and muddy with a low trickle of water on the rocks at its base. I made myself jump and somehow kept my balance as my feet slid in muddy trails down the black leaf mould. Splashing into the water, I stopped, gasping for breath, and turned and listened.
There was no sound any longer. I sensed that my assailant had not followed me. Whoever he was, he probably didn’t dare to come closer. If I had seen him, and still escaped, he would have troubles of his own.
Caitlin, shaken into silence by the wild run down the hill, began to whimper and stir. I wanted to comfort her, but I knew I must not take the chance. Somewhere up that hill was a man with a gun who wanted to kill me. He might not have given up yet.
‘Shh,’ I said. ‘We’ll go home now, and I’ll make some tea.’
‘Tea,’ said Caitlin, satisfied, waking up properly. She wound her fingers back into my hair, ready to play horses again.
‘Get up, Tommy,’ she said, as Rebecca had spoken to the pony.
I made a low pony noise and said, ‘Shh, quiet for pony.’ She agreed, making hushing sounds. Very carefully I stepped out into the burn, following it downstream to where I knew it would meet the burn that bordered the farthest of Angus MacLeod’s fields.
It took a long tiring time, picking my way through the wet mossy rocks. The little burn turned and twisted, and I had to turn and twist with it. The banks were steep, peaty earth, and I fell more than once, soaking my boots and the legs of my jeans. Eventually, when my burn finally splashed over a little waterfall into the larger stream beside Angus’s pasture, I was far, far down the hill from the road.
Instinctively I resisted leaving the shelter of my woods. The pasture looked terribly wide and open. But I could see the gable end of the MacLeod’s house, and the smoke rising from their chimney. I made myself believe that I was safe here, and climbed over the wire fence and walked slowly up the green sheep-cropped hill.
I slipped past Grisel’s door, unable to face her just now. I held only a very fragile control on my shaken nerves. I wanted desperately to get within the solid sheltering walls of Sron Ban, and the only person I wanted to see was Dominic.
I could have wept with relief when I reached the house and saw the Range Rover parked again in its place.
As I stepped, careful of Caitlin, through the front door, I called out, ‘Dominic, are you here?’ and was surprised at the high trembling sound of my own voice.
He had been reading by the fire, and he stood up and stepped toward the door as I came in from the dark hallway. He saw my wet clothes, my tangled hair, the look on my face, and said, ‘Carrie, what’s happened?’ He sounded really concerned.
‘Can you help me with Caitlin?’ I asked. He came forward and lifted her down to the floor. I slipped the pack off and put it down on the rug, dropping the shepherd’s crook beside it. Then I buried my face against his shoulder, and hung on to him, crying, not caring about anything except how scared I had been and how good it felt to be safe. Caitlin found her doll under the table and sat watching us, wide-eyed.
He let me have my cry, and then he sat me down in the chair by the fire and handed me a glass of whisky. I sipped at it and he said
, smiling a little, ‘Okay, now?’ I nodded.
‘Can you tell me what happened?’ he said softly, kneeling beside the chair and keeping his hand on my arm.
I nodded again and said, quickly, in one breath, ‘Somebody shot at us out on the hill. They tried to kill us.’
‘Carrie, no,’ he said under his breath, and I didn’t miss the quick white look of shock on his face before he turned away. He turned back, and the look was gone, his expression now carefully guarded.
He insisted then that I tell him every detail of what had happened, precisely where I had been, where the shots came from, how many there were. I answered as best I could, for the whole event was tangled in a confusing mist of shock.
‘Did you see anyone?’ Dominic asked, low and soft.
‘No. They were behind me.’
‘You’re sure you didn’t see anyone.’
I shook my head again. He stood up and walked away, looked out the window for a long time. Then he came back to me and knelt down beside the chair again and explained with the careful clarity that he would use for Caitlin.
‘Carrie, now listen. There are quite a lot of foxes in the hills here and they are a serious threat to the sheep. Every now and then some of the local farmers get together and try to clear them out. They go up, sometimes in groups, sometimes singly, and have a day’s shooting. They are usually pretty careful where they do it ‒ but, well, that’s a pretty empty bit of road. Somebody misjudged. Somebody made a stupid, dangerous mistake. They probably never saw you there. Or maybe they saw you and mistook you for a fox. You know about these hunting accidents. They happen all the time in the States.’
‘But not here,’ I said, confused and tired. ‘I thought you couldn’t get guns here.’
‘Nonsense,’ he replied. ‘Of course you can. Most farmers keep one around. I’ve got one. Look.’ He stepped through to the office and reappeared in a moment with a light rifle. ‘See,’ he said. ‘I keep it to keep the rats down.’
I shuddered at the sight of it. ‘Please,’ I said, suddenly sickly upset to see him standing with the rifle in his hands, and Caitlin, playing at his feet, reaching up to see it. ‘Please put it away.’
‘Sure,’ he said quickly, seeming to understand. He returned the gun to its place and came back to me, explaining, ‘It’s quite legal, Carrie. I have a license for it.’
I nodded. The license didn’t matter. I just didn’t want to think about guns. His explanation about the fox hunters made sense. I believed it. It was much easier to believe that than to believe that someone had stood up there on the hillside and deliberately tried to murder a woman and a tiny child.
Of course, it was an accident. But its being accidental hadn’t made the danger any less real. I looked up at Dominic and said, ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been pretty silly. It’s just that I was so scared.’
He came and stood beside me, his hands gentle on my shoulders and said, ‘Of course, you were scared. But it’s over now. It was just an accident, and anyhow, no harm came of it. You can forget it now.’
I promised I would, and I also promised myself that I would try to keep my nerves under control. That incident with the gas jets in my room had shaken me to the point of paranoia. I was determined that today’s accident would not have the same effect.
‘Okay,’ I said, smiling up at him. ‘Shall we have dinner?’
As I stood up, he let his fingers slide from my shoulder, just lightly lifting my hair and touching the back of my neck. I shivered and turned sharply from him, suddenly recalling my careful vows. I went quickly to the kitchen, seeking refuge in work.
He was kind and thoughtful with me throughout the evening, and I appreciated it. But later, when I had gone to bed, I heard him drive away in the minivan, down the road to Lower Achbuie. I curled up, tense and miserable in my blankets. I knew I had no claims on him. But I did not want to be alone at Sron Ban that night.
Chapter Ten
The moment I awoke, I knew there was something wrong. It was very early, only grey daylight came into the room. It could be no more than four in the morning.
My sleep had been uneasy and brief, but in spite of that, something had awakened me, suddenly and sharply. Then I heard it, the sound of someone walking softly across the floor downstairs in the front room, directly below me.
I got up quickly and reached for my long wool robe hanging on its hook on the door. I slipped it on, wrapping it around me and tying the belt. Then I stepped to the door and carefully opened it.
The landing was still and cold. There was no sound from Caitlin’s room, but I noticed that Dominic’s door was open as it had been the night before.
I realized suddenly that he might be just now returning from Lower Achbuie. I bit my lip. If he was, I didn’t want to see him. He wouldn’t want to explain to me, and I didn’t want to have to listen to his explanations. But after yesterday, I just couldn’t face going back to my bed without seeing for myself that it was Dominic and not someone else down there.
I slipped quietly down the stairs. The front room door was open. Dominic was kneeling alone in front of the hearth, warming his hands over the dying embers of the fire.
He heard me, and looked quickly around. ‘Carrie, what are you doing up?’ he demanded.
‘I heard a noise.’
He stood up and studied me, standing there in the doorway with my robe clutched nervously closed at the throat. After a long while he said, ‘You’re still scared, aren’t you?’
‘I’m sorry.’ I apologized for that, and for my intrusion.
He looked at me for a long time without smiling. Then he said, ‘Would you like some tea?’
‘I’ll go back to bed, if you’d rather be alone,’ I said quickly.
‘I don’t want to be alone.’
‘Let me make it,’ I said then, and went to the kitchen to fill the kettle. I ladled tea leaves out into the earthenware pot, seeing through the open door that Dominic was sprinkling coals on the embers, reviving the fire.
Thin sunshine came through the window when I brought the tea in and set it down on the table. I poured a cup for each of us, and we sat across from each other, drinking tea in the pale morning. Dominic studied me silently, solemnly, the way Caitlin did, blue eyes dark and shadowy. Then he said, ‘You must leave Sron Ban, Carrie. You’re not safe here any more.’
I couldn’t believe he was saying it. I sat stunned, my hands wrapped around the brown mug of tea, staring incredulously for several moments. I said finally, in a whisper, ‘What?’
‘I’ll get your airline ticket. I’ll make it up to you in severance pay. You’ll not lose on it, I promise you.’
I shook my head slightly. I didn’t want severance pay. And I didn’t want to leave Sron Ban. I wanted an explanation more than anything else.
‘I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘Why?’
He ran the fingers of one hand distractedly through his hair, ruffling it so the sun from the window caught the silver in it. Then he raised both hands for a moment as if to start an explanation. He dropped them to the table. Looking down, he said quietly, ‘I can’t tell you, Carrie. You’re in danger here. I can’t protect you.’ He looked up again, met my eyes, and shrugged hopelessly.
‘What danger?’ I asked. ‘Do you mean from yesterday?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘But you said it was an accident.’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Why can’t you tell me?’ I flung back at him, angry and bewildered.
He jumped to his feet, not looking at me, shoved his chair back, and stalked to the fire, where he stood staring at the coals, tense and silent. Then he whirled around again and came back to me, standing right beside me. He reached down and touched the side of my face with his fingers, gently, lovingly.
‘Don’t you understand?’ he whispered. ‘I’m not free.’ He said the last low and bitter. I should have understood, but I didn’t.
I jerked away roughly from his hand and said, ‘I
f somebody’s threatening me, or you, or both of us, why don’t we just go to the police?’
It was logical, but it was the wrong thing to say.
His hand came down on my shoulder, not loving now, but hard, his fingers cutting in, and he whispered harshly, ‘You will not go to the police. Not now or ever.’
I pulled away, frightened, and he released me, but stood glaring down at me with that look of smouldering anger I had learned to treat with care.
‘You’re in trouble, aren’t you?’ I said, rubbing my bruised shoulder. He didn’t answer, but turned away to the fire, and with his back to me said, ‘I’ll call my travel agent in Inverness from the distillery and make your reservations. You should be able to leave in a couple of days.’
I realized then that he meant it. I sat numbly taking it in and then I cried out suddenly, remembering, ‘What about Caitlin? What will happen to Caitlin if I leave?’
He returned to the table and slumped down again in the chair, facing me. He sat with his elbows on the table, resting his head in his hands. ‘I don’t know, Carrie,’ he said quietly, troubled and preoccupied. ‘Look, I’ll sort that out later. The nurse talked about a children’s home. We’ll find something. The important thing is to get you safely out of here.’
‘No,’ I said, so sharply that he looked up, suddenly alert. ‘No. The important thing is Caitlin. A little child isn’t something you just “sort out” when you get around to it, Dominic,’ I added with bitter sarcasm.
‘Don’t you tell me what’s right for her,’ he retorted angrily. ‘I care as much about her as you do.’ Suddenly we were fighting like parents.
‘If you did,’ I returned, ‘you wouldn’t be considering dumping her in an orphanage for your convenience.’
He leaned across the table and caught both my hands and whispered hoarsely, ‘It’s not a matter of convenience. It’s a matter of your life. I will look after Caitlin. You will get on the next plane out of Glasgow and go home.’
Highland Fire: captivating romantic suspense full of twists Page 10