by Ella Hayes
‘It’s strange. I feel like I’ve been here before.’
His voice came to her from behind. ‘My grandfather liked painting this scene...’
‘Of course!’ She turned to face him. ‘The painting in my room—this place is its inspiration.’
He nodded, and for a few moments their eyes locked across the silence—until Milla noticed the sound of the wind rustling through the grass. She broke away from his gaze and looked up, saw a buzzard wheeling overhead, its wing-tips tilting as it patrolled the sky, and she wondered how Cormac could bear to leave such wild beauty.
‘Do you miss this when you’re away?’
‘Yes.’
She felt her brow creasing. ‘Just “yes”...?’
He nodded and looked away. ‘Too many stories, too little time. We’re on the clock, remember?’
His cool detachment no longer bothered her. She could see that he used it like a weapon, and she wondered about it, but then she remembered that he was none of her business.
She smiled. ‘Okay, well, I’d like to go that way to get a better angle.’ She pointed to a narrow track through the heather.
He picked up her bag and walked ahead.
She’d put on walking boots to cradle her ankle, but it wasn’t easy going, even with the stick, and before long she was consumed with irritation and dismay.
At the foot of a low rise he stood waiting for her. ‘This is a bad idea, Milla. You’re going to make your ankle worse if you go any further.’
He was right, even though it hurt her to admit it. She eased herself onto a boulder and tried not to sound petulant. ‘I’ll just have to stay here, then. Can I have my bag, please?’
He put it into her hands and stepped back. ‘I’ll make myself scarce for a while, if you’re all right on your own.’
She nodded, forcing back her tears of frustration. ‘I’m fine, yes...please, just go.’
She watched him striding away up the rise and felt a pang of envy. He was heading for the spot with the best view and she couldn’t get there. She yanked open the zip of her bag and pulled out her sketchpad. She’d just have to make the best of where she was.
She toyed with an abstract treatment and then, as her pencil began to fly over the paper, she lost herself in the world she was creating.
* * *
From his vantage point on the hillside Cormac watched her. He’d known that she would struggle to walk along the rough path, but he admired her spirit. At least she seemed to be absorbed now, so perhaps she was happy.
He turned his attention to the view, but when he realised that he was scanning the stones for signs of the enemy he dropped his head into his hands. There was no enemy here—only memories.
He forced himself to look up again and let himself remember how much Duncan had loved this place. He’d been fascinated by the stones, and by the ancients who’d placed them here. When they were children they’d come with picnics; when they were teenagers they’d come with hip flasks of whisky, secretly filled from his father’s decanter.
He smiled at the memory, the way the whisky had loosened their tongues, but they’d always told each other everything anyway. It was how he’d known what Duncan wanted...
The last time he’d been here he’d been with Duncan’s widow, Emma, to scatter his friend’s ashes. When Milla had asked him if he missed the estate he hadn’t known what to say. He missed it all the time, but it was different for him now, and he couldn’t tell her about that.
* * *
‘This is such a peaceful place, Cor. There’s a calm, spiritual vibe... When my foot’s better I’m coming back. I want to touch the stones, and I want to see the view from where you were.’
‘Good idea.’
Her mood had softened and her affinity for the stones touched him, seemed to release some of the pressure in his head.
He smiled. ‘Ready to go?’
‘Sure.’
She wriggled off the boulder, but as her feet touched the ground she stumbled and he lunged to steady her. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine...’
Her bare arms felt cool beneath his fingers. When she moistened her lips he felt himself drifting, imagining how they would feel against his.
When he realised he was still holding her he released her quickly. ‘We should get going.’
She smiled. ‘Lead the way, Commander. I’ll bring up the rear—very slowly.’
She wasn’t wrong. As she hobbled back to the vehicle he could tell that her ankle was hurting, and by the time he’d settled her into the passenger seat he’d made a decision.
It didn’t take her long to notice that he was retracing their route to the bothy.
‘Why are you going back this way? It’s too soon.’
He pulled over. ‘You’re tired.’
‘No, I’m not. I’m fine.’
‘You’re not fine, but you’re too stubborn to admit it. I’m taking you back.’ He reached for the gears.
‘No!’ Her eyes gleamed with tears. ‘Okay, I give in—my ankle is hurting—but I can tough it out for the sake of my work. You’re a soldier—don’t tell me you don’t get it. Haven’t you ever had to push on through your pain?’
She knew exactly how to touch a nerve.
‘Cor, please—don’t take me back yet. I need this.’
In her eyes he saw all her fragility and determination laid bare, and something else that skewed his senses.
He sighed. ‘Okay, you win. There’s a place I know—I’ll show it to you—and after that I’m calling time. You should be resting that foot, not clambering up mountains.’
‘But I need—’
‘You need to rest, otherwise you’ll have to come back to the house—and I know you don’t want to do that, right?’
He could see her calculating just how far she could push him and he suppressed a smile.
She capitulated. ‘Okay. Show me the place you know and we’ll call it a day.’
‘Sensible decision. Now, you might want to hold on tight—where we’re going involves a little off-road climbing.’
He pulled away, then turned off the track and inched the four-by-four up the hillside, trying not to laugh at the way she was hanging onto the door grip.
She threw him a glance. ‘You weren’t wrong about the climb. No! Don’t look at me when I’m talking to you. Just keep your eyes on the non-existent track.’
He laughed. ‘I know what I’m doing. You’re perfectly safe.’
She pressed herself back into the seat. ‘It’s funny you should say that, because I was just thinking to myself how perfectly safe I was feeling.’
‘Don’t you trust me?’
It suddenly occurred to Cormac that he was having fun. He angled the Jeep so that it would slide back a couple of inches and threw her a panicked look. ‘Oh, no! I’m losing control...prepare to bail.’
She squealed. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday, Cormac Buchanan. I know you did that on purpose.’ She was laughing now. ‘Will you stop all your fooling and get us to the top before I have a stupid heart attack?’
* * *
She was still laughing when he pulled on the handbrake. ‘Now, there’s a view: Loch Calcarron and mountains that go on for ever. It doesn’t get any better than this.’
He hesitated for a moment, but the laughter they’d shared had lightened his spirits and suddenly he was happy to share something else with her.
‘This is my favourite place in the world.’
He heard her catch her breath. ‘This is the place—this is definitely the place.’ She was unclipping her seat belt. ‘I need to get out.’
‘I thought we’d agreed? You’ve got to rest that ankle.’
He caught a glimmer of mischief in her eye. ‘We did agree, and I’m not going back on it, but I need to take a proper look.’
When he arrived at her side she was reaching for her stick, but the thought of more hobbling was too much for him. ‘Leave it. It’ll be no good here, anyway. Take my hand.’
He detected a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes as she slipped her hand into his, and worried that his gesture was being misconstrued.
He decided that he needed to be breezier. ‘So where are we going?’
She pointed to a place a short distance away. ‘Over there—to that big boulder.’
‘Okay, let’s go.’
He led her through clumps of heather and carried her across the rocks in places where it was too awkward for her to walk. When he finally set her down he felt a sheen of perspiration between his shoulder blades. It wasn’t the effort of lifting her that had heated his veins; it was the simple fact of her existence.
* * *
Milla pressed her palm into the boulder she was sitting on, trying to erase the invisible imprint of his hand around hers. As he’d driven them up the slope she’d finally seen that smile, like the smile in that photograph with his friend, and she couldn’t get it out of her head. Nor the way he’d taken her hand, then lifted her across the rocks.
He’d been playful, pretending to lose his footing once or twice, and she’d laughed. That they could have fun together was a revelation, but it scared her too. He was letting his guard down by degrees, and a few degrees could change everything. Fantasising about a kiss was harmless enough, but she couldn’t let herself really like him—couldn’t allow herself to get close.
She’d been hurt before and she wouldn’t let it happen again. More than ever she needed to lose herself in her work, leave no space for anything else.
Cormac’s favourite place would be her new beginning. He was right—the view across the mountains was breathtaking—but from the moment she’d set eyes on this craggy backbone of granite she’d felt a surge of inspiration rushing through her blood. These rocks whispered to her so intimately that it felt like destiny.
The scrape of boots jolted her back to the moment. He set her bag down and she squinted up at him.
‘Thanks for going back to get it.’
He frowned. ‘I’d like to say it was a pleasure, but setting up camp here wasn’t part of the agreement.’
She unzipped the bag and pulled out her sketchbook. ‘I know you’re cross, but I promise I won’t be long. You brought me here, and I love it, so you should be pleased.’
He sat down and leaned against a boulder. ‘I’ll try to remember that when I’m explaining to Rosie why her dance floor isn’t laid.’
He tipped his head back and closed his eyes against the sun’s glare.
She gazed at his face for a moment, then opened her sketchbook. ‘Rosie will forgive you when you give her a painting of Calcarron House as a wedding present.’
* * *
Milla drove her pencil over the paper, outlining shapes, shading crevices, scratching flicks for grass. She mixed colours in her head and made notes—greys and mauves, bright yellows fading to bleached golds, deeper greens and darker browns. She worked quickly, aware that Cormac’s patience was running out.
When she finally lifted her eyes she was surprised to find him staring at her.
‘What are you seeing in the rocks? I thought you wanted me to show you a view.’
‘It is a view.’
‘Hmm...but aren’t the mountains and the loch more of a landscape? You said you painted landscapes.’
‘I do paint landscapes. This is a landscape.’ She turned towards the ridge. ‘You asked me what I see... I see sanctuary—a place of safety where someone might hide or shelter. I see history—I feel the power of whatever it was that formed these rocks—and in the cracks and crevices I see the passage of time, the forces of erosion. There’s a rich mosaic of texture and colour here which I can exaggerate into a bold abstract...’
‘You see all that?’
She turned back to him and nodded. ‘I do. What do you see?’
He rose to his feet and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I see rocks. We need to go.’
He extended his hand for her sketchbook, then helped her up.
She tried not to lean against him too much as he helped her back to the Jeep, but she couldn’t resist having the last word.
‘You can always see more if you want to. You just have to open your eyes a little wider, that’s all.’
* * *
The truth was that Cormac understood about the rocks. He’d sought their sanctuary many times. A tower of granite at your back offered respite from looking over your shoulder, and such a view might convince you that a greater hand than yours was guiding your fate—at least it might if you had any faith left.
That Milla had found inspiration in his special place had annoyed him as much as it had pleased him, but if he was annoyed it was only because he was supposed to be elsewhere. There would be questions about his long absence, and he’d have to lie and say that the blockage in the pipe had taken longer to find than he’d expected.
He chose a gentler route for their descent, and soon re-joined the track which led to the bothy. In a clearing, he pulled over and let the vehicle idle.
‘When you’re on foot you can get to the ridge that way.’ He pointed to a path which wound steeply upwards to a gap between two giant shards of granite. ‘When you get to the top you’ll recognise where we were.’
‘Thanks.’
He slowed to steer them through a deep rut in the track. ‘Don’t get any ideas about going soon, though—it’s quite a walk from the bothy and you’re nowhere near fit for the distance.’
‘No.’
He glanced at her. She was being uncharacteristically meek. ‘You’re quiet.’
‘I’m a bit tired.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that?’
She lifted an eyebrow. ‘Very funny.’
At the bothy, he helped her out of the vehicle and walked her to the door. ‘You definitely want to stay here?’
‘Yes.’
Her eyes flickered with an emotion he couldn’t read.
‘I think that would be best... What I mean is that I really need to focus on my work.’
He felt drawn into her gaze and stepped back. ‘I’ll bring your stuff from the house later on—check that you’re all right.’ For some reason his hands felt superfluous and he shoved them into his pockets. ‘Have you got food?’
Her lips curved into a smile. ‘Yes, I have. Honestly, I’ll be fine.’
He turned to leave, finding it harder than he thought it would be.
‘Cormac!’
He spun round.
‘Please thank your family for me. Can you explain—?’
‘Of course. You’re forgetting that my grandfather was an artist—they’re used to it.’
She smiled. ‘And thank you for everything. You’ve been very...’
‘And you’ve also been very...’ He grinned. ‘I’ll see you later.’
She laughed. ‘Not if I see you first.’
CHAPTER SIX
CORMAC LOOKED AROUND the room in case he’d missed anything, but Milla had only used a few pages in one of his grandfather’s sketchbooks. She’d left it open on the table. He stared at an unfinished sketch of a face. It had to be one of the urban portraits she’d talked about—the eyes certainly had a sad, brooding quality.
If she was having an artistic crisis then he could understand why she’d bribed him with the promise of a painting in return for a tour of the wilds, but he hadn’t wanted to ask her what had thrown her off course. It was none of his business. She was none of his business—even if he kept having to remind himself of it.
He fingered the folder in his hands, then tucked it into the sketchbook and closed the cover. He’d take it up to the bothy; she might find it useful.
He looked up as Ros
ie came into the room with Milla’s holdall and jacket.
‘That was easy! She’d hardly unpacked a thing.’
‘Well, she wasn’t planning to stay.’
He reached for the bag, but Rosie put it down and fixed him with a wide, blue gaze.
‘Hang on a sec. I want to talk to you.’
He heard a distant ringing of alarm bells. ‘Oh?’
‘Don’t get defensive, okay, but last night at dinner I couldn’t help noticing the way you were looking at Milla.’
‘You’re imagining—’
‘No, I’m not. You’re my brother. I can read you like a book.’
‘For goodness’ sake—’
‘Stop interrupting. I’m trying to say something.’
He knew Rosie would never let him go until he’d heard her out. ‘Okay. What?’
He folded his arms and watched her cross to the bookcase. She picked up a silver frame he recognised.
‘I love this photo of you and Duncan. You look so happy.’
He felt his chest tighten. ‘And your point is?’
She put the frame back. ‘I want you to be happy again, more than anything. I want my brother back—not this shadow you’ve become. Milla’s a sweet girl, but she seems...’
‘What?’
‘Uptight. Fragile. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m wondering if this is the kind of girl you should be falling for—’
Cormac felt a stab of irritation. ‘Who says I’m “falling” for her? I’m not interested in attachments—you know that. If I was looking at her it’s because she’s pretty, that’s all.’ He picked up the holdall and walked to the door. ‘I need to drop off her stuff. I’ll see you later.’
