Her Brooding Scottish Heir

by Ella Hayes

  A gentle knocking startled her. She crossed to open the door, expecting it to be Rosie, but it was Cormac who was standing in the hallway. He was slightly breathless, as if he’d been running, and his eyes were burning with something that looked like hope.

  She felt a little wrench inside her chest.

  He stepped towards her. ‘I saw your light on. May I come in?’

  His top button was undone, his tie loosened against the crisp white shirt. She moistened her lips and nodded slowly, standing back for him to enter.

  Inside, he turned to face her. ‘I’m sorry.’

  She noticed the tension in his shoulders, heard the hitch in his breath.

  A bubble of emotion churned inside her, turning her words into a whisper. ‘You’re sorry...?’

  He took a tentative step towards her, licked his lips quickly. ‘I could say a lot more, and if you’re happy to give me the time of day then I will, but straight off the bat I thought “sorry” would cover all the bases.’

  She felt a smile forming on her lips, a little spark glowing in her heart. ‘It’s a good opener, but I’m not sure about giving you the time of day when we’ve got all night. I’d rather hear it now.’

  He stepped closer and she felt the chaos of sensation she always felt when he was near.

  ‘My head’s a mess, and it’ll probably all come out as a jumble, but what you said at the jetty—you were right.’

  He closed his eyes briefly, shook his head in self-admonishment.

  ‘I thought that letting you in, living any kind of life for myself, was like letting Duncan go—and that felt like the ultimate betrayal. I didn’t want Emma to see us together, to see how happy you make me. I didn’t want her to think I’d moved on and left her behind in her grief. But you’ve made me see that I can’t go on like that. I’ve been sinking for so long that I didn’t even know I was drowning.’

  He reached a hand to her face and the warmth of his fingers made her head reel.

  ‘You threw me a lifeline, pulled me back to the surface, and even though I’ve been kicking and screaming the whole time, now that I’m here I don’t want to sink again. I know it won’t be easy, but I need you, Milla. Will you keep me afloat?’

  Her eyes burned with hot tears—he wasn’t lost to her after all.

  She slipped her hands to his waist, felt the delicious heat of his body radiating through his shirt. ‘What makes you think that you even had to ask?’

  He smiled slowly, his eyes glowing with a light that made the breath catch in her throat.

  ‘Maybe I did do something right, way back in time—something to deserve you.’

  She slid her hands over his chest, pulled his tie free of its knot. ‘I think you should stop talking now.’

  He laughed softly and took her face into his hands. ‘As usual, you’re absolutely right.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CORMAC STIRRED AND shifted across the pillow, so he could feel her hair against his cheek. He loved waking up beside her—the warmth of her body, the scent of her hair. It was delicious, like herbs and apples.

  He closed his eyes and felt a wave of happiness wash over him. During the night he’d woken up with an idea and he needed her unbiased opinion. He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. It was early enough for them to escape without being seen, and they’d be back long before they needed to get ready for the wedding.

  She would be coming to the wedding. It might feel awkward for a few moments, but after everything he’d been through he could brave a few awkward moments.

  He pressed his lips to her hair. ‘Milla! Wake up. We need to go.’

  She snuggled into his arms and groaned. ‘Need to go where?’

  ‘Outside. I want to show you something.’

  She lifted her face and he kissed her softly.

  ‘Come on—get dressed. Jeans and walking boots. I’ll see you downstairs and don’t make a sound. If we’re spotted, we’re done for.’

  The large door creaked as he led her out into the cool breath of dawn. It was a calm day, with a gentle warmth filtering through a haze of cloud which would burn off as the sun ripened. He tugged her, giggling, across the drive to where his sports car was parked and motioned for her to get in. Then he put his backpack into the compact boot, let the top down and slipped into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Ready?’

  She eyed him in amusement. ‘Ready as I’ll ever be at stupid o’clock in the morning.’

  He laughed and turned the key in the ignition. ‘It’ll be worth it—you’ll see.’

  He smiled as she settled herself into the plush leather seat, let her head fall back against the head rest. He needed this time alone with her before the bustle and excitement of the wedding and he loved early mornings, when possibilities hung in the air like drops of dew.

  He drove through Ardoig and followed the road which wound over the estate in the other direction. He felt her eyes on him as he negotiated a bend.

  ‘You’re a very handsome person, Cormac Buchanan. Have I told you that?’

  He laughed. ‘No.’ He glanced at her, saw a smile hovering on her lips.

  ‘I was most likely saving it for a special occasion.’

  His eyebrow lifted. ‘Is that what this is?’

  She reached a hand to the back of his neck and smiled. ‘Maybe.’

  After another bend the road straightened out, and he accelerated through a deserted tract of wild moorland. Black scars of peat ripped through the fabric of the landscape while silver rocks burst randomly through the heather in craggy peaks. The rising sun bloomed through the thinning cloud, throwing down slanting golden rays.

  He squinted at Milla’s face. She was taking it all in, her eyes wide. ‘What do you think of the view?’

  She didn’t turn to look at him. ‘It’s inspiring. If I’d brought my sketchbook I’d be asking you to pull over.’

  He smiled to himself, tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. It was exactly what he’d wanted to hear. He drove on, slowing for bends as the road wound upwards, twisting and turning until it crested the hill.

  In a lay-by, he pulled in and turned off the engine. ‘We’re here. Come on.’

  ‘Come on?’ She surveyed the wilderness in confusion. ‘Come on where?’

  She got out of the car and waited while he shouldered the rucksack.

  ‘It’s not far; just a short hike.’

  She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him quickly. ‘Lead on—I’ll be right behind.’

  For a while they tromped along the path with sturdy stems of heather brushing against their legs. When he suddenly realised that he could only hear his own footsteps he swung round, perplexed. She wasn’t there.

  With a thumping heart he scanned the path, then started to run back the way he’d come. ‘Milla! Mill—’

  A strangled giggle close by stopped him in his tracks, and within seconds he found her lying behind a clump of heather, buckled up with laughter.

  He jumped on top of her and pinned her hands over her head playfully. ‘That wasn’t very nice. I thought I’d lost you.’

  She stopped laughing and eyed him mischievously. ‘You were going too fast for me—you said this was going to be a short hike, not a forced march. I’m recovering from an injury, remember?’

  Her voice was husky from laughing, her chest rising and falling softly in panting breaths, and for a moment he was mesmerised. He released her hands and instantly she wound her arms around his neck, pulling his mouth to hers.

  It was too easy to get lost in her kisses, the feel of her body beneath him, and it was all he could do to tear himself away.

  ‘Come on—we need to get going.’ He got to his feet and pulled her up beside him. ‘You lead the way this time—a good commander always marches at the pace of the slowest. Stay on this track and keep going.’

/>   At the edge of a ridge, Milla stopped.

  He wrapped his arms around her and she sank back against him. He nuzzled her neck. ‘What do you think of this view?’

  She looked up into his face. ‘Frankly? I’m miffed. I don’t have a sketchbook with me and this is too wonderful not to draw.’

  He kissed her. ‘Tell me what’s wonderful about it, exactly?’

  She looked at him incredulously. ‘Can’t you see it? This view is alive with texture—the way the light grazes the landscape, the colours of the heather, the grasses, those gashes of peat... If you can’t see it you must be blind.’

  He laughed. ‘I do see it, but I’m not an artist. I like looking at the world through your eyes.’

  They walked on. Cormac felt a swell in the air. The day was going to be fine and warm, and he was glad for Rosie’s sake.

  They reached the top of the hill and their destination came into view. A small stone bothy with a gently pitched slate roof.

  As they made their final approach he watched Milla’s brow crinkle in confusion. ‘Who’d live here? It’s miles from anywhere.’

  He worked the handle back and forth, then gave the door a shove. ‘It’s not for living in; this is a real bothy—a place for shepherds and walkers to shelter from bad weather.’

  He ducked his head and entered the gloomy space, slipping his backpack onto an ancient trestle table.

  She followed him inside. ‘So why have you brought me here?’

  ‘Because I wanted you to see it.’

  She spun round slowly on her heel and lifted an eyebrow. ‘It would be an understatement to say that this place needs work.’ She crossed back to the door and looked out. ‘It’s a lovely view, right enough...’

  ‘That’s all I needed to know. I brought breakfast—bacon rolls and coffee.’

  She turned, a small smile playing on her lips. ‘That was an inspired decision.’

  He poured two coffees from a flask and handed her a roll wrapped in foil. The early sun was already warming the bothy wall. They sat with their backs to the stone and watched a dainty grey partridge picking its way through the grass.

  He leaned across to kiss her hair. ‘So, you wish you’d brought your sketchbook today?’

  ‘Yes! I think I’ll need to come back soon—tomorrow, maybe.’

  He sipped his coffee and smiled. Her enthusiasm was like an endorsement of everything he’d been thinking. ‘We can come back tomorrow if you want.’

  She was gazing at him, a bemused expression on her face. ‘You’re looking mighty pleased with yourself. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’

  He wondered what she could see in his eyes. Could she see that he was head over heels in love with her?

  It felt too soon to say it, so he smiled. ‘Later, maybe. Right now I need this bacon roll.’

  Her eyes narrowed, her lips curving upwards into a smile. ‘You make a very good bacon roll.’

  He laughed and shrugged. ‘Nothing to do with me—I charmed one of the caterers.’

  * * *

  Cormac gazed over Loch Calcarron, taking in its timeless beauty, inhaling its freshwater scent. He could hear the distant creak and slam of doors as wedding guests got out of their cars. He could hear exclamations of delight and the happy laughter of reunions.

  He looked across the glinting chop of waves and thought about Duncan. For too long he’d chased his friend away, unable to meet his eye for guilt, but now he invited him into his memory.

  You should never have gone over that bridge, Duncan. If only I hadn’t taken that call you’d be alive now.

  Did he imagine the weight of an arm around his shoulders? A familiar voice in his ear?

  But you wouldn’t, so now you need to do enough living for both of us. Live it large, Cor. Enjoy every moment.

  He drew in a slow breath and blinked moisture from his eyes. He was imagining it, of course. It was all pouring out of him because of Emma. She’d arrived early, to spend a little time with them all. He’d been nervous, but within moments of seeing her his chains had loosened and crashed to the floor.

  She was content, she’d said. Shyly she’d told him that she’d met someone, and was worried that he would think badly of her. He’d held her and that was enough. They hadn’t needed words to mend their fences.

  He’d felt light-headed, strangely euphoric, so he’d escaped to the loch where he’d spent so much time with Duncan. The slopping of the water and the memories of his friend had soothed him.

  The sun shouldered its way through the last cloud and threw a burst of warmth onto his face, instantly rearranging the clutter of thoughts in his head. He was caught up in a surge of pure feeling and he smiled as he realised slowly that it was a feeling of happiness.

  He took a last long look across the water, then checked his watch.

  He needed to speak to his father, and if he hurried he’d have time before the wedding.

  * * *

  Milla relaxed her shoulders and smiled. ‘Thanks, Lily. I’d never have managed the zip on my own.’

  Lily’s eyes glowed with warmth. ‘You look beautiful and...happy.’ The sky-blue silk of her dress rustled as she walked to the door. ‘I’d better get back to Rosie; she’s a bundle of nerves and she needs me. I’ll see you later.’

  She smiled and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

  The cream-and-pale-green shoes stood to attention, ready for her to slip on, but instead Milla gazed at her reflection in the tall mirror. After everything that had happened she could hardly believe that she was standing here, dressing for Rosie’s wedding.

  The dramas of last night seemed unimportant now. Cormac had been right to take them away this morning—spending time together in the wilderness had glued them back together. Their kisses at the ancient bothy had healed her heart and restored her faith.

  She smiled softly at the memory of his lips on hers, the coaxing warmth of his mouth, that sensation of sublime acquiescence. It had felt like falling into a painting, being washed by hues of an indefinable colour. She was in love with Cormac Buchanan. She knew it in her bones the way she knew how to mix colours to capture exactly the right shade on canvas.

  She slid her feet into the exquisite shoes and sprayed perfume on her neck and wrists. She was grateful that Rosie’s make-up artist had been able to fit her in alongside the bridesmaids—the professional makeover had transformed her pale, tired-looking face to a picture of glowing health, so she felt ready to face the scrutiny she was bound to attract as Cormac’s guest.

  On the dressing table, nestled in tissue, was the wrist corsage Rosie had ordered especially for her. Another kindness. Shades of plum and pink to complement the eau-de-nil of her dress and shoes.

  She slipped it on and took a deep breath. She was ready.

  * * *

  She couldn’t stop the tears edging into her eyes as Rosie and Fraser exchanged their vows and slipped their rings over shaking fingers. Rosie was stunning in a cream silk dress of perfect simplicity, her long hair swept up into a dishevelled chignon, adorned with tiny rosebuds and pearls.

  Milla glanced up at Cormac and found him watching her, a look of bemusement on his face. He squeezed her hand as she dabbed at her eyes and she knew what he was thinking. He was remembering her ‘fuss and bother’ speech in his grandfather’s studio.

  She smiled at the memory, at the way they’d been with each other back then.

  As Rosie and Fraser walked past them down the aisle and they threw handfuls of confetti up into the air Milla was sure that there had never been such a beautiful bride as Rosie.

  While Cormac stood for formal photographs with his family she took a drink and wandered among the guests, occasionally dangling at the edge of groups who were enjoying the sunshine, the champagne and a chance to catch up with old friends. She didn’t mind hovering on the fr
inges because she didn’t want to talk to anyone. The only person she wanted to be with was Cormac.

  And then he was there, striding towards her over the lawn, handsome in his Lovat tweed jacket and a kilt of muted oranges, blues and greens: the Buchanan antique tartan.

  ‘Rosie wants you to come for a photo.’

  ‘Really—why?’

  He kissed her swiftly, slid an arm around her waist and propelled her towards the terrace. ‘You know why.’

  ‘I don’t. I mean, we’re not exactly a fixture...’

  The words sounded clumsy and she lowered her eyes in embarrassment—she should have kept her mouth shut.

  He stopped walking and gazed at her. ‘Not yet, but we’re a work in a progress, aren’t we?’ He smiled softly. ‘Don’t analyse it, okay? Just come for the photo because it’s the last one, and the sooner we get it done, the sooner we can spend time together.’

  * * *

  Under the shade of a gazebo a string quartet was working its way through The Four Seasons whilst waiters topped up glasses and handed round dainty canapés. The awkward moment about the photograph passed into history as the afternoon slipped by in a happy haze of chatter.

  Cormac introduced Milla to Emma, who embraced her warmly and showed a keen interest in her painting, being a graphic artist herself. Further introductions followed, until Milla’s head was spinning with names and faces. She was glad when the piper, resplendent in full Highland dress, piped them into the elegant marquee for the wedding breakfast.

  She cheered and clapped through the speeches, marvelled at the exquisite wedding cake—six tiers, each a different flavour—as well as the towering stack of cheeses, decorated with a cascade of glowing fruit. Everything was beautiful, and the sheer scale of this celebration was as far from Milla’s own wedding dreams as it would be possible to go.

  After Rosie and Fraser had entertained their guests with a choreographed first dance the ceilidh band struck up for the Gay Gordons. Cormac tugged her onto the dance floor, and as they spun round and round his wide smile and shining eyes reminded her of the young soldier he’d been in that photograph in his grandfather’s studio.