Under a Storm-Swept Sky

by Beth Anne Miller

  I walked for half an hour before turning back. Tommy never understood my need to walk in the evenings after walking all day, but he thrived on getting to know the different people that came into our lives, a week at a time.

  I, on the other hand, found people to be exhausting. It wasn’t that I didn’t like them; I was just an introvert and always had been. I loved being out on the trail—the scenery, the ever-changing weather, the challenge. But I needed my quiet moments, when I didn’t have to be “on”—answering questions, making conversation, or laughing at jokes. More importantly, I needed time each day when I didn’t have to be watching everyone, worried that someone would get hurt or wander off. I needed time to just be in my own head.

  Besides, a stroll along the beach was hardly the same as the walking we did during the day.

  I scooped up a flat, round stone, running my finger across the smooth surface. It was perfect for skipping. I hadn’t skipped stones in years, not since my brother Connor and I were lads. I rolled the stone in my hand, and then cocking my hand to the side, I chucked it at the water, watching as it skipped three, four, five times across the surface before sinking.

  I hadn’t forgotten how.

  I made my way back along the shore. The sun was still warm, so I sat on one of the picnic tables outside the hostel, tipped my face back, and closed my eyes. Heaven.

  “Hey there. So, I made it through the first day of the trek.” The raised female voice startled me out of my almost-doze. Amelia sat on a boulder a few meters away, talking on the phone. There goes my peace.

  I closed my eyes again, trying to tune out the next few minutes of what sounded like small talk.

  “God, I should be there, not three thousand miles away doing this stupid hike. What was I thinking?”

  I opened my eyes. She was off the phone, holding it in her hand as she stared out at the sea. Okay, she was clearly upset, but was she saying she didn’t want to be on the trek? It was bad enough that she was inexperienced, but why would she choose to do the Skye Trail if she didn’t want to? I got up from the table and headed inside.

  Whatever that phone call was about, Amelia had better get her head on straight by tomorrow.

  Chapter Six

  Amelia

  One foot in front of the other.

  I repeated the mantra over and over in my head as I trudged up the steady incline. My leg muscles, still sore from yesterday, were screaming, and we weren’t even an hour into our seventeen-plus mile day.

  A shadow fell over the path. I looked up—and gaped at the towering cliffs before me.

  “This is the Quiraing,” said Tommy. “It was created by landslides, as was most of the Trotternish Ridge.”

  We reached the top of the incline, and I just stared. To the right were tall rock formations, including one solo pinnacle that had to be over a hundred feet high, and to the left was a huge one that almost looked like a castle that had been hewn from the rock.

  I pulled out my phone and shot a few pictures of the alien landscape.

  A sudden, hard gust of wind from behind caused me to slip on the loose gravel of the path, my foot nearly going out from under me. I caught my balance on my trekking pole, but my phone flew out of my hand.

  “Shit!”

  A large hand caught it before it hit the ground. Rory, of course.

  “Oh my God, thank you,” I said. If my phone had broken, I’d have no way to take pictures for Carrie, no way to be reached if anything changed.

  “You need to watch yourself out here,” he said. “The wind can knock you off your feet. Focus more on staying upright and less on taking pictures. I appreciate how much you enjoy the scenery, but maybe you can just look with your eyes instead, enjoy the view in the moment without the distraction of your phone.”

  I felt my face get hot. Why did he always have to talk down to me like I was a naughty child?

  “Got it. Thanks,” I said through clenched teeth. I held out my hand, and he hesitated for a moment before placing the phone into it.

  He tugged his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose, forcing me to stare into those silvery-green eyes. “Today’s walk requires your full attention.” His tone was almost apologetic.

  “The wind surprised me, that’s all.”

  “It will be windy all day, so be careful, and keep your eyes on your footing.” He pushed his sunglasses back into place and moved on.

  “Everyone, watch out on the path here,” he announced to the group as we started walking again. “The loose rock, or scree, is slippery.” He strode to the head of the group. Thanks for the tip, Rory. Better late than never.

  “He’s just looking out for you,” said Tommy from behind me. “His social skills are just a bit…lacking, sometimes.”

  “I would have said ‘nonexistent,’” I replied. Shit, that was his colleague and friend. “I mean—”

  He snorted with laughter. “Oh, I know exactly what you mean.” He sobered. “You’re okay, though? Do you need a break?”

  “Nope, I’m fine.” Even if I did need a break, I wouldn’t admit it. Not after my scolding by Rory.

  “Good. After you,” he said, gesturing grandly.

  The path dropped down to reveal an incredible landscape before us: grassy slopes dotted with sheep, blue lochs, mountains stretching as far as the eye could see. And a long, lonely, winding trail running through it all. Rory could give me the stink eye as much as he wanted, there was no way I wasn’t taking pictures of that view for Carrie. Though I did brace myself this time.

  The wind was unpredictable, sometimes dying down completely, other times blasting us when we came around a curve. Not unlike what you’d sometimes have in Manhattan, when you turned a corner into a wind tunnel.

  But in Manhattan, you wouldn’t be blown off a path to possibly tumble over a cliff.

  Though you might end up in a slimy puddle or a pile of garbage, face-to-face with a giant rat.

  Still, the path wasn’t too bad as we left the bizarre formations of the Quiraing in our wake. There were other walkers out there, most of whom came from the other way, requiring us to step up on the rocks to our right (the side that didn’t have the drop-off) to let them pass.

  We descended to a road and a car park, where we took a short break. I scarfed down a granola bar and some water.

  “Are we going that way?” asked Linda, her voice a little shaky as she gestured to the intimidating line of peaks before us.

  “Aye,” said Rory. “That’s the Trotternish Ridge. To recap what Tommy said in this morning’s briefing, we’ve ten peaks to summit before we finish for the day, ranging from four hundred sixty-six meters to six hundred sixty-eight meters. And if you still have energy left at the end of the day, one of us can take you up to the top of The Storr, over seven hundred meters high.”

  I’d been preoccupied during the briefing, my head foggy after a sleepless night, and hadn’t noted the specifics of today’s walk. “Ten summits?” Hell of a thing to miss.

  “Yep,” said Tommy. “Some are steeper than others, but the descents between them aren’t all bad. The first one is actually the worst.”

  “Goody,” I muttered. Carrie, I was wrong. You’re not nuts—you’re a goddamn masochist!

  He laughed at that. “Slow and steady, Amelia. You’ll be fine.”

  Why couldn’t Rory be like Tommy, friendly and…just easy to be around? I glanced ahead to where Rory walked with Pat, who was struggling a bit—close enough to help if she needed it, but letting her find her own way. Why was he so kind to everyone but me? It doesn’t matter. You’re here for one reason only, and that’s not to hook up with a guy. But then the sun glinted off his hair, causing it to shine like a new penny, and my heart skipped a beat.

  Clearly, nothing about this trek was going to be easy.

  The first ascent wasn’t too bad, leading up to the grassy top of Biodha Buidhe, which Tommy helpfully spelled for me when he saw me typing it into a memo.

  “That’s how you spell it?
But it’s pronounced Beeta Booyeh.”

  He shrugged. “I just work here; I didn’t invent Gaelic.”

  We both cracked up at that. I turned to get a panoramic photo and saw a bank of dark clouds rolling in at an alarmingly fast rate. “Uh, guys?”

  “Aye, weather’s coming in,” said Rory, as casually as if he were describing a tree. “Okay, everyone, you’re about to have your first experience with Skye’s unpredictable and rapidly changing weather. The good news is we’re going to descend from Biodha Buidhe into the pass of Bealach Uige, where we’ll be less exposed,” he said, the Gaelic words rolling effortlessly (and not unappealingly) off his tongue. “The bad news is that the descent into Bealach Uige is steep. It’s challenging in good weather, and difficult in bad weather.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Linda.

  “It just means that if that rain gets here as fast as I think it will, we’ll need to take it slowly and carefully as we descend. You should put on your rain gear now.”

  I opened my pack, withdrawing my purple rain pants, borrowed from Carrie, as was pretty much all my gear except my boots. I pulled them on over my trekking pants and shrugged into the matching jacket, tucking my phone into the pocket. I fastened the waterproof cover over my backpack just as a light rain started to fall.

  “Okay, let’s move out,” said Tommy, pulling up the bright orange hood of his rain jacket. “And remember to take it slow. A little rain isn’t going to kill you, especially now that you’re all kitted out in your sexy rain gear. We just want to get out of the wind as much as we can.”

  We fell in behind him. It wasn’t so bad at first, but then the rain started falling harder, not only blinding me, but turning the ground into a slick, muddy mess. I remembered another hike, in another place, where the weather had turned suddenly, a torrential storm making everything treacherous. It had been a nightmare. It was why I hated hiking. I hope this isn’t going to be a repeat of that.

  I slowed down, carefully planting my poles before taking a step, my feet uncertain. The others passed me, which was fine. There was less pressure at the back of the group, without worrying that anyone was champing at the bit to pass me like a New York tailgater.

  A sharp gust of wind blew back my hood, and cold rain poured down the back of my neck. Shivering, I reached up to pull my hood back into place, tying the strings as tightly as I could without strangling myself.

  “You’d love this, Carrie,” I muttered under my breath. I hated being out in the rain, but bad weather didn’t bother her—in fact, she thought it was an essential part to any outdoor adventure.

  “Beautiful, sunny weather is for when I’m at the beach. When I’m in the mountains, I want dark, brooding clouds. I want to taste the rain and jump in the puddles.”

  “Okay, fine, I’m not going to jump in the puddles, but I can taste some Scottish rain for you.”

  I tipped my head back and stuck out my tongue to catch the rain—something I would never do back in New York. I took a quick selfie of my wet face under the purple hood and tucked my phone back in my pocket. Carrie loved taking selfies, and would probably get a bigger kick out of that photo than the damn scenery. I pictured her slightly crooked grin and how it would light up her face.

  But a selfie wasn’t the same if you didn’t have your best friend in it with you. A wave of sadness swept over me, so strong I stopped short—and my foot immediately slipped in a patch of mud.

  The rain had created a deep rut in the ground, leaving a steep step down to the next section. My pole stuck in the mud, and when I tried to tug it free, I completely over-balanced.

  As if in slow-motion, I felt myself toppling over. Shit. I was going to go down hard, and it was going to hurt. All I could do was throw out my hands and hope I didn’t hit a rock when I landed.

  But the fall never happened. An arm came around my waist and my hands flattened against the hard wall of Rory’s chest. His strong legs were planted firmly, easily keeping us both upright.

  He stared down at me, his eyes the color of the rain, a strange look on his face. “Are you okay?”

  “I…” God, I couldn’t even think with those eyes on me. I looked down, focusing on his bright blue rain jacket. “Yeah. Thank you. I thought for sure I was going to fall. How did you”—catch me like some kind of superhero—“get to me so fast?”

  “I was right behind you, and I saw your foot slip. Didn’t you see the mud?”

  “I was…distracted, and wasn’t paying attention. Go ahead, yell at me. I deserve it this time.”

  “I’m not going to yell at you, Amelia. But you can’t be distracted—not on this part of the trail. Okay?”

  I dared to meet his gaze. “Okay,” I whispered.

  His heart throbbed against my palm once, twice, three times before he blinked. His cheeks reddened slightly, as if he suddenly realized he was still holding me against him like we were something more than haughty guide and hapless trekker.

  He set me on my feet, holding my arm to steady me. “Are you hurt?”

  “No.” Just my pride.

  “Take a few steps to make sure.”

  Under his close scrutiny, I walked in a small circle around him. “See, I’m fine.”

  “Good. Let’s keep going.”

  The rest of the descent to Bealach Uige, over five hundred feet down, passed without incident. The rain had lightened to a drizzle, and the clouds seemed to be breaking up a bit.

  Up ahead, Linda slipped in the mud and went down on her butt, thankfully on a relatively flat patch of ground. Rory hurried over to help her to her feet.

  I caught up to her as he was walking on ahead. “Are you all right, Linda?”

  “Oh, I’m fine,” she said, brushing mud off her green rain pants. “I knew one day all this extra cushioning on my bum would come in handy.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “But I want to hear about you, missy.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “She’s talking about how we looked back earlier and saw you in young Rory’s arms, like something out of a romance novel,” said Pat. “We’d like to hear about that.”

  My face grew hot. “I stumbled, and he caught me. That’s it.”

  “If you say so,” said Linda. “I’m just saying that I wish he’d caught me like that.” The two of them giggled like teenagers. Would Carrie and I still giggle together in thirty years?

  “Linda, you’re married!” I exclaimed, trying to distract myself from thoughts of Carrie.

  “And happily so. But that doesn’t mean I can’t admire a fine-looking young man. And between him and Tommy, we have plenty to look at if the scenery gets dull. Though it doesn’t seem likely that will happen. Look at that!”

  I turned, figuring for sure that it was Rory, unknowingly striking some kind of sexy pose—and my jaw dropped open.

  The dark gray clouds still hovered menacingly overhead, but they’d parted enough to allow a beam of sunlight to shine through, accompanied by a rainbow. I took a panoramic photo to capture it.

  “Without rain, we wouldn’t have rainbows,” said Pat.

  I closed my eyes for a moment. Carrie always used to say that when I bitched about rain messing up our plans. “That’s definitely the caption for this photo,” I finally said as we continued on.

  It was a more gradual ascent this time to the top of Beinn Edra, over six hundred meters high. We stopped for a break at the top, from which the view was incredible. The sky was a weird steel-blue, and still looked threatening, but the sun had fought its way through the clouds, casting the landscape before me in a stunning light.

  I moved as close to the edge as I dared to take pictures, then set my phone to record video and slowly moved the phone from left to right. “It looks like Middle-earth, Carrie. I wish you could see this, because the video won’t do it justice.”

  Tears welled in my eyes, but I ignored them, needing both hands to hold the phone steady. I caught sight of something below the ridge. “There’s some kind of huge bird do
wn there,” I said into the microphone. “Definitely a bird of prey—I can tell by the wingtips.”

  “It’s a golden eagle.”

  I spun to the right. Rory stood a few feet away, his gaze trained on the bird circling below. I stopped recording. “Really? I heard golden eagles were pretty rare.”

  “They are, but there are a few mated pairs around here. This is one of the best places to spot them because they like to ride the air currents.”

  I zoomed the camera as much as it would go and snapped a photo of it.

  “You probably won’t get a great shot from here.”

  “I know, but I can hopefully adjust it on the computer when I get home.”

  He reached out and gently lowered my hands. I looked at him in surprise. “What are you doing?”

  He put one finger to my chin and turned my head so I looked out over the edge and not at him. “Forget about taking pictures for one second, and just look. Watch the eagle soar. Imagine what kind of view it sees. Feel the wind gliding over its feathers. You can take a hundred shots that will show a brown speck against the sky, and they will never capture this moment the way your eyes can.”

  I blinked at him for a moment, stunned by not only the amount of words he said in a row, but how passionate they were. Then I looked back at the eagle. He was right. We didn’t have eagles where I lived, and seeing this one soar through the air was something I’d never forget.

  We watched it in silence until it disappeared over the next ridge.

  “Thank you for that,” I said when it was gone.

  “Everyone is so focused on their phones these days—even if it’s taking photos and not texting—that they forget to appreciate the view they’re trying so desperately to capture.” He glanced at his watch. “Anyway, we’re about to get moving, so finish up with your pictures.” He turned from the edge and rejoined the group.

  It was only then I realized I’d never wiped away my tears.

  Chapter Seven

  Rory

  As I walked away from the edge of Beinn Edra, I glanced back over my shoulder to see Amelia brushing her fingers under her eyes. Why had she been crying? She’d insisted she was fine after her stumble—and if she wasn’t, she should have told me—so what was it? Did it have something to do with that phone call I’d overheard part of last night? And why do you care?