'Thank you, I'd very much like to try one.'
Maggie went out and returned with a tray of hot oatcakes which she spread with butter, inviting them to help themselves to jam or honey. She watched as Romily bit into hers, waiting for her judgement. The oatcake was delicious, and Romily told Maggie so, but was careful not to overdo it. 'You cook them on a griddle, don't you?' she asked.
'Aye, we do. We call them bannocks.' She paused for a minute, then seemed to come to a decision and nodded her head. 'Come you into the kitchen and I'll show you.'
So they left the two men and Romily was given her first lesson in Scottish cooking. It was a dish that she could have made quite easily by herself from a recipe, but she realised that she would have to go at Maggie's pace and serve a kind of apprenticeship before the old lady would teach her about any less common dishes. Maggie's grey eyes watched her keenly as she worked and occasionally nodded with satisfaction. 'Aye, you'll do,' she remarked when the bannocks were finished. 'You've a light hand.'
'And maybe if she has enough practice she might be as good as you in twenty years or so. Isn't that what you're thinking, Maggie?' James came into the kitchen and slipped an arm round Maggie's waist. 'Am I going to be allowed to try one?'
'Off with you! I'll not have a man cluttering up my kitchen,' Maggie scolded him. But it was obvious that she loved every minute of his teasing despite what she said, and James soon got an oatcake to try.
'Mm,' he said, 'I'd say at least ten years before they're as good as yours. What do you think, Ian?'
But Ian wasn't so tactful. 'They taste just as good to me,' he said approvingly.
James shot him a quick glance and adroitly changed the subject, but Maggie was starting to look a little tired so he soon said, 'I shall expect you to send some of these bannocks up to the castle tomorrow, Maggie. You've been neglecting me lately. And now I must take Romily home.'
'No need for you to go all the way back there, Mr Gordon,' Ian put in. 'I can walk the young lady back to Abbot's Craig.'
Romily looked at him in some surprise. Ian had hardly spoken to her directly more than a couple of times all evening, and as he had a broad accent she had sometimes found it a little difficult to understand him, although she could understand Maggie's attractive Scots burr perfectly well. But it seemed that she had made more of an impression on him than he had on her. He was stockily built and a few inches taller then Romily, although he seemed short in comparison to James, and he was presentable enough with thick brown curly hair that had a touch of red in it and a pleasant, open face.
There was a determined look about his face now, but James easily took matters into his own hands, 'I wouldn't dream of tearing you from your fireside.' Picking up Romily's coat, he helped her into it. 'Goodnight to you both. Thank you, Maggie.'
'Goodnight, Mrs MacPherson,' Romily echoed. 'When we put bannocks on the menu at the hotel I shall call them Maggie MacPherson's bannock cakes.'
The old lady gave a merry laugh, much pleased. 'When you have a free afternoon you can come up and I'll teach you how to make real Scots porridge.'
'Thank you, I'll certainly do that. Goodnight, Ian.'
Their hosts watched them a little way down the road before shutting their door. Romily turned to wave and stumbled a little, her eyes not yet used to the darkness. James caught her arm to steady her and didn't take away his hand. 'All right?'
'Yes, thanks.' He had switched on his torch and Romily fumbled in her pocket for her own, but couldn't find it. 'Oh, darn!' She came to a stop.
'What is it?'
'I left my torch behind. I'd better go back for it.'
'Don't bother; mine's powerful enough. I'll collect yours for you tomorrow and drop it in to you.'
Romily hesitated, but the moon had come out and the night was lighter now.
'Come on,' urged James, and she automatically began to walk along with him. She drew her arm away from his hold but found that when the moon went behind a cloud and there was only the one torch she had to stay quite close beside him anyway.
They didn't hurry, it was only about ten o'clock and it wasn't unpleasant out in the crisp clean air.
'I told you you'd twist Maggie round your little finger,' James remarked. 'And it seems as if you've made a conquest of Ian too. But it might be better not to get too friendly with him; he's the strong, silent type who takes everything very seriously.'
Romily laughed, thinking how Carol had warned her off James for the very opposite reason.
'Why do you laugh?'
'It doesn't matter.'
'Tell me,' he commanded, his footsteps slowing.
'No. It's nothing.' She tried to walk on, but he stayed still and she couldn't see enough without the torch.
'Do you like boating?' he asked unexpectedly.
'Boating? You mean sailing?'
'No, motor-boating.'
'I don't know, I've never been on one.'
'If the weather's fine on Sunday how about coming out with me on mine? We can go up the Caledonian Canal to Inverness and out into the open sea.'
Romily remembered the speedboat she had seen on the lake and felt a thrill of excitement at the thought of going out in it, to slice through the waves and have the wind in her hair. She loved speed but so far had only ever experienced it in a car with Richard… Her thoughts came to an abrupt stop and she turned to walk on. 'I don't think so, thanks,' she said shortly.
His tone mocking, James caught her up and said, 'Afraid of being seasick?'
'No.'
'What, then?'
'I just don't think it would be a very good idea.'
'All right, we'll go for a walk instead.'
They had come to the top of the driveway leading to Abbot's Craig and Romily stopped. 'I can find my own way from here. Thanks for taking me…'
'No, you can't,' James interrupted. 'If the moon goes in you'll probably fall over and break something.' Before she could protest any further he began to walk down the driveway. 'You haven't answered me,' he reminded her. 'Will you come out walking on Sunday?'
'No. Sorry.'
'Are you?' he said rather cynically.
'Am I what?'
'Are you sorry? Or are you trying to tell me to get lost?'
'Why should I want to do that?' she prevaricated.
'I don't know. We got on fine together yesterday, but tonight you seem different—tense, more withdrawn.'
'I was probably nervous of meeting Mrs MacPherson.'
'No, you weren't.' They had come to the big, open archway leading to the inner courtyard and James came to a stop. He turned off the torch and put it on the ground, but the moon was bright now and there was enough light for her to see his face. 'What is it, Romily? What's the matter?'
'Nothing. I'm no different.'
'Then come out with me on Sunday.' Reaching out, he took hold of her waist and drew her towards him.
Romily gave a little gasp as she realised what he was going to do and said hastily, 'No. No, I don't want you to.'
She put a hand against his shoulder, but he easily pulled her against him. 'Don't be silly,' he said huskily, and bent to kiss her.
She tried to push him away, but his arm was like a steel belt round her waist, holding her close to him, and when she tried to turn away he put his hand behind her head and held her prisoner beneath his mouth. For a moment she was angry and tried to resist him, but her ego as much as her heart had been battered when she'd found out the truth about Richard, and it was strangely comforting to be desired again. That need for comfort and reassurance made her relax her defences a little, and it was then that his kiss got to her, insinuatingly reaching deep into her feminine sensuousness, making her aware of herself as a woman again, making her remember what it was like to be held in a man's arms, to be kissed and touched and loved.
Suddenly she pushed him fiercely away. 'Damn you, I said no!' Angrily she stepped back from him but was brought up short by the wall. 'Keep away from me!'
Ja
mes stood very still for a moment, then said evenly, 'All right. But you'd better say no with more conviction next time.'
'There won't be a next time!'
'I see. Are you going to tell me what I've done to upset you?' She didn't answer and he went on, 'Or maybe it's because you've been warned to stay away from me, is that it?'
'That shouldn't surprise you,' Romily answered coldly.
'It doesn't. There's no love lost between your brother and me.'
'Oh, but it wasn't…' Romily began in surprise, then stopped in confusion.
'So it was Carol, was it? I suppose I should have guessed.' James made an angry gesture with his hand. 'Why the hell couldn't she let well alone?' Taking a step towards her, he said earnestly, 'Look, Romily, I don't know what or how much Carol has told you, but I assure you that it has nothing to do with us. As far as I'm concerned the past is over and done with. I know it's early days and we've only just met, but I would really like us to get to know each other better. If you've heard stories about me, then I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do about that— except ask you to take me as I am, to judge me on how I behave to you.'
Romily laughed harshly. 'You just kissed me against my will,' she pointed out.
'No, not against your will,' James demurred, his voice softening. 'And it was only a kiss goodnight; where's the harm in that?' Lifting a hand, he gently touched her cheek, his fingers warm against her cold skin. 'And you're not a naive young girl, Romily; you've been kissed goodnight before.'
Her face whitened and she tossed her head away from his hand. 'That doesn't give you the right to— handle me!'
James's mouth twisted in amusement. 'Hardly. But it does mean that we're both civilised people. We ought to be able to accept a person for what he is, without prejudging. And as for that kiss—well, kisses are very pleasant things to exchange, but they don't commit you to anything. They're just a sign of warmth, and friendship, and an acknowledegment that I'm a man and you're a woman, and that I find you very attractive.' He was on dangerous ground again and Romily opened her mouth to speak, but he said quickly, 'But that's as far as it goes. So, on those terms, in friendship and getting to know one another better, will you come out with me on Sunday?'
His tone was ingenuous, his smile charming and persuasive, but Romily had been taken in by persuasive charm before. 'No,' she said clearly, 'I think it would be much better if we didn't see one another again. Goodnight.' And she turned quickly away and ran through the archway towards the lights of the house.
CHAPTER THREE
All next day Romily waited in a little trepidation for James to arrive with her torch. After the way she'd walked out on him last night she expected him to be annoyed with her at least, and imagined that he would treat her with cold antagonism, an attitude that she thought he would be rather good at. It wouldn't be pleasant, but it didn't worry her unduly. There was no way she wanted to get to know any man other than as a friend or acquaintance right now, but James obviously wanted more than that, and as she wasn't prepared to give it their relationship might as well end now as later. But she was also afraid that James might come to the hotel and be seen by Carol, who would immediately want to know why she hadn't taken her advice and start asking all sorts of questions. As it was, her sister-in-law had already tried to find out what had happened last night at Maggie's, but Romily had merely told her that she'd been given a lesson in making bannocks and then deliberately talked about something else.
But as it turned out, it wasn't James but Ian who brought her torch back. He turned up at five o'clock, running into Romily when she was standing in the driveway cutting back some overgrown bushes and where she had intended to intercept James before he reached the house.
'I've brought your torch back for ye,' he told her.
'Oh, thanks.' Romily put down the saw she was using to take it from him. 'Er—did Mr Gordon ask you to bring it down?'
'No. I saw it this morning and put it in my pocket, but I've no had a chance to bring it afore.'
'Oh, I see. Well, it's very kind of you. Thank you.'
She expected him to go, but he just stood there so Romily turned back to her task, wanting to finish the job before the light went.
'Yon garden needs a lot of work,' Ian observed. 'Do ye no have a man to do it?'
'No, but my brother hopes to have some time to spend on it once the house is finished. You know it's being turned into a hotel, don't you?'
'Aye, the laird told us.'
For a moment Romily was puzzled, but then realised that James must be the local laird, or lord of the manor.
'When will you be coming to the house for another cookery lesson?' Ian asked.
Guessing that he would make a point of being there when she did, Romily prevaricated, saying, 'I'm not really sure. It depends when I can get away.’
'Romily dear, you really mustn't overwork yourself, you know. I…' Carol came round the bend in the drive and stopped in surprise when she saw Ian. 'Oh, sorry, I didn't realise you had someone with you.' She smiled at Ian. 'Hallo.'
Which was a lie, Romily thought. Carol must have heard their voices, but her surprise had been genuine enough. So who had she been expecting to see? James, perhaps? Romily didn't like being checked up on even if Carol did have the best of intentions, and she was certainly too old to have anyone watching over her, so she said rather coldly, 'This is Ian MacPherson. It was his grandmother who taught me to make the bannocks.'
'Ian MacPherson! Good heavens.' Carol gave a delighted laugh. 'Of course it is. But you've changed so much in the last ten years I didn't recognise you. But then you were only about thirteen or fourteen when we left, weren't you?'
She held out her hand and Ian shook it after wiping his on his trousers, and the two talked together while Romily got on with her job. Then Ian said, 'Could I talk to you for a minute, Mrs Bennion?'
'Yes, of course. Come in and have a cup of tea. Are you coming, Romily, or do you want to go on?'
So much for worrying that I'm overworking, Romily thought grimly, her suspicions confirmed. 'No, I'll clear up here first.'
She half expected Ian would offer to help her but he followed Carol round to the back of the house. It took a while to clear up the cuttings and take them in the wheelbarrow to the rubbish pile and it was nearly dark when Romily went back indoors. 'Has Ian gone?' she asked Carol, as she took her coat off in the kitchen.
'Yes. Isn't it marvellous—he offered to come and work on the garden here in his spare time. We're paying him, of course, but he didn't want very much, thank goodness. The thought of the garden was really beginning to worry me. And it's a load off Gerald's mind, too. He never did like gardening very much.'
'Whose idea was it, yours or Ian's?'
'I told you, his. I suppose he could do with the extra money.'
For what, Romily wondered. So that he could save up and leave home? Or had he made the offer so that he would have the opportunity of seeing more of her? She had, she knew made quite an impression on him last night, but the last thing she wanted was for Ian to follow it up, especially if what James had said was true and Ian was the serious type. To her, Ian was only a boy, and she didn't want to hurt him. Neither did she want any complications in her life. She sighed, hoping that she was worrying over nothing and that Ian really was interested only in making some extra money.
He arrived to work in the garden for the first time two days later on the Saturday afternoon, but Romily very adroitly foiled any plans he might have had by going up to his grandmother's cottage to learn how to make real Scots porridge.
Mrs MacPherson greeted her with a pleased smile. 'I'm on my own again this afternoon, so I'm glad to see you.' They started on the porridge, using fresh oatmeal, and today Maggie was far more talkative and forthcoming. 'You must always stir the porridge with your right hand, clockwise,' she instructed.
'Why?' Romily asked in puzzlement.
'Because that's the way it's always been done,' Maggie told her, as if this was
explanation enough. 'And you must always use a straight wooden stick like this. It's called a spurtle. And you serve it with cold milk, not hot like they do below the Border. And sugar if you must, but it's much better with salt. True Scotsmen always used to eat it standing up, you know. It was the custom.'
She was a mine of memories and traditions and it was fun to listen to her and learn from her, but when Romily asked about other Scottish dishes she shook her head. 'One recipe a day is quite enough.'
Crafty old woman, Romily thought with a smile as she left; now she's sure of me spending an afternoon with her at least another dozen times. Not that Romily minded, she had enjoyed today, but it was nice to get out in the fresh air again after the heat of Maggie's kitchen. It had been raining yesterday, but now it was dry and windy, yet the wind wasn't so cold and you could almost feel the first hint of spring coming from the south. Romily didn't know what time Ian would be working till, but she didn't particularly want to run into him, so instead of going back to Abbot's Craig by the road she cut through the trees below the castle and kept going downhill until she reached the lake. If James had a boat, then he probably had a boathouse and a proper path leading down to it, but Romily had no wish to meet James either, so she went down through the trees. She had seen nothing at all of him since he had taken her to Maggie's and guessed that she had injured his masculine pride and that he would leave her severely alone in future, but she judged that it would still be best to keep out of his way.
Romily reached the lake and walked along beside it, lifting her head to the breeze. She loved to feel the wind in her hair; in London it was always full of dust and dirt but here the air was clean and smelt of the tall Scots pines that adorned the hillsides. She stopped to look at some tiny yellow celandines that were just beginning to appear in a sheltered spot beneath the trees, marvelling that they had survived the snow of winter. After walking on for another half-mile, Romily came to the tumbledown boathouse below Abbot's Craig. From here she could see that the island in the lake lay midway between the hotel and the castle, and she wondered who owned it. The picture it made, with the house half hidden among the trees, caught at her imagination and she rather gingerly walked on to the jetty that stuck several yards out into the water to get a better view. There had been a handrail once, but this had mostly broken away and she didn't attempt to use what was left; the planks were about two yards wide and looked solid enough, although they were rather slippery where moss and algae had started to grow on them.
Sally Wentworth - Tiger in His Lair Page 5
