Return to Deepwater

by Lucy Gillen

  ‘I do!’ She looked at him earnestly, her blue eyes shadowed with anxiety, her mouth softly parted as she sought for more words to convince him. ‘I do mean it,’ she insisted huskily. ‘But you agreed it wasn’t all my fault.’ ,.

  He smiled faintly. ‘Then I’m sorry too.’

  She glanced briefly at him again and shook her head, a small frown drawing her brows together. ‘I—I don’t want to quarrel with you,’ she confessed in a far from steady voice. ‘I—I don’t really know how it happens—it just does.’

  ‘It just does!’ He echoed her plaintive cry and half smiled. ‘We can’t help it, Tarin,’ he said softly. ‘I admit I try to make you angry, and I don’t really know why. If you were anyone else but Tarin McCourt, and I hadn’t the ghost of old Duncan at my elbow every time I’m with you, believe me I wouldn’t waste time quarrelling with you!’

  ‘Mr. Bruce—’ Her voice had a husky, trembling sound to it and she could feel her heart thudding wildly in her breast as she tried to meet his eyes.

  ‘Darrel!’ She looked up at him swiftly when he corrected her in a soft, quiet voice and as swiftly looked down again when she met that dark warmth in his eyes again. ‘Surely after all this time you can at least afford me the same privilege as Con Stein,’ he suggested softly, and she nodded.

  ‘Darrel,’ she echoed obediently, but quite forgot what she meant to say.

  ‘You’re much too beautiful to quarrel with,’ he said in a voice that shivered along her spine like an icy finger, and a wide, slightly wolfish smile lit his rugged face, reminding her uneasily of his barbaric ancestors. ‘I’m especially fond of brunettes,’ he told her. ‘Brunettes with big, beautiful blue eyes.’

  Tarin’s heart was beating so hard she felt oddly breathless, but she fought wildly against the almost irresistible urge she had to go to him and run her fingers through the thick, reddish hair that flopped over his forehead, and to hug close to the strong, bruising hardness of his body. His brown eyes had a bright glitter that should have warned her how foolhardy it would be to do anything so rash, and she resisted her own impulses determinedly.

  ‘Mr. Bruce—Darrel—’ She tried hard to remember what it was she wanted to say to him, but shook her head when it eluded her again.

  ‘Come here!’ He spoke softly and when she looked at him she saw that the strong brown arms were extended towards her and his long hands curved invitingly. She shook her head slowly, more in pleading than in denial, but the hands beckoned irresistibly. ‘Tarin?’

  ‘Mr. Bruce—’

  ‘Will you come here?’ he insisted softly, that glint of wickedness still lighting his brown eyes, and she moved towards him almost without realising she was doing it.

  His arms closed round her, gently at first, then with an insistent strength that drew her against the warm, hard leanness of his body, moulding her softness to him, unresisting as yet, and still dazed, and his mouth just touched hers lightly. One hand, reaching up, took the thickness of her dark hair in his fingers and twined it tightly as he pulled back her head.

  Tarin felt herself sway even closer, her hands spreading slowly over the broad warmth of his chest, sliding over the smoothness of his shirt, pressing her sensitive palms to the hard urgency of his body. His mouth took hers fiercely, raising a small cry from her before she yielded to its compelling demands and slid her arms up round his neck.

  It was some seconds before Tarin realised that the door had opened behind her, and she gasped audibly as she drew back, her mouth still pulsing warmly from his kiss. Darrel released her slowly, but his bland self-control stunned her like a cold shock, and she wished only for the floor to open up and swallow her before she need face the newcomer.

  ‘Hello, Gloria.’ He sounded so matter-of-fact that Tarin could scarcely believe her ears, and she dared not turn round yet and let the American girl see how flustered and disconcerted she was. ‘I presume you had a reason for coming in?’ he asked, and Tarin could easily imagine the expression on Gloria Stein’s beautifully made-up face.

  ‘You little bitch!’

  The voice sounded alarmingly close, and Tarin swung round swiftly to find the other girl just behind her, her thin face flushed with anger and her pale blue eyes glittering like chips of ice. Tarin would have moved away, out of reach of the clawing fingers she half expected to feel on her cheeks, but she was still held by Darrel’s hand on her arm.

  ‘That’s enough, Gloria!’

  His voice sounded so remarkably cool and calm in contrast to her own chaotic emotions that Tarin felt a moment of intense hatred for him as she looked at those rugged, unperturbed features. It was possible to guess, from his manner, that this was not the first time he had been in such a situation, and the realisation only added to Tarin’s humiliation.

  She remembered too late Conrad Stein’s hints at a less than angelic reputation, and that dark glitter in his eyes should have warned her too, but she had chosen to ignore both and allowed herself to be swept along in the urgent chaos of emotions he could so easily arouse in her. Gloria Stein obviously despised her for being just another easy conquest, another silly girl ready to succumb to the stark, primitive attraction of Darrel Bruce, but Gloria Stein’s contempt was nothing compared to the contempt Tarin felt for her own weakness. Twice in two days was lesson enough for anyone.

  ‘You just couldn’t resist it, could you?’ Gloria Stein’s anger was still directed entirely at Tarin, and she stood only inches away from her with her long thin hands clenched tightly as she glared her dislike from those icy eyes.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake leave it, Gloria!’ Darrel told her impatiently. He slid from the edge of the desk and released his hold on Tarin’s arm at last, not in the least embarrassed, but impatient with the blonde girl’s jealousy. ‘Stop making mountains out of molehills,’ he told her. ‘You know as well as I do how these things happen—it’s no good blaming Tarin!’

  His defence of her, his easy dismissal of the incident only served to make Tarin feel worse, and she clenched her hands tightly as Gloria Stein renewed her attack.

  ‘I didn’t see her objecting!’ Gloria snapped angrily, and her clenched hands looked as if she meant to strike out at any moment. ‘She knows what she’s up to, the little bitch!’

  ‘Miss Stein—’ Tarin began, but a second later gasped into silence when a vicious slap stung her cheek sharply and made her head spin for a moment.

  ‘Tarin, I’m sorry!’

  His apology, like his defence, only angered her more and she winced as from another blow when he put a hand to her face and gently stroked her cheek where the red fingermarks already stood out plainly. His regret was seemingly genuine, but Tarin was too humiliated to allow any such gesture of repentance, no matter how genuine it might be, and she drew away from him hastily, her blue eyes sparkling with anger and tears of humiliation.

  ‘Don’t!’ she cried sharply.

  Turning away from him, she hurried across to her desk and blindly grabbed her handbag, not bothering about the letter still in the typewriter, almost running to the door. She turned in the doorway, drawn by some inexplicable force, and looked back at him standing tall and angry beside his own desk with Gloria Stein close by, hard and brittle and just as angry, her blonde head thrown back in a gesture of defiance.

  ‘Tarin, wait!’ Darrel strode across the room before she could get through the door and a strong hand grasped her wrist, preventing any further move on her part. ‘Don’t go off in a temper, or you’ll do something you’ll regret!’

  ‘I’ve already done something I regret, Mr. Bruce,’ she said in a small throaty voice that threatened to break at any moment. ‘I shouldn’t have come for this job, but I don’t intend staying long enough to regret anything else!’ She looked down at the strong brown fingers curled around her wrist relentlessly, and shook her head. ‘Now will you please let go of my arm and allow me to go home?’

  ‘You’ll be here in the morning?’ Tarin hesitated before she ans
wered. Strictly speaking he was entitled to her services for at least another week, but she was very unsure she could face another week in his company without much the same thing happening again, and she couldn’t bear that.

  ‘I—I don’t think so,’ she said huskily, and the fingers on her wrist tightened their hold.

  ‘I think you will,’ he said quietly. ‘You can’t just walk out on me like that. Your last boss may have let you get away with it, but I shan’t—you be here in the morning, Tarin, or I’ll come and fetch you!’ It appalled her to feel the way her heart leapt when he issued the ultimatum, and she could scarcely see for the pulses that throbbed wildly in her temple when she looked at him through her lashes, remembering how, only minutes ago, she had yielded to his kisses so willingly.

  Tall, strong and, at the moment, savagely angry, she could still see him as belonging to another, less civilised age, and she shivered involuntarily. Even his hair looked redder, more like those bearded savages out there in the hall, and his rugged features were set stubbornly, the brown eyes glittering. Suddenly she felt she knew exactly how Jeanie McCourt had felt all those years ago, and she found the realisation strangely exhilarating. ‘I suppose you are entitled to a week’s notice,’ she allowed, husky-voiced. ‘Very well, Mr. Bruce, I’ll be here in the morning, but please take a week’s notice as from then.’

  The brown eyes glittered down at her and again his fingers squeezed her wrist tightly. ‘Don’t be a little hothead,’ he said in a voice that was obviously meant to be inaudible to Gloria Stein, who still stood, hard-eyed and suspicious, by the desk. ‘Think it over, Tarin, and decide in the morning.’

  I’ve already decided,’ she declared firmly, and made no effort to keep her voice down. ‘I’m leaving, Mr. Bruce, and you won’t persuade me otherwise!’

  ‘Then go to hell, you obstinate, pigheaded McCourt!’ he told her in a fierce, strong voice, and his fingers crushed her wrist so hard she gasped and made futile efforts to prise herself free. ‘Get to hell out of here, and don’t bother coming back!’

  ‘I thought you were coming to fetch me if I didn’t serve my time!’ The retort was irresistible and she managed at last to ease the cruel grip on her arm, glaring at him with bright, dark blue eyes. ‘Make up your mind and I’ll know whether or not to bar my door!’

  To her intense surprise, he laughed, a short, hard but definitely amused laugh, and she felt her fingers curl into her palms at the sound of it. ‘A barred door didn’t stop Duncan Bruce,’ he told her, his eyes glinting with challenge. ‘It won’t stop me if I want to come for you! You bar your door, you little hellcat, and see how much good it does you!’

  Tarin’s heart was thudding wildly and her eyes were a dark, glowing blue, bright, like the colour in her cheeks, stirred by some strange sense of excitement she had never known before. ‘You barbarian!’ she told him, in a surprisingly quiet voice. ‘You’re no better than your disreputable ancestors —but believe me, I’ve no intention of becoming another Jeanie McCourt!’

  His eyes, glittering and dark below the craggy brows, actually glowed with laughter and his teeth gleamed briefly in the rugged brown face as he leered down at her, deliberately threatening, as if he was enjoying the whole thing. Which he probably was, Tarin thought ruefully, for her own heart was hammering breathlessly hard as she met that challenging gaze and felt herself trembling.

  ‘You want to bet?’ he asked softly.

  Tarin thought seriously about not going back to Deepwater to meet Conrad Stein, later that same evening, but she did not quite see how she could avoid going when he was expecting her and she had no way of letting him know except by ringing Deepwater, and that she was loath to do.

  Her preoccupation during dinner had not escaped her uncle’s notice and she was not surprised when he remarked on it at last.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, and Tarin smiled ruefully.

  ‘Nothing unexpected,’ she told him. ‘I’ve just had a slight difference of opinion with my boss, that’s all.’

  She hesitated to say how serious the latest disagreement had been or that she had given notice to leave, for deep down she still had doubts that she would actually want to leave when it came to the point. Darrel Bruce could play as much havoc with her adult self as ever he had when she was a schoolgirl, and she might as well admit, if only to herself, that she would find it very hard to go away again.

  Her uncle eyed her for a moment with a curiously speculative look in his eyes. Wondering if there was any chance of her making the break with Darrel, she suspected ruefully—if only he knew how near he was to having his way! ‘Do you not get along as well as you thought you would?’ he asked, and Tarin shrugged.

  ‘We don’t get along too badly,’ she said. ‘Not considering all things. After all, we’ve two hundred years of that ridiculous feud to live down, and it isn’t easy.’

  ‘He’ll no be an easy man to work for,’ her uncle guessed, and again Tarin shrugged, unwilling to place the entire blame on to Darrel, no matter what he had done to anger her.

  ‘I’ve had worse bosses,’ she said non-committally, and Robert McCourt frowned.

  ‘You’ll surely never get the Bruce to behave like a civilised man,’ he declared with certainty.

  Tarin unthinkingly put a hand to her mouth where Darrel had recently shown just how uncivilised he could be, and she half smiled as she looked out of the window at the tree-girded mass of Deepwater. ‘I have hopes,’ she told him softly. ‘Though I’m not sure I can stand the pace.’

  ‘But if—’ Her uncle broke off short and frowned at the telephone jangling shrilly in the small hallway. Then he got up to answer it and Tarin, for some inexplicable reason, felt her heart racing like a wild thing in her breast as she followed him with her eyes to the door.

  She heard him give a brief identification then he listened for a few seconds before turning his head in her direction. ‘Do you not want to speak to her?’ he asked, and the caller apparently answered in the negative, for he shrugged and a few seconds later returned the receiver to its base and came back into the dining-room.

  Tarin looked at him curiously, her heart still thudding rapidly as she questioned him. ‘Something important?’ she asked, and her uncle eyed her for a second before he answered.

  ‘It depends how much importance you attached to your riding lesson with that American at Deepwater,’ he told her. ‘He’s been called to an important meeting, so he says, something to do with the hotel, and he can’t see you as he’d arranged. He asked me to apologise for him and says he’ll try and see you tomorrow.’

  ‘Not if Darrel Bruce has anything to do with it, he won’t!’ Tarin said softly, and for some reason she did not quite understand, felt like laughing suddenly. ‘Oh, Darrel knows how to get his own way,’ she said, disregarding her uncle’s frown of curiosity. ‘I don’t know what Con Stein has to do with the running of the hotel, but I should have known that if Darrel decided I wasn’t going to ride with him he’d find some way of stopping me, however devious!’

  Robert McCourt sat down at the table again and his frown showed that, regardless of her own view of it, he did not find the situation amusing in the least. ‘He’s not the right to decide who you see or don’t see, surely?’ he said. ‘What gives him the right, Tarin?’

  She shrugged, her heart pounding heavily as she poured herself more coffee, and trying not to smile or even laugh aloud. There was a strange, singing sense of excitement stirring in her blood, and she made no attempt to find a reason for it.

  ‘Maybe he thinks two hundred years of tradition and having Duncan Bruce for an ancestor gives him the right,’ she said softly.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Tarin found the prospect of another day at Deepwater rather daunting after her emotional departure yesterday. She had said little during breakfast and she was aware that her uncle was watching her curiously while they ate their meal, probably speculating on the reason for her silence. Fortunately he had said nothing,
for she did not feel like explaining her uncertain future at the moment, partly because she had the idea that once she had told her uncle about her giving Darrel notice to leave, her position would be irrevocable.

  What her current feeling for Darrel was, she dared not even guess at the moment, but she was ready to admit that it was something more potent than the innocence of girlish fancy it had started out as. He was a very attractive man, there was no doubt at all about that, as there was no doubt that she was neither the first nor the last woman to find him so.

  What his feelings were for her, she was even less sure, but she guessed they were completely superficial and went no further than an office flirtation, or at most a brief affair, neither of which prospect gave her much comfort. Whether Gloria Stein had any more serious claim on him, she didn’t know, and that was likely to be another complication that would have to be faced sooner or later.

  If only she had enough common sense to pack up and go, there and then, she would probably save herself a great deal of heartache, but for the moment she couldn’t bring herself to do anything so definite.

  Perhaps Darrel had been right, she had behaved like a hothead last evening, storming out as she had, though it did not excuse him saying so the way he had. It would do no harm, however, to at least think about it further while she walked to work.

  She had decided to risk defying the roll of scudding grey cloud that came in threateningly over the hills, and set off without a coat, for it was warm despite the threat of rain, and walking would soon make her even warmer.

  The misty, early-hours look of the surrounding hills never failed to enchant her, and she smiled to herself as she looked across to where the little stream glinted softly in Stonebeck’s green hollow and the rowans stirred sleepily in the light morning wind.

  Torin Brae swept up from the edge of the tiny village, patched with the dark growth of budding heather, and sat with a circlet of grey cloud around its brow, while the tiny but beautiful waters of Torin Fall fell like liquid silver down its side to join with the deep waters of the little loch. There was something so peaceful and lovely about it that Tarin knew she would find it hard to leave again, even had there been no other reason for staying.