She was about two thirds of the way there, idling along behind him, when a piercing pain knotted the muscles of her right leg. She gave a gasp of agony, and swallowed brine, choking on the cold, salty taste of it that took her breath away as much as the pain. She spluttered the water away, and for a brief, uncomprehending second stared downwards through the clear water, her eyes seeking jellyfish, then comprehension came as another surge of agony overtook her. Cramp !Her own enjoyment of the coolness of the water had been her undoing. Even before Haydn came to join her she had been in the sea for some time, mostly floating on her back, luxuriating in the sheer bliss of doing nothing, letting the tensions of the morning seep out of her. If she had joined in the games with the dogs, running in and out of the water, it would have kept the blood flowing. Lack of movement had allowed the cold to penetrate, and now, when it was too late, she realised just how numbed she really was.
`Haydn ! '
She did not know if he heard her. For a brief second she caught sight of his green swimming trunks bright against the drab rock as he clambered out of the water at the point. It flashed through her mind that he had won—as he would probably always win. Then her screaming leg muscles doubled her in two, and her head went under. It could only have been a couple of seconds later that she surfaced again, but it seemed like a lifetime to Lee, an aeon of agony during which the alien element that supported her clung round her mouth and nostrils, blocking out the lifegiving air. Clung to her eyes and blinded her—she who normally saw well enough under water could not see now, and panic took her in a grip as cold as the sea itself.
`Haydn! Hel....' Her shout for help was cut short. Strong arms reached down and plucked her back into the air, and the sunshine. A strong voice said, 'Cough it up,'
and she found herself turned face downwards, and a hand slapped her hard on the back. She struggled, terrified, thrusting at the surface of the water to keep it away from her face, and the hands turned her the other way again so that she rested in his arms.
Can you breathe now?' Haydn's face was above her, his arm supporting her under the shoulders. Unable to speak, she nodded her head.
`Then stop struggling and lie still, I'll tow you to the rocks.' He took her in an expert grip and struck towards the point, towing her with ease as if her weight was nothing to him. After what seemed an age she felt him shift his position. He pulled himself and then her upright in the water, then got to his own feet. He did not allow her to even try to find her own. He bent down and hoisted her high into his arms, and strode through the water to the rocks of the point. They loomed above her, grey and hard and infinitely reassuring, sun warmed and safe. But not half so reassuring, or so safe, as the feel of his arms gripping and holding her, carrying her lightly as if she was no more than a child.
His face was almost touching her own, his square jaw making it seem hatchet-shaped as she looked up at it. His body was burned the same teak colour as his hands and arms, and his tawny hair was darkened by the wet, and he looked like some ancient Norseman, striding ashore from the longboats, Lee thought hazily, watching him through half closed lids, while her ears took in the soothing sound of his voice without bothering to listen to the actual words. She felt the rumble of it through his chest where her ear met his shoulder, then he moved her away and hoisted her high to sit on the rocks, drawing himself up with a bound to sit beside her.
`Ooh !' She eased her leg to a more comfortable position, and grimaced as she tried unsuccessfully to straighten it. Pincers of red-hot fire ran through her muscles at the movement, and the grimace turned into an involuntary gasp.
`Lie back and relax, and I'll undo the knots in it for you.'
Slim brown fingers closed over her shoulder and pressed
her down on to the rocks, then transferred themselves to
her leg. She felt them probe the tight muscle, starting at her ankle, unravelling the knots as he promised he would, and leaving behind blessed relief from the spears of pain. She let out a sigh of pure bliss as she straightened her leg at last. The muscle still felt sore, but it was soft now, and pliable. She wriggled her toes experimentally, and they worked. They felt warm, too. She sat up suddenly, and her cheeks felt the same. Haydn still worked industriously, massaging, rubbing.... His face was bent over his task, the top of his tawny head, and the uncompromising outline of his jaw, was all she could see. He had got as far as her knee already.
`Er—that's far enough, it was only the calf muscle that hurt.'
He looked at her then, squinting against the sun, and she could not see whether it was the bright dazzle from the water or a sudden imp of mischief that glinted in the depths of his eyes that stared into hers for a long second before he said,
`Stand on it, then, and see if you can walk easily.'
He loosed her leg and took hold of her hands instead, pulling her upright against him, holding on to support her in case her leg did not. His hold was meant to be reassuring, but instead it made her other leg feel as weak as the first one, and this time it was not caused by cramp. She moved away from him hastily, and forgot her feet were bare. A sharp point of rock punished her lack of caution, and she stumbled, and instantly his arms closed round her, drawing her close against him
`My leg's all right, it was the rock,' she stammered, and looked up into his eyes, protesting not for the sake of her leg but for her quickened breathing, accelerated by the agitated beating of her heart. The expression she found there did not help to calm it. It had not been entirely the glint from the sun, she saw now, but twin devils of mischief that lit them with an impish gleam, and reflected in the upward curve of his lips as he said softly.
`It's a good job I happened to be along, you might easily have drowned out there, from the cramp.'
His style did not suffer from the same affliction, was her
last wild thought as he bent his head unhurriedly, and his lips, still smiling, closed on hers. This kiss did not punish her, as his first one had done. His lips explored hers, seeking, demanding a response. His rebuke about drowning had been unnecessary. She was drowning now, in a tidal wave of emotion triggered off by the feel of his arms, of his lips, of his closeness that caught her completely unaware and threatened to engulf her more surely than the cold, clear waters of the bay.
With a strange detachment she felt her own lips part beneath the pressure, responding to his demand as if they had a life and will of their own, divorced from her command, and her arms rose to allow her hands to clasp the back of his head and draw it down to her own. His hair felt unexpectedly silky beneath her finger ends—not harsh, like the coat of a mountain lion would be harsh.
What on earth had come over her? She grasped ineffectually at her reeling senses. She had never felt like this before, not even when she was engaged to Dennis. A small voice from somewhere deep in the already forgotten recesses of the memory of her engagement burbled derisively, `Dennis!' Nothing in her ex-fiancé's chaste embrace had ever had the power to rouse her like this. His kisses did not have the vital spark in them that fired this man's caress, a spark that burned and seared, and aroused in her emotions she had not known she possessed, and could not name them, even if she wanted to.
`My old nanny always used to kiss it better.'
a-kiss what b-better?' She did not know how appealing she looked, slender as a boy in her brief white costume, her hair already beginning to dry, and curl back away from her forehead, and her wide, dark, startled eyes.
`Anything that hurts. Your leg,' he reminded her, smiling.
Lee had forgotten her leg. That wasn't the part of her that hurt the most, now. And no amount of massage would help to ease the ache that the feel of his lips had left behind. Her own felt bruised, burning.... She put her fingers up to them, and then drew them hastily away.
`It's time we went back.' A high-pitched yelping from the
beach rounded up the last of her scattered wits and brought her attention back to her surroundings, and the fact that the dogs had begun to miss her
, and were probably searching for her.
Not across the bay.' Haydn's fingers reached out and gripped her arm, and checked her move to slide down the rocks and into the sea again. 'It's too risky, your leg might give again. It'll get it working properly if we walk back across the cliffs. I'll carry you over the rough bits,' he promised as he saw her hesitate, and his eyes crinkled into laughter lines, sensing her dilemma, perhaps sensing, too, her sudden mutinous urge to defy him, although common sense told her it would be madness to swim back now, and if she did engage in battle with him over the issue, he would undoubtedly win—again.
She shrugged, pretending to be indifferent to whatever route they took back to the beach, as if, now she was separated from his arms, she did not feel a surge of anger at her own weakness, a self-contempt as strong, almost, as the nameless emotions that gripped her before, and left her feeling drained and spent. What was it he had said? She frowned as the memory of his words came back to torment her.
`If ever I need a girl for my work—the fresh, outdoor type, with a hint of naivete...
Her cheeks burned at the memory. Haydn must think her naive. Her own reaction to his unexpected behaviour had been that of an ignorant country lass to a society Don Juan. She flogged herself with unmerciful scorn. It helped to keep at bay the uncomfortable awareness of him, scrambling with her across the rocky headland, helping her across the water-worn rocks as if he was indifferent himself to the sharpness of the rougher patches, as if he frequently lived without shoes and his feet were hardened, as they probably were if he lived much on his boat, she realised, wincing as she stepped warily in his wake.
`Allow me.' He noticed her flinch, and turned back, and before she was aware of his intention he scooped her up in his arms and strode across the rocks, depositing her on the beach, on a patch of soft sand, to the unrestrained joy of
the two dogs, who behaved as if she was lost to their sight for ever. As she might have been, she thought, if Haydn had not been there to rescue her. But if Haydn had not been there, she would not have tried to swim to the point. She succumbed to the four-footed blandishments for a moment or two, thankful to have something to take her attention, and hide her face from Haydn's keen look, and she turned to search out her jeans and shirt with her poise more or less restored to normal. The man-made fibre of her swimsuit was nearly dry by now, and she dragged on her clothes, her confidence coming back with her normal attire. She gave her feet a quick rub to clean them free from sand, and slipped on her shoes. Haydn must have no further excuse to pick her up. Obscurely she resented it, wishing not for the first time since she had known him that her height was more equal to his own. She did not like being treated as if she was a child, to be indulged, restrained, but not to be taken seriously.
`Your honeysuckle has wilted.' He picked up the sprig she had plucked on her way to the bay.
`I'll get some more on the way back. I want a bunch for my room, anyway.' She did not intend Haydn to pick it for her. Though he would probably forget it as they reached the narrow lane leading back to Polrewin, he passed the first display of it without a second glance, but he paused when they reached the mass of perfumed hedge from which Lee had picked her first spray, and reached down one of the topmost sprigs.
`The top flowers seem to be the nicest.'
They always were, Lee thought ruefully, but she had not got the height to reach up to them, and she could not quite restrain the sparkle of delight as he gathered her a generous bunch, which was dimmed somewhat by the mockery in his glance as he handed it to her with a slight bow.
`They're lovely.' She buried her face in his offering. There was no reason for her to feel confused. No reason for the sudden attack of shyness that made her hide her face in the flowers, the heady sweetness of which pervaded her room as minutes later she left Haydn on the path and escaped upstairs to her room to slip them into a brown pottery jug,
and rest them on her dressing table so that she could enjoy the double beauty of the flowers themselves, and their reflection in her mirror.
Her own face looked back at her from beside them, and she stared at it as if it belonged to a stranger. Her eyes held a glow she had never seen in them before, and her lips parted in wonder. Lips Haydn had kissed.... She raised her fingers to them for the second time, touching them, as if they might feel differently now, then she turned startled as his voice came from below her open window. He was talking to Jon.
`She had a pretty bad attack of cramp half way across to the point,' he was saying. 'Luckily I was there, and saw her go under. I guessed what had happened, of course, the water was cold farther out, and I was able to reach her in plenty of time.'
Oh, the conceit of the man s The glow vanished from Lee's eyes, and a snap of pure anger took its place, which was heightened to fury as he went on in a serious tone,
`If Lee's prone to cramp, Jon, it might be better if she didn't swim on her own, at least until the water's warmed up a bit later in the year.'
How dared he even suggest Jon should keep a check on her movements He had no right.... Lee jumped to her feet, and her elbow caught the protruding handle of the jug with the flowers in it. She spun round and saved it from going over, then gave an exclamation of annoyance as some of the slopped water dripped off the shiny polished top of the dressing table and on to the glass tray underneath.
`Bother !' She grabbed for the towel hung beside her wash basin, and mopped up the mess. She would go down instantly, she determined, and tell Haydn to mind his own business. Anger put vigour into her efforts, and by the time she had refilled the jug and put it back where it belonged, her temper had cooled somewhat, but her resolve was as strong as ever. It was bad enough, she thought angrily, that Haydn had tried to assume control of Polrewin. It was insufferable of him to include herself in his dictatorial ways as well.
The sound of a car engine drew her to the window, and she caught sight of the top of a van negotiating the steep turn in to the gate. It attracted the attention of the two men on the gravel below her window, and she gave a small stamp of irritation. She would have to wait, now. Evidently Jon was taking delivery of something, and it would be impossible to give Haydn a piece of her mind in front of a van driver. She might just as well remain in her room and get changed. A gritty feeling inside her shoes was rapidly becoming uncomfortable, and she slipped out of her clothes and reached for some lightly perfumed soap and shampoo. She might as well stop and wash her hair as well. Sea water always made it feel sticky, and Jon and Haydn might be some time. Instead of exploding, as she felt like at the moment, she thought grimly, she would pick her own time and put their unwelcome visitor firmly in his place in a more dignified manner
She showered and shampooed, and felt a good deal more human by the time she coated herself with a liberal dusting of her favourite talc to match her soap and slipped into a white sleeveless shift. She refused to wear the yellow dress again tonight. She did not want Haydn to think she would put it on again for his benefit. She clipped a narrow red belt around her waist, hunted out some red sandals to match, and left it at that. She glanced at her watch. Supper would be ready soon. She would just have time to slip outside and see what it was the van driver had delivered.
`Strawberries ! Just look at the size of them, Sis !' Jon gazed exultantly at the shallow trays of berries at his feet. Lee counted them rapidly. There were four in all, and three trays of large tomatoes. Catering tomatoes, the sort Vince wanted.
`I didn't know you'd ordered them. Who brought them?' She knew already, of course. She had not caught more than a glimpse of the van roof as it came through the gate, but she knew with deadly certainty that somewhere along the side of the vehicle there would be painted the familiar kilted piper trademark, and the name of Scott.
`Haydn ordered them, not me. Apparently he phoned his place from the Royal Anchor while you were having lunch
there, on the off chance of catching the delivery that was coming over on the ferry this morning. He was just lucky, as it happens.
He told me about Vince and the tomatoes,' Jon grinned.
Lee did not return his smile. She said stonily,
`And what about the strawberries? There was nothing said about those.'
`They're a long shot, but I reckon it should come off.' Haydn joined them, and his eyes roved over her simple dress, lazily approving. His glance should have pleased her, but it only served to annoy her further. She did not want his approval.
`And if this long shot doesn't come off ?' she asked icily. `Who stands the loss? You—or Polrewin?'
`Oh, Sis, we can't expect Haydn to pay ...' Jon began protestingly.
`Why not?' She rounded on her brother angrily. 'We didn't order this fruit, and if Haydn wants to experiment on the local market, he can do it at his own expense, not ours.'
`They've been delivered on approval,' Haydn put in mildly. No order, no charge.' His casual manner stopped her angry utterance, and she choked the words back, feeling herself start to tremble. 'You must have noticed the size of those berries we had with our fruit salad at lunch time,' he turned to her as if for support, and in doing so put her at a disadvantage, she realised wrathfully. 'They were pitifully small. They looked, and tasted, more like tinned berries than fresh ones.' He wrinkled his nose fastidiously. Lee had thought the same, but one does not criticise the food when one is taken out to lunch. It had hardly been an invitation, more an order, she thought irritably, but even now she could not bring herself to admit she shared his feeling about the strawberries.
`And what do you intend to do with this lot?' She waved her hand at the admittedly magnificent berries, as if they were more fit to be consigned to the compost heap than be consumed. 'Vince didn't order them, he only ordered tomatoes. And if he doesn't want them, they won't be fit for sale in another twenty-four hours.' The greengrocer
The Vital Spark Page 8
