“It’s about Fiona,” Duncan said at last.
Andrew felt a thread of alarm. “Has something happened? She’s no’ gone back to America, has she?”
“No, nothing like that.” Duncan sipped his whisky. Now that the opening was out of the way, he appeared to be planning what to say next.
Andrew was a patient man, but not tonight. “Would you get on with it, Dunc? It will be time for my next shift before you’ve made a start.”
“Fiona’s vulnerable, Andrew.” Duncan cupped his glass in his hands and leaned forward so they were eye to eye. “I don’t know what persuaded her to come back here after all these years. You know she never saw my father again after the fire, don’t you? She never came to Scotland for visits, even when the doctors said she could. For a long time she wouldn’t go anywhere, not even school. She was tutored at home for most of her childhood, then she went to a small, private academy for high school, and later, a local college. She’d leave in the morning and come back in the afternoon at exactly the same time every day. She wasn’t involved in any activities. She didn’t even have friends she spent time with.”
“What has this to do with me?”
“I don’t know what’s made the change in Fiona. I never expected to see her here, but I can’t tell you how glad I am that she’s come. And I don’t want anything to scare her away. She’s still a three-year-old child emotionally, and anything, just about anything, could shove her straight back into her shell.”
Andrew picked up his glass and sipped, but he watched Duncan over the rim as he did. He took his time, although until this moment he had been the one to hurry the conversation along. When he was finished, he carefully set down the glass. “And you think,” he said, just as carefully, “that I might scare her, Dunc? You think that I might drive her all the way back to America?”
“To my knowledge, she’s had no experience with men at all. Not one bit. And she doesn’t know or understand you.”
“What is there to understand?”
“Andrew, you’re a man who likes women, really, genuinely likes them. Not all men do, and not all men understand women or even care to. But you do, and you’re warm and affectionate toward every one you encounter, from Sheila MacClaskey’s youngest baby girl to old Flora Daniels.”
“What you’re saying is that I’m indiscriminate?”
Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “Fiona doesn’t know you. She may not understand that you treat everyone the same way, and that even when you single someone out for special attention, it doesn’t last.”
“Indiscriminate and inconstant?”
“I’ll put it right on the table. I watched you with Fiona the day she arrived, and I watched her reaction. She may expect more from you than you’re willing to give. And I don’t want her to get hurt again. I don’t ever want her to be hurt again.”
“Then I’d recommend you wrap her in some of Mara’s thickest fleeces, for protection. Lock her in a room with no sharp objects, in a country with no threat of fire, flood or wind. Make certain she has no visitors, because visitors might bring disease or, worse, excitement into her life. And that might no’ be good for her heart—”
Duncan thumped his glass on the table. “Cut it out!”
Andrew set all four legs of his chair on the floor. Quietly, carefully. “She is no’ a three-year-old child, Dunc. She’s a woman. And she’s made that clear by coming here. I will no’ ignore her to please or comfort you. I will no’ do what the rest of you have done all her days. I will no’ protect her from life. But you know, or you should, that I would no’ hurt her, either. I can only imagine what turmoil you must be undergoing to suggest that I might!”
Duncan’s jaw was rigid and his eyes the color of steel. “I’m not suggesting you’d do it on purpose.”
“Then what are you suggesting? That I’m too clumsy or tactless to watch myself? That you’re the only one in the village with her best interests in mind? Fiona’s led the life of a nun—no, that’s no’ even true. A nun is surrounded by her sisters. Fiona’s had only your mum, and from what I can tell, she sheltered and stifled her until Fiona had to run to the other side of the world to be free. Let her be free, Dunc. Let her make mistakes. Let her grow in all the ways she needs to. And give me credit for a wee bit of sense.”
Duncan was silent for a long time. When he spoke again, he only sounded weary. “Do you know how badly she was burned, Andrew?”
“Do I have the medical report? No. Do I have the gist of it? Aye.”
“She came this close to dying.” Duncan held up his thumb and forefinger. There wasn’t enough space between them to pass a piece of paper. “There’s a lot that can be done now with plastic surgery, but there are things that still can’t be. Sometimes there just isn’t enough skin to go around.”
Andrew didn’t wince. “And?”
“Her face was spared, her hands, most of one leg… But her scars are extensive.”
“And if you dinna stop protecting her, there will be more scars inside than out.”
“I love you like a brother, Andrew, but Fiona is my sister.”
Andrew got to his feet. “Then I hope you’ll no’ be called upon to choose between us.”
Outside, the cool nip of a Scottish spring day had thickened into the chill of night, but Andrew hardly noticed. He paused just beyond the hotel door and ran a hand through his hair. He no longer felt like sleeping. Adrenaline pumped through him, and he knew it would be hours before he could put his head to a pillow.
“Andrew, is that you?”
He recognized Fiona’s voice immediately, but he wasn’t sure from which direction it came. “Fiona?”
“Over here.”
He gazed across the street to the village green, a rectangular slice of land shaded by ancient trees. He saw a woman’s slender body silhouetted against gray sky, and he started toward her. Duncan’s words rang in his head.
They were face-to-face before she spoke again. “I didn’t know you were back.” She smiled, and her eyes searched his face. “You look tired. Have you had any sleep since I saw you?”
“A bit here and there. What are you doing?”
“Just taking a walk. The air feels so luscious, I couldn’t resist. It’s so heavy, so soft, it almost feels like hands stroking my face.”
The image did something odd to him. He felt it deep and warm inside him. But Fiona didn’t seem to notice how sensuous her observation had been.
“I like the way everything smells this time of evening,” she said. “There’s peat smoke, but there’s also a hint of flowers on the breeze. Winter and spring at war.”
“Here in the Highlands we’re never that certain which is winning.”
“There are the sounds, too. Tires on slick cobblestone, now that’s a wonderful sound. Night birds and children laughing. Music drifting from houses. I’m sure behind their curtains, people are dancing, slowly….” She laughed at herself. “My imagination knows no bounds.”
“Nor should it.”
“Don’t you think so?” She made a wry face. “Sometimes I think it’s supremely overdeveloped, but where would I be without it?”
He wondered if she was referring exclusively to her success with the Stardust books, or to something more. Had her imagination become a substitute for real life, and did she now wish to experience what she had only dreamed? “Your books are wonderful, Fiona. Glorious. I have them all.”
“Do you?” She seemed surprised. “Really?”
“Shall I quote?”
“No!” She laughed. “Offering’s good enough. I’m glad you like them.”
“Would you enjoy some company? I think I need a walk, too.”
“I’d love it. Usually April walks with me, but she’s off with her friend Lolly tonight.”
“Where shall we go?”
“I’ve found a favorite place. Do you want me to show you?”
“Aye.”
She led him through the green, around a stone fountain that hadn’t wo
rked since his childhood and down a path still littered by winter’s refuse. “Did you have a good two weeks?” she asked.
“Neither good nor bad. Busy. It still confounds me what a fuss and a mess we make to retrieve and sell the leaves and ferns of another age.”
“Leaves and ferns? Oh, you’re talking about oil. You think there’s too much fuss?”
“When I was just out of university I found life on the platform exciting. Now it seems pointless. Man will wait until all the oil’s finally gone before he looks for ways to live without it. We’d be better by far if we started looking harder now.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“No?”
“I was at Mara’s cottage today. And even though I’m not exactly equipped or ready to live that simply, it made me think how much we have that we don’t really need.”
“Are you certain you’re Duncan’s sister?”
She laughed. “I know you’re teasing, but you’re too hard on Duncan. It’s not selling things that he enjoys particularly. It’s the chance to exercise his creativity. And he’s always found ways to take on projects he believes in. He’d never admit it, but he’s really an idealist. Like you.”
“Like me?”
“Aren’t you?”
“It sounds bloody self-important and virtuous. And I’ve never stirred myself to be either.”
“No, I think idealism just comes naturally to you. I think you live by your values.”
“And how do you know so much about me?”
“I’m a great observer. When I was little, I learned how to judge people and what they said.” She smiled up at him, and the rising moon caressed her cheeks and forehead with silver.
He was moved by the expression in her eyes. “What exactly did you learn?”
“When you’re small, no one wants to tell you anything. They talk to each other, never to you. So I found out what I wanted to know by reading expressions and putting together all the things that adults didn’t say to me.”
“And now you think you know me?”
“I wouldn’t go that far. I think I know some things about you.”
“That I’m an idealist. What else?”
“That you’re kind down to the bone. That you give everyone the benefit of the doubt and try not to judge. That you have a stubborn streak that gets you through the worst times in your life, but it probably also gets you in trouble.”
He thought that her brother would certainly agree with the last. “I’m no’ kind to the bone, Fiona. And there are people I dinna like, sometimes at first glance. And if I’m stubborn, it’s often more for a lack of insight than idealism. Let’s no’ have any false ideas about who I am. I’m just a man like any other.”
“Andrew, I never thought you were anything but a man.”
She didn’t sound hurt or dismayed. She sounded assured.
“Well, you dinna sound disappointed.”
“You’re a good man. If you weren’t, then I’d be disappointed.”
They stopped beneath a tree. He rested his hand against the trunk. “Why? What difference would it have made?”
“Well, I told you I have an overdeveloped imagination, right?”
“So you said.”
“Well, I’ve imagined you all these years, and you’re very much the way I imagined you. So I would have been disappointed if you’d turned out to be a scoundrel.”
“Fiona, why would you imagine me at all? You were so young when…you left Scotland.”
“It’s simple, really. I held on to everything I did remember.”
That, almost more than anything she’d ever said to him, made his heart turn over. She wasn’t looking for sympathy. She had no idea how lonely she’d been, so lonely that she’d held on to the memories of a toddler. Loneliness seemed a natural state to her.
He thought about Duncan’s warning. Andrew believed all his own logic, all his own replies, but he was struck with the basic truth behind everything his friend had said. Fiona could be hurt, and badly.
The first time he’d seen her he had noticed what beautiful hair she had. Now the wind bounced curls against her cheeks and neck as she stood looking up at him, and they were reminders of sunshine on a moonlit night. He remembered how her hair had felt the last time they’d been together. He had wanted to comfort her, but he had been struck then by how good it felt to touch her, to feel the silken, lively mass of her hair against his fingertips, the length of her body against his. Tonight he had denied his own power to hurt Fiona. Now he faced the fact that the possibility was there.
“Come on, I’ll show you that special spot I was talking about.” Before he could speak, she turned away from him and started away.
He wanted to call her back, to tell her that exhaustion had claimed him and he’d changed his mind about the walk, but it was too late. He followed behind her, crossing the road at the most secluded end of the green. They were heading for the loch.
She paused so he would catch up, then continued. “I’m sure this is a place you’ve been a million times, but I found it a few nights ago and fell in love.”
“You give your heart easily.”
“Not easily or often. But Loch Ceo is special.”
“Aye. I’ve always thought so.”
“I know. You take tourists out on the loch in the summer, don’t you?”
“As many or few as want to go. We’re no competition for Loch Ness here, and my darling’s no public relations expert. She shows herself rarely. She’s a shy lass and careful to whom she reveals a glimpse.”
“Then it’s not a thriving business?”
“No, for which I’m thankful. We’re a wee clachan, off the tourist path, and we have just enough commerce to sustain us. Loch Ceo could no’ handle a hundred tour boats with sonar and underwater cameras, and Druidheachd could no’ handle an influx of tourists with cash to spend. Change comes slowly here, and we can incorporate new ideas and new ways of doing things if we have the time to plan for them. But I would hate to see what would happen if changes ever had to be made quickly.”
“I like it the way it is.”
“Aye, so do I.”
Fiona parted overgrown shrubs and stepped through them, and Andrew followed. He took her arm when he realized where they were. There was a moderate grade dipping toward the shore, and he wanted to be sure that she didn’t slip.
At the bottom he released her. The shore around the entire loch was narrow, but the spot where they stood was particularly so. A flat rock jutted into the water, and Fiona climbed up on it and beckoned for him to join her. A cold wind came sweeping over the water, and he was immediately chilled. From the rock above him she didn’t even seem to notice.
“Look at this, Andrew. Have you ever seen anything so gorgeous? You can hardly see a house from this angle. I could almost believe we just discovered the loch ourselves and no one else has ever been here before.”
There were a hundred views that were just as beautiful, and he suddenly yearned to show her every one. He climbed up beside her. “The moon loves the loch. She silvers every ripple.”
“I’ve always liked moonlight the best. It’s…forgiving.”
“Forgiving?”
“Moonlight softens and blends. It highlights only what it chooses. Sunlight exposes everything it touches.”
Like fire. Andrew gazed over the water. “I saw Sara Hume today, Fiona.”
“When?”
“I drove to Glasgow when my shift ended. Ordinarily I would have been back home this morning.”
“I knew that they had verified her identity. I’ve called every day, but they wouldn’t tell me much on the telephone except her name. Tell me how she is.”
“Unbelievably tiny.” And quiet. Far too quiet.
“Did she have anyone with her?”
“She has a granny who’s come up from England to be with her. She’s a kind woman, a very modern granny who watches everything carefully and has taken on as much of Sara’s care as she’s allo
wed. She insisted that they let me visit. We’ll no’ have trouble getting in to see Sara again.”
“How is she really, Andrew?”
“They say she’s responding well to treatment. But her spirits are low. She has an aunt who’ll take her home when she’s discharged, a young woman with two children of her own. She and Sara’s mum were close, and she and her husband want Sara very much. But she can no’ come to Glasgow for more than short visits, because she has her own children to care for. I think she needs more visitors, people who aren’t there to hurt her—because that’s the way she must view the doctors and nurses.”
“That’s exactly the way she views them. I remember hating everyone who walked through the door of my hospital room because inevitably they were going to cause me more pain. And I was too young to understand why.”
“She responded to me. She listened to me talk. She even said a few words. Her granny said that Sara had been close to her father….”
“You’ll be going to see her often, won’t you?”
“Aye.”
“May I come?”
He thought of everything that Duncan had said and all the things he himself had replied—and believed—in return. “Aye,” he said, after a hesitation. “If you want to come, Fiona, you’re welcome.”
She turned back to the loch. “I’ll bring her my books. I know they’re careful about most toys on the unit, because of germs, but they should let her have books.”
“I planned to go day after tomorrow.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Fiona was ready for everything. Ready to help, ready to embrace life, ready… Andrew put an end to that line of thought. “Are you ready to go back now?”
She opened her arms as if she wanted to take the loch back with her. “Do you suppose if I sat here and stared, didn’t even blink, for a whole night, I’d see your darling?”
“She’s been known to reward great patience.”
“I’m not sure I have great patience anymore.” She turned back to him. “Once that was about all I had.”
Now her eyes were hungry for more. He could see that clearly, despite nothing except moonlight illuminating them. He wondered if she understood all that she hungered for, or if in the weeks to come, as her world expanded, she would begin to understand more clearly.
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