‘Just some essentials,’ Merry said, waving an airy hand.
‘Essentials. Right,’ Magnús said, hefting the bag onto the rear seat of the jeep. ‘Did I mention it’s a two-mile hike to the best aurora watching spot?’
Merry felt her mouth drop in dismay. ‘Two miles?’
Magnús grinned again and climbed into the driver’s seat. ‘I’m kidding. There’s a car park just below the clifftop.’
The journey took twenty minutes, during which Magnús did his best to manage Merry’s expectations. ‘There’s no guarantee we will see anything at all,’ he warned, as he negotiated the black road that led to the northern tip of the island. ‘There’s really no predicting when the aurora will dance, but the moon is in her first phase so moonlight shouldn’t be much of a problem. And obviously, the weather is in our favour.’
The clear skies meant it was cold, however, and Merry was glad of both her woollen hat and the thermals she wore underneath her clothes. The walk from the car park to the top of the cliffs was enough to get her heart pumping, but nowhere near long enough to warm her for long, especially with the biting breeze that was blowing inland from the sea. The view was uninterrupted but it came at a cost; Merry suspected her nose would be as red as a cherry within minutes, if it wasn’t already. So much for romantic; the young Morag had clearly been made of sterner stuff than Merry, she decided.
It transpired that Magnús had a rucksack and holdall of his own, so they made two trips from the car. And Merry laughed out loud when he produced a waterproof picnic rug and laid it on the grass. ‘Great minds think alike,’ she said, pulling a similar rug from her own rucksack. ‘Have you brought hot chocolate too?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve gone one better,’ he said, and refused to elaborate further.
Surely it couldn’t be champagne, Merry mused, although at least it would be perfectly chilled. They settled down, wrapped in thick blankets, and Magnús pointed out some of the constellations. ‘There’s Venus,’ he said, pointing to a particularly bright star. ‘And if you squint a bit, you might just be able to make out the Andromeda galaxy – see?’
He leaned closer and pointed so she could follow the line of his finger. The breath caught in her throat; the dense swirl of lights might be tiny and distant but it was more beautiful than she could have dreamed possible, a glistening opal surrounded by a forest of diamonds. She stared at it for a long time, forgetting about the cold, forgetting about Magnús beside her, imagining the far-off galaxy and the secrets it held.
‘Do you suppose they look at our cluster of planets and wonder what it is, the way we do with them?’ she asked eventually.
He spread his hands. ‘Who knows? But I find it a comforting thought that we are not alone in the universe, don’t you?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘I used to make up stories about other planets when I was a child. Too much Star Trek, I suppose.’
‘Even then, you were a writer,’ he observed.
‘Even then,’ she agreed, and smiled.
It took an hour for the first lights to appear, and they were so faint that Merry wasn’t sure Magnús was serious. She peered at a faint grey smudge on the horizon, watching as it flickered and vanished. ‘That’s it?’
‘Patience,’ Magnús said. ‘We’re going to have a very good show tonight – I can feel it.’
They sipped at the hot chocolate Merry had brought and munched on the pastries she’d collected from Rossi’s earlier that day. And slowly, before their eyes, the aurora unveiled its brilliance.
The colours were more muted than Merry had anticipated but the curtain of shifting light was still a sight to behold. Magnús let her gaze at it for a while, then touched her arm. ‘Now I’m going to let you into a secret. Did you bring your camera?’
Tearing her eyes away from the sea of greens, blues and pinks that bent and arced in the sky, Merry rummaged in her bag until she found the SLR camera she’d rarely had time to use. Switching it on, she handed it to Magnús. He knelt behind her and positioned the camera so that it was pointing at the sky where they could both see it.
‘Watch,’ he said, opening the flip screen.
The viewer exploded with colour and Merry couldn’t prevent a gasp of pure astonishment. It was the same view, with the intensity turned up by a million; the columns of light flexed and turned, dancing upwards and downwards across the screen with a shimmer Merry simply couldn’t pick up when she looked past the display to the sky itself. The blues and greens and pinks split into turquoise and cyan, emerald and lime, cherry blossom and bubble-gum, and yellow chased peach through the centre. She sat there, mesmerized by the sight, until at last Magnús sighed and lowered the camera.
‘I’m afraid I can’t feel my toes,’ he said, shifting away from her and getting to his feet with obvious regret. ‘I am sorry.’
Merry laughed and arched her back, suddenly aware of her own stiffening muscles. ‘It’s okay,’ she told him. ‘I should probably take some photos, anyway – my friend Jess won’t believe I actually did this otherwise.’
She stood up and took the camera, snapping off picture after picture, marvelling all over again at the incredible colours that showed on the screen.
‘The lens picks up more than the human eye,’ Magnús said. ‘Most aurora watchers view them through a camera screen.’
Once she’d taken plenty of photos with the camera, she pulled out her phone and snapped a few using that, so that she could send them easily to Jess. And then she saw the time – 12.40am.
‘I had no idea it was so late,’ she said, surprised to note she didn’t feel in the least bit tired. ‘Or is it early?’
‘The night is young in terms of the Dancers,’ he replied. ‘The best displays often happen in the early hours. But we can go any time you like.’
‘Not yet,’ she said, turning back to the curtain of dazzling colour. ‘I’m nowhere near ready to leave yet.’
‘In that case, it’s probably time for this.’
Magnús opened his rucksack and produced two tin mugs from inside. Then he pulled out a thermos flask and unscrewed the lid. A waft of whisky-laden steam hit Merry’s nostrils, with a hint of lemon and cinnamon beneath it.
‘A hot toddy!’ Merry said, beaming at him. ‘My grandmother used to swear by that to ward off a cold.’
‘Then we should certainly honour your grandmother’s wisdom,’ he said, pouring some of the steaming liquid into one of the mugs.
Merry took it gratefully and noticed he poured himself a much smaller measure. It was a shame he had to drive, but there was really no alternative; there were no handy night tubes to hop onto when it was time to head home. Wrapping her gloved hands around the hot metal mug, she took a sip and savoured the smoothness as the whisky mingled with the honey and caressed her taste buds. Magnús lowered himself to the rug next to her and they sat, side by side, sipping their drinks and watching the ever-shifting horizon.
‘Some people think my ancestors believed the aurora was a bridge that led to the gods,’ he said, after a while. ‘Other say they thought the lights were the glow reflected from the armour of the Valkyrie as they rode above the great battles and decided who would have the great honour of dying.’
It didn’t sound like much of an honour to Merry but she knew the Vikings had set great store in going down in a blaze of battle-fuelled glory. ‘I’ve heard the idea about the bridge before. It was called the Bivrost, wasn’t it?’
The look he gave her was impressed. ‘That’s right. It means “moving way” in Old Norse. How did you know?’
She smiled. ‘I’ve seen the Avengers movies,’ she said, her tone teasing. ‘But, actually, I must have read it somewhere. Authors are like that – we collect snippets of information and store them in our brains in case they ever come in useful.’
Magnús nodded. ‘That makes sense. So which theory appeals most to your imagination – a bridge to the gods or a symbol of the awe and the might of the Valkyrie?’
Merry considered the question. ‘Both are good, from a writer’s perspective – plenty of scope for conflict and drama. But I think I’d go for the bridge – gives the potential for a nice climax where our heroes ascend and finally meet the gods.’
‘Good answer,’ Magnús said approvingly.
The admiration in his voice made Merry feel warm in a way that no amount of hot toddy could manage. ‘How about you?’ she asked, as much to cover the blush that was creeping up her cheeks as anything. ‘Which theory do you prefer?’
‘I have a weakness for the Valkyrie,’ he said, with a self-deprecating smile. ‘There’s something about a strong, powerful woman who never shies away from battle that appeals to me. Probably because I was raised by my mother and my sister and that description fits them to a tee.’
Merry thought back to his compliment in distillery, when he’d likened her to an avenging angel. He’d got that wrong, she decided with a little inward sigh; she couldn’t even cope with the death of her relationship, let alone choose who lived or died on the battlefield. ‘They sound awesome,’ she said out loud.
Magnus smiled. ‘Who, the Valkyrie?’
‘I meant your mum and sister, but the Valkyrie are cool too,’ she said, swatting his arm because he’d known exactly what she’d meant. ‘I’d quite like to channel some of their strength and confidence, that’s for sure.’
He took a long, thoughtful sip from his mug, then sent a quizzical look her way. ‘You don’t think you are strong or confident? I beg to differ.’
He stretched out a hand to tuck a curl behind her ear. ‘You’re strong, resilient, talented and resourceful, not to mention intelligent and beautiful. In fact, I’ve never met anyone quite like you.’
The breath caught in Merry’s throat as his fingers brushed her skin and she almost forgot to feel embarrassed at the compliments he’d just paid her.
‘Thank you,’ she managed. ‘I don’t feel any of those things, except for maybe when I’m talking about writing, and even then I worry that people will think I’m a fraud. Especially since I haven’t written anything for so long.’
‘But you have written,’ he objected with a frown. ‘I’ve heard you read a story that kept an entire hall of people spellbound, and I know you’re working on a new idea now. That takes talent and whatever it was that stopped you writing doesn’t seem to be there anymore. Wouldn’t you agree?’
There wasn’t much she could say to that, she decided, and gave a reluctant nod.
‘And the fact that you’ve come through it, plus coped with the end of a long-term relationship, shows strength and resilience. Coming up with new story ideas suggests you’re resourceful, and turning them into something everyone wants to read takes intelligence.’
Now Merry’s cheeks were burning even more fiercely than the aurora. ‘Stop,’ she protested, lifting a glowed hand to fan her rosy face. ‘You don’t have to do this.’
He shrugged and went on as though he hadn’t heard. ‘I can’t prove that you’re beautiful, since that’s in the eye of the beholder, but would it help if I said you’re one of the most stunning women I have ever met?’
She stopped breathing. Had Magnús really just called her stunning? ‘I—’
‘I’m not telling you this because I have any kind of agenda,’ he interrupted before she could voice her objections. ‘I know you’re still healing after Alex and I have no intention of being anything more than a friend to you. And as a friend, I am telling you all this because you clearly have no idea how extraordinary you are.’
Merry sat in silence, struggling to take in everything he’d said. Had Alex ever described her like that – as a strong, resilient, extraordinary woman? She was fairly certain he hadn’t and definitely not in recent years. And of course she knew that Magnús was simply being kind, trying to bolster her confidence because he knew it had taken a knock, but it still felt good to know he saw some positives in her, in spite of her slightly erratic behaviour around him.
‘Thank you,’ she said in a low voice once she was sure she had control of herself. ‘It’s very nice of you to say so.’
He waved her thanks away. ‘I’m only telling you the truth. One day you will come to accept it.’
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘And thank you for bringing me out here too. I can’t believe how incredible it’s been – there’s no one I’d rather have shared it with.’
The words were out before she could stop them but even as she spoke, she realized it was true. On impulse, she leaned across to plant a kiss on Magnús’s cheek, just as he turned his head her way.
His lips were warm against hers. For one horrified moment, she didn’t move, then started to pull away, framing an apology even before she’d moved. But his hand cupped the back of her head, gently holding her a centimetre or two away, and his breath caressed her skin. The temptation to edge forwards until their lips touched again was overwhelming but Merry didn’t dare. Hadn’t he just told her he saw her as a friend? And yet he’d stopped her from pulling away.
Her eyes met his and she saw her own confusion mirrored there; he had no idea what to do either. The sensible thing would be to ease gradually apart and laugh it off. Except neither of them seemed to be moving.
‘Do you want me to let go?’ he whispered.
Merry thought for a second and carefully shook her head. ‘No.’
His gaze was steady on hers. ‘Are you sure?’
She didn’t nod and didn’t speak. Instead, she leaned into him until her lips grazed his. The pressure was so gentle that it was almost like being brushed with a feather, but her body reacted with a fierceness that took her breath away. She let out a tiny involuntary moan that clearly was not lost on Magnús, because he pressed a fraction harder, his mouth soft but insistent, and Merry had to fight the urge to tear off his hat and sink her fingers into his long hair. Slowly, he eased her lips apart and explored the inside of her mouth. She tasted whisky and salt and the cool, indefinable essence of the night air. And then she stopped trying to notice what she could taste and gave in to the kiss.
It felt as though hours might have passed before they broke apart, but Merry could see the aurora still dancing on the horizon. Her lips tingled where his mouth had been, and she raised a gloved hand to touch them. Morag had been right: a picnic under the lights was romantic, even when the temperature was barely above freezing.
Magnús seemed similarly shell-shocked because he was staring as though seeing her for the first time. ‘That was . . . unexpected,’ he said at last. ‘Are you okay?’ you?’
‘I think so,’ Merry said, and her voice sounded peculiar to her ears. ‘Are you?’
He gave the question serious consideration before nodding. ‘Yes. A little surprised, but in a good way.’ There was a brief pause, during which he regarded her with serious eyes. ‘Although it occurs to me that we probably should not have done that.’
She couldn’t argue; it was far too soon for her to be kissing anyone, no matter how tempting it was. And yet Jess’s voice was echoing in her ears: just have some fun. And Merry had to admit, kissing Magnús had been fun. Not least because he was the first man she had kissed who wasn’t Alex.
She sighed. ‘No, we probably shouldn’t. It complicates things.’
‘It does,’ he agreed. ‘And you need time to get over Alex.’
That was true too, although Merry couldn’t help feeling that kissing someone else might help that to happen faster. But clearly Magnús didn’t feel the same way – he’d practically said he wasn’t interested in kissing her again, and that was probably all for the best, given that everyone she knew on Orkney thought she was still engaged to Alex. Kissing Magnús did complicate things and she didn’t need complication. No matter how much she might have enjoyed the moment itself.
Her restless gaze came to rest on the distant dancers. Was it her imagination or were they flickering and fading away?
‘Perhaps the show is over for tonight,’ Magnús said, cutting into her thoughts.
And Merry felt a sudden wave of tiredness sweep over her, a bone-weary exhaustion that went deeper than her body. ‘Yes,’ she said with heartfelt regret. ‘I think it is. We should go home.’
Chapter Six
The creative writing workshop rolled round faster than Merry would have thought possible. After agreeing with Magnús that kissing each other had been a bad idea, she’d done her best to force the memory from her head and had succeeded largely by throwing herself into writing. The result was that she’d spent huge chunks of the ensuing month bent over her laptop, when she wasn’t out running with Sheila, and had become something of a recluse. And now it was Saturday 4th April and she was finding it something of a shock to have to dress in proper clothes and venture into civilization. She wasn’t at all sure she remembered how to hold a conversation.
‘Hello, stranger,’ Niall said, when she arrived at the library just before nine o’clock. ‘I was beginning to wonder whether you’d grown bored with us and done a moonlight flit back to London.’
‘Sorry,’ she said, even though they had been in regular contact via email and she knew he was only joking. ‘Call me old-fashioned, but I got the impression that a Writer in Residence should actually do some writing. So that’s what I’ve been doing.’
‘I know,’ he said, tapping the side of his nose. ‘I’ve got spies everywhere.’
Merry grinned as she followed him up to his office. He meant Sheila, she supposed, who was as subtle as an elephant when trying to uncover what Merry was working on. ‘And Robbie, your Tesco delivery driver,’ Niall said, when she mentioned Sheila’s name as a possible spy. ‘He keeps me up to date with how you’re doing, whether you’re getting your five-a-day, that sort of thing.’
‘As you can see, I’m in perfect health,’ Merry said, spreading her arms.
Niall looked at her more closely. ‘You are. Does this mean the training is going well?’
She nodded. ‘It is, although I think Sergeant Major Sheila would like me to work harder. But it’s good to get out of the house – I need someone to make me exercise when I’m deep into writing a book.’
Sea Breezes at Brightwater Bay Page 7
