MILLA COULD TELL it was early by the quality of the silence. She yawned and rubbed her eyes. The palaver over her ankle and the verbal jousting during last night’s dinner had exhausted her emotional reserves. She wondered what was going on between Cormac and his father—what had sent Cormac from the table in such a hurry. After he’d gone she’d been drawn into a discussion about wedding flowers for the marquee, and had soon been forced to make her own excuses for leaving the table.
Gingerly she moved her injured foot under the duvet before swinging her legs out of bed and testing it on the floor. Happy that she could put some weight on it, she pulled on her robe and then, with the aid of the stick Sam had given her, made her way quietly down to the kitchen.
She’d just made a pot of tea when the door opened and Cormac came in.
‘Good morning.’
He looked fresh in his jeans and tee shirt. Caught in his steady gaze, she blushed. Her silk robe suddenly felt too loose and she tugged it around herself, knotting the belt firmly. ‘Oh, good morning. I—I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone...’
He glanced at her foot. ‘How’s the ankle?’
A trace of his scent reached her through the air and she remembered the day before, how it had felt to be held in his arms. ‘It’s a bit better, thanks. I managed the stairs, anyway.’
‘Well, don’t overdo it.’ He pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit down. ‘You need to keep the weight off it.’
Milla lowered herself onto the chair and watched as he lifted two cups from the dresser. The skin at the back of his neck was golden, his hair neatly clipped. She wished she could stop noticing him in that way. It was unsettling—and pointless. After Dan, she wasn’t interested in falling for anyone else. She’d only find more rejection, more hurt. If she could just get away from Calcarron House and be on her own again, then everything would be all right.
He put a mug of tea in front of her. ‘I thought I’d make an early start; go up to the bothy to look at the water pipe, although I’m not sure when you’ll be able—’
Her pulse quickened—this was her ticket to freedom. ‘Please take me with you!’
His brow furrowed. ‘You’re in no state to go back—’
‘I’ll be fine. Really. I can’t stay here.’ It was hard to keep the emotion out of her voice. ‘You’ve all been so kind, but I need to be at the bothy—I need to be on my own. Can’t you understand? Even with my own room here I’m still in a house full of people—and there’s all this wedding stuff going on... I mean, your family doesn’t need to be worrying about me as well. Please, Cor...’
‘I don’t think—’
She clutched at desperate straws. ‘Just for this morning, then...like a trial period...while you fix the water. If I can’t manage I’ll be honest about it and I’ll come back, but, please, let me try.’
Cormac sighed and folded his arms. ‘All right, but I’m not taking your stuff back because I don’t think you’re ready to manage on your own. If you prove me wrong, then I’ll bring your bag up later. Deal?’
She resisted the urge to hobble across the room and hug him. ‘Deal. You’ve no idea how happy I am.’
His eyes held the suggestion of a smile. ‘If I were you I’d drink that tea quickly and get ready to go, because I’m certain that if anyone finds out what we’re planning there’ll be an uproar. I’ll fill some bottles of water to take with us.’
At Calcarron, she’d let Cormac help her into the Jeep, but at Strathburn she was determined to show her independence from the outset, and insisted on making her own way to the bothy door. Inside, she was instantly claimed by the sense of peace and belonging she’d felt when she’d first arrived, and she found herself smiling as she hobbled into the studio.
When Cormac came in a few moments later he had that strange, hazy look in his eyes which she found so disconcerting.
‘I’ve put the water bottles on the counter in the kitchen, in case you want to make coffee. I’ll be up the hill if you need me.’
She pushed the hair away from her face and smiled. ‘Thanks, but I’ll be doing my best not to need you—otherwise you’ll never believe that I can manage on my own.’
His eyes lingered on hers for a moment and then he smiled briefly. ‘Right, I’d better get on, then.’ He took a backward step, then turned and disappeared through the door.
She was relieved when he’d gone. Perhaps it was the light in the studio which mesmerised her, giving his eyes that faraway look that turned her inside out.
She opened her folder of urban portraits and spread them out on the bench, but the images quickly blurred. She shook herself and picked up each photograph in turn. Was she imagining it, that feeling that maybe Cormac liked her? Or was it wishful thinking—a silly fantasy? She sighed. This was all Dan’s fault. He’d made her feel so unlovable that the idea of being liked by someone else—even Cormac—was compelling. That was it! That would explain all these feelings she was having.
She selected a photograph and put the others aside. Of course Cormac was very attractive and capable—and they both liked Monty Python—but he was also rather aloof. It had been quite easy to persuade him to bring her back to the bothy, so he obviously wasn’t that keen to have her around at the house.
As she set her pencils and paper out on the bench, she felt clearer in her head. She’d been imagining things about Cormac that weren’t real, all to boost her own bruised ego. Cormac had no interest in her and she had no interest in him. If she could convince him that she’d be perfectly fine at the bothy by herself she’d be free, and wouldn’t have to endure another family dinner filled with wedding talk.
Scudding grey-white clouds rolled across the blue sky as Cormac climbed upwards, following the pipe towards the water tank. He’d fix the water today, no matter how long it took, because then Milla would be able to stay at the bothy. It was what she wanted and it was what he wanted too.
An image filled his head—tousled hair framing her perfect face, the swell of her breasts against the blue silk robe as she’d cinched it around her slender waist. She was an unwelcome distraction and, no matter how high he built his fences, she kept finding a way over them.
The infinite depths of her eyes...the curve of her cheek...her mouth...her smile. He’d thought he was immune until yesterday, when he’d carried her back to the house. With her arms around his neck and her head against his she’d destroyed his barricade and planted a seed of longing which was now growing and twisting inside him like a vine.
He didn’t want to feel like this. Yearning for something he couldn’t have. It would be so easy to fall in love with Milla, but he couldn’t let it happen. She deserved a hero, and he was a mess. He couldn’t open up, he was cynical and moody, and he couldn’t sleep for the nightmares which made him judder and sweat.
At least she seemed oblivious to the effect she was having on him. Her ignorance was the only card he had left, and he had every intention of keeping it close to his chest.
He reached the tank and plunged his hand into the icy water to check the filter. Battling his attraction to Milla wasn’t the only thing he had on his mind. Last night his father had made an unsubtle allusion to family being ‘hands-on’ at Calcarron. There were new ideas for diversification on the estate, and of course he was interested, but he wasn’t ready to leave the army. He had to prove to himself that he could go back into the field, and until he’d done that he’d be no use to his father.
He found a tuft of sheep’s wool clogging the pipe near a joint halfway down the hill—it must have been sucked into the outlet through the damaged filter he’d found in the tank. He’d have to replace the filter with a new one, but for now, with the water flowing again, Milla would be able to stay on at Strathburn and that would make them both happy.
He’d go and tell her, then go back to Calcarron.
When he entered the bothy he was greeted by an intoxicating aroma of brewing coffee. ‘Hi! Milla?’
She appeared in the studio doorway wearing a vest top, her cardigan knotted loosely around her hips.
He ran a hand across his forehead and concentrated on her eyes. ‘The water’s fixed. If you think you’ll be okay, I’ll leave you to it.’
‘That’s fantastic news.’ She smiled hesitantly. ‘I made coffee. Would you like some?’ Strands of hair curled at the side of her neck where they’d broken free from her chignon and she pushed them away carelessly.
In his head he’d definitely been thinking no to coffee, but what came out of his mouth was, ‘Yes, coffee would be great!’
She limped over to the cafetière, poured two mugs and handed them to him. ‘Shall we go outside? It’s so warm in the studio that I could use some fresh air.’
She picked up a sketchbook from the counter and went ahead of him onto the deck. He watched her ribcage rise as she breathed in the cool air, saw tiny goosebumps springing to life on her smooth arms and wondered why he’d agreed to stay. He could be halfway back to Calcarron by now.
She parked herself on the edge of the hammock and took the mug he handed to her. An uneasy light played across her eyes and he turned away, concentrating on the view as he sipped his coffee. ‘So...how’s the work coming along?’
Her sigh was heavy. ‘To be honest, I’m having a bit of a meltdown.’
He shot her a curious glance. She’d seemed so confident about her work when she’d been talking about it at dinner.
‘You see, I... I lost my way for a while with the work I was doing, and my tutor suggested that I try something different.’ She sipped her coffee slowly. ‘At the time it seemed like good advice, but now I’m not so sure. I’m working on a series of urban portraits, but I’m struggling with it because in truth I’m a country girl. I’ve got this exhibition coming up, and the pressure of that is making things worse.’
Her confessional tone was snagging his curiosity, but he couldn’t allow himself to be interested.
He drained his mug. ‘I’m sorry about that. I’ll get out of your way and let you concentrate.’
‘No! Please wait.’
The catch in her voice pulled him up short.
‘I want to show you something—will you come and sit for a minute?’
He didn’t want to sit beside her, but she’d picked up her sketchpad and she was gazing at him with expectant eyes. He set down his mug and joined her on the hammock.
She opened the book to a view he recognised straight away: Calcarron House. Perfectly proportioned, perfectly situated, with the hills rising behind and above a spectacular sky pierced by a shaft of sunlight. It was a simple pencil sketch, but it took his breath away.
He lifted his eyes to hers. ‘This is wonderful, Milla. Stunning.’
She smiled. ‘Yesterday I made five sketches in two hours, and I never noticed the time passing because I loved what I was doing. When my tutor turned me towards portraiture it was because...’ She fell silent for a moment. ‘Anyway, he was wrong. I’m a landscape artist. It’s what I’ve always been. I need scenery and grand views, tones and textures.’ She pinned him with a wide green gaze. ‘The trouble is, I can’t get anywhere with a twisted ankle...’
Cormac felt something like the start-up lurch of a runaway train. Her hand was on his arm, lustrous eyes locked on his, and he knew he’d have to stamp on the brakes immediately.
He lifted her hand from his arm and rose to his feet. ‘No way! I’m not taking you on some crazy art safari. You can barely walk, and I’ve got a dance floor to lay in the marquee.’
‘Please, Cor. Just two hours of your time is all I’m asking. If you take me to some good places I’ll sketch quickly, and then I promise I’ll stay out of your way for the rest of my time here.’
He stared at her in disbelief. She was actually serious. ‘No! I don’t have the time and it’ll make your ankle worse.’
Her eyes held him fast. ‘It won’t—if you get me to the right spots I’ll hardly have to walk at all... What do I have to do to persuade you?’
‘You won’t persuade me.’
He watched as she fingered her sketchbook, then he saw a smile slowly lighting up her face.
‘You like this sketch of Calcarron House, don’t you? What about if I scale this up into a painting? You could keep it for yourself, or maybe Rosie would like it as a wedding present...’
A painting of Calcarron House for Rosie would be the perfect wedding gift. There was no way he could refuse her now. She’d played the ace and won.
Milla gave in to the jolting motion of the four-by-four as they progressed along the track. Cormac seemed to know the depth of every rut, handling the vehicle with a skill that she felt sure her father would admire. His eyes were trained on the view ahead and there was something about the firmness of his jaw which betrayed—what? Irritation?
Not once had he looked at her, and she couldn’t blame him. She’d manipulated him shamelessly, but she’d had no choice. She hadn’t lied when she’d told him she was in a panic. The portraits weren’t working. She had to change course quickly if she had any hope of completing her exhibition pieces, and Cormac was the only one who could help her do it.
Secretly she studied his hands on the wheel. Tanned, capable hands, with neatly trimmed nails. The same hands that had gently examined her injuries before lifting her into strong arms.
His body against hers had felt hard and warm, the scent of his skin inexplicably intoxicating. She’d breathed him in as he walked, clenching her hands ever tighter to stop herself from sliding her fingers over the curve of his bicep and caressing the smooth skin at the back of his neck.
She lifted her eyes to his face. His lips were pressed together in concentration and she moistened her own, wondering for a moment how those lips would feel against hers. Gentle, tender, urgent, perhaps... The thought of it made her dizzy.
What was happening to her? In the studio she’d almost convinced herself that she had no interest in him, yet here she was again, fantasising. What was it about Cormac Buchanan that moved her? He’d never flirted with her—in fact he was locked down so tight she was surprised he could even breathe. Nonetheless, something about his proximity was making her insides churn, and as he brought the vehicle to a halt she reached for the door handle with relief.
In front of her stretched a vaguely familiar plateau dominated by five standing stones. The distant mountains had faded to a purple haze, and above them a multitude of dramatic cloud formations shifted through the sky. As the breeze whipped at her cheeks Milla could almost hear the chanting voices of an ancient ritual being carried on the wind and she felt her spirit reaching out.
‘It’s strange. I feel like I’ve been here before.’
His voice came to her from behind. ‘My grandfather liked painting this scene...’
‘Of course!’ She turned to face him. ‘The painting in my room—this place is its inspiration.’
He nodded, and for a few moments their eyes locked across the silence—until Milla noticed the sound of the wind rustling through the grass. She broke away from his gaze and looked up, saw a buzzard wheeling overhead, its wing-tips tilting as it patrolled the sky, and she wondered how Cormac could bear to leave such wild beauty.
‘Do you miss this when you’re away?’
‘Yes.’
She felt her brow creasing. ‘Just “yes”...?’
He nodded and looked away. ‘Too many stories, too little time. We’re on the clock, remember?’
His cool detachment no longer bothered her. She could see that he used it like a weapon, and she wondered about it, but then she remembered that he was none of her business.
She smiled. ‘Okay, well, I’d like to go that way to get a better angle.’ She pointed to a narrow track through the heather.
He picked up her bag and walked ahead.
She’d put on walking boots to cradle her ankle, but it wasn’t easy going, even with the stick, and before long she was consumed with irritation and dismay.
At the foot of a low rise he stood waiting for her. ‘This is a bad idea, Milla. You’re going to make your ankle worse if you go any further.’
He was right, even though it hurt her to admit it. She eased herself onto a boulder and tried not to sound petulant. ‘I’ll just have to stay here, then. Can I have my bag, please?’
He put it into her hands and stepped back. ‘I’ll make myself scarce for a while, if you’re all right on your own.’
She nodded, forcing back her tears of frustration. ‘I’m fine, yes...please, just go.’
She watched him striding away up the rise and felt a pang of envy. He was heading for the spot with the best view and she couldn’t get there. She yanked open the zip of her bag and pulled out her sketchpad. She’d just have to make the best of where she was.
She toyed with an abstract treatment and then, as her pencil began to fly over the paper, she lost herself in the world she was creating.
From his vantage point on the hillside Cormac watched her. He’d known that she would struggle to walk along the rough path, but he admired her spirit. At least she seemed to be absorbed now, so perhaps she was happy.
He turned his attention to the view, but when he realised that he was scanning the stones for signs of the enemy he dropped his head into his hands. There was no enemy here—only memories.
He forced himself to look up again and let himself remember how much Duncan had loved this place. He’d been fascinated by the stones, and by the ancients who’d placed them here. When they were children they’d come with picnics; when they were teenagers they’d come with hip flasks of whisky, secretly filled from his father’s decanter.
He smiled at the memory, the way the whisky had loosened their tongues, but they’d always told each other everything anyway. It was how he’d known what Duncan wanted...
The last time he’d been here he’d been with Duncan’s widow, Emma, to scatter his friend’s ashes. When Milla had asked him if he missed the estate he hadn’t known what to say. He missed it all the time, but it was different for him now, and he couldn’t tell her about that.
‘This is such a peaceful place, Cor. There’s a calm, spiritual vibe... When my foot’s better I’m coming back. I want to touch the stones, and I want to see the view from where you were.’
‘Good idea.’
Her mood had softened and her affinity for the stones touched him, seemed to release some of the pressure in his head.
He smiled. ‘Ready to go?’
‘Sure.’
She wriggled off the boulder, but as her feet touched the ground she stumbled and he lunged to steady her. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes, I’m fine...’
Her bare arms felt cool beneath his fingers. When she moistened her lips he felt himself drifting, imagining how they would feel against his.
When he realised he was still holding her he released her quickly. ‘We should get going.’
She smiled. ‘Lead the way, Commander. I’ll bring up the rear—very slowly.’
She wasn’t wrong. As she hobbled back to the vehicle he could tell that her ankle was hurting, and by the time he’d settled her into the passenger seat he’d made a decision.
It didn’t take her long to notice that he was retracing their route to the bothy.
‘Why are you going back this way? It’s too soon.’
He pulled over. ‘You’re tired.’
‘No, I’m not. I’m fine.’
‘You’re not fine, but you’re too stubborn to admit it. I’m taking you back.’ He reached for the gears.
‘No!’ Her eyes gleamed with tears. ‘Okay, I give in—my ankle is hurting—but I can tough it out for the sake of my work. You’re a soldier—don’t tell me you don’t get it. Haven’t you ever had to push on through your pain?’
She knew exactly how to touch a nerve.
‘Cor, please—don’t take me back yet. I need this.’
In her eyes he saw all her fragility and determination laid bare, and something else that skewed his senses.
He sighed. ‘Okay, you win. There’s a place I know—I’ll show it to you—and after that I’m calling time. You should be resting that foot, not clambering up mountains.’
‘But I need—’
‘You need to rest, otherwise you’ll have to come back to the house—and I know you don’t want to do that, right?’
He could see her calculating just how far she could push him and he suppressed a smile.
She capitulated. ‘Okay. Show me the place you know and we’ll call it a day.’
‘Sensible decision. Now, you might want to hold on tight—where we’re going involves a little off-road climbing.’
He pulled away, then turned off the track and inched the four-by-four up the hillside, trying not to laugh at the way she was hanging onto the door grip.
She threw him a glance. ‘You weren’t wrong about the climb. No! Don’t look at me when I’m talking to you. Just keep your eyes on the non-existent track.’
He laughed. ‘I know what I’m doing. You’re perfectly safe.’
She pressed herself back into the seat. ‘It’s funny you should say that, because I was just thinking to myself how perfectly safe I was feeling.’
‘Don’t you trust me?’
It suddenly occurred to Cormac that he was having fun. He angled the Jeep so that it would slide back a couple of inches and threw her a panicked look. ‘Oh, no! I’m losing control...prepare to bail.’
She squealed. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday, Cormac Buchanan. I know you did that on purpose.’ She was laughing now. ‘Will you stop all your fooling and get us to the top before I have a stupid heart attack?’
She was still laughing when he pulled on the handbrake. ‘Now, there’s a view: Loch Calcarron and mountains that go on for ever. It doesn’t get any better than this.’
He hesitated for a moment, but the laughter they’d shared had lightened his spirits and suddenly he was happy to share something else with her.
‘This is my favourite place in the world.’
He heard her catch her breath. ‘This is the place—this is definitely the place.’ She was unclipping her seat belt. ‘I need to get out.’
‘I thought we’d agreed? You’ve got to rest that ankle.’
He caught a glimmer of mischief in her eye. ‘We did agree, and I’m not going back on it, but I need to take a proper look.’
When he arrived at her side she was reaching for her stick, but the thought of more hobbling was too much for him. ‘Leave it. It’ll be no good here, anyway. Take my hand.’
He detected a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes as she slipped her hand into his, and worried that his gesture was being misconstrued.
He decided that he needed to be breezier. ‘So where are we going?’
She pointed to a place a short distance away. ‘Over there—to that big boulder.’
‘Okay, let’s go.’
He led her through clumps of heather and carried her across the rocks in places where it was too awkward for her to walk. When he finally set her down he felt a sheen of perspiration between his shoulder blades. It wasn’t the effort of lifting her that had heated his veins; it was the simple fact of her existence.
Milla pressed her palm into the boulder she was sitting on, trying to erase the invisible imprint of his hand around hers. As he’d driven them up the slope she’d finally seen that smile, like the smile in that photograph with his friend, and she couldn’t get it out of her head. Nor the way he’d taken her hand, then lifted her across the rocks.
He’d been playful, pretending to lose his footing once or twice, and she’d laughed. That they could have fun together was a revelation, but it scared her too. He was letting his guard down by degrees, and a few degrees could change everything. Fantasising about a kiss was harmless enough, but she couldn’t let herself really like him—couldn’t allow herself to get close.
She’d been hurt before and she wouldn’t let it happen again. More than ever she needed to lose herself in her work, leave no space for anything else.
Cormac’s favourite place would be her new beginning. He was right—the view across the mountains was breathtaking—but from the moment she’d set eyes on this craggy backbone of granite she’d felt a surge of inspiration rushing through her blood. These rocks whispered to her so intimately that it felt like destiny.
The scrape of boots jolted her back to the moment. He set her bag down and she squinted up at him.
‘Thanks for going back to get it.’
He frowned. ‘I’d like to say it was a pleasure, but setting up camp here wasn’t part of the agreement.’
She unzipped the bag and pulled out her sketchbook. ‘I know you’re cross, but I promise I won’t be long. You brought me here, and I love it, so you should be pleased.’
He sat down and leaned against a boulder. ‘I’ll try to remember that when I’m explaining to Rosie why her dance floor isn’t laid.’
He tipped his head back and closed his eyes against the sun’s glare.
She gazed at his face for a moment, then opened her sketchbook. ‘Rosie will forgive you when you give her a painting of Calcarron House as a wedding present.’
Milla drove her pencil over the paper, outlining shapes, shading crevices, scratching flicks for grass. She mixed colours in her head and made notes—greys and mauves, bright yellows fading to bleached golds, deeper greens and darker browns. She worked quickly, aware that Cormac’s patience was running out.
When she finally lifted her eyes she was surprised to find him staring at her.
‘What are you seeing in the rocks? I thought you wanted me to show you a view.’
‘It is a view.’
‘Hmm...but aren’t the mountains and the loch more of a landscape? You said you painted landscapes.’
‘I do paint landscapes. This is a landscape.’ She turned towards the ridge. ‘You asked me what I see... I see sanctuary—a place of safety where someone might hide or shelter. I see history—I feel the power of whatever it was that formed these rocks—and in the cracks and crevices I see the passage of time, the forces of erosion. There’s a rich mosaic of texture and colour here which I can exaggerate into a bold abstract...’
‘You see all that?’
She turned back to him and nodded. ‘I do. What do you see?’
He rose to his feet and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I see rocks. We need to go.’
He extended his hand for her sketchbook, then helped her up.
She tried not to lean against him too much as he helped her back to the Jeep, but she couldn’t resist having the last word.
‘You can always see more if you want to. You just have to open your eyes a little wider, that’s all.’
The truth was that Cormac understood about the rocks. He’d sought their sanctuary many times. A tower of granite at your back offered respite from looking over your shoulder, and such a view might convince you that a greater hand than yours was guiding your fate—at least it might if you had any faith left.
That Milla had found inspiration in his special place had annoyed him as much as it had pleased him, but if he was annoyed it was only because he was supposed to be elsewhere. There would be questions about his long absence, and he’d have to lie and say that the blockage in the pipe had taken longer to find than he’d expected.
He chose a gentler route for their descent, and soon re-joined the track which led to the bothy. In a clearing, he pulled over and let the vehicle idle.
‘When you’re on foot you can get to the ridge that way.’ He pointed to a path which wound steeply upwards to a gap between two giant shards of granite. ‘When you get to the top you’ll recognise where we were.’
‘Thanks.’
He slowed to steer them through a deep rut in the track. ‘Don’t get any ideas about going soon, though—it’s quite a walk from the bothy and you’re nowhere near fit for the distance.’
‘No.’
He glanced at her. She was being uncharacteristically meek. ‘You’re quiet.’
‘I’m a bit tired.’
‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that?’
She lifted an eyebrow. ‘Very funny.’
At the bothy, he helped her out of the vehicle and walked her to the door. ‘You definitely want to stay here?’
‘Yes.’
Her eyes flickered with an emotion he couldn’t read.
‘I think that would be best... What I mean is that I really need to focus on my work.’
He felt drawn into her gaze and stepped back. ‘I’ll bring your stuff from the house later on—check that you’re all right.’ For some reason his hands felt superfluous and he shoved them into his pockets. ‘Have you got food?’
Her lips curved into a smile. ‘Yes, I have. Honestly, I’ll be fine.’
He turned to leave, finding it harder than he thought it would be.
‘Cormac!’
He spun round.
‘Please thank your family for me. Can you explain—?’
‘Of course. You’re forgetting that my grandfather was an artist—they’re used to it.’
She smiled. ‘And thank you for everything. You’ve been very...’
‘And you’ve also been very...’ He grinned. ‘I’ll see you later.’
She laughed. ‘Not if I see you first.’