‘Come for another fishing lesson?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Alex answered eagerly. ‘I’m sure I can do better this time.’ Last week she had only caught a tiny sparling, fit just for throwing back. She wanted to do more in front of him, see pride in his icy pale blue eyes.
‘I’m sure you can.’ He handed her his extra rod and the bucket of cut bait, small strips of slimy herring. She knew just what to do, thanks to his lessons, and threaded the slippery bit on to her hook.
He gave her an approving nod. ‘You’re no squeamish lass afraid to get her hands dirty.’
Alex laughed. ‘Faint heart never caught fat salmon, right, Malcolm?’
She cast her line into the water and for a long time they sat together in silence, the peace of the hills and the river wrapped around them. She felt so close to him then, so comfortable. She never felt that way anywhere else.
‘How is your father this week, Malcolm?’ she asked. She knew from listening to the maids’ gossip that Mr Gordston was not well, had not been well since his wife died last year. Alex felt terrible about it for Malcolm, worried about his family woes, but he always kept such emotions at a distance.
His jaw tightened. ‘He’s getting better, I think. The cooler weather affects his chest right now and he misses my mam. But we get the work done.’
‘Should I bring him one of our cook’s herbal tisanes?’ Alex asked. ‘My mother is ailing whenever we come to Scotland and she says they do her good.’
Malcolm gave a strange, wry smile. ‘You’re a kind lass, my lady. But some herbal concoction can’t help what ails my father now.’
Alex was worried by his tone and wanted to ask more, but she felt a sharp tug on her line. ‘I’ve got a bite, Malcolm!’ she cried.
He grinned at her. ‘Don’t jerk hard on it, my lady. Reel him in easy-like, see. Nice and smooth. Don’t let him wriggle free.’
She followed his instructions and pulled up a lovely, fat salmon, her first real catch. And Malcolm had seen her do it! ‘Look! Malcolm, I did it!’
‘Of course you did, my lady,’ he said with a laugh. He so rarely laughed and it was a wonderful sound, deep and merry. She wished she could hear it again and again.
She was so overcome with joy at the perfect moment, so wonderfully giddy just with being so close to him, that she bounced up on her toes and kissed his cheek. It felt slightly rough under her lips and he smelled wonderful, of fresh air and crisp greenery and just like—himself.
‘Oh, Malcolm,’ she gasped. ‘I do hope we can be together here, just like this, always!’
She knew as soon as the words escaped that she should not have said them. His face went pale and he frowned, his earlier sunny laughter completely vanished. He drew back, his hands gentle as he held her away. Alex shivered, suddenly cold, wishing with all her might she could call back the last few minutes. Change it all.
‘I—I just…’ she stammered, feeling so very unsure. She longed to run away, but her feet seemed frozen to the earth.
Malcolm ran his hand through his hair. ‘Lady Alexandra—you are the daughter of a duke. I can certainly help you learn how to fish…’
‘But you cannot be my friend,’ she answered quietly.
‘You are a very kind young lady,’ he said, in that terribly quiet, sweet tone people used far too often to placate her. She couldn’t bear it from him, as well. Especially not him. ‘One day soon you will take your proper place in the world and you won’t want to waste time with a ghillie’s son like me.’
Alex knew, deep down in her most secret heart, that was not true. She knew what was expected of her as a duke’s daughter—her mother spoke of little else. Her governess drilled it into her. She was to bring honour to her family name, to marry well, lead society. But the thought of that made her feel terrified. She wanted to be free, to sit on the bank of a river just like this one, be part of nature, no one looking at her, expecting things she could not give.
To talk to Malcolm for as long as she wanted. For ever. He was the only one who seemed to just see her. And yet he did not, not really. To him, just like everyone else, she was the Duke’s daughter.
She hugged Malcolm again, even tighter, afraid it was the last time. The thought that she might never see him again, at least not like this, alone, easy and fun, made her want to sob. Malcolm hugged her back.
‘Let go of my daughter at once, you dirty cur!’ A sudden shout, as loud and shocking as the crack of a whip, shattered the perfect moment.
Alex jumped back to see her father looming on the rise of the bank above them. He was tall, the capes of his tweed greatcoat flapping like an ominous bird, his face bright scarlet. She couldn’t stop shaking with fear.
‘Papa!’ she cried. Malcolm moved away from her, sweeping his cap into his hand.
The Duke strode towards them and grabbed her arm, barely glancing at Malcolm. His hand was painful on her skin, bruising, yet she was so frozen she could barely feel it. ‘Come with me right now, young lady. Your behaviour is disgraceful.’
Through her fear, she felt a flash of burning anger. ‘It is not like that!’ she protested. She glanced back at Malcolm, who gave her a small shake of his head.
‘Your Grace, Lady Alexandra is not to blame…’ he began.
The Duke whirled around on him, his face turning even more red. His eyes bulged, almost as if they would pop free. Alex had to stifle a hysterical giggle. ‘You are just lucky that I do not thrash you where you stand! If I did not have to take my silly daughter home, believe me, I would. And I shall if I ever see you near her again. As it is, you should go home now and see to your worthless father.’
Alex had one more glimpse of Malcolm’s face, his handsome features twisted with fury, before her father dragged her away. A cart waited on the lane just beyond the rise and he pushed her up into it roughly.
Alex couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. They burst from her in rough sobs and she buried her face in her hands. Her father ignored her, of course, steering the horse towards their house, but she couldn’t stop crying. That last, terrible sight of Malcolm, the fear of what he would think of her now—it made her want to sink into the earth and vanish.
The house was silent when they arrived, as if even the stones and glass knew she was in disgrace. That she had lost her friend. The hall, all cold flagstone floors, animal heads staring down glassily from the walls, echoed with heartless carelessness. She glimpsed a maid peeking over the balustrade from the top floor, a tea tray meant for Alex’s mother in her hands, but then she vanished. Alex’s brother was hiding in the attics, as usual, her mother resting with a headache.
‘Go to your chamber, Alexandra,’ her father said tightly. He tossed his coat on to a tall wooden chair and strode away.
But Alex had to try once more. ‘Papa, you must not blame Malcolm! He was only—’
The Duke whirled on her, his eyes burning. He pointed one long, shaking finger at her, making her fall a step back. ‘You know what is expected of you, Alexandra, how the family name must never be disgraced. Your cavorting with a farm
