but they hadn’t talked about it, just tiptoed carefully around the cracks in their relationship as if they weren’t there. And then he’d gone away again, back to sea, and left her behind to face the cold, dark winter there without him.
She hadn’t been able to do it. Leaving the castle, going back south to Cambridge—it had seemed such a sensible move, the only thing she could do to stay sane. It had never occurred to her that Rob wouldn’t follow.
She turned over, thumped the pillow, squeezed her eyes shut and pulled the quilt over her head, but the images were still there, crowding into her head, keeping her awake.
She gave up in the end, sitting perched on the lid of the washbasin in the corner and staring out of the window as the dawn broke. The countryside was getting wilder, the hills higher, the gentle ripples in the landscape giving way to crumples and then sharp, jagged pleats as they went further north. It was stark, bleak, with a wild majesty that made something in her ache at the beauty of it, but it terrified her, too, because of all the memories it held for her.
She was washed and dressed before the attendant knocked on the door with her breakfast—a hot bacon roll, tea and some fruit salad—and she sat on the bunk staring out over the wild, untamed landscape as the train slowly wended its way around the hills to Fort William, stopping at every station on the way, tiny outposts of civilisation in the midst of barren wilderness.
Not long now, she thought, and her stomach rejected all thought of the bacon roll after the first bite. She was fraught with nerves, too tense to eat, so she sipped her tea as they climbed up onto the flat and desolate plateau of Rannoch Moor, picked at the fruit because it was ridiculous to have nothing, and then gathered her things together as they pulled into the station in Fort William.
And then, when it was too late to do anything about it, she glanced at the mirror and winced. She looked awful. Dark circles under her tired, strained eyes, her hair in wild red corkscrews, needing attention—she hated travelling, hated the rush and pressure and hanging about. And Ardnashiel was waiting.
I’m not ready for it! she wanted to wail, but she didn’t, she just picked up her camera bag, slung it over her shoulder, picked up her laptop and her suitcase and got off the train.
It should be like Brief Encounter, she thought, all swirling steam and whistles, but it wasn’t, it was loud and noisy, unintelligible and horribly familiar. She took a deep breath and looked up, and he was there, walking slowly towards her in jeans and a sweater, with his rangy, muscular limbs and broad, solid shoulders. His hair was touched with grey now, she noticed in surprise, crow’s feet at the corners of his wary, slate-blue eyes, and when he smiled, the crow’s feet crinkled and turned her legs to mush.
‘Maisie,’ he said, and his voice curled round her again, seeping into her heart and unravelling all her resolve.
‘Hello, Rob. Here, you can make yourself useful,’ she said, and handed over her luggage before he could do anything stupid like kiss her cheek and pretend they were friends.
‘Is this all?’
‘Three bags? Isn’t that enough? I can tell what sort of women you’ve been mixing with, Mackenzie.’
His smile was wry. ‘Yeah, your daughter. I’ve conveyed her and her clutter back and forth to uni for the last three years, remember. I know how you women travel.’
‘I’m only here for a week—two weeks, max.’
‘We’ll see. Come on, then, let’s head back.’
To Ardnashiel. Her heart thumped, and she bit her lip as he led her into the car park and plipped the remote control in his hand. Lights flashed on a car—low, sleek and expensive. She might have known. He’d always liked expensive cars. He stashed her belongings in the boot, then opened the door for her. ‘Can I put the lid down, or do you want it up?’ he asked as he slid in behind the wheel and turned to her.
She shrugged, unsurprised that the car was a convertible, a folding hard-top. He’d never been able to get enough fresh air. ‘Whatever you like. My hair’s a mess anyway. I need a shower.’
‘You look fine, Maisie,’ he said softly. More than fine. She looked—lovely. Wary, hesitant, out of her comfort zone, but lovely. And he wanted her to himself, just for a little bit longer.
He pressed the button to fold the roof and held her eyes. ‘Do you fancy a coffee on the way?’
She frowned then gave a slight smile, the first one since she’d got off the train. ‘Actually, that would be really nice. I didn’t eat much yesterday—too busy. And I didn’t really fancy breakfast. I’m starving.’
‘OK. We’ll do coffee. There’s a lovely place opened since you were here last.’
‘Rob, there’s been time for dozens of places to open and shut since I was here last,’ she pointed out, and he gave a quiet laugh.
‘I know. It’s been a long time.’ Too long.
He started the engine then they purred softly out of the car park and headed out on the road to Mallaig. The air was cool, but it was a beautiful day and the sun was shining, and she put her head back against the butter-soft leather of the seat and closed her eyes, but even so, she couldn’t cut him out of her thoughts.
She was aware of every movement he made, every breath he took, every flex of his muscles. Not because she could hear, or see, but because she just knew. After all this time, she still knew, her body so aware of him that her nerves were screaming.
How on earth had she imagined she could do this?
CHAPTER TWO
SHE looked wonderful. Tired, with deep smudges under her eyes, but wonderful.
She wasn’t asleep, just resting her eyes, but it meant he could look at her out of the corner of his eye without being seen. And he wanted to look at her. Ridiculously badly.
She looked just the same, he thought with a twist to his heart. Well, no, not just the same, because she was thirty-nine now and she’d been eighteen when they’d first met, but the years had been kind to her and if anything she was more beautiful than she’d been twenty years ago.
Her skin was like rich cream, smooth and silky, dusted with freckles, and he wondered if it would still smell the way it had, warm and fragrant and uncomplicated. Her hair, wild and untamed, was still that wonderful rich red, a dark copper that she’d passed on to Jenni but which in their daughter was mellowed by his dark- haired gene to a glorious auburn.
She had the temper to go with it, too, the feistiness Jenni had reminded him of. It was something that fortunately neither of them had handed on to their daughter, but although at first they’d had stand-up fights that had ended inevitably in bed with tearful and passionate reconciliation, by the end there’d been no sign of it. And he’d missed it. Missed the fights, missed the making up. Missed his Maisie.
He sighed and turned into the car park of the café overlooking the top of Loch Linnhe, and by the time he’d cut the engine she had her seat-belt undone and was reaching for the door handle.
She straightened up and looked around, giving him a perfect back view, her jeans gently hugging that curved, shapely bottom that had fitted so well in his hands …
‘This
