36. Edie
EDIE
The dogs sense it before we do, stopping in their tracks and barking.
“Come on you two, we’re almost there.” Kate shakes the hip flask. “Time for a refill I think.”
My borrowed boots are caked in mud and my trousers are filthy and damp.
I’m aching all over and can’t wait to climb into the bed in Kate’s little spare bedroom, but there’s something magical about knowing that my ribbon is out there, fluttering in the breeze, a little red scrap of hope tied to an ancient branch.
And then I hear it. A dull thud of sound at first, like distant thunder, then it draws closer, echoing across the hills.
Kate frowns, looking up into the last of the evening light. “Is that a helicopter?”
She pulls her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans, squinting at the screen. Her brow furrows.
“It’s Janey. She says Rory’s out searching for you, in full on search and rescue mode. She’s tracked your phone, and they’ve traced it to the river. ”
My stomach drops as I pat a hand on my hip. It’s not in my pocket. “Shit. I must’ve lost it when I fell.”
Kate’s already got her phone to her ear.
We round the bend onto the track that levels out in front of Kate’s cottage and the noise is deafening. A sleek black helicopter hovers overhead, then begins its descent below us into the wide stretch of moorland before the river path. The dogs are barking incessantly now, distressed by the noise.
Kate and I watch with stunned silence as it lands with precision. The rotor blades slow, sending up a storm of heather and moss. The door opens and Rory jumps out, dark hair dishevelled, his jaw set like granite.
His long legs eat up the distance between us and as he approaches Kate takes a step back.
He glares at me, absolutely furious. “Jesus Christ, Edie.” His voice is low and rough, half fury, half relief. “What the fuck are you doing out here? How did you get out of the river?”
Jamie jogs up behind him and takes Kate by the arm, muttering something in a low voice as he steers her away with the dogs. I’m left standing there facing the man who threw me out of his house just a few short hours ago.
“I was walking,” I say, raising my chin defiantly. “Or trying to. You threw me out, remember?”
He closes the distance between us in three long strides, his boots sinking in the boggy turf.
“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is out here at night? You could have been lost in a peat bog or—” He rakes a hand back through his hair.
“Or worse. We thought something had happened to you. When Janey realised she still had your location on her phone from when you went walking alone…”
“Something did happen to me.” I hate that my voice cracks as I speak. “You humiliated me in front of everyone. I didn’t even get a chance to speak.”
“You weren’t honest with me, Edie.” He’s facing me, painfully close.
I catch the familiar scent of the expensive soap they use at Loch Morven, and I feel a pang of longing for something I’ve lost. “You signed an NDA and blew it when Anna read your work. And you didn’t tell me straight away.
This” – he looks away for a moment – “this is my life. My history. Secrets and lies and?—”
“Secrets?” I say. “What is it you’re so afraid of, Rory? Everyone already knows your father was scandalous. His lies and his misdeeds – I left you a note before I left, telling you the part I wasn’t sure about. You could burn that and nobody would ever know.”
He tosses his head dismissively. “You have no idea. I’ve been trying to hold this place together,” he throws out an arm, gesturing to the sweep of moorland in the gathering darkness, “And I wasn’t even sure it was my fucking place to do it.”
I look at him, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“My whole life has been shaped by that bastard’s control and his lies.” He blows out a long breath. “I wasn’t even sure I—that I was his son.”
I’m too angry to take in what he’s saying. “Well, it’s pretty fucking clear you are. And that’s not a compliment.”
He flinches slightly, but I barrel on.
“You’re so obsessed with control and duty and saving face—God forbid someone actually likes you for who you are under the legacy of guilt.
” I wave my arm. “You can’t even see the magic of this place you’re lucky enough to have in your care.
You’re so busy protecting it that you’re strangling the life out of it.
You’re a perfectionist and you’re paranoid and you rule this place with an iron fist, all the time acting like you never wanted the role in the first place. ”
“Are you finished with your psychoanalysis?” His jaw is clenched even tighter now.
I shake my head and give a bitter laugh.
“No. You always wanted to see the worst in me from the moment I got here, because if you saw the best you might have to admit that you actually care for me. You do. I-I know it.” I put my hands on my hips and face him straight on.
“And you -you might even love me, but you’re such a fucking coward that the idea of that?—”
But I can’t finish the sentence because he’s stepped forward and he’s kissing me.
It’s not tentative or soft, it’s an angry claim, weeks of tension and rage and longing all at once.
His hand curls around the back of my neck, pulling me against him, and for a moment – just for a moment – I kiss him back.
Because I want to and my body responds instantly, even now.
And then I shove him away.
His eyes are dark as he looks down at me in surprise.
“I wasn’t finished.” My hands are balled in fists by my sides.
“You don’t get to come in here with a helicopter and play the hero when you’re the one who pushed me off the cliff in the first place.
What was the plan? Swoop in here, rescue the poor pathetic commoner who you kicked out of your castle then pat yourself on the back?
” My heart is banging in my chest, and I pause to haul in a breath.
“You know what would have been heroic, Rory?” I say, the words sharp as broken glass. “Trusting me. That would have been a thrilling twist.”
His expression changes, like I’ve hit the one nerve he didn’t want me to touch .
And then he kisses me again. My hands are still balled by my sides as his lips brush against mine. It’s an apology without words. And I hate myself for kissing him back, but I do because despite everything, despite how furious I am, how much I want to slap him, I want him.
My hands are fisting the thick wool of his sweater, pulling his body towards mine before I can stop myself. I feel the solid heat of his bulk against my mud-covered, damp sweatshirt and I let myself have one heartbeat where I think that maybe this mess can be salvaged.
Then I pull back.
“I was talking ,” I snap, breathless.
His mouth twitches in that sexy half-smile I can’t resist. But not this time.
He takes my hand. “Come on,” he says, pulling me towards Kate’s cottage. “Let’s get your things.”
And I stop dead on the soft heathery path. “I’m not coming with you.”
His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not going back. I’m not going back to be a secret or something you’ll regret in the morning.” I hear Fenella’s catty comment echo in my head. “I know that you’re used to people falling into line as soon as you snap your fingers but it’s not happening.”
I step back, breathing hard.
“Edie,” he says, but I shake my head.
“I mean it, Rory. You can get back in your helicopter and fly back to your castle. I’ve got my own story to write.”