Chapter 7 #2
Then my heart ached, as how could anyone want to hurt him?
From the comment Ally had made about his father being an abusive asshole, it made sense that Gordain used this place as a sanctuary, and the couple clearly doted on him.
He was in the pictures on the sideboard, alongside two girls which I guessed were their daughters.
More, he was at home here, his posture relaxed and his smile easy.
Marianne watched us both. Gordain had introduced me as his friend, but the woman had tipped him a wink, and it had him smiling. Whatever had been exchanged between them was presumably about me.
“Ella.” Marianne pushed her glorious mane of red hair over one shoulder and turned her attention on me. “You said you were going to university in September. What will ye study?”
“Music theory.” I took a sip of water.
“You’re a musician?”
“I play violin, some piano. A little bit of most instruments.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Impressive. Will you join an orchestra?”
“No. Though I chose a performing art college, which means I have to perform, but it has the best composition component with amazing tutors. That’s my area of interest.” The third part, musicology—the history and research part of my degree—sounded kind of dry, but it was necessary if I wanted good grounding for a career.
“You don’t like performing,” she said.
I sensed Gordain’s gaze on me as I shook my head. “Not much. But it’s a mandatory part of the whole. The main issue is that I’m not good enough—”
Gordain drew a sharp breath. “What? How can you say that?”
I gave him a grin. “It’s okay, I’m an average performer because I didn’t study the hours I should have. My school didn’t allow it. Concert-level fiddlers train for hours a day from childhood. I’ll never get to that standard but I can be good enough for what I want to do.”
He looked outraged that I could be so casually dismissive about myself. Even if it was true.
“What career do ye want when you graduate?” Marianne asked.
“I write pieces and sell them. But my idea is to set up a company, eventually, and maybe write directly for studios. Film scores.”
I bit my lip—I’d never told anyone, bar Taylor, about my dream. But Gordain’s attention on me suddenly filled me with pride. He was impressed, I could tell.
Marianne leaned in. “You’re already making money out of this?”
“A little, and I have an idea of how to do better, but I know next to nothing about business. I’ll work on the idea while I’m at university, then give it a try.”
“And wait three years suffering through the performance part of the course? Why not go for a term, see the extent of what you need to know, then hire the right people to teach you?”
I blinked at her. As much as I’d despised my school, I’d still turned up for my lessons and taken my exams. I’d seen it as my due. Maybe I hadn’t been as rebellious as I thought. But university would be different—the students would be career-minded, and I’d be spreading my wings.
“I ask,” she continued, “because I studied business management but quit when I knew enough to run my business. I’m self-employed, so the qualification didnae mean anything.
Plus the other students were wee arseholes, only interested in getting drunk and screwing each other.
It didn’t help that I was a few years older, perhaps. Maybe you’ll nae be so bothered.”
“That might be part of the appeal,” I joked, though it really wasn’t.
Lachlan changed the subject, and I was glad. Marianne’s view suddenly made my decision feel like another cage.
No. I’d chosen this. It was what I needed.
For pudding, we ate individual strawberry and cinnamon tortes made by Lachlan. The man was chief of the clan, and massive, so the idea of him creating the delicate pastries was an amusing one.
As I was taking my last delicious mouthful, Lachlan put his arms behind his head and addressed Gordain. “Ye ken old Mack is selling up.”
Gordain put his fork down with a clink. “No. Why?”
“Retiring.”
Gordain looked at me. “Do you remember I told you about my first flight? Mack runs the flight school at Inverness airport. It was him who took me up. And I borrowed the heli from him to fly to Belvedere.”
To save me. He didn’t say the last bit, and it felt like a secret between us.
After a beat, he turned his attention back to Lachlan. “Who’ll take over?”
The older man shrugged. “So far, no one. Plans are that he’ll run the final private pilot training course in a fortnight then close up shop.”
“That’s a travesty.” Gordain shook his head. There was something in his expression, like he’d had an idea.
I made a mental note to ask him about it later.
“Ella.” Marianne stood and placed her hands on the table. “Come, I’ll give you a tour of Braithar.”
Gordain and Lachlan walked behind us, talking about their friend while Marianne showed me the ground floor.
Braithar was a beautiful place inside and out, with a spacious great hall made of stone and timber, gorgeous acoustics from the high ceiling, and a sweeping staircase leading to a wide balcony. Every room was light and airy.
It would make a wonderful recording space. An even better home.
Outside the front of the castle, our hosts hugged us both, telling us to come back on my next visit.
“And Gordain,” Lachlan added as we climbed onto the bike. “Two years and ten months left, lad.”
“Until what?” I asked, settling against his back, the sensation of being so close to him again heady.
“Didn’t he tell you? Gordain has an option to buy my castle. One day, if he’s lucky, he’ll be the one showing you around, aye?”
Marianne and Lachlan waved, and Gordain drove me away.
But on the bridge over the river, below Castle McRae, he pulled over, stopped the bike, and dragged off his helmet.
His movements were jerky, and there was a fever in his eyes.
His fingers found the fastening to my helmet, and he helped me remove it.
And I readied myself for whatever it was Gordain was about to do.