Chapter Twelve
Iona
I ona poured boiling water into two tin mugs, then stirred a spoon through them, blending in the hot chocolate powder. She pulled a face at the result. Never would she ever be a barista, but these would be good enough to warm them up.
She glanced at Monty as he emerged from the changing room, his hair still damp and somewhat rugged. The length on the front and the fair colouring could almost pass for surfer style. She smirked inwardly as he put on his thick-rimmed glasses, turning himself instantly back to Clarke Kent. Weird how glasses could do that to a person. One minute he was verging on hot surfer, the next he was back to sensible bank employee. Did I just call him hot? She gave herself a mental shake.
‘Here’s a hot chocolate.’ She held one out.
He nodded and took the mug. ‘Thanks. Smells good.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s not exactly Starbucks level, think more roadside diner. Even that’s probably pushing it.’
‘I’m sure it’s fine.’ His eyes met hers, as they had done often that afternoon. Something shifted inside her every time it happened. Not a bad thing, just weird. Like she quite enjoyed it, but also knew she shouldn’t really. He wasn’t her type at all, so finding him even slightly appealing was strange. Mainly because she couldn’t pinpoint what there was to find attractive about him.
‘Let’s take these drinks down to the beach.’ She grabbed a rug from the shelf, then led the way back out to the shore, finding a sheltered spot on the sand, in front of a dune covered in grassy tufts. She spread out the rug and sat down. ‘I think the rain must have blown away. For now.’ It changed so quickly around here.
Monty settled beside her, not too close. He was a gentleman, if nothing else. They both cradled their mugs, looking out at the waves. The thick clouds lingered, obscuring most of the sun’s brightness, but some yellow beams glowed in the distance. Iona took a sip of her hot chocolate. ‘So, how do you feel about the sea now?’ She glanced at Monty.
‘Better than I did this morning. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. You seemed to enjoy it once you were in.’
‘Yeah, surprisingly, I did. I appreciate you teaching me, even though I’m such a…’
‘A what?’
‘A scaredy cat or whatever.’
She laughed into her mug. ‘You’re funny. You can’t be a total scaredy cat though or you wouldn’t have gone in at all.’
‘I’m getting better. You know, at leaving the comfort of my own zone.’
She shook her head, still grinning. Something about him was undeniably cute.
They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the roaring of the waves, increasing in tempo and fizzing as they broke over jagged rocks. As Iona listened, she heard music, like someone humming a soft, low tune. Its notes seemed at first to be part of the waves, but they got stronger and in them was a deep sense of spirit, like they were connected to the island itself and its people.
Iona tilted her head, listening. ‘What’s that?’ She turned to Monty. ‘Is that you?’
He nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. The song stopped.
‘I thought I was imagining it and it was some mysterious song coming from the sea. What’s the tune?’
‘I’m not actually sure. I think it’s a song my dad used to sing, something about the Hebrides. Or maybe I just made it up. Either way, it seems to fit.’
‘Yeah, it does.’ She gave him a little frown. ‘So, you’re a composer and a singer as well as a banker.’
He tilted his head and threw her a look. ‘When you say banker like that, it really doesn’t sound nice.’
She tossed back her head and laughed. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘Hmm. Not this time, huh?’
‘You read my mind.’
He shook his head and narrowed his eyes, but he couldn’t completely rid his face of the smile, and Iona knew he wasn’t angry. ‘But I’m not a singer or a composer…’ He raised his eyebrow as he caught her eye. ‘So, yes, just a banker.’
‘Well, I can’t comment on your banking skills, but your music is lovely.’
‘Really? I guess I enjoy it. I don’t have any special talent or anything.’
‘Not sure that’s true.’ She sipped some of her hot chocolate. ‘It had a kind of haunting sound, but it seemed like it was coming out of the sea. Weird.’
‘Yeah. That’s why it came to me.’
‘Sing it again, if you like. I enjoyed it.’
He stared forward, and she assumed he didn’t want to, as he was silent. But as she took another sip of her hot chocolate, the song started again, a little melancholic but alluring. It tugged at her insides, calling to her, stirring her soul. Her eyelids dropped, and she saw inside her mind images of forgotten days, harsh times, dangerous weather, all wrapped in island spirit.
The song trailed off, and she opened her eyes to see Monty gazing at the horizon.
‘You know…’ He blinked and looked at his feet. ‘I didn’t really believe in this island until I came here. Obviously, I knew it existed, but I didn’t get what the fuss was about. I wish now I’d listened more carefully to my father’s stories.’ He glanced at her. ‘I’m aware how much you hate incomers with crazy genealogy stories, but I do genuinely feel somehow attached to this place.’
Iona turned to face him. ‘I’m an incomer myself, though I’ve been here a couple of years now. Your story might be true. I just object to tourists who come here thinking they have some claim to the island and believing that claim gives them the right to act as they please with no respect for the people who live here. And when they insist on their ideas being fact it annoys me – especially when it’s something that they’re telling others about without giving the island a chance to be heard or to defend itself. I guess that all sounds crazy, but I know what I mean.’
‘No, I get it.’ Monty took a deep breath. ‘You want the island to be known for its authenticity, not the stories people make up – especially ones with little basis in fact.’
‘Yeah.’ She nodded. ‘Nicely put. What was your father’s story?’
‘I can’t even fully remember. According to him, our branch of the MacNeils was descended from the illegitimate son of one of the MacNeils of Kisimul. He believed we were diddled out of Kisimul Castle because the chief was persuaded not to wed the woman for political reasons. So she and her child were never officially recognised. He reckoned our ancestors were the rightful heirs. It was a big point of pride and frustration for him.’
‘That’s quite a story.’ Iona didn’t like to mention she’d heard many like it before. ‘I think Catriona’s mum mentioned talking to a visitor about that before. Do you believe it?’
He shrugged, a half-smile on his lips. ‘It’s a family legend, but there’s no way of knowing if it’s true or not.’
‘Exactly.’ She glanced up at him. Had he read her mind?
‘It happened too long ago, and records weren’t well kept, or even wholly accurate. Evidence was easily covered up with money. My dad was always so passionate about it. He’d go on about how we should reclaim our heritage, our rightful place.’
‘And now you’re doing it.’
‘Not really. I mean, I love what I’ve seen of the island already, but I’m not planning on storming Kisimul Castle or anything so ridiculous.’ Monty tapped his finger on his mug. ‘I wish I’d listened to what my father had told me and that we could have come here together. Maybe I should speak to Catriona’s mum.’
‘She sometimes has good days. You could ask Catriona. And at least you came.’ Iona looked out at the sea. ‘Not everyone would have. Or they might have come, scattered the ashes and gone again. You’ve at least given yourself time to get to know the island.’
‘I suppose. My father would probably have been one of the tourists you didn’t like. He’d have expected you to serve him as clan chief MacNeil.’
‘Are you serious?’
Monty laughed. ‘No. But he would probably have tried to make you believe his version of the truth.’
‘And you’re not going to do that?’
‘I wouldn’t dare.’ Monty downed his hot chocolate, then raised an eyebrow at her.
Iona grinned, shivering a little. The wind had picked up and was gusting hard. Her hot chocolate was finished, and she wasn’t in particularly warm clothes. Her thin t-shirt and jeans would have been fine if the sun had stayed, but it had vanished completely.
Monty let out a sigh, staring ahead again. Iona narrowed her eyes, trying to work him out. He seemed like a different person to the one who’d knocked her off her bike just a few days ago. Maybe she’d just got to know him a bit better. Funny how she’d got so pissed off at him being a crazy tourist, when really, he possibly had more claim to the island than her. Maybe even island blood. She couldn’t claim that. Her reasons for being here were all to do with her incompetence. She couldn’t hack city life and she didn’t intend to try ever again.
But randomly, they’d both been pulled to Barra, then thrown together. Was it mere coincidence? Or one of those predestined moments the universe had in store for them? If they were meant to meet, then why? She sneaked another glance at him. Were they meant to help each other? Or was it one way? Was this his party, and she was just here to help him with the ashes?
The wind picked up, tugging at the rug, and half of it lifted, flapping over Monty.
‘I’m being attacked.’ He tugged at it, but the wind was persistent. It caught Iona’s side too, engulfing her, and she squealed, closing her eyes as sand blew around her.
She grabbed the edge of the rug and pulled it over her head like a hood, anchoring it to shield herself from the sandstorm. Monty did the same and suddenly they were very close, wrapped tightly together. A rush of warmth surged through her, not just from the rug, but from the touch as her bare arm rubbed against his. He was radiating heat and her insides ached for it to infuse her with energy. Her tummy clenched and a lower tingle burned her deep. She glanced at him, their faces now inches apart. ‘Keeps the wind off our backs, I guess.’
He turned a little and stared at her, his gaze shifting from her eyes to her lips, sending an electric current zipping through her. She returned the favour, first taking in his amber irises, glowing behind his glasses, then dropping her focus to his lips. They looked soft and had a hint of stubble around them that hadn’t been there when they first met. The rugged island was having an effect on him.
‘Do you enjoy sitting out on beaches in bracing winds with strange men?’ Monty asked, his voice low.
‘Are you a strange man?’ Iona smiled. ‘If you are, you said it, not me. And yeah, I quite like sitting out in any weather here. Even when it’s wild, I like it. Makes me feel alive.’
‘Suits you.’
‘What being alive?’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Being wild.’
‘Am I wild?’
‘As wild as I’m strange,’ he said.
‘Very wild then.’
He huffed out a little laugh.
A few drops of rain started to fall, splattering on the sand and the rug. Monty glanced away from Iona and peered heavenward. ‘Do you think we should go?’
Iona shook her head. ‘Not unless you especially want to. I actually enjoy the rain on the beach. It’s kind of… soothing.’
‘I guess.’ He stared out to sea and started to gently hum again. Iona felt like a sleepy snake being charmed out of its basket. The rain fell around them in a gentle patter on the sand, blending with the sound of the waves, and Monty’s singing. When she awoke fully, she’d strike, but not in anger. No. That wasn’t what her insides were burning for. She desired to wrap herself around him and place her lips on his. Where were these thoughts coming from? She wasn’t even sure. She’d had her share of hookups with guys who came to the surf school, but not guys like Monty. And even if she wanted to – which if she was honest, she probably did – she knew he wouldn’t.
He wanted to get back with his ex. He’d told her so.
‘What’s your ex’s name?’ she asked.
‘What?’ Monty stopped singing and turned to face her.
‘The woman you want to get back together with. What’s her name?’
‘Sophie.’
‘And she’s adventurous, is she?’
‘She’s definitely more outgoing than me.’
Iona weighed up his words with a little sway of her head. ‘And did you and Sophie ever go bodyboarding or swim in the sea?’
‘No. She liked beaches but only in hot places and for sunbathing on.’
Iona raised an eyebrow. ‘Nothing else?’
‘Meaning what?’
‘Well, did she enjoy, you know…’
‘On the beach? Are you serious? The kind of beaches she liked usually had several hundred other people on them. She didn’t do anything like what you’re thinking… And neither would I.’
Iona giggled at the indignant look on his face. ‘So, you never even kissed on the beach?’
‘I…’ Monty frowned and rubbed his forehead. ‘I don’t think so. Why are you asking me stuff like this?’
‘I’m curious. And you’ve missed out.’
‘Have I?’
‘Sure you have. Everyone knows kissing on a beach is very romantic…’
‘Yeah, well… I’m not very romantic.’
‘Yesterday, you weren’t very adventurous but look at you now. Perhaps you should try kissing on a beach in the rain. That’s romantic and adventurous.’
‘When you say I should try it, do you mean now… As in, with you?’
‘God no.’ She flicked her jeans as though it was the most abhorrent idea ever. But that was a lie.
‘Good. Glad we cleared that up.’
‘But actually, maybe you should.’
‘What?’ He drew back a little and pulled a face.
‘For practise – in adventure and romance. We could look at it as an extension of the bodyboard lesson.’
‘What? Are you mad?’
She shook her head. ‘A bit. But just trying to help.’
‘I don’t see how that could possibly help me. Sophie dumped me because she thinks I’m boring. What if everything I do is boring…? I’m not risking some random kiss as practise, not if there’s even half a chance you’ll go back and tell the world what a crap kisser that Monty is.’
‘This isn’t school. I wouldn’t do that. If you’re worried about being a crap kisser, then you should definitely kiss me, and I’ll tell you what I think.’
‘You really are crazy.’ He picked up a piece of driftwood and tossed it across the sand.
‘Yeah. I know. Sorry. I don’t know what came over me.’ Fucking lust . How cringe could she get. She’d never had to work so hard for a kiss before and this with a guy she didn’t even fancy.
Did she fancy him?
No. She mustn’t.
‘What if I am really bad?’ He swallowed. ‘Just say I agreed, and we did… If you say it’s boring, then what the hell will I do?’
‘Practise?’
‘Are you serious?’
‘It’s the only way to get better at anything.’
They looked at each other for what seemed like a very long time and she was caught in his gaze, unable to look away, even though it was burning into her.
‘Well… ok, then. Let’s do it.’
Now her heart was pounding a little faster than she expected. This was what she craved in some ways, but a bundle of nerves she wasn’t used to were tingling around her tummy. She leaned in. Monty hesitated, then closed the gap between them. His lips pressed against her in a tentative, thoughtful kiss. His touch was gentle, almost too gentle, like he was afraid of breaking her. Her nerve ends sprang to life. This was a teaser. Nice, but not enough.
Monty pulled back before it had barely started, his eyes searching hers. ‘Well, was it boring?’
‘No.’ Iona shook her head. ‘But I can tell you’re holding back.’
‘Of course I’m holding back. I hardly know you.’
‘Then pretend that you do. Pretend I’m Sophie…’
He shook his head. ‘But you’re nothing like her.’
‘Use your imagination. Or close your eyes.’
‘I’m not sure that’ll work.’
‘It will… You’ll see. Be intuitive. Like you were with the waves.’
He tilted his head, his eyelids falling and Iona leaned in to meet him. When their lips met, the pressure was firmer. His hands found her waist, pulling her closer. She responded, slipping her hand around his jaw. Sparks ignited inside her and she opened her mouth, eager for more. Their tongues touched and they both let out a moan and at the same time. Monty moved like he was about to pull back, but Iona clutched his cheek, holding him close, deepening the kiss. When he returned it, Iona smiled into it, which only heightened the pleasure in her nerve ends. The raw impulses inside her were shouting; she wanted to be touched.
But Monty wasn’t kissing her. He was kissing an imaginary Sophie. This was how much he wanted her back.
When they finally broke apart, Iona was breathless, her cheeks were too warm and her breasts felt heavy, almost painful.
Monty eyed her, his brow a little furrowed. ‘How was that?’ His voice was hoarse.
‘Good… Very good… and definitely not boring.’
‘Um… right… Well, that’s something then.’ He glanced out to sea again. ‘Should we… go back?’
‘Probably should, yeah.’
‘Can you…’ He looked at her, though his gaze was a little shifty and unfocused. ‘Well, not mention that kiss to anyone.’
‘Of course. My lips are sealed.’ She mimed zipping them shut, but really they didn’t want to be shut. They wanted to be busy elsewhere, continuing what they’d just started, but she had to be sensible. Something she’d never been very good at.