Chapter 9
I scream a second time, gasping for breath, my heart skittering as the figure keeps coming.
He’s broad in his dark jacket, a scarf pulled up over his face almost meeting the hood worn low over his forehead.
Dark trousers, hiking boots, huge arms swinging at his sides. One large hand extends towards me.
I rear back, stumble and fall on my arse in the snow.
‘Shit! Sorry, did I scare you?’ The figure tears at the buff covering his face and I find myself staring into a pair of concerned, pale-blue eyes.
‘Mmm,’ I mumble, but I can’t find words. I feel like an idiot, but also my heart is still racing, the shot of fear scrambling my brain.
‘I did scare you. I’m so sorry.’ He tugs his hood down and I get a proper look at him: dark hair, jewelled with snow, a scruff of beard. His eyes are bright and penetrating in a long face. He reaches out again and I realise he just wants to help me up.
I let him haul me to my feet; the snow is slippery and I’m tired. ‘Who are you?’ There’s a tremor in my voice. I hate showing weakness.
He holds out his hand again, this time to shake mine. ‘I’m Euan.’
‘Right. Becca’s boyfriend.’
He nods. I’m embarrassed at my reaction to him emerging from the trees like that, the irrational fear that took hold of me.
‘Let me take that.’ Euan reaches for my case. ‘The going’s hard enough without lugging a suitcase.’ I see him glance askance at my wheelie case, but he’s polite enough not to comment further. I should have brought practical luggage, like a rucksack.
‘Uh, thanks.’ I’m not used to people looking out for me, and I’m certainly not accustomed to a man carrying my bags – Connor was hardly the chivalrous type and that was fine with me.
I’m used to standing on my own two feet.
But it’s not worth arguing – I’m too tired to worry about offending my feminist sensibilities.
If he wants to carry my case, he can knock himself out, frankly.
Euan lifts the case as if it weighs nothing. ‘Becca was worried,’ he says. ‘The bus dropped you a good half hour ago. She sent me to meet you.’
‘I didn’t expect the snow to be so thick.’
‘Yeah, the weather tends to be more extreme up here. I’m learning that fast.’
‘You just moved to Tarnmore?’
‘A few months.’ Euan traverses the thick snow with ease, while I still feel like I’m wading through treacle. ‘I’m working for Becca’s mother, in the stables. But this week I’m your chef. Jack of all trades, that’s me.’
That’s right, Becca mentioned he’d be doing the cooking for us. I wonder if it’s awkward for them, blurring the lines between employee and family.
We don’t say much after that – small talk doesn’t come easily to me – but thankfully the wind makes discourse difficult anyway.
We fall into single file, and I use his footprints to plot my course, which makes walking much easier.
My prints are completely subsumed by his – looking behind me there’s no sign I came this way at all. Like I’m invisible.
Euan glances over his shoulder. ‘Are you looking forward to this?’
I try to keep up with him but it’s not easy. ‘Y-es,’ I say, without conviction.
He laughs. ‘You sure about that?’
‘I’m mostly looking forward to it,’ I clarify. I’m still anxious about how I’ll be received.
‘Becca’s gone all out to make things special, but that won’t surprise you.’
I’d expect nothing less from her. ‘Have the boys arrived yet?’ I hate how eager I sound.
I’m also not mad about the fact that I’m scurrying along behind him, reliant on him to get me safely to my destination.
I don’t like being dependent on anyone. I’m used to being seen as a bit of a hard-ass at work.
I once heard a male colleague describe me as a tough bird – chauvinistic, but still; I didn’t mind the sentiment, only the wording.
I straighten my spine and try to slow my strides, but he’s so tall, with long legs, and his pace is hard to match.
Euan gives a booming laugh. ‘Boys? Bex still calls them that too. No, they’re not here yet.’ He glances skyward. ‘They’d better hurry, or they might not make it. The track is already impassable for vehicles.’
Another frisson of fear shoots through me. As nervous as I am about seeing Jameson, I want him and the others to make it through the blizzard so that we can get on with this. I’ve come this far, I want to see it through.
Without warning, Euan veers off the track to our left, ducking beneath a snow-laden branch which showers us both, before sinking deeper into the forest. In the shade of the trees, with the snow falling in a curtain between us, he is almost instantly lost to view.
I begin to panic as I pitch after him. ‘Wait! Where are you going?’
The darkness is thicker in here, shadows soft. I trip on a tree root and stumble, emitting a strangled cry.
A hand catches my arm, and he rights me with ease. ‘Careful.’
‘Where are we going?’ I repeat, irritation creeping into my tone. Perhaps I’m not as outdoorsy as I thought – I’m not particularly enjoying this.
‘This way is faster. A shortcut.’
‘Through the forest?’ I peer into the darkness.
‘The trees will give us some protection. There’s a path, you just can’t see it for the snow.’
‘And you can?’
He flashes a grin, teeth blindingly white. He’s quite good-looking and he has an easy manner about him; I get what Becca sees in him. ‘I know it’s there. Come on, there’s a warm fire and hot soup waiting at the house.’
I push my doubts aside and plough on. The prospect of food and warmth are enough to keep me going.
I don’t have much choice but to trust and follow.
The path is hidden to me, but Euan navigates with ease.
The forest is quieter the deeper we go, the eerie howl of the wind smothered by pine needles.
However, he’s right; the snow is lighter underfoot and it’s much easier to walk.
Euan strides ahead with my suitcase. I keep my eyes trained on his broad form so as not to lose him again. If he left me here, I’d have no clue how to get to Tarnmore or get back to the road. I could wander around this forest for hours, cold fusing my bones.
A lurch of fear makes me reach for my phone and I tug off my glove with my teeth to examine the screen.
Full reception and a healthy battery would be helpful out here in case of emergency, but my bars are disappointingly sparse – one wavering, valiant line blinking at me before disappearing. ‘Shit,’ I mutter.
Euan turns. ‘What?’
‘No phone reception.’
‘Yeah, it’s bad here. There are hills on all sides of Tarnmore.
It’s a bit of a black hole.’ I slide my phone back into my pocket, trying not to panic at the prospect of being in the middle of nowhere out of communication with the world.
‘Don’t worry, there’s a landline. We run internet through that, so you can connect to Wi-Fi when we get there. You’ll be fine.’
I nod, glad to hear there are options for staying in contact if needed, although taking a break from my phone isn’t necessarily a bad thing. I haven’t told my brother or Dad where I’m going, but with any luck, given how sporadic our contact, they won’t notice if I go dark for a few days.
It chills me to realise that I live the sort of life where no one might notice me going off grid.
*
I am relieved to leave the forest behind. We pause at the juncture between the trees and a sweep of snowy lawn to catch our breaths. My first view of Tarnmore is as impressive in the dark and snow as it was in sunshine. I gape at the house before me.
Euan smiles beside me. ‘It’s something, isn’t it?’
Tarnmore, snow-cloaked, is spectacular, blazing into the darkness, flinging out light as though to vanquish the last of my anxiety with its brilliance.
‘It really is.’ A spark of excitement warms my belly, and for the first time I begin to anticipate the reunion with genuine pleasure.
I remember what it felt like to be part of something, to belong.
Euan strides down the slope towards the house and I follow gingerly.
From this vantage, the rear of the house is open and exposed to the elements – three storeys of preserved, pink stone.
The terrace on the western end and a cluster of spiky, winter-bare trees that delineate the Tarnmore orchards.
To the front lie the stables, the maze, the walled gardens, and what I assume must be the new spa complex they were building last time I was here.
I trudge towards the house. I am so tired from dragging myself through the snow that my legs tremble with effort. Euan leads me round the side of the house, through a shielded courtyard and past a cluster of outbuildings to a huge front door which he shoves open with a flourish.
‘After you,’ he says, with a grin, ushering me into the glow of a truly impressive hallway.
It is so opulent, with glossy checkerboard tiles and a gleaming chandelier dominating the central stairway. The staircase is wide, splitting in two at the first landing overhead, an ornate cupola high above.
Halfway up the stairs, the wall is adorned with a huge, pale stag’s skull, dead eyes boring down into me.
I shudder, and suddenly sway on my feet.
For the second time this evening, Euan shoots out a hand to steady me.
‘Sorry,’ I say faintly. ‘I don’t usually …
’ I’m mortified that I just about keeled over on him.
‘When did you last eat?’ His deep voice is calming, his grip on my elbow firm.
Actually, that’s a good point. ‘I’m not sure.’ My mind is woozy, slipping and sliding all over the place. ‘I think I grabbed a scone at elevenish.’