that he had come back. It was absurd when she tried so hard to send him away.
‘I’ve arranged to see a salmon-farm near Gairloch,’ he said, when Rob disappeared towards the outbuildings. ‘I’m not sure of the way. I wondered
if you’d come as my guide.’
No. That was al she had to say. Then he’d get back in the Land Rover and drive off. But Riona didn’t want to say no. She wanted just one more
day, a day she wouldn’t spoil by being sul en, a day she could enjoy, before she final y put a break on any friendship with the American.
She nodded her head, then, indicating her cut-down jeans and granny-style T-shirt, said, ‘Should I change?’
‘No, you’re fine,’ he replied, his eyes on her face, not her clothes.
He himself was dressed in denims and a casual white shirt, but it wasn’t the same. His clothes whispered money, while hers betrayed a lack of it.
But he didn’t seem to care, taking her arm before she could change her mind, and instal ing her into the passenger seat of the BMW.
Having made a decision to give herself this day, Riona became a different girl. They drove with the windows down and a cooling breeze fanned their
faces as he talked of the fish-farms he planned and she forgot for a while that he was laird and she just tenant. She al owed herself to smile and laugh and betray a nature as bright and lovely as her looks.
They arrived at their destination late morning and, after a tour round a rather poorly run salmon-farm, began the journey home. Riona didn’t question the fact that he had asked no directions of her. Nor did she question his announcement that they would stop for lunch on the way home, until they pul ed off the road and parked above a sandy inlet on the shores of Loch Gair.
‘There’s no place to eat round here,’ she said, thinking he meant them to walk to the nearest hotel.
‘That’s al right. Mrs Mackenzie has prepared a picnic,’ he explained, then climbed out to take the hamper the housekeeper had packed from the
boot of the car.
He carried it down the slope and Riona trailed after him, slipping off her sandals as they reached the beach. It was a beautiful day, the noon sun high in the sky and reflecting off the crystal-clear waters of the loch. It was a perfect place for a picnic, seated on the soft sand, the silence broken only by the gentle lapping of water on the shore.
Yet suddenly Riona felt as nervous as a kitten. Kneeling on the edge of the travel ing rug he’d brought, she watched him unpack the food and uncork the wine, then shook her head when he offered her a glass.
‘I don’t drink,’ she said quite truthful y.
‘What, never?’ He lifted what might have been a mocking brow.
She found herself reacting primly, saying, ‘My grandfather thought alcohol dul ed the mind, deadened the conscience and destroyed the soul.’
‘Real y!’ Cameron tried and failed to hide a smile at this rather extreme pronouncement. ‘I take it your grandfather was a religious man.’
‘Not at al ,’ Riona denied flatly. ‘He thought religion a crutch for the weak and an excuse for the righteous.’
An eyebrow rose again. ‘Your grandfather was certainly a man of strong opinions.’
There was no criticism in Cameron’s tone, but Riona stil felt defensive. She had loved her grandfather, even if others had thought him cantankerous and self-opinionated. He had cared for her in his own way, although affection had always been brief in expression and gesture, and he had taught her to be self-contained and strong. Given the choice of going to the Royal Col ege of Music in Edinburgh or staying to take care of her grandfather, she had had no doubts. She owed him everything—including her musical talent.
‘Maybe, but he respected other people’s opinions, too,’ she declared, her admiration of her grandfather un-dimmed by his passing.
‘Which, from al accounts, puts him one up on my great-uncle, Sir Hector,’ Cameron commented in response, then
‘I’ve arranged to see a salmon-farm near Gairloch,’ he said, when Rob disappeared towards the outbuildings. ‘I’m not sure of the way. I wondered
if you’d come as my guide.’
No. That was al she had to say. Then he’d get back in the Land Rover and drive off. But Riona didn’t want to say no. She wanted just one more
day, a day she wouldn’t spoil by being sul en, a day she could enjoy, before she final y put a break on any friendship with the American.
She nodded her head, then, indicating her cut-down jeans and granny-style T-shirt, said, ‘Should I change?’
‘No, you’re fine,’ he replied, his eyes on her face, not her clothes.
He himself was dressed in denims and a casual white shirt, but it wasn’t the same. His clothes whispered money, while hers betrayed a lack of it.
But he didn’t seem to care, taking her arm before she could change her mind, and instal ing her into the passenger seat of the BMW.
Having made a decision to give herself this day, Riona became a different girl. They drove with the windows down and a cooling breeze fanned their
faces as he talked of the fish-farms he planned and she forgot for a while that he was laird and she just tenant. She al owed herself to smile and laugh and betray a nature as bright and lovely as her looks.
They arrived at their destination late morning and, after a tour round a rather poorly run salmon-farm, began the journey home. Riona didn’t question the fact that he had asked no directions of her. Nor did she question his announcement that they would stop for lunch on the way home, until they pul ed off the road and parked above a sandy inlet on the shores of Loch Gair.
‘There’s no place to eat round here,’ she said, thinking he meant them to walk to the nearest hotel.
‘That’s al right. Mrs Mackenzie has prepared a picnic,’ he explained, then climbed out to take the hamper the housekeeper had packed from the
boot of the car.
He carried it down the slope and Riona trailed after him, slipping off her sandals as they reached the beach. It was a beautiful day, the noon sun high in the sky and reflecting off the crystal-clear waters of the loch. It was a perfect place for a picnic, seated on the soft sand, the silence broken only by the gentle lapping of water on the shore.
Yet suddenly Riona felt as nervous as a kitten. Kneeling on the edge of the travel ing rug he’d brought, she watched him unpack the food and uncork the wine, then shook her head when he offered her a glass.
‘I don’t drink,’ she said quite truthful y.
‘What, never?’ He lifted what might have been a mocking brow.
She found herself reacting primly, saying, ‘My grandfather thought alcohol dul ed the mind, deadened the conscience and destroyed the soul.’
‘Real y!’ Cameron tried and failed to hide a smile at this rather extreme pronouncement. ‘I take it your grandfather was a religious man.’
‘Not at al ,’ Riona denied flatly. ‘He thought religion a crutch for the weak and an excuse for the righteous.’
An eyebrow rose again. ‘Your grandfather was certainly a man of strong opinions.’
There was no criticism in Cameron’s tone, but Riona stil felt defensive. She had loved her grandfather, even if others had thought him cantankerous and self-opinionated. He had cared for her in his own way, although affection had always been brief in expression and gesture, and he had taught her to be self-contained and strong. Given the choice of going to the Royal Col ege of Music in Edinburgh or staying to take care of her grandfather, she had had no doubts. She owed him everything—including her musical talent.
‘Maybe, but he respected other people’s opinions, too,’ she declared, her admiration of her grandfather un-dimmed by his passing.
‘Which, from al accounts, puts him one up on my great-uncle, Sir Hector,’ Cameron commented in response, then
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