Page 58 of To Winter at Wildsyde

Be like the cliff against which the waves continually break; but it stands firm and tames the fury of the water around it.

She smiled. Though she’d forgotten that little piece of advice this afternoon, she held onto it now. A Stone through and through, just as her aunt had told her, she would be Gordy’s rock, and eventually he would realise that she was the immovable object, the one thing upon which he could always rely. Eventually, his fury and fear would wear themselves out and he would trust her to keep her word.

Filling her lungs with the clean, icy air, she walked the crumbled walls of Bucholie Castle, biding for a while under what remained of an arched doorway. It was out of the worst of the wind and she leaned against the ancient walls, feeling again that deep sense of connection with her surroundings, of peace and contentment despite the turmoil of the past days. Perhaps Mrs MacLeod was right; perhaps there was some Scottish blood in her somewhere, and that was why it felt so very much like coming home.

With a sigh of regret, Ruth acknowledged that it would soon be dark, and she had stayed out longer than she had meant to. It was also bloody cold. Her nose and cheeks were likely bright red. Such an attractive sight. Tugging the tartan shawl closer about her, she turned to make her way back to the path. As she did, a rabbit darted out and she gave a yelp of surprise at the sudden movement. Stumbling backwards, she tried to right herself, but the grass was frosty, and she slipped down a small incline. Wrong-footed once more, her arms windmilled as she tried to find her balance. Ruth stepped forward but swayed, turning her ankle painfully. With a curse, she lifted her foot. and then the floor seemed to give way. In a tumble of loose rock, she slithered over the edge of the cliff with a terrified scream and landed with a heavy thud.

Ruth stayed very still, astonished that she wasn’t still falling, her breath shallow and fast from the terror of waiting for the impact on rocks and freezing water that never came. She listened to the loose stones plummeting down the side of the cliff to the sea, and the sound of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. Gingerly, she felt around her and discovered, to her great relief, that she was on a large, solid shelf of rock. She sat up, her back to the cliff, and peered over the edge. Her stomach somersaulted at the sheer drop beneath her.

“Don’t look down,” she advised herself sternly, and looked up instead.

She hadn’t fallen far at all, perhaps little more than four or five feet. She ought to be able to climb back up easily enough, except when she tried to get to her feet, pain shot through her ankle. Ruth yelped and went still, staring up at what now seemed a far greater challenge.

“Drat.”

There was nothing to do but wait and hope someone would come looking for her. Except she had told no one where she was going. As she cherished her moments of solitude, and the staff were not beyond hunting her down when a problem arose, Ruth had been circumspect about her precise destination whenever she set out for a walk. That, she now saw, had not been wise.

“Idiot.”

This did not seem to adequately describe her current situation, bearing in mind it would be dark very soon, it was already freezing, and she was facing an uncomfortable night on a cliff’s edge.

“Damned, bloody idiot,” she amended.

She tucked her skirts tightly about her ankles and huddled into the shawl, visions of her lovely cosy bed and whatever delicious supper Mrs MacLeod had been preparing vivid in her thoughts.

Pushing such tormenting ideas from her mind, she chewed at her lip as she realised Gordy would be anxious for her. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he cared for her, wanted her to stay. Perhaps it wasn’t love, perhaps it would never be love, but he needed her more than he wanted her to know, needed someone to rely on, to know there was someone to care for him. It would worry him when she didn’t come home. Well, at least she knew there were people to miss her, that was something, and also her headache had gone.

“Always look on the bright side,” she muttered, and watched the last golden shaft of sunlight sinking into the sea.

***

Gordy stared at the surrounding devastation. There were chunks of plaster and broken bits of clock and a great deal of glass. The desperate need for a drink made him shift himself, picking his way across to the whisky decanter and taking it back to his desk. Thank God he’d saved that from destruction.

He sat down at his desk and poured a glass of whisky, downing it, letting out a slow breath as the warmth of it flooded his veins, easing out the tension in his muscles. It was not enough to understand what had happened, but it helped. He sat staring into the empty glass for a long time trying to make sense of it, of what she’d said, of what he felt. He shook his head. He reached for the decanter and poured another glass, but forced himself to take his time over this one, trying to take stock of everything she’d said and done. She had branded him with her kiss, his palm still tingling with the touch of her lips. The feel of her arms holding him lingered still, though she’d walked out of the room some time ago now.

He considered her words.

I know I am making a sorry job of this Gordy, but I am trying to understand.

Shame rose inside of him. She was trying. More often than not it made him crazy but… she didn’t give up. She kept trying. No matter what he did, no matter how many times he rejected her, she was steadfast. Oh, she showed him in no uncertain terms what she thought of his behaviour, making him feel like a badly behaved boy, but she always came back with the same answer. I love you. I won’t leave you. But he was too afraid to believe her, to even try to listen to her or meet her halfway.

What if you love her and she changes her mind? They always change their minds. The voice in his head sounded panicked and belligerent, but then another, louder voice made itself heard. What if she loves you, and you send her away? What if this is your only chance?

His breath caught. What if it was true? Surely, after all he’d done, after the cruelty he’d shown her, if she was going to leave him, why would she not have done so? Why was she so stubbornly determined to stay with him?

I know you don’t believe it yet, but I do love you. Won’t you give us a chance, please?

It’s too late, anyway. Those words struck him hard, as the truth always did. It was far too late. Sending her away would not help; the pain of missing her would be just as fierce, and the longing for her would never leave him. Not now. He’d known it last night and tried to ignore it, but the truth would not be ignored, and it had been stupid to believe otherwise.

Won’t you give us a chance, please?

Yes. He couldn’t let her go. She still might leave. Despite her promises, he found it hard to believe she would stay with him, but it would be better to make the most of it, to live every day he had with her to the utmost, to give her a reason to stay.

Gordy set down the whisky and hurried to the door.

“Garrick,” he bellowed, his voice ringing out across the empty hall. “Garrick!”

Damn the man, he was always hanging about like a bad smell until the moment you wanted him.