Page 60 of To Winter at Wildsyde

“Here,” she said again. “I’m down here.”

She looked up as a scrambling noise reached her ears and let out a sigh of relief as Gordy’s face appeared over the top of the cliff.

“Ruth! Holy God! Are ye hurt, mo leannan?”

Ruth just stared up, so happy to see him she couldn’t speak for a moment.

“Ruth? Sweet lass, are ye hurt? Tell me.”

“I’m fine,” she said, having to blink hard in response to the endearment, spoken so easily, and taken aback by the fear in his eyes. “I… I’ve twisted my ankle, but it’s nothing serious. I just couldn’t get back up.”

“Christ, Ruth,” he said, staring down at her and rubbing a shaky hand over his face. “Ye scared me half to death. I thought…I thought I’d nae see ye again.”

Despite herself Ruth gave a snort. “You don’t get rid of me that easily, Gordon Anderson.”

He gave an unsteady laugh. “Aye, and thank God for it. Though what the devil are ye doing out here by this old pile of stones?”

“I like it here,” she said, a touch defiantly. “It’s romantic.”

“Romantic?” He looked thoroughly revolted by the idea. “’Tis a death trap, is what it is. I forbid ye to come back here again and, what’s more, I think we need to have a serious talk about yer ideas on romance.”

“You forbid me?” Ruth glared at him and he went very still, hopefully pondering the need to rethink that statement.

“I would prefer it, if ye did nae come here again,” he said carefully, the words a little more considered.

Ruth folded her arms and stared at him.

“Ach, for the love of God, woman. Will ye at least take someone with ye and tell me where ye are going?” he demanded, sounding as if he was at the end of his tether.

“Very well. That sounds reasonable.”

He blew out a breath of relief, muttering something about obstinate women, and Ruth bit back a smile. She watched as he wriggled forward on his belly, reaching down for her.

“Take my hands, love.”

Ruth reached up, moving to do as he said, until it occurred to her that she had an opportunity.

“No,” she said, folding her arms.

“What do ye mean?” he asked, perplexed.

“Not until we have a few things clear between us.” Ruth put up her chin and glared at him.

“Ye want to talk about this now?” he demanded in outrage and she almost laughed at the indignation glinting in his eyes. He looked dreadfully handsome in the moonlight. A real, live romantic Highland hero. “Dinnae be daft, lass. Ye will catch yer death. Come home and get warm, and then….”

Ruth gave him a stern look which all the women of the Stone family perfected long before their sixteenth birthday. Her aunt’s version was particularly effective.

“I have your undivided attention and I didn’t even break anything. It’s too good an opportunity to miss. I’m glad to hear it’s my home now, though. Not long ago it was yours and I was there under sufferance.”

Gordy leaned on his elbows, staring down at her, his dark brows knitted together. “Ach, Ruth, dinnae….” He groaned and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes for a long moment. When he looked back at her next, there was determination in his expression. “Ruth, I… I may have said things, words which… which….”

“Yes?”

“Which I ought nae have spoken.”

“Really?” Her voice was dry as dust and Gordy dropped his gaze, turning away from her, shamefaced and awkward.

“I’m… sorry,” he said, before looking back at her again.