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“Suddenly you’re trying to get rid of me.”
He cursed, the words a combination of Gaelic and English. “I have a hard-on, ye daft lass. If I go downstairs with you, we’ll end up in your bed or mine. Is that what you want?”
His blunt speaking flooded my face with heat. “Of course not,” I muttered. “I barely know you.” I fled with the sound of his mocking laughter ringing in my ears.
* * * *
The following morning, I awoke to another note on the kitchen table:
Don’t try to move to Cedric’s house today. Even if the ladies finish cleaning, it will be late. We have the party tonight. Tomorrow morning you can shop for provisions and get settled in at your new place.
Rain is on the way, so you should get in some sightseeing today. I’ll be working, but be ready to leave the house at seven. Wear something that shows a bit of skin. The lads will like that.
I read the words three times before crumpling the paper in my hand. My host was high-handed, bossy, and way too inclined to have his own way. The infuriating thing was he was right. About all of it. So to fly in the face of his orders—thinly veiled as advice—would serve no purpose at all.
Mumbling to myself, I gobbled down a light breakfast and hurried back upstairs to finish getting ready. If the weather was about to turn ugly, I should get out and about with my camera.
It felt good to have transportation again. And luggage. And all my things. I’d be driving only in the daylight, so there should be nothing to worry about. I packed a tote with water and snacks and a guidebook, and set out. I had a couple of options. Since I was going to be on Skye for an entire month, I could use today to get my bearings with one big, long looping drive around the island. Without stops.
On the other hand, I could begin closer to home. According to my book, there was a famous waterfall not far from town, fifteen miles maybe. Mealt Falls at Kilt Rock sounded like an auspicious place to start my month of Scottish photography.
The day was picture perfect. Blue skies, abundant sunshine. It was hard to believe more rain was on the way, but I knew that blustery weather was the norm here. Fortunately, I had no problems navigating the winding road. Now I could see everything I had missed the day I arrived.
Though I hoped it wouldn’t be a faux pas, I stopped by my rental house to meet Mrs. Clark and her crew. Already they had made a dent in the considerable job. I thanked them profusely and made arrangements to pay when they were done. With the sun on my face and Cedric’s house beginning to look a bit more palatable, my spirits lifted.
My month in Scotland had gotten off to a rocky start, but I would soon be back on track.
Though I kept stopping for photographs, I eventually arrived at my destination. It was late in the season. Even so, a handful of tourists milled about in the small car park. I grabbed up my camera case and locked the vehicle. I planned on being extra cautious today. I didn’t want to create any situation from which I might have to be rescued.
The waterfall over the Kilt Rock formation was breathtaking. It plunged at least fifty feet into the ocean below. Beyond the falls, dramatic headlands carved by centuries of wind and water jutted against the sky.
I was in heaven.
Quickly deciding what lens to use, I changed it out and readied my camera. An iron railing set back from the edge a few feet was a clear attempt to keep foolish tourists from accidentally falling. It was the same the world over, but I hoped the safety feature wasn’t going to interfere with my shots.
I realized right away that the polite thing to do was wait my turn. There was one spot where the falls could be framed to best advantage, but everyone had the same idea.
My patience paid off in the end. One group at a time piled into cars, and soon, I was all alone. I knew it wouldn’t last. This was a very popular place. In the meantime, I was going to take advantage of my good luck.
Back in Atlanta, I’d practiced changing out various lenses and filters. I was now able to move from one to the other rapidly. I wondered if it were possible to take a bad picture under such circumstances. Here I was, standing at an overlook of one of the most impressive waterfalls I had even seen, and there was nothing to mar my enjoyment or my view.
I was almost finished shooting when I noticed a single yellow wildflower clinging to the grass at the edge of the cliff just beyond the guardrail. There was actually enough room for an adult to crouch on the grass there, but to do so would be suicidal. Even the thought of it made my stomach curl.
Debating my options, I set about to capture the shot without plunging to my death. I could see the headlines now: Foolish American tourist dies in search of a flower.
What I wanted was a shot with the flower in the foreground and the magnificent waterfall softly blurred in the background. Framed with the ocean and the sky, the green cliffs would be even more powerful and impressive.
The problem was vantage point. Both the waterfall and the flower were on the same plane. I studied the situation, trying to call up my faint memories of geometry. At last I decided it might work.
Unfortunately, the ground was still muddy from early days of rain. I was going to get very dirty, but I was determined not to leave without this one picture.
I walked to the far end of the viewing area, away from the waterfall. Then I gradually returned, keeping my eye on the brave yellow flower and the water in the distance. When I determined that the moment was right, I sat down in the goopy grass and eased one arm and shoulder past the guardrail. I still had three fourths of my body on terra firma. I looped one leg around a post as insurance.
Anyone could drive up at any moment and ruin my effort. I was trying to hurry without being careless. After pausing to make sure the camera strap was securely around my neck, I leaned out as far as I could and craned to get the shot. The camera was heavy. I needed to support the camera with both hands, but I couldn’t do that and hold onto the post at the same time.
Carefully, I let go and balanced the camera until I had a comfortable grip. I was in no danger of falling, as my leg was wrapped around the post. My right elbow was propped on the grass just past the guardrail. Really, it wasn’t risky at all.
Peering through the lens, I felt excitement flood my stomach. This was a shot in a million. One tiny brave flower clinging to life with the powerful waterfall in the background. The sun beamed down on me, making me sweat. I was determined to take advantage of an opportunity that might never again be this perfect during the month I was here.
Vertical. Horizontal. Haze filter. Polarizer. I must have taken a hundred shots. Maybe more. Unfortunately, my body was beginning to protest the awkward position. Even my yoga training couldn’t help the fact that my right arm was tingling.
I hadn’t really thought about the ramifications of getting up. As I was pondering how to keep my camera safe while backing away from a sheer cliff and a deadly drop-off, I registered the sound of a car door and footsteps drawing nearer. Drat. My solitude was over. At least I had accomplished my goal.
As I was easing back from the edge, a male voice intruded on my artistic introspection.
“What in the hell are you doing?”
