What Lies Between Read online

  He was wrong. I might want to spar with him but I didn’t want to win. Losing appealed to every part of me. It was merely a bonus he looked downright reckless in a kilt. If he didn’t work at Glenbroch and I’d never see him again, this would be easy. Whether due to my dizzy, whirling wreck earlier, or this beautiful, enigmatic island, a wee bit of recklessness was stirring in me. Could my heart leave it at that?

  Ben returned with three tiny curved and stemmed glasses.

  “First, we have a Balvenie. This one is a Speyside, non-chill filtered, aged seventeen years. Before you ask, it means when these whiskies are cold, they’ll look like they have bits floating in them or look off, but those bits enhance the taste, in my opinion. People who don’t know their whisky get their knickers in a twist because they think it’s spoilt.” He held the glass out for me to take. “But you, miss, will learn to drink your whisky like a local, bits and all.”

  I breathed in the dark amber liquid, swirled it around, watched it cling to the side of the glass. The warm elixir slid into my mouth, soft and easy, and lingered where it fell.

  “Good, now let the flavours express themselves.”

  The whisky’s heat lay like lambswool across my prickly nerves. “It’s not bad.” Ben was right. I hadn’t had whisky before if this was what it was meant to be.

  “Good. That’s encouraging. You didn’t spit it out. Next is a Highland malt from Wick, Old Pulteney, aged seventeen years as well. Smooth but with a wee bit more strength.”

  This whisky was beautiful—an odd word for me to use, but I could have stared at it all night. The dram was the color of candlelight reflecting against fall leaves, warm and rich and golden. It left a velvety burn on my throat. Ben splashed a touch of water into my glass. This time, with the added water, the warmth languished on my tongue, gentle and buttery. I liked this one, almost loved it, but determined to play it cool. “Nice.”

  “That’s it? Nice?” he asked with a bemused expression. “You’re a tough critic. Right, okay. Well, this next one is my wild card and a bit of a selfish choice. It’s a single malt from the Isle of Mull, Ledaig, aged ten years. I’ll start you off with a touch of water in this. I think it’s needed.”

  This whisky laid out a completely different vibe. It looked like lemonade, innocent and refreshing, and I downed a large swig. A mistake. It burned even with the water. The taste remaining in my mouth was like sucking air straight from a fireplace flue. “Smoky,” the only word I could choke from my burning throat.

  “Aye, that would be the peat. This whisky is milder than some of the island malts. If this is hard for you, stay clear of those, or acquire the taste slowly.” He laid all the glasses in a row. “Do you fancy any of these, or have I failed?”

  He wouldn’t get the satisfaction of winning too soon. “I think I’ll have to taste them again. I’ll let you know.”

  “Carry on, then. I’ll get myself a pint.”

  I slid the Old Pulteney over to me, dropped another spot of water in, and tasted it again. Closing my eyes, I was curled up close to the fire at Glenbroch, wrapped in a soft, woolly blanket, with a book, and a dram of this smooth potion.

  “Have you decided then? Is there a winner or will you be sitting on the sidelines all night?” Ben said as he set his pint on the table.

  “Just because I don’t dance with you doesn’t mean I’ll be on the sidelines.” Holding the glass to the light in some sort of unspoken toast to what I didn’t know, I threw it back in one swallow. “This one is cozy and snug on a blustery autumn night.”

  Skirting the table, I sat down near Ben and leaned back against him. “You win,” I whispered in his ear. I had definitely found my free-for-all mood.

  He turned his face into my neck, his exhale falling warm on my skin. His body tensed against mine.

  “By the way, thanks for breaking my fall,” I said, pushing away to return to my seat.

  He took hold of my arm before my slightly sodden body could get moving. “You say that as if I had a choice.” His eyes were heavy with the same raw look he’d had when we played pool. “There are worse things than having your body on top of mine.”

  Where was my witty comeback? I didn’t have one. There were many worse things than having my body on top of his.

  “You owe me a dance.”

  “You’re right, I do, but the band is between sets. It’s only DJ music,” I replied.

  “We’ll make do.” Nodding to the DJ, he took my hand and pulled me into his arms and onto the floor.

  The DJ spun up a romantic song, not at all what I expected.

  “It’s as if you knew I would end up right here, with you,” I said.

  Ben said nothing, his expression confident and relaxed, his movements so graceful I wondered if he had danced from an early age. He held me firm and solid, the warmth and light pressure of his hands flaming and confusing my body. I stepped on his foot, tripping him and throwing both of us off-balance. He caught himself and pulled me closer to stop my fall. His swift, sure protection, more than politeness, cracked open another layer of my heart, only a hairline fracture, but . . .

  “Sorry, I . . . it’s the whisky,” I murmured.

  More people filled the dance floor, crowding the small space. Someone shoved into my back, knocking me into Ben, who must have seen it coming. Holding me steady, he didn’t miss a step, moving me masterfully across the floor. He twirled me through the crowd to the edge, holding my gaze in his.

  “Ellie . . .” Frayed edges of emotion unraveled in the two syllables of my name. “I have someth—” His words couldn’t find their way free. He cleared his throat and frustration creased his forehead. “Not here. Can we leave?”

  Whispering into his neck, almost wishing he didn’t hear, I answered, “Yes.”

  He took my hand and spirited me out the side door. “I’ll go back through the front and grab our jackets. Wait here.”

  A moment later he was back; he helped me on with my jacket, then laid his around my shoulders. “The cold is no bother for me. My skin is native.”

  This was the Ben I had met at Glenbroch.

  “Would you like to go to the bay and take in the blue moon before others head that way?” he asked.

  “Sounds perfect. Planned to take your advice to see it tonight, anyway.” I tried to sound casual, for what and for whom I had no idea.

  We sat down on a large rock just out of reach of the push and retreat of the water’s edge, our eyes focused on the low-slung moon resting large and heavy over the bay. The incandescent globe sprinkled a trail of moon dust across the water that promised to lead to a magical world at its end. If only I would follow where it wished to take me.

  Unspoken words dangled—spiders suspended on gossamer threads, tense, still, watchful . . . afraid to move.

  I left mine in their paralyzed state and chose safer words to speak. “I could reach up and pull the moon into my arms.” It hovered so near, its cloudy pattern could be traced with my finger.

  Ben picked up a rock and flipped it over and over before hurling it into the water. “Aye, she is beautiful tonight.” He gave me a sideways glance, a shyness rarely visible making him fidget.

  I love the way he says beautiful, losing his “t.” How I want to hear him say it to me . . . about me.

  His reserve encouraged the rush of self-consciousness sweeping through me. My eyes returned to the moon, grateful its dramatic appearance commanded my attention.

  What is going to happen here, under your gaze?

  Ben spoke again, “What do you think of Skye?”

  The benign question calmed my nerves. “It’s beautiful but in a melancholy, bleak way in parts. Doesn’t look like it belongs with the rest of the earth.”

  “I know what you mean. I’ve had the same feeling, of this being formed of an alien substance. No matter how many times I visit, Skye has the power to make me think about life, what I’m meant to be doing.” His eyes rested on mine. “This island isn’t the only thing that gets to me a
nd makes me think.”

  An uncomfortable shyness at the intensity of his gaze swept my eyes away, back to the night sky. “Is that why you come here, to think?”

  “Partly, I guess. I love the Highlands, but I’ve started to feel trapped again. These past couple of years it’s like I’ve caught a bad case of frostbite and it’s killing me one part at a time.” He picked up another flat pebble, threw it into the water. “Coming to Skye helps me keep from going completely daft—or numb, which seems worse to me.”

  His struggle to stay emotionally alive and refusal to numb himself resonated deeply. This man was familiar, so like me in some ways, and yet undeniably different. My heart swelled with the ache of wanting what I was so afraid to want.

  Drawing his jacket closer around me wasn’t an action I took because of the cold but was a useless attempt to shield myself against the feelings stirring for him.

  “I’m sure I strike you as a bittie daft, huh?” he asked, misinterpreting my silence.

  “No. Not at all.”

  Anything but.

  “I can understand why people don’t want to feel. Sometimes life hurts too much, and if you’re numb at least it’s manageable,” I said.

  “What is the point then? Be the walking dead? That’s one of the reasons I don’t spend all my spare time in the pub like some of my mates. I know life is a midden a good deal of the time, but I haven’t given in to cynicism just yet.”

  Most of the guys I’d known had cynicism to spare, like me—like attracting like I suppose. I couldn’t deny that hope had brought me across the ocean, and Ben’s thoughts and words made sense to this slightly braver me.

  He still believes in people . . . and probably in true love. Almost makes me want to . . .

  Torn between wanting to take the conversation deeper and wanting to cool things down, I chose the latter. “What was it like growing up here?”

  He picked up another rock, ran his fingers over its surface. I had never envied a rock before.

  Focus! He’s answering your question.

  “—the more I appreciate living up here. I have nothing worth whingeing about, although I still do more than I should.” His shoulders relaxed and then he sent the stone skipping back to the sea. “You know that about me already. Truth is we’re lucky, you and me.”

  A derisive snort burst from me before I could cut it off. “I guess.” Lucky was not a term anyone had ever used to describe me without the “un” in front. I didn’t want to talk about me. “I gather it wasn’t easy between you and your father . . . what was family life like?” He may not have gotten along with his father growing up, but at least he had one.

  “Nothing as hard as yours. When it comes to my father, I suppose he strikes most people as a nutter. Territorial, thrawn, gets stuck in his own perspective and can’t see anyone else’s. I’m like him in ways I wish I wasn’t.” His gorgeous smile turned up to its highest beam. “My mother? She has the heart of an angel. My father gets worked up about the most stupid things, but my mother catches his attention across a crowded room, and that’s all it takes. It’s my guess he fell in love with her because she was the only one strong enough to take him out with one look. What she saw in him I don’t know.”

  His voice grew hushed as he stared at his hands—without a rock to occupy them they clasped and unclasped themselves. “I don’t want to be like my father . . . and to be honest, I’m not too successful at it. But he got one thing dead right. Somehow he convinced a woman like my mother to choose him.”

  Ben turned to face me, his hand grazing my arm. “Ellie, I see so much of her in you. How you were with the eagle and lamb. How you are with people in the pub and the rest of the group. Li told me how you handled the situation on the Quiraing, with Shayne. It didn’t surprise me at all. I see your heart.” He moved his hand toward my heart, reconsidered, dropped it to his side. “You’re strong, but you’re not hard in spite of what you want people to think, or what you may think of yourself.”

  His eyes, intense and intimate, washed like powerful waves over the heavy sand weighing down my emotions, exposing what lay beneath.

  He sees me.

  Being truly seen, nowhere to hide, terrified and intoxicated me at the same time. If I could only be that exposed and still be safe. My words couldn’t find sound.

  “I pay attention.” His words rushed out upon seeing the question written across my face. “I just wish I was the person—”

  Pain clouded his eyes and pierced my heart. My hand reached toward him, touched his arm before I could stop myself, and I quickly pulled it back. He stared at me for a moment, then picked up some dry sand from the rock behind us. Rolling the grains between his fingers, he took my hand, turned it over, and laid a smudge of the sand in my palm.

  “Look at the sky. What do you see, besides the moon?”

  “It’s dark with a blue tinge rather than black. The stars are steady and bright. I don’t see as many stars in the night sky where I’m from.”

  “You wouldn’t being from a city. But what do you see in between the stars?”

  “Nothing. It’s just dark.” Was I missing something?

  “Now take one grain and hold it at arm’s-length against any dark place in the sky.” He demonstrated with his own grain and then I lifted mine to the sky as well. “Ellie, behind your grain of sand are ten thousand galaxies, behind mine as well.”

  “Are you serious?” I said, dropping my arm and staring at the spot where the grain had been.

  “One thing my dad and I did do together until I left for uni was go stargazing. He was obsessed with astronomy. And it is pretty cool. What looks like darkness isn’t. It’s filled with light, but our eyes aren’t strong enough to see it. If we could see what’s there with our naked eye, the sky would scarcely look dark at all.”

  My mind caught hold of a memory, an image, from the day I met Gerard. A telescope, nearly as tall as I was, plastic draped over it and tied shut at the bottom, stood in the corner of his dining room. His house had looked like a storage unit for a previous life. What had his life been like? Was it once full of stars and wonder?

  “You’re making me want to see these galaxies for myself.”

  “Aye, and you will do . . . if you agree to spend time with me after we get back.” He gave me a sly smile.

  “All that just to get me to, what, agree to go out with you?”

  He laughed. “Aye, right. Seriously . . . you make me want to share things I love with you.” He opened his mouth to speak, no words came, and then he started again. “Right. Here it is . . . I sit underneath this moon and know if I don’t say at least some of what is on my mind, I won’t see a blue moon that doesn’t remind me of what an eejit I was.” His expression grew more earnest. “Sometimes things happen we never expect, and life turns upside down. But accidents can be better than our plans. I had no idea you were somewhere in the world and would find your way here. You did, and here we are. Don’t you think that qualifies as a good thing, just a wee bit?”

  My heart slammed against the wall of my chest, looking for a way out of my body, straining to get to him. Why didn’t my barriers stand a chance with him?

  I want to believe what you believe.

  I shook off the thought, scrambled to detach, retreat. I searched Ben’s eyes for help, but a pained expression I didn’t understand had frozen on his face. A shadow moved across his eyes a second before his mouth brushed across mine, light and tentative. I wasn’t sure if he’d kissed me or if I’d imagined it.

  He pulled away to look at me, but the gentle graze of his hand on my face lingered and drew me back to his touch. My heart pounded in my ears, or was it the slapping of the waves against the rocks?

  “I want you to know I can’t go back to work and my life as if I haven’t met someone who turns me upside down. I think we should make time to see each other.”

  My warning system sounded an alarm: Pull back! You’re here to save Glenbroch. You can’t afford this man in your life.


  Life after the tour. The reason I moved to this country. Ben was not a fling guy I could walk away from and forget. He had the power to devastate me if I let him too close. My head and heart locked themselves in a fierce battle over which one would decide my next move. No doubt aided by Skye’s powerful magic and whisky, my heart pinned my head to the ground.

  I reached toward him, drew my hand slowly down the side of his face, and then my mouth fell soft and full on his. Pulling me close, he bent his head to give himself to me, a sigh escaping his throat.

  The cold of the night faded away.

  In a last-ditch attempt to drag me clear, my warning system lobbed a grenade, forcing my mind back into battle with dire predictions of how foolish it would be to let my heart decide my future.

  You have too much to lose, my mind kept repeating, ramping up the old fear. When that fear grew strong enough, every cell in my body couldn’t help but obey.

  Ben drew back at the change we both could feel. I had an estate to run, and it needed to be my entire focus. This, whatever this was, couldn’t happen now.

  “Ellie, let fate play its hand.” His eyes wouldn’t let go of mine. “We have a saying in Scotland: whit’s fur ye’ll no go by ye. What is meant for you will come to you. You can let it pass by but you will have been given a chance to take hold of your destiny.”

  “I don’t believe in destiny . . . or fate.” Rising stress sped up my words and they stumbled through the air. “This is all just . . . whisky, the moon, this island . . . I don’t know . . . it’s a moment, that’s all. We’re friends . . . becoming friends. I can’t do this . . . I have to run Glenbroch . . .” My rational side finally gained traction on my runaway emotions, tugging them back in line. “I have to go.”

  I clambered over the rocks and my feet hurried across the village square; the wind drowned out whatever he was saying. Reaching the guesthouse and locking the door of my room, I cranked on the hottest shower I could handle, begging the nearly intolerable heat to distract me from the war raging between my panicked mind and frustrated heart.