Page 83 of Scotch on the Rocks

I glanced back over my shoulder and … yep, there it was. “Only because it’s on a hill,” I shot back, manoeuvringslowly down the steep decline.Well,Iwas slow. Macabe appeared to be floating; even with his hiking boots partially laced, he strolled down the hill like he walked on water.

“Forget about the hike for a minute and look at all of this.” He drew us to a stop, gesturing with both hands to the mountain range in the distance, their vast snowy peaks cutting into the crisp sky like something out of aLord of the Ringsmovie.

This was the Cullin mountain range,or so he’d told me in the car after narrowly avoiding a head-on collision at the discovery of mycriminal lack of knowledge of the land I was raised in.Or something to that effect. I’d been too distracted by the stretch of his cable-knit jumper over his wide shoulders.

“It’s nice, I guess.” I kept my tone bored, just to piss him off, but it was an effort to disguise my wonder. Off the narrow stone pathway, water trickled in narrow burns, dancing and diving where it cut like glass through the primaeval rock, branching off like a sea of spiderwebs until the streams culminated in dozens of small waterfalls, spilling over into shallow turquoise pools. Boulders coated in moss of the brightest green lined the pathway, so large they could only have been placed there by giants.

Callum, obviously seeing straight through my disinterest, said, “I felt overwhelmed on my first visit, too.”

I understood now why this place was named the fairy pools. We’d ventured no more than ten minutes from the car, and I felt as though I’d tripped and fallen into another world. How had I sent so many tourists here and never visited myself?

“There’s an old legend that goes with this land,” Callum started, his voice holding the deep baritone of a natural-born storyteller. “The story says this is the site of oneof Scotland’s bloodiest battles, Coire na Creiche, between the MacLeods of Dunvegan and the MacDonalds of Sleat.” He turned back at a particularly steep step to take hold of my hand and help me down. I could have told him my legs were almost as long as his were.Could havebut didn’t. And when he kept our fingers loosely tangled, I didn’t object to that either.

“What did they go to war over?”

“Why does anyone go to war? Money, land, resources. A woman, most likely.” He tapped his shoulder against mine. “Anyway, it was the MacDonalds who eventually claimed the victory after many days of battle so bloody it’s said the pools ran red with it. So much death and destruction to the land, they vowed it could never be repeated again. True to their word, it was the last clan war of Skye.”

Letting the fingers of my free hand dance over the long grass, it was impossible to imagine this peaceful place as Callum described it. “That’s a good story.”

“I thought you’d like it, bloodthirsty demon.”

I flashed my teeth and he laughed.

“Did you like being in the army?” All ease disappeared and it was my turn to right him as he actually stumbled. “I’m sorry, you don’t need to—”

“No. It’s fine, it took me by surprise, that’s all. People are always curious about my time overseas but no one ever asks how I felt about it.”

I lapsed into silence, giving him room to change the subject. I should have known Callum wouldn’t shy away.

“I hated it.”

“What part?”

“All of it. The training, the deployment, the things I saw that will haunt me for the rest of my life.” His voice held more bitterness than I ever thought him capable of. “For aslong as I can remember my mum called me hersensitive wee boy.I don’t think I was more sensitive than any other, but I was drawn to art, like my mum, and loved animals. And she nurtured that side of me. But the older I got, the more obvious it became that he …hehated all the parts of me she loved.” I didn’t need to ask whohewas. “He wanted his boys to be men and as the oldest it was up to me to set an example. I grew to hate that nickname and the gentler parts of myself … until I found myself halfway around the world, just another body in a war I couldn’t stand, holding my friends – too young to truly understand what they’d signed up for – as they died. Doing what I could to aid innocent civilians we weresupposedto be helping, and all I could think was: if this was living up to my father’s expectations,” he shook his head roughly, emotion clogging his voice, “I wanted no part in it.”

Something sharp lodged in my throat. I couldn’t talk around it. So I squeezed his fingers. He squeezed right back, bringing his other hand around to cover my knuckles, holding on like I was a lifeline. I’d never been that foranyone. For my entire relationship with Alistair, he’d been the epitome of a stiff upper lip. Always in control. Rarely brought his work home with him. Never once needed to lean on me. It was for that alone I said, “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.”

He glanced at me as we walked. “What?”

“You and me. I always thought we were complete opposites, when in truth – it’s like looking in a mirror. At a much more put-together version of myself, but—” I felt my cheeks heat, realising I was completely jumbling this. “All I mean is, I get it. Trying to live up to expectations.”

He said nothing for a long moment. “Whose?”

“Everyone’s.” The word was barely audible over the rushof water, and yet it felt like I’d stood atop a cliff and screamed it. “Have you ever noticed the first thing new parents always say is how they’d never known real love until the moment they held their child in their arms? Well, my birth parents never loved me.” I shrugged as though the knowledge hadn’t torn me to shreds over and over. “I failed at the very first test. I guess, I’ve been playing catch-up ever since.”

“What test?”Good bloody question. When it became apparent I wouldn’t answer he asked another. “Why don’t you call Fiona Mum?” Of all the things he might say, I didn’t expect that.

I kicked a stone. “She didn’t ask me to.”

“You think she wouldn’t want you to?”

“No … I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. But it’s always been easier to keep that separation. Just in case …” I trailed off, unsure how to give voice to my worst fear. “I was seven years old the first time I met Fiona and Alexander, living with a foster family near Inverness that had three young children of their own. I remember Fiona’s voice trembling as she handed me this stuffed rabbit I was too old for and said, ‘Hi Juniper, you’re going to come and live with us if that’s all right?’ And I asked, ‘How long am I staying?’”

His expression splintered and I knew he understood. “The people who are meant to be in your life won’t reject you for not being perfect, Juniper. If they do, they were neveryourpeople.”

“Knowing that doesn’t take away the fear.” I lived in perpetual fear. Curled up and made a comfy little home out of it. “Give it a few weeks and you’ll be sick of me, too.”

“That’s impossible.” He drew me to a stop, fierce determination lining his face. “You remember what I told you the other day, about my feelings for you?” Heart thundering, I nodded. “I’m not going to push you to answer witheverything going on but I need you to know – I feel like I’ve been sleepwalking through my life these past few years. The only bright spots in my day were you … I’d see that smirk and something dormant inside me sparked back to life, daring me to try and win another one.”

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