Kiss of the Highlander

Page 6

There was no denying that Scotland was lovely. She’d tromped gingerly through patches of hawthorn, skirted prickly thistles, paused to admire a rowan tree’s bright red berries, and kicked about a few spiky green horse chestnuts that heralded autumn with their tumble to the ground. She’d stood long moments admiring a field of cross-leaved heath that ascended and blended with a hillside of purple-pink heather. She and a dainty red deer had spooked each other as she’d passed through the woodland clearing in which it grazed.
Peace had settled over her, the higher she’d hiked into the lush meadows and rocky hills. Far beneath her, Loch Ness stretched twenty-four miles long, over a mile wide, and, in places, a thousand feet deep, or so said the brochure that she’d read on the bus, highlighting the fact that the loch never froze in the winter because of its peaty, slightly acid content. The loch was a huge silvery mirror shimmering beneath the cloudless sky. The sun, nearly at its zenith, marked the approaching noon hour and felt delicious on her skin. The weather had been unusually warm for the past few days and she planned to take advantage of it.
She flopped down on a flat rock and stretched out, soaking up the sunshine. Her group was scheduled to remain in the village until seven-thirty the following morning, so she had ample time to relax and enjoy nature before reboarding the tour bus from hell. Although she’d never meet an eligible prospect up here in the foothills, at least there were no phones ringing, with irate insureds on the other end, and no senior citizens casting nosy glances her way.
She knew they gossiped about her; the old folks talked about everything. She suspected they were making up for all the times they’d held their tongues when they were young, invoking the impunity of advanced age. She found herself rather looking forward to senior immunity. What a relief it would be to say exactly what she thought for a change.
And what would you say, Gwen?
“I’m lonely,” she muttered softly. “I would say that I’m lonely and I’m damn tired of pretending that everything’s fine.”
How she wished something exciting would happen!
It just figured that the one time she’d tried to make something happen, she’d ended up on a senior citizens’ bus tour. She may as well face it, she was doomed to live a dry, uneventful, and lonely life.
Eyes shut against the bright rays, she groped for her backpack to get her sunglasses but misjudged the distance and knocked the bag off the rock. She heard it bounce amid the clatter of loose stones for several moments, then a protracted silence, and finally a solid thump. Tucking her fringed bangs behind one ear, she sat up to see where it had fallen. She was dismayed to discover that it had tumbled off the rock, down a gully, and to the bottom of a narrow, forbidding precipice.
She moved to the lip of the aperture, eyeing it warily. Her patches were in her pack, and she certainly couldn’t be expected to remain a non-that-word-she-wasn’t-thinking without something to take the edge off. Gauging the depth of the rocky cleft to be no more than twenty-five to thirty feet, she decided she was capable of retrieving it.
She had no alternative; she had to go down after it.
Lowering herself over the edge, she felt for toeholds. The hiking boots she’d laced on that morning had rugged, gripping soles that made the descent a little easier; however, as rough stone grazed her bare legs, she found herself wishing she’d worn jeans instead of her favorite pair of khaki Abercrombie & Fitch short-shorts that were so in vogue. Her lacy white tank top was comfortable for hiking, but the faded denim button-down she’d tied around her waist just kept getting tangled about her legs, so she paused a moment to untie it and let it waft down onto her backpack. Once she reached the bottom, she’d tuck it in her pack before climbing back up.
It was slow, strenuous going, but half her life was in that pack—and it was arguably the better half. Cosmetics, hairbrush, toothpaste, floss, panties, and many other items that she’d wanted on her person in case her luggage got lost. Oh, admit it, Gwen, she thought, you could live out of that pack for weeks.
The sun beat down on her shoulders as she descended, and she started to sweat. It figured that the sun had to shine directly into that crack at that moment, she thought irritably. Half an hour earlier or later, and it wouldn’t have penetrated there.
Near the bottom, she slipped and inadvertently kicked her bag, wedging it firmly at the bottom of the narrow crevice. Squinting up into the sun, she muttered, “Come on, I’m trying to quit smoking down here, you could help me anytime now.”
Easing herself down the last few feet, she placed one foot on the ground. There. She’d made it. Hardly enough room to turn around in the tight space, but she was there.