Northern Sunset

He knew she couldn’t, Catriona admitted wrathfully as he turned his back on her and calmly turned on the basin tap. If only he had been going to have a bath, she could have left while he was gone. The suspicion that he was deliberately punishing her by remaining would not be denied. He could have as little desire to share the bed with her as she did with him, but he had sensed her fear, beneath her anger, and meant to punish her by arousing it still further. Her shocked ears caught the unmistakable sound of more clothes being removed, and the wardrobe she had left untouched was opened and a case dragged out.

“Seems to me whoever was supposed to tell me that you had my room also forgot to get my luggage removed,” he drawled coolly from the other side of the bed. “Unless you were lying all along?”

“No….”

This time she made no attempt to conceal her panic, rolling as close to the edge of the bed as she could as she felt it depress with his weight. Her heart was thudding like a sledgehammer, and she had never felt less like sleep. Her companion turned over and she froze, unaware of the small protest she had uttered until his fingers grasped her chin, sending shocked fear washing over her.

“Something tells me you’ve never done this before,” he murmured, in a voice which, for the first time, held a thread of humour. “Would I be right?”

More right than he knew, Catriona acknowledged wryly. She hadn’t slept with any man yet, never mind one who was a complete stranger, and even though she prided herself on being a modern girl, his presence overwhelmed her, conscious as she was of his unembarrassed nudity, so totally and frankly male.

As she fought against the panic his touch had aroused, Catriona heard him add softly,

“Too scared to reply?”

Her tense muscles gave him the answer she was incapable of speaking, and she thought she heard him sigh as his thumb stroked softly along her gritted jaw bone.

“You’re quite safe,” he assured her gravely. “I’m not about to ravish you. All I want is a decent night’s sleep. We’ve been out on the rigs for the last five days, in a force nine gale, and believe me,” he told her frankly, “even if I wanted to I doubt I could summon the energy to teach you how to make love.”

“I don’t need anyone to teach me!” Catriona choked back, furious with both him and herself. By rights they shouldn’t be having this conversation. They were complete strangers.

He laughed and she felt the sound shake his body—a body which she was acutely conscious was as naked as her own—and colour flamed momentarily along her cheekbones, curiosity mingling with outrage, a strange desire to know more about this man who treated their presence in bed together as though it were of no more moment than a casual chance meeting at a bus stop.

“Don’t touch me!” she demanded, jerking away from the hand which cupped her chin, gasping with pain as hard fingers suddenly seized her wrists, pulling her against the male body she had mentally been contemplating, its weight pinning her back against the mattress as cool masculine lips feathered lightly against the full softness of her own.

Catriona knew enough about men to know there was nothing of passion in the kiss. It was firm, experienced, and totally platonic, just as the male contours of the body now dominating her own were completely and absolutely devoid of sexual intensity. Before she could protest she was released to listen in bitter chagrin to the male voice whispering in her ear.

“You see? And now that I’ve disposed of your girlish fears perhaps we can both get some sleep.”

There was a pause while she struggled to formulate a suitably crushing response, and then he added suavely, “Disappointed?”

The sardonic question released her anger to spill out over him in heated denial. Disappointed? She glared at him with loathing. Never in a thousand years! How could he have inflicted such humiliation upon her? And yet at the back of her mind was an emotion, far too tenuous to be given a name, which niggled tormentingly.

“Now go to sleep,” she was instructed in much the same tones one might use to an erring child, and much to her own astonishment she found that her eyes were closing; the sleep she had denied she would ever experience washed over her in waves.

Some time during the night those same waves were transformed to the beating fury of the North Sea which had destroyed her parents’ sailing dinghy and robbed them of life, and her cries of protest were drowned out by the roaring sound of the water, until as always she found sanctuary in Magnus’s protective arms and the storm was spent.

When she awoke she was alone in the bed, no trace of its other occupant visible anywhere in the room, and on trembling legs Catriona sped to the door, making sure it was locked and leaving her key in the lock while she washed and dressed hurriedly, trying not to remember the events of the previous night.

How dared he think she had actually been waiting for him! She pulled her jeans on viciously, breaking a nail, and cursing as she searched for an emery board. When you lose your temper it always rebounds on you, her mother had told her when she was a child, and surveying the broken nail with a fierce frown Catriona was forced to reflect on the truth of this statement.

Just how much she had been dreading coming face to face with her unwanted room-mate Catriona could only acknowledge when she got downstairs and found the dining room empty. At least he had had the decency to make himself scarce this morning, she reflected over her breakfast, but that did not excuse him for his behaviour of the previous night. She felt the colour wash over her skin as she remembered the cool feel of his flesh against hers. She started to tremble and dismissed the thought. It was over now, and if she had any sense she would simply forget about it.

She had confined her hair in a neat plait to keep it out of the way and she looked closer to sixteen than twenty-two as she headed for the harbour. Her body felt lethargic—a legacy from last night’s nightmare. Her lips curved into a fond smile as she remembered the deep sense of protective security she had experienced as she dreamed of Magnus’s comforting arms.

CHAPTER TWO

IT was a four-hour journey to Falla, but Catriona, wearing workmanlike oilskins over her jumper and jeans, worked efficiently, nursing the old fishing yaol across the windswept winter sea. The open cockpit offered scant protection from the elements, but Catriona was barely aware of the fierce wind teasing tendrils of hair which had escaped from her plait, as she concentrated on manoeuvring the unwieldy craft through the dangerous cross-currents. There was something about this battle with the wind and sea that exhilarated, setting her free from all worries and cares.

At last the sheer red sandstone cliffs of Falla came in sight and Catriona started to edge the boat into the smaller of the two deep voes which formed Falla’s natural harbour. The large voe was a true glacial fiord, Magnus had once told her, and its smooth red walls stretched endlessly down into the deep sea-water inlet.

A clutch of houses huddled together by the harbour as though seeking protection from the wind, and as Catriona moved to secure the boat the door to one opened and gnarled fisherman came out, smiling warmly as he hurried to help.

“Thanks, Findlay,” Catriona gasped, as he took the rope and stretched out a hand to help her ashore. She leapt nimbly from the deck, surefooted among the muddle of lobster pots and coiled ropes which littered the harbour.

“I’ll help you get this stuff into the Land Rover,” he offered, swinging up one of the large boxes with effortless ease.

He was the same age as their father would have been had he lived, and had taught both Peterson children to sail and fish, and Catriona felt about him as she did all the crofters; they were part of her family.

It didn’t take long to get the provisions loaded into the ancient Land Rover. The village was quiet, the men out fishing, and refusing a cup of tea, Catriona climbed into the Land Rover and switched on the engine.

The unmade road climbed out of the village and across the peat moors; carpeted with wild flowers in summer, but now in winter, grim and bleak with no tree or bush to break the windswept turf. Here and there were neat bare patches where the villagers had removed peat to heat their fires. There was no coal or wood on the islands and although these luxuries had been imported lavishly during Catriona’s parents’ time, now the fires of the Great House were heated by the same means as those in the crofts.

The road ran past the highest part of the island, the crumbling remains of a single tower all that was left of the once proud castle built during the turbulent times of the wicked Earl Patrick, who had once ruled these islands with cruelty and cunning.

The Great House was built in sandstone, overlooking a small loch, its gardens protected from the fierce wind by the sheltering hill which rose behind it. Falla had good pastures and during the summer the cows and sheep grew fat and contented. The once beautiful heather garden looked neglected and bedraggled as Catriona drove slowly through the huge wrought iron gates imported from England by the eighteenth-century Peterson who had commissioned this elegant Georgian building.

The library, which faced out on to the drive, was the room Catriona and Magnus used most. The once elegant and gracious drawing rooms were now closed off, gathering dust and falling into disrepair. At first on her return Catriona had been shocked and distressed by this, but gradually this had faded under the burden of struggling to keep even one room reasonably warm, look after her brother, manage their finances and feed them.

Magnus was standing by the window watching for her—a good sign, and she pulled up hurriedly, lifting one of the smaller boxes from the Land Rover.

Magnus opened the door for her, Russet, his red setter, jumping up enthusiastically to welcome Catriona home.

As she kissed his cheek Catriona could not help comparing her brother’s gaunt features with those of the man who had invaded her bedroom.

Magnus was twenty-nine and his bulky sweater hung loosely on what had once been a well-built frame. His hair was as fair as Catriona’s, his eyes a deep blue, but where laughter had once lurked in their depths there was now only pain. He never discussed the accident with her, because he wanted to protect her, she acknowledged, but when would he realise that she was no longer a little girl to be sheltered from life’s blows?

He followed her down the stone-flagged hall to the kitchen, and Catriona dumped her box on the large wooden table, heaving a sigh of relief.

“Get everything you wanted?” Magnus enquired, investigating the contents curiously.

“Everything I could afford,” Catriona told him wryly. “Lerwick has become fantastically expensive—another legacy from the oil rigs, I suppose.”

She had her back to Magnus and didn’t see his faint frown at her acerbic tone. He pushed the box away and came to stand beside her, his arm around her shoulders.

“Aren’t you finding it a bit heavy?” he asked her gently.

Nonplussed, Catriona stared at him. This was her usual day for baking and breadmaking and she wanted to check the old-fashioned kitchen range before she started.

“That chip you’re carrying,” Magnus explained. “Look, Cat, I appreciate your concern and loyalty, but what happened to me was an accident, pure and simple—there’s no point in blaming oil for it, nor on feeling this silly hatred of everything connected with it.”

Catriona’s fingers curled into her palms. She found it impossible to understand how Magnus could so calmly accept what had happened.

“Leave all that,” he said suddenly. “Come into the library, there’s something I want to show you.”

Mystified, Catriona allowed him to propel her out into the chilly hall and into the library.

A peat fire burned brightly in the immense hearth and Catriona sank gratefully into a leather chair, her hands outstretched to the flames.

“You do too much,” Magnus told her gently. “You shouldn’t have given up your training, Cat. You can’t spend the rest of your life on Falla with me.”

“I don’t see why not,” she argued stubbornly. “After all, it is half my island, so you can’t order me to leave, can you?”

“Perhaps not, but it’s no life for a young girl.” He caught hold of her hands, studying the broken nails and calloused skin, a look of burning anger in his eyes.

“God, Cat, I’ve been so selfish, but all that’s going to change.”

Catriona stared at him, a joyful smile trembling on her lips. “Magnus… You can’t mean you’re going back to work?”

He frowned.

“No, I can’t do that. Oh, I could do the routine work all right; but sooner or later I would find myself in a situation that I’m not capable of handling now. Sooner or later someone’s life is going to be at risk, and I’m not going to be able to cope. That’s what being a geologist is all about.”

“Strange,” Catriona murmured dryly, not wanting him to see her disappointment. “I thought it was about looking for minerals.”

“Often in remote and dangerous parts of the world,” Magnus insisted. “In situations where you’ve got to be able to rely on the other members of your team, and what sane man could trust his life to me now….”

His bitterness made her want to cry.

“Oh, Magnus, you don’t know that….”

“Oh yes, I do,” he said with bitter finality. “Don’t you think I’ve not been over and over it all these last few months? It’s over, Cat. As a geologist I’m finished, but that doesn’t mean the end of everything. I got this yesterday, it came after you’d left.” He handed her an envelope.

The mailboat called once a week, and Catriona stared at the impressively typed letter. It was addressed to the owners of Falla Island, and her colour faded, as she read and re-read it, her lips pursed together in an angry line.

“Magnus, we can’t possibly agree to this!” she protested as she put it down. “An oil terminal on Falla? They must be mad!”

“Not necessarily,” Magnus contradicted. There was a briskness in his voice which made Catriona glance curiously at him. On his return from hospital and during the long months which had followed he had seemed to share her bitter hatred of all things oil completely, but now she was forced to admit that she must have misjudged his sentiments.

“Come and look at this,” he commanded, opening his desk and getting out a map of the island. It was one he himself had drawn while he was at university, and although only a week ago seeing him take such an interest in things would have filled her with joy, now Catriona felt only apprehension as she watched him unroll the map and study it deeply before calling her over.

“Here’s Falla Voe, and next to it the harbour. You remember how I once told you how these voes were formed during the Ice Age and how unimaginably deep they are?” When Catriona nodded he continued enthusiastically, “You’ve seen how successful the oil terminal at Sullom Voe is—well, what the construction company are planning is a much smaller but similar operation here, to be used as a back-up system.”

“But it would ruin Falla,” Catriona protested, hardly able to believe her ears. Surely Magnus couldn’t be in favour of it?

“Come with me.”

Taking her hand, he led her from the library and back out into the hall, throwing open the huge double doors to the drawing room. The plaster ceiling was tinged with mould, the furniture covered in dusty sheets, the whole room permeated with an unpleasant damp odour. Silently Catriona stared at her brother, wondering why he had brought her here.

“Don’t you see?” he said gently. “With the money we would get for allowing them to build the terminal this house could be restored to what it once was. We could buy a new generator instead of having to rely on one that runs on a hope and prayer. You could go back to London.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and studied her intently. “I know how you feel about the oil industry, Cat, but you mustn’t let it ruin your life—and not just yours,” he added inexorably, drawing her to the window. “Think of our people and how much this could mean to them. They’re barely scratching a living here; as soon as the children are old enough they’re leaving. Do you honestly want Falla to become just another deserted island, empty of people?”

“And do you honestly want to sell your birthright for… for an oil terminal on your doorstep?” Catriona protested. “It would ruin Falla, Magnus….” She could hardly believe that he was actually serious. They were poor, yes, but they could manage. But could they? She remembered uneasily how quickly her slender store of money had disappeared in Lerwick; already they were dependent on the crofters for milk and vegetables from their gardens; Catriona had returned to Falla too late to make use of its brief summer, and those same crofters who generously shared their produce with them were, as Magnus had reminded her, poor themselves. Was she being selfish in wanting to keep Falla as it had always been? A fierce wave of hatred seized her. Wherever she turned it all came back to the same thing: oil. If it hadn’t been for oil Magnus would be whole and well and there would be no need to even contemplate this… this rape of their home.

“So you’re in favour?”

Her eyes begged him to deny it, and for a moment Magnus’s face softened.

“I think we should at least let them do some explorative work, for the sake of the islanders if nothing else. Don’t you see, Cat,” he said softly, “we don’t have the right to deny them this opportunity, and if they do go ahead it won’t soil Falla; the Government are pretty stiff about these things. Anyway, that’s a long way off, these geologists they want to send out might not find the voe suitable.”

“Geologists?” Catriona said eagerly. “Oh, Magnus, why don’t you offer to do the work? I’m sure….”

“No!”

The harsh word cut across her excitement, dashing all her newly sprung hopes.

“I might know in my heart that this terminal is right for Falla, but don’t expect me to take any professional interest in it. I’ve told you, Cat, I don’t have what it takes any more. Investigating that voe means that someone will have to dive into those waters, examine those undersea cliffs,” he told her brutally, “relying only on a back-up team on land. Do you think anyone would trust me to be a member of that team after what happened in the Gulf?”

The anguish in his voice made her blench.

“But, Magnus, nothing did happen. You were knocked out and left for dead….”

“And when I came round I was alive and all around me my colleagues, my friends were dying in agony, and I didn’t do a thing to help.”

“You couldn’t do anything to help,” Catriona protested, not sure whether to be glad or sorry that he was at last discussing with her the story she had only so far heard from Mac. “You were paralysed.”

“With fear,” Magnus said with deep loathing. “Paralysed with fear, while all around me men were on fire.”

“You weren’t paralysed with fear,” Catriona protested. “Mac explained it all to me, Magnus, the blow you received did that….”

“Oh, for God’s sake stop trying to make it easier for me!” Magnus demanded harshly. “God, I wish I had died there. You can’t know the hell life has been ever since.” He dropped into a chair, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

“Look at me, Cat,” he commanded bitterly. “I’m not even a man any longer….” His eyes were bleak and hopeless, arousing all her protective instincts. How could he call himself a coward when he was brave enough to endure the sight of men who he claimed would only have contempt for him, on this island which was his retreat, and for the benefit of others?

CATRIONA was just lifting the bread tins out of the oven when she heard the helicopter overhead. Ten minutes later there was a knock on the back door, and she went to open it, shooing away the free-range chickens who kept them supplied with eggs, a genuinely pleased smile curving her lips.

“Mac!” she exclaimed, greeting their visitor. “We weren’t expecting you today.”

She stood aside to allow the grizzled Scotsman to enter the room, grinning as he sniffed the warm bread-scented atmosphere appreciatively.

“I had to go out to one of the rigs, and I got them to drop me off here instead of Lerwick.”

“Magnus will be pleased to see you.” Catriona picked up one of the tins and expertly knocked on the bottom to remove the loaf, cutting a generous crust and spreading it with butter.

“It will give you indigestion,” she warned as Mac took it from her, busying herself with the old-fashioned kettle she had got into the habit of using on the range rather than rely on the eccentric habits of their generator.

“Worth it, though. Something wrong?” he queried when Catriona gave him a rather preoccupied smile. “Magnus isn’t worse, is he?”

“He’s gone out for a walk.” Catriona worried about these solitary walks of her brother’s, with only his dog for company. “Mac, we had a letter this morning. They want to build a back-up terminal on Falla.”

“And you’re against the idea?”

She nodded.

“What does Magnus say?”

She told him, adding that she was surprised that he hadn’t vetoed it from the very start, but mentioning how he had changed when she had suggested that he might do the survey.

“Umm. It could be a good sign. It proves that he hasn’t withdrawn totally from the outside world. As a matter of fact, having men here from his old life might be the best thing that could happen to him. Seeing them might help him get over the mental block he’s created inside himself and drive him out of himself.”

“And if it doesn’t? If it makes him withdraw even further? Oh, Mac, I’m so frightened for him! I’m sure he’s only considering this terminal because he thinks it will be best for the rest of us. If you could have seen him this afternoon when he was talking about the accident….”

“But don’t you see?” Mac demanded, suddenly excited. “He did talk about it. Who knows, this desire to allow them on to Falla might be a deeply hidden longing to return to his old life.”

“Then you think I should agree?”

He got up and came over to her, his eyes kind and understanding. “Not just agree, Cat, but actively encourage him. Can you do that?”

She had to turn away so that he wouldn’t see the despair in her eyes.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “You know how I feel about the industry.”

“Aye, you’re a bonny hater,” Mac agreed with a smile which robbed the words of criticism. “But Magnus is right, you owe it to your people to at least let them make explorations.”

Catriona knew when she was defeated. Much as she hated the idea it looked as though she was going to have to give in, but that didn’t mean that she had stopped fighting. One sign that Falla was going to be despoiled, one hint that these intruders were adversely affecting Magnus and they would be gone.

“You can’t go on living like this, Cat,” Mac added gently. “It wasn’t what your parents would have wanted for you. How long is it since you last went out to a dance, or enjoyed yourself at all, come to that?” He tweaked her long braid, and although Catriona had been about to protest that she didn’t mind, that she didn’t miss the fun and glamour of London, she was suddenly conscious of the picture she must present in her heavy sweater and shabby jeans, and grimaced slightly.

Having persuaded Mac to stay and eat with them, and assured him that Findlay would take him back to Lerwick, she collected cutlery from a drawer and started to place it on the table. She and Magnus always ate in the kitchen; for one thing it was always warm, and that had become an important consideration in their lives.

The meal she had planned was only simple: omelettes made from the eggs she had gathered that afternoon, homemade bread, and some scones she had just placed in the oven. Magnus walked in as she was beating the eggs. His walk had brought the colour to a face which had grown unnaturally pale, and Catriona was pleased to see that he greeted their visitor with enthusiasm. As she had hoped he would, Mac introduced the subject of the proposed oil terminal, and as Catriona moved deftly about the old-fashioned kitchen the two men discussed the possible outcome if the geologists’ report was favourable.