The Heir’s Chosen Bride

He went back out into the garden and saw his half-finished path. He’s work on that.

Two spadefuls and he decided his hands were just a wee bit sore to be digging.

He’d go to the beach. He’d swim.

Alone?

He had to do something.

He went to the beach.

The water was cool, clear and welcoming. Before, every time he’d dived under the surface of the waves he’d felt an almost out-of-body experience. It had been as if he’d simply turned off. A switch had been flicked. Here he could forget about everything but the feel of the cool water on his skin, the power of his body, the sun glinting on his face as he surfaced to breathe.

Today it didn’t work. He couldn’t find a rhythm. He felt breathless, almost claustrophobic, as if this place was somehow threatening.

Susie had almost lost her life here, he remembered. And he hadn’t been here to help her.

She wouldn’t have let him near even if he had been here.

Hell.

He looked back to shore. A sea-eagle was cruising lazily over the headland. As he watched it stilled, did a long, slow loop, focussing on something below, and glided across the rocks just by him.

There was something there-a dead fish maybe-but Hamish’s presence distracted the bird. For a moment he thought the bird would plunge down, and suddenly he splashed out and yelled at it.

The bird focussed on him and started circling again. Slowly.

Still watching whatever it was on the rocks.

It’d be a dead fish, Hamish told himself. Nothing but a dead fish.

He struck out for the rocks, surfacing at every stroke to make sure the bird wasn’t coming down. Twelve, fourteen strokes, and he reached the first of the rocks. They were sharp and unwelcoming. He’d cut his feet trying to get across them.

It’d be a dead fish.

But the thought wouldn’t go away. He looked skyward and the bird was focussed just in front of him. Two or three yards across the rocks.

He hauled himself out of the water. Ouch. Ouch, ouch, ouch.

A dead fish…

It wasn’t a dead fish. It was Taffy, curled into a limp and sodden ball, half in and half out of a rock pool.

He thought she was dead. For a long moment he stared down at the sodden mat of fur, at the tail splayed out in the water, half floating. At the little head, just out of the water.

And then she moved. Just a little, as if she was finding the strength to drag herself out of the water an inch at a time.

The rocks were forgotten. His feet were forgotten. He was kneeling over her, lifting her out of the water, unable to believe she’d still be alive.

‘Taffy,’ he whispered, and her eyes opened a little. And unbelievably the disreputable tail gave the tiniest hint of a wag.

‘Taf.’ He held her close, cradling her in his arms, taking in the enormity of what had happened.

What had happened?

He looked up and the eagle was still circling. There was another bird now, swooping past, as if the two birds were disputing about who was to get lunch.

Two birds…

He looked down at Taffy and saw lacerations in her side. Deep slices. Something had picked her up…

And carried her out over the sea? And then maybe got into an argument with another bird, and the prey had been dropped.

If she’d been dropped into the white water around the rocks then maybe the birds had lost her. Maybe she’d have been left struggling in the water, to finally drag herself up here.

Only to expose herself again to the birds of prey who’d dumped her here in the first place.

Hamish was crying. Hell, he was crouched on the rock and blubbing like a baby. Taffy.

‘We’ll get you warm,’ he told the pup. ‘We’ll get you to a vet.’

But to walk over the rocks in bare feet was impossible. He was two hundred yards from the beach.

He’d have to swim.

He backed into the water, dropped down into the depths and felt Taffy’s alarm as she was immersed again. He was on his back, cradling the pup against his chest. He’d get back to the beach using a form of backstroke- backstroke with no arms? But if the pup struggled…

‘Trust me, Taf,’ she said softly, and it seemed she did. The little body went limp.

‘Don’t you dare die on me,’ Hamish told her. ‘I have such plans for us. My God, how can I have been so stupid?’

The doors closed behind her.

It was over. Susie walked past the duty-free shops and the huddles of excited travellers and she didn’t see them. Her mind was blank.

‘I’m not going to let myself get depressed again,’ she told Rosie, hugging her almost fiercely. ‘I’ve been down that road and never again. If I’d let Hamish have his way…no, I’ve fought too hard for independence to risk it all over again.’

That was the crux of the matter. Maybe she could change him. Maybe she could teach him what it was to really love.

‘Oh, but if I failed…’ she told Rose. ‘I have you to think about now, sweetheart, and I’m just not brave enough to risk everything again.’

The vet was stunned. And beaming.

‘Two deep lacerations on the right side but only scratches on the other-the bird couldn’t have got a decent grip. But there’s nothing vital damaged. We’ll run an IV line for twenty-four hours just to be on the safe side but you’ve got her warmed and dry. I see no reason why she shouldn’t live to a ripe old age.’

Hamish stood and stared at the little dog on the table and felt his knees go weak. He’d run up the cliff, wanting help, wanting to shout to the world that he’d found her. The castle had been empty.

He’d opened the oven door, lined the warm interior with towels and laid the pup in there while he’d pulled on some clothes. Then he’d offered her a little warm milk, and had been stunned when Taffy had hauled herself onto shaky legs, shrugged off her towels and scoffed the lot.

Then he’d thought that maybe he’d done the wrong thing in giving her milk-maybe she’d go into shock or something-so he’d bundled her off to the vet. To be given the good news.

‘She’s as strong as a little horse,’ Mandy, the vet, was saying. ‘Susie will be so pleased. I can go about sorting out the quarantine requirements again.’

Taffy would leave, Hamish thought blankly. Of course. Taffy was Susie’s dog.

She didn’t feel like Susie’s dog. She felt like family.

‘Can I take her home?’ he asked.

‘Back to the castle? Can you keep her still so the IV line stays in place?’

‘Sure.’

He carried her out into the morning sunshine and shook his head, trying to figure where he was.

Things had shifted. Important things.

What plane was Susie on?

He started doing arithmetic in his head. The new rules for international flights meant you had to be there three hours ahead of departure. Kirsty and Jake’s car had been overloaded, and they’d left leeway, expecting delays. If he left now…

Taffy was in a box in his hands, the IV line hooked to a bag slung over his shoulder. He’d have to rig it up carefully in the car to get her back to the castle.