Northern Sunset
Penny Jordan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

MAGNUS had been right, Catriona reflected, staring helplessly at the mist which crept insidiously across the harbour as she watched. He had warned her this morning, with older-brother concern, that sea-fog had been forecast and that she would be wiser not to leave Falla, but they were low on stores and Christmas wasn’t very far away. The old days when the laird’s house on Falla rang to laughter over the Christmas season might have died with their parents; they might be as poor as the poorest of their crofters, but Catriona refused to let the season pass without at least some attempt to celebrate. Hence the trip to Lerwick.

Magnus had protested that she could never manage their dilapidated old fishing boat alone, but Catriona had laughed. She knew the waters round Falla and the other Shetland isles well enough to sail them in her sleep, even if the huge oil drilling platforms anchored far out to sea were new landmarks. Her normally generously curved lips tightened sharply. Oil—how she hated that word and all it stood for! Her eyes clouded as she thought of Magnus, her once strong and fearless brother, whom she had hero-worshipped all through her teens and who had willingly taken the place of their parents when they had been drowned in a sailing accident.

She searched the sea again. The meagre stores which were all her slender purse would stretch to were already on board. She had felt the sympathy behind the kind enquiries as people asked after Magnus. There had been Petersons on Falla since the first Norse invasion of the islands, and Catriona knew that the surreptitious slipping of little extras in among her shopping sprang not from pity but from a genuine compassion. The people who lived on these islands of the far north had a deep appreciation of the hardships resulting from incapacity of the breadwinner of the family. The seas round the Shetlands were rich in fish, but the waters were treacherous and the winds which continually blew over them resulted in fierce storms.

There was scarcely a family on the Shetlands who did not have some grim story to relate of lives lost and limbs maimed.

It was no use, Catriona acknowledged, she was not going to be able to leave Lerwick tonight. Making sure that the yaol was properly secured, she headed away from the harbour, a small, finely built girl, with silver-blonde hair curling on to her shoulders, an inheritance from those far distant Norse ancestors who had claimed these windswept islands as their own. The inhabitants of the Shetlands might no longer speak the ancient Norn tongue, but in tradition and outlook they were closer to their Scandinavian cousins than their dour Scots neighbours.

Only Catriona’s eyes showed the Celtic blood of her mother, the soft-spoken redhead her father had met in Edinburgh during his university days and married; they were grey, the colour of the seas round Falla, changing with the light from softest grey to deep violet. More than one male had been captivated by Catriona’s delicately moulded beauty during her brief years in London training as a librarian, but when Magnus had had his accident she had ruthlessly cut herself off from that life and returned to their childhood home to be with the brother who needed her so badly.

She paused to stare blindly into a brightly decorated shop window, her eyes misting with tears. It was all very well for Mac to assure her that there was nothing physically wrong with Magnus and that it was a mercy that he had not been killed or seriously injured, but the man who now sat staring into space in the huge, dilapidated house on Falla was not the brother Catriona remembered from her youth, alive and alert, teasing, driving her mad with his older-brother superiority and then flying home from Oman that terrible night when they brought the news that their parents had been drowned off Bressay.

She would never forget his care and understanding then; he had been her rock in the storm of grief which had swept her, his concern total and healing, and now that it was her turn to be his rock she would not desert him.

Mac had warned her that it might be years, if ever, before Magnus recovered. He had brought them both into the world, and Catriona knew he shared her helpless grief for Magnus. They had all been so proud of him when he went to Oxford… There was no point in dwelling on the past, Catriona reminded herself. After his accident Magnus had been offered an office job by his company, but he had refused it, retreating to Falla where he could shut out the rest of the world and forget.

A night in Lerwick was an expense she would rather have avoided, Catriona reflected. Without Magnus’s salary their only source of income was a small pension. Even if she were qualified there was no employment on Falla for a librarian; the crofters fished their living from the sea, and Catriona had learned to close her eyes to the deterioration of their once luxurious home.

She paused outside the hotel she had used on happier occasions—those infrequent visits home from London when Magnus had managed to get leave to coincide with hers. He had been very generous in those days, giving her an allowance as well as paying for her education. Although only seven years separated them he had willingly shouldered the responsibility of providing for her after their parents’ death. Carefully checking the money in her purse, Catriona went inside. Like most of the hotels in Lerwick, it was run as a family concern. The girl behind the reception desk remembered Catriona and greeted her with a smile.

“How’s your brother?” she enquired sympathetically. “But he was lucky, wasn’t he?”

If one considered that lying paralysed on the ground while all around one the world went up in flames, filled with the screams of the dying, then yes, Magnus had been lucky, Catriona acknowledged, but the girl meant well, so she smiled and asked if they had a vacant room.

“I’m sorry, Miss Peterson, but we don’t. You see, a party of oilmen flew in from Aberdeen this afternoon and can’t get out again until the weather lifts.”

Oilmen! Catriona grimaced distastefully over the word. The Shetlanders had learned to live with their intrusion into their lives; to accept their busied coming and going from the mainland to the huge oil terminal at Sullom Voe and the sea-rigs.

“Look,” the receptionist suggested helpfully, “I’ll ask them if they’ll mind doubling up and leaving a room free for you. I’m sure they won’t. They’re out at the moment, but I’ll get someone to shift their things and tell them when they come back.”

She spoke with the assurance of someone inured to climatic conditions which could suddenly imprison travellers against their will, and pored thoughtfully over the register, before pencilling out a name and writing Catriona’s in its place.

She herself had no compunction about depriving the man of his room. And besides, hadn’t Magnus often said that oilmen could sleep anywhere?

She hadn’t bothered to bring a change of clothes, but there was a chemist’s where she could buy a toothbrush and other necessities and she could rinse her undies out to dry overnight. Thanking the girl with a grateful smile, she slipped out once again into the murky afternoon.

It was dark already, but she found her way unerringly to the small chemist’s. He too asked after Magnus, and Catriona supplied him with a noncommittal answer. In her handbag was the prescription Mac had given her for the sleeping tablets Magnus needed to stop him having those terrible nightmares where he relived his accident over and over again. Physically her brother was as he had always been, but mentally he was maimed and crippled, a victim of the paralysing fear inherited from his accident.

Shivering, Catriona stepped out into the street, her vivid imagination picturing the scene; the unending oil-fields and tank farms; the hot desert sands; all so clearly drawn for her in Magnus’s letters home. For as long as Catriona could remember he had wanted to be a geologist, and he had loved his job with United Oil. But to them he was just another employee, expendable and unimportant. Impotent anger flared in her eyes, her hatred of the huge oil conglomerates and everything they stood for overwhelming her. Magnus had once been a part of that world; the world of oil and tough, hard men, but all that had ended in the Middle East on a night of terror and pain when the black sky had turned scarlet with hungry flames and people sitting safely behind desks many thousands of miles away had been too greedy to take precautions to remove their men from the danger of Arab insurrectionists, who had swept the huge oilfield with bombs and machinegun fire, and Magnus, stunned by a vicious blow from a rifle, had had to lie helpless behind the flames until he was rescued.

The mental agony he had endured could never be atoned for, and Catriona’s hatred for the men who had allowed this to happen to her brother had grown over the months of watching him fight against the fear that night had bred deep inside him.

Until it was conquered he refused to return to his work, claiming that he was useless as a geologist while he carried this terrible burden of fear and that he could not trust himself in any situation where men’s lives might be at stake, not to turn and flee like a terrified child.

It was this knowledge of the extent of his fear which tormented him night and day, and which Mac and Catriona were fighting so desperately to overcome, and as her brother lost heart, Catriona’s rage grew. If United Oil had been more caring of its employees and less greedy for its oil Magnus would not be hiding himself away on Falla, blenching at every mention of other oilmen, sickened by the thought that he could no longer include himself among their number. Oilmen were fearless; and it was this myth which Catriona was fighting so valiantly to explode. Everyone knew fear; and she was sure that once Magnus could be brought to accept this he would be well on the way to recovery.

Mac had said that Magnus might recover faster among other people, but her brother flatly refused to leave Falla, sinking into the withdrawn silences which so dismayed Catriona as she remembered how he used to be. What he was suffering from was something akin to shell-shock, or so Mac had told her. Catriona only knew that she would give anything to have her brother restored to his old self. He had not even demurred when Catriona told him that she was giving up her training course in order to be with him—a sure sign that he was not his normal self.

The small hotel foyer was crowded when Catriona got back. A group of men stood by the bar, their presence filling the room; tall, rugged and dressed in worn denims and tough leather jackets, they proclaimed their trade to Catriona without her needing to overhear a word of their conversation. Oilmen! She turned her back on them with bitter eyes. She hated them and everything they stood for. That her hatred was illogical she could not deny, but that did not make it any the less real, and she acknowledged that its existence was due to Magnus’s accident.

One of them, a tall burly redhead, caught her eye as she squeezed past on her way to the reception desk. She gave him a freezing look in response to his openly admiring smile and as she turned her head, saw him address a comment to the man standing beside him facing the bar. The man turned, green eyes raking Catriona assessingly, a helmet pushed back on thick dark hair, his appearance that of a man accustomed to giving rather than receiving orders. Something in his glance made Catriona’s anger quicken; it was not appreciative as his redheaded companion’s had been, but rather dismissive, and Catriona felt herself flushing beneath his cool appraisal. The redhead spoke and his eyebrows rose, and Catriona knew beyond doubt that she was the subject of their conversation. His eyes dwelt for a moment on the soft thrust of her breasts beneath the thick Shetland wool jumper she was wearing and were then averted as he made some response.

What had they been saying about her? Catriona wondered as she reached the reception desk. Since her return to the island she had had nothing to do with the oilmen, but she had heard surprisingly good reports of them from the crofters and knew that several of the local girls had found themselves boyfriends from their ranks. There had been no tentative, shy admiration in the look she had received, though. It had been openly and blatantly sardonic. Long after the man ought to have been forgotten and her dinner had been consumed, Catriona found him lingering intrusively in her thoughts. The noise from the bar was steadily growing in volume; signs that the oilmen were enjoying themselves and obviously intended to continue doing so, and rather than return to the bar Catriona decided to go straight to her room.

The owner of the hotel was behind the reception desk and greeted her like an old friend. She asked for her key and checked the weather forecast for the morning. As she had hoped, it was good.

“You’ll get nothing like this on Falla?” Richard Nicholson murmured, glancing towards the bar.

“No, thank goodness!”

The asperity in Catriona’s voice made him frown.

“They’re no a bad bunch really. Noisy perhaps, but it’s natural that they should want to let off steam after a turn on the rigs. You’ll have been stocking up for Christmas,” he commented when Catriona made no response. “How is Magnus?”

“Getting better,” Catriona replied noncommitally. “Well, I’d best be on my way to bed. I’ve got an early start in the morning.”

They chatted for a few more minutes before Catriona managed to escape when the telephone rang. Her bedroom was a double with one huge bed, some old-fashioned furniture and a washbasin in one corner. She mentally reviewed the long trek to the bathroom and the danger of lurking oilmen and decided to make do with a thorough wash. It was too early to go to bed and she regretted the large package of paperbacks stowed on the boat. She had a newspaper in her handbag and she unearthed it, reading all the local news with a sense of nostalgia. When she was a child a visit to Lerwick had been a much looked forward to treat. Her parents had been comfortable rather than wealthy, but following their death the shares from which her father had received his main income had dropped in value, and it had been just as well that Magnus had been working. They did, of course, receive small rents from the crofters who farmed Falla, but these were tiny; a mere drop in the ocean when compared with the costs of running the Great House.

The noise from downstairs seemed to increase rather than diminish. Locking the door and placing the key on the dressing table, Catriona stripped off and rinsed her undies out before placing them by the hot radiator.

Fortunately the bedroom was pleasantly warm, but by the time she was ready for bed she was beginning to shiver. She could hardly sleep in her jeans and jumper, she decided ruefully, eyeing her damp underclothes as she slid beneath the cotton sheets, and yet she felt decidedly vulnerable lying beneath the covers with nothing on.

Her last thought as sleep claimed her was of her journey home and her sincere hopes that the weather would lift. She could not afford to spend another night in Lerwick.

She awoke with a start, staring round the room for the origins of the sound which had disturbed her sleep, and then froze as she found it; all six foot odd of it, leaning against the closed bedroom door.

“Well, well, what a surprise,” a deep male voice drawled mockingly. “But I think you’ve got the wrong room. Alex is down the hall.”

He moved quickly—so quickly that Catriona barely had time to grasp the bedclothes protectively around her as he bent to yank them back.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she gasped furiously, only too aware of his intention as he loomed over her, his fingers tightening on the covers. Her heart jolted painfully as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and she saw the unmistakable features of the dark-haired man from the bar, minus his helmet but still wearing his air of casual arrogance. “I’m the one who should be asking you that,” he replied imperturbably. “How did you get in here, and just what the hell do you think you’re doing? If I want a woman I’m perfectly capable of finding myself one.”

Dark colour surged over Catriona’s pale skin as she realised the import of what he was saying. He thought she was actually waiting for him!

“Like I said,” he drawled in hard tones, “Alex is sleeping down the hall. I’ll give you two minutes to get out of my bed and into his, otherwise I call the manager.”

Catriona’s mind whirled, her first stammered words wildly different from the cold snub she had intended to deliver, as she stammered anxiously:

“I can’t… I’m not dressed…”

The look in his eyes made her bite her lip in mortification. Of all the stupid things to say—but there was something about lying here completely naked beneath these sheets, with this sardonic brute of a man standing over her hurling all manner of unwarranted accusations at her, that made her feel decidedly at a disadvantage. What she ought to have done, she decided, simmering with anger, was to call his bluff and demand that he did call the manager. His room indeed! And where had he got the key?

That was answered with his next words.

“I suppose I ought to have been prepared for something like this when they couldn’t find my key and had to use the pass-key, but like I said, little lady, I do my own hunting. Now get dressed and get out of here!”

He stood back from the bed, arms folded over a broad chest which tapered to lean hips and long, well muscled legs, his stance plainly that of a man determined to have his own way.

“You get out!” Catriona demanded breathlessly, suddenly finding her voice, and ignoring the warning look in his eyes with a reckless disregard for danger. “This is my room,” she told him firmly, ignoring the sardonic expression with which he was studying her. “If you don’t believe me, go down and ask at reception. They were fully booked and said that they were going to ask someone to double up.”

“Very plausible,” he scoffed. “How do I know that I can believe you? For all I know you could be some cheap little tart intent on making some easy money.”

Catriona gasped and would have shot upright in protest, if she hadn’t remembered just in time how badly she needed the protection of the bedclothes.

“How dare you!” she seethed. “You come in here, making vile accusations, demanding that I leave, threatening to call the manager. If anyone’s going to call him, it will be me—to have you thrown out!”

“Be my guest,” her persecutor goaded, holding open the door. Catriona glanced wildly from the empty passage to her damp underclothes, well out of reach, and then glared angrily across the room.

“Go away and let me get dressed and then I will.”

“And let you escape scot free to go and play your tricks on someone else?” He shook his head sardonically. “I’ve told you already, you should have picked Alex. He would have been far more amenable.”

Catriona took a deep, steadying breath. Alex presumably was the burly redhead. “And I’ve told you,” she announced through gritted teeth, “you’ve got it all wrong. This is my room. You’re the intruder.”

Tears weren’t far away, and the green eyes narrowed suddenly, his expression changing. “Convince me. If you’re not just a local girl out for a good time, who are you? And what are you doing here?”

“My name is Catriona Peterson. If you don’t believe me ask the owner of the hotel,” Catriona told him, enraged at being forced to undergo this inquisition. “And if it hadn’t been for this sea-mist I’d have been on my way back to Falla by now.”

“Falla?” The sharp enquiry startled her. “You live there?”

When Catriona nodded his expression seemed to change, but he made no further mention of the island, saying dryly instead, “Well, Catriona Peterson, always supposing you’re telling me the truth, how do you suggest we resolve our present dilemma, which is, as I see it, that the two of us are both laying claim to this one bed?”

No apology for his earlier insults, Catriona seethed inwardly. Typical of his breed, though, the big tough guy who could never admit to being wrong.

“No dilemma,” she assured him curtly. “I suggest you go downstairs and check with reception and they’ll tell you who you’re sharing with.”

It was plain that he wasn’t used to being given orders. His eyes gleamed in the dark, and their expression made Catriona shrink back against the bed.

“Oh no,” he said softly. “This is my room, booked in my name, and I don’t intend giving it up to share a bed with Alex.” He moved towards the door as he spoke, closing it firmly and turning the key before coming across to the bed and stripping off his leather jacket.

Appalled, Catriona stared disbelievingly at him.

“You’re not… You’re not sleeping here!” she managed to get out at last, furious with herself for making the words seem more of a question than a statement.

“Why not?” came the cool response. “After all, it is my room, and if I’m going to have to share with one of you, I think I prefer you to Alex. You could, of course, always leave,” he taunted. His fingers were on the buttons of the checked plaid shirt he was wearing, and Catriona stared desperately at the door, bitterly regretting her fastidious refusal to sleep in her underwear. In that at least she would have been able to leave the bed and grab her clothes. Even sleeping downstairs in a chair would be preferable to sharing a bed with this man!

“What’s the matter?” he jeered as she remained immobile.

She wasn’t going to ask him to leave so that she could get dressed—he would probably refuse anyway and take delight in humiliating her by doing so. Her face burned as she dwelt on having to endure him watching her dress.

“If you had the slightest scrap of decency you would leave this room right now,” she announced in freezing accents, trying to read his reaction to her words.

It shocked her with its comprehensive grasp of her feelings. “But then men like me don’t have, do they?” he demanded softly. “At least not in your eyes. What is it with you?”

Catriona moved slightly, the moonlight briefly touching her hair, turning it silver. His eyes followed the movement, widening slightly.

“So it’s you…” he drawled in recognition. “I saw you in the bar….”

“And I saw you,” Catriona whipped back. “And you’re quite right, I don’t like men like you. I detest them, and everything they stand for.” Her lip curled faintly as she forgot her fear. “You’re quite safe with me—I wouldn’t touch you for all the oil in the North Sea!”

He was pulling off his shirt, and his hands stilled, his eyes like jade as they held hers, compelling them to witness the undeniable maleness of his hair toughened chest as the shirt was discarded.

“Is that a fact?”

“I can’t stay here with you,” Catriona protested, forgetting her earlier determination not to plead with him. “Just let me get dressed and….”

“And get the manager, who’ll turf me out of my room, and no doubt accuse me of seducing you into the bargain. No way,” he told her curtly. “You’re staying right there. Unless of course you’re brave enough to get out of that bed and get the key?”

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.

Both men praised her cooking, but Catriona couldn’t help noticing that Magnus merely toyed with his food, pushing the omelette around his plate. Mac, who had been a widower for very many years, cleaned his plate appreciatively.

“Are you going to give the go-ahead, then?” he asked Magnus as Catriona poured their tea.

“I don’t see that we have much option, and at least at this stage they’re only investigating.”

“Well, if you write the letter, I’ll post it for you in Lerwick,” Mac offered, ignoring Catriona’s faint frown. “No point in letting the grass grow under your feet if you’ve made up your minds, is there now?” he commented when Magnus hesitated.

“You think they’d leave it over until spring now,” Catriona commented. “The daylight is so short at this time of the year, always supposing the weather is good enough to allow them to get here each day.”

Mac frowned.

“But surely they’ll be staying here on Falla?”

Catriona splashed hot tea on the table and mopped it up with hands that shook. This was something she had never thought of, but she as from Magnus’s face that he had.

“Come on Catriona,” Mac coaxed. “You can’t honestly expect them to travel here each day? Where’s your common sense?”

“They’ll have to won’t they?” she said curtly. “Unless some of the islanders put them up.”

She cleared away their plates while the men drank their tea, and then offered to drive Mac down to the harbour when he insisted that he ought to leave. Magnus was listening to the radio and shook his head when Catriona invited him to go with them.

“He’s like a hermit,” she complained as Mac helped her into the Land Rover. “I tried to persuade him to go to Lerwick with me, but he wouldn’t.”

But he had written a letter agreeing to allow the geologists to examine the voe, and it was now in Mac’s shabby raincoat pocket. There were no lights to guide her along the narrow unmade road, but Catriona did not need them.

“Well, if Mohammed won’t go to the mountain, have you thought about bringing the mountain to him?” Mac questioned, making her eye him queryingly. “You said Magnus was like a hermit,” he explained patiently. “And it isn’t good for him to shut himself away like this, Cat. He’s a healthy male of twenty-nine and he needs other human company. If he won’t seek out that company then you’ll have to bring it to him.”

“By doing what?” Catriona asked sarcastically. “Capturing it wholesale?”

“No need to go to such extremes,” Mac chuckled, ignoring her angry stare. “Not when you’ve got a ready-made solution right on your doorstep. Think, Cat,” he urged when she stared at him. “Those geologists are going to need a case, somewhere to sleep and eat, and you’ve got all those empty bedrooms….”

The Land Rover swerved abruptly and came to a halt.

“No way,” Catriona announced determinedly.

Very gently Mac removed her hands from the steering wheel and held them in his own.

“Now it isn’t very often that I talk to you like a Dutch uncle, but on this occasion I’m going to have to. What happened to Magnus was tragic, but it was an accident, Cat, no more and no less.”

“It wasn’t an accident,” Catriona protested. “United Oil knew how explosive the situation was; they could have ordered their people to leave while it was still safe, instead of which they kept them there, knowing they were in danger.”

“You’re not being rational,” Mac protested. “The Middle East has always been explosive, and companies are responsible to shareholders, you know, they can’t do just as they please. Magnus himself has no animosity. It’s getting out of all proportion, Cat. I know you’re bitter, and I can understand why. Don’t you think it doesn’t break me up inside too when I see Magnus and remember how he was? But assisting him to hide from the world isn’t going to help him in the long run. He’s ready to start on the road to recovery, I’m sure of it. Okay, he might never be able to go back to his old job, but the mere fact that he hasn’t refused to have these men on Falla must tell you something.”

“It tells me that he puts everyone else before himself,” Catriona protested stubbornly, tears suddenly filming her eyes as she laid her head on Mac’s shoulder.

“Oh, Mac, when he said they could come, I was so surprised, so full of hope, but the moment I mentioned the geologists he retreated again. He couldn’t stand having them in the house—I just know it!”

“And I think you’re underestimating him, Cat. It won’t do any harm to give it a try, and it could do a hell of a lot of good. Just listening to them talk might help break through the barriers.”

“He’ll never agree to it.”

“Then don’t tell him,” Mac retorted with a promptness that told Catriona that he had been prepared for her question. “Simply present him with a fait accompli. I wouldn’t advise it, if I didn’t think it was in his best interests, Cat,” he told her soberly, and Catriona knew that he meant it. He wasn’t just their doctor, he was also a close and caring friend, and yet having these people in the house wasn’t just totally opposed to her own personal views, it was also tantamount to stabbing her brother in the back with a very sharp knife.

“Fiona’s coming to stay with me over Christmas,” Mac added casually. “She’s a wee bit hurt that Magnus continues to ignore her letters.”

Fiona MacDonald was Mac’s niece, a nurse in a large Edinburgh hospital with a sensible outlook on life, and Catriona liked her. During their teens Fiona and Magnus had been very close and had kept in contact right up until the time of Magnus’s accident, since when he had refused point-blank to write to her. “I don’t want her pity,” was all he had said in response to Catriona’s query. “Let her keep that for her patients.”

Now a sudden thought struck her.

“Mac, were Fiona and Magnus ever romantically involved?” she asked curiously.

Mac shook his head.

“I don’t know, my dear, but if they were don’t you think that’s their business? The trouble with those two is that they’re both givers, and givers seldom have the ability to take what they want from life.”

Unlike her nocturnal room-mate, Catriona thought suddenly, dismayed that she should have thought of him. But having done so, she could not deny that he was most definitely not a “giver”. No, he was quite plainly a man who took what he wanted from life.

When she had seen Mac safely on board the yaol, she turned back to the Land Rover, but instead of driving straight home she stopped by the ancient keep of the old castle and climbed out. The tower had been a favourite haunt of her childhood. The weathered walls were still high enough to offer some shelter from the wind and often she had lain within their protective shelter, peering out to sea through the wind-tossed flowers. It was here that she had come when they brought the news about her parents and here that Magnus had found her, comforting her without a word being spoken.

Was Mac wrong when he claimed that the geologists’ presence in their home might break through Magnus’s prison walls? She knew she could not afford to take the chance that he might be, and with a heart heavy with bitter resentment she walked back to the Land Rover.

She might be forced to welcome these intruders for her brother’s sake, but for herself she would continue to hate them. Not one of the men with whom Magnus had worked had made any attempt to get in touch with him since his accident; no one from United Oil had taken the trouble to come out to Falla and see him, and although Catriona would never have admitted it to her brother she was desperately afraid that when he claimed that his old companions would despise and denigrate him now, he was speaking the truth. Oilmen were hard men, without emotion or compassion, and now they were going to invade their sanctuary and spread God alone knew what havoc among them.

A FORTNIGHT WENT BY without any response to Magnus’s letter, and then a severe storm prevented the mail boat from calling, and Catriona had almost begun to think that the whole thing had blown over.

With gales blowing Mac had been unable to call, although he had spoken to them by telephone. Since her return to the island Catriona had never ceased to be grateful to her parents for installing this luxury.

“Any news about the terminal?” he enquired when he had assured himself that they were both well.

“Don’t remind me of it,” Catriona begged. “I keep hoping it will all go away.”

Mac laughed. Catriona was covered in cobwebs. She had been cleaning out the bedrooms, unearthing linen sheets from cupboards mercifully free of damp and moth. The house had been furnished long before the days of such things as central heating, when women knew how to store and cherish good linen.

Although there had been no further word from the oil company about the terminal, Catriona did not intend to be caught off guard if they did decide to go ahead.

CHAPTER THREE

THEY were another week closer to Christmas and enjoying a brief spell of relatively mild weather. The Shetlands, although not enjoying hot summers, did not experience unduly cold winters, only the wind changed, from playfulness to fierce intensity.

Catriona had been washing sheets, taking advantage of the brief daylight to get them dry and keeping an eye on them from the kitchen window. It wasn’t unusual for Shetlanders to lose their washing to the sea when the wind came up, and she had no intention of letting that happen, not after having gone to all the trouble of doing it.

Magnus was in the library. Catriona heard the telephone ring and guessed that it was Mac. Magnus seemed morose later when she went in with the cup of coffee she had made him, and when her light attempts at conversation all went ignored, she retreated quietly as she had learned to do when these moods held him.

Her back was aching from cleaning floors covered in dust and washing windows that hadn’t been touched in years. If she was going to be forced to endure the presence of these oilmen she wasn’t going to give them the opportunity to criticise their lodgings. She had half expected Magnus to query her busyness, but he didn’t even seem to be aware of it.

She had made a Christmas cake—a luxury she had permitted them because she knew that Magnus loved it—and as she lifted it out of the oven to cool she remembered that they were getting low on peat. The crofters had cut them a fresh pile—enough to last them through the winter and it was duly drying, but Catriona could not carry it down to the outhouse by herself and she was reluctant to task Magnus to help. The storms sometimes washed wood up on to the beaches, and tempted by the thought of a brisk walk she called Russet, and pulled on a shabby anorak which had once belonged to Magnus but which she now kept in the kitchen for winter forays to feed the hens and collect their eggs.

The sky was completely clear, but no Shetlander would have been deceived. They knew all too well how quickly a storm could blow up, seemingly out of nowhere.

She headed for a beach relatively close to the house where she knew that driftwood was often washed up, and parking the Land Rover on the firm strip of sand exposed by the tide, opened the door and climbed out, Russet racing round in excited circles at her heels.

The islanders used the tough Shetland ponies to carry wood and peat to their homes, and as she trudged tiredly along the beach under the weight of sea-soaked debris she had managed to gather, Catriona could not help reflecting how much easier it would have been to whistle commands to the Land Rover and have it come trotting obediently over to her.

The sea had been generous and in an hour she had managed to collect a sizeable amount of wood. The islanders still recounted with great relish the rich pickings which had once been had from the doomed Spanish Armada, as the unwieldy ships, driven before the wind, had been wrecked all along this coastline. Many still lay where they had sunk, and in summer amateur divers investigated their rotting hulls, hoping to find rare treasure in the silent depths.

Russet found a piece of wood, and obligingly Catriona threw it for him, laughing as the dog tried to chase a lingering gull and failed miserably.

On impulse, instead of heading straight back to the house she drove down to the harbour and found Findlay as she had hoped to do, busy mending lobster pots outside his croft.

“A tidy catch, but it will take some drying out,” the fisherman commented, examining the contents of the Land Rover. “Have you no peat, then?”

“Plenty,” Catriona assured him, “but it needs moving down off the hill, and I didn’t want to bother Magnus.”

“Aye, like as not he’ll be brooding over this business of the voe.”

That Findlay knew about the proposed terminal did not surprise her, and sitting on the low stone wall of the harbour, Catriona eyed him helplessly.

“What do you think about it, Fin?”

He took his time before replying—a Highland trait, although the Shetlanders were a different race from the people of the Western Isles and did not speak with their soft, Gaelic-accented Scots.

“We canna hold back progress, lassie,” he said at last. “Time was when a young man thought himself lucky to have a fishing boat and a croft to call his own and with those he felt able to call himself any man’s equal, but those days are gone.”

“Magnus says it would be selfish to deprive the people of the prosperity the terminal will bring.”

“Things must change, girl,” Findlay told her gently, reading her mind and knowing the turbulent resentment she was concealing beneath the surface. “Have you not noticed that Falla is becoming an island of old people? We canna live for ever, and the fishing’s not what it was. You must look forward to the future and not backwards to the past.” He put down his lobster basket and got to his feet. “Davie’s taken the boat out, but he should be back soon. When he comes we’ll go up the hill and bring down your peat.”

“There’s no need,” Catriona protested. “Magnus can….”

Findlay shook his head.

“Let him bide, lassie,” he advised her. “Let him bide.”

On the way back to the house Catriona heard the sound of a helicopter and glanced upwards instinctively, her heart lightening as she saw the familiar colours. Mac must have been out to the oil rigs again and had decided to call in on them. The road was not good enough for her to drive too fast, and by the time she was approaching the house the helicopter was rising again. Parking the Land Rover in what had once been the stables and which now housed only chickens, she dashed inside.

The kitchen was empty, but she could hear voices from the library, and without pausing to take off her anorak she hurried into the room, thrusting open the door in eager anticipation, only to become rigid with shock and dismay at the sight which met her unprepared eyes.

Instead of Mac the room seemed to be full of strange men, none of whom seemed to be aware of her existence. Magnus was talking to them, his voice laced with a strain which brought a sheen of sympathetic tears to Catriona’s eyes, her hands bunching into two protesting fists. Who were these men? What were they doing on Falla?

They were all bent over some papers on the desk, and one of them straightened, turning to stare at Catriona, his shock of red hair and burly shoulders vaguely familiar, and then Magnus saw her, the relief in his voice as he pronounced her name making her hurry to his side, her anxious questions stilled.

“Well, if someone can just show us to our quarters, we’ll get settled in make the most of what’s left of the daylight.”

As though by magic a path had cleared to Magnus’s desk and the man who had spoken the coolly authoritative words turned round. Catriona felt the breath leave her lungs on a shocked gasp, her feet like lead as she tried to move and could not.

“Cat, this is Brett Simons,” she heard Magnus say uncertainly. “He’s in charge of the team who’ve come to investigate the voe.”

“Wouldn’t it have been advisable to let us know before you arrived, Mr. Simons?” Catriona demanded, emphasising the question by refusing to return his smile, and wondering at the same time how on earth she was managing to function so normally. Of course Magnus would expect her to be shocked at this sudden visitation, but he could have no way of knowing exactly how earth-shattering that shock had been. No one knew that but her, and perhaps the dark-haired man, with the coolly amused jade green eyes, whom Magnus had called “Brett Simons”—the man who had forced her to share his bed and who had coolly and unmistakable shown her exactly how little effect her presence in it had had upon him!

Her heart had started to beat with panicky hurried movements, and she was conscious of Magnus frowning slightly at her rudeness. Magnus was a stickler for good manners and she knew her sharp words had surprised him.

“Brett telephoned this morning to warn me that they were on the way, Cat,” Magnus informed her reprovingly. “I came to tell you, but you’d already gone out.”

“I expect Miss Peterson dislikes surprise arrivals as much as any other woman,” Brett Simons drawled placatingly, while Catriona seethed in impotent rage. Did he honestly think she needed his help to excuse her behaviour to Magnus? She only had to breathe one word to her brother of what had happened in Lerwick and Brett Simons and his men would be banished from Falla for ever. She took a step towards Magnus and then hesitated remembering Mac’s words. An uncertain glance at Brett Simons’ coolly watchful face told her nothing, but from the looks of his three companions it was plain that they were not used to female opposition to their boss’s desires. Her tongue flicked anxious over her dry lips, her heart thudding uncomfortably.

“I… we expected you to write to us,” she said at last, conscious of a small sigh running round the room as though there had been a collective releasing of breath.

“We were informed that with the bad weather the mailboat wouldn’t be able to call, and once we had the go-ahead we didn’t want to waste any time,” Brett Simons told her smoothly. “I’m sorry if our appearance is unexpected.”

The last word brought Catriona’s head up with a proud jerk, as she searched the green eyes for a hidden meaning. Was he trying to tell her that he knew how much his presence had shocked her? It was going to be bad enough having these men on the island at all, without Brett Simons thinking he had some sort of hold over her.

“Unexpected, but not catastrophic,” she replied lightly. A small movement from Magnus caught her attention, and Brett Simons was banished as she hurried to her brother’s side, her smile warm and understanding. His face was pale, the bleak, haunted look back in his eyes, and now that she knew the reason for his withdrawn mood earlier in the day, Catriona could not help but regret giving in to Mac’s urgings.

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