Page 89 of The Highland Fling

I shiver but press on, venturing deeper and deeper into what increasingly feels like a wild and perilous environment. Bannock and civilisation fall further behind me with each step I take. The sight of snowdrops offers my nerves some distraction—their pristine white petals are a promise that spring is on its way and winter will soon be over. But with night approaching, the delicate flowers are closing up.

The drizzle from overhead becomes heavier until large droplets of rain are pelting down on me. I trudge on, pulling my coat tighter around me and tugging my hood down further. Maybe I’ve made a mistake—I consider turning back—but no, the thought of seeing Aidan again and of making things right fuels me. It gives me the strength to take another step, and then another.

Unfortunately, the weather only gets worse. Soon it’s pouring down hard and relentlessly, and the occasional gust of wind that finds its way through the trees sprays drops into my face. My coat does little to protect me from it, while beneath my shoes, the path quickly turns to mud. I squelch on, but . . . God, what the hell am I doing? I’m carrying a baby. It’s still winter. I shouldn’t be out in this—this is madness.

With each passing minute, visibility decreases, and soon I’m squinting to see through the gloom. I don’t want to get my phone wet, but I’m going to have to use its torch feature just to light my way. I reach into my pocket and—

It’s not there.

Oh, shit.

I stop, frantically patting my other pockets, heavy rain continuing to strike me. But my phone isn’t anywhere. With horror, I realise what’s happened. In the hotel’s office, when I was talking with Jamie, I put it down on the desk. When I left, I didn’t take it with me.

Despair washes over me, as chilling as the rainfall saturating my clothes. I’m out here alone without any means of calling for help. How could I be so stupid and irresponsible? Earlier today, when I was at the shops and forgot to pick up milk, that was kind of cute. Oh dear! Baby brain. What am I like? Now, though? This is serious. I’ve put myself at risk—my baby too.

And for what? I don’t even know if Aidan’s at that house! What if I get there after walking for an hour only to find the property still and locked up? I’ll then be miles from Bannock without shelter.

I should never have come out here. This is utterly idiotic. I need to go back. And yet . . . my breaths are coming quicker, my heart pounding faster. Panic bubbles up inside me, threatening to boil over, and though I try to stop it, I don’t know that I can.

I lean against a tree and think of the breathing exercises I teach my yoga students. Closing my eyes, I attempt to put them into practice, but my pulse is reverberating in my ears, and the baby—as if sensing my distress—wriggles.

Focus on the rise and fall of your diaphragm, I tell myself, but it’s no use. My anxiety is spiralling out of control.

I either need to go on or turn back—staying out here exposed to the elements won’t solve anything—but my heart is going like the clappers, and my legs are weak. I need to get a grip and calm myself, but instead my head is telling me what a fool I’ve been.

You came out here in the dark and the rain without your phone? You’re going to be a mother, Grace! You should be more responsible than this. What were you thinking?

A sob escapes my lips, my tears mixing with the raindrops trickling down my face. I sink to the mud-soaked ground and hug my swollen belly.

Then, from somewhere far off, my name reaches me on the breeze. Is it just the wind playing tricks on me, or is someone really calling me?

I sit up and strain to listen against the pounding deluge.

“Grace?”

There it is again. It’s still distant but clearer now, and it’s definitely not my imagination. I recognise that low, deep tone.

“Aidan!” I shout, scarcely believing he could be here.

“Grace! Thank God!”

His familiar voice pierces through my panic, soothing my turbulent thoughts and restoring some of my strength. With a struggle, I clamber back to my feet. Wiping at my watery eyes, I squint through the curtain of rainfall.

“Aidan? Where are you?”

“I’m coming!”

Through the murkiness of the woods and the thick sheets of rain, a light appears. It draws nearer, and soon the shadowy blur of a figure emerges from the gloom.

“Aidan!” I stumble towards him.

His shape becomes more defined, his features coming into focus. Sheltering under a golf umbrella and carrying a torch, he strides through the trees with purpose. I hurry forward and fling myself at him, burying myself into his chest, not caring that I’m getting him wet. It doesn’t bother him one bit—one of his arms encircles me and presses me even closer to him, while the other holds the umbrella above us, protecting us from the downpour.

“I’m so sorry!” I blubber. “I’m sorry I’ve not been in contact more. I’m sorry my mum’s been calling you behind my back—I’d no idea until this morning. Have I messed everything up?”

He pulls away from me, his gaze raking over me, searching for signs of harm. Apparently satisfied, he fixes me with a stern stare. “I’m furious with you, Grace. It’s the second time you’ve come into these woods without your phone, and I’m telling you, it better be the last. But as for the other stuff? Forget about it. You have nothing to apologise for.”

He draws me to him once more. Tension ebbs from my shoulders, the weight of worry lifting from me. I inhale deeply and release a sigh of relief.