Perilous Love

Chapter 3

3

The short flight to Inverness in the Scottish Highlands had been uneventful for Hugh and the two horses he had selected to take with him.

After the flight, he supervised the loading of Buttercup, a gentle yet spirited mare he had chosen for Anneliese, and instructed the general’s aide-de-camp Ryan Thomson on taking her and his luggage on a safe drive as he rode his own stallion Caligula, who was restless after the flight.

Surely he would reach his destination well after Thomson and the truck bearing his luggage and Buttercup, but it was not often that he got the chance to take a solitary ride along the banks of the river Ness and the wooded islands connected by suspension foot bridges constructed in the mid 19th century, through havens of wildlife and nature. Much better than two hours inside a car with Thomson, who had the schoolmaster’s ability of making every remark sound vaguely censorious.

As they did at Lakeside Manor, Bharraich Caisteal and its full-functioning whisky distillery employed veterans of war who couldn’t find jobs easily due to their disabilities or mental health problems. He was bound to bump into some of his old war buddies working there.

He trotted lazily through an avenue shadowed by great oaks to the main building, admiring the castle which was alleged to have been built over one thousand years ago on top of an existing old Norse fort, by the Clan MacDonald. The castle’s precise origins and age were unknown, but it was the ancient seat of one or another long-time antecedent of General MacDonald. The pines and oaks of the Caledonian forest at the back of the castle made a perfect frame for the imposing castle and the loch ahead.

The manicured garden area encircling the main building was a stunning expanse of endless landscape. Trees and shrubs were carefully planted across the velvety green lawn, while deers and hares grazed here and there. Except for one side, bounded by the loch, Bharraich park was entirely surrounded in lush greenery.

He imagined how Anneliese might look now based on the glimpses he’d had of her over a period of seven years. Blue eyes. Dark hair. A youthful, small face. He should have paid more attention when he had visited, but he cringed shamefully every time he’d considered approaching her and trying to chat with levity and playfulness…as they had before the tragedy struck.

Mouth tight, Hugh guided Caligula around the four-centuries old grand building to the stables.

Dismounting, he patted Caligula and murmured a few words of thanks for the beautiful ride, before he led him inside. Though the structure was large, only a couple of stalls were occupied, mostly by aging farm horses: a beautiful Friesian horse he recognized as the general’s Bucephalus, and a content Buttercup, but with no one inside.

He looked around, searching for a brush to groom his horse. He preferred caring for his beasts himself, but still, he had expected to see someone inside such a big stable.

Then a groom, clearly a veteran like the gatekeeper, though much older, creaked into view.

“G’day, Group Captain.” He nodded deferentially at Hugh and it annoyed him that he didn’t know the other man’s name. That man probably did a lot more than he did in the war, he just didn’t get to be famous as Hugh did. “May I take your horse?”

Hugh passed over his reins and made a casual comment about the fine weather as he went to check on Buttercup.

To further his annoyance, Thomson was there, as if waiting to pounce on him, because the first thing he said was, “The general told me to accompany you to his office as soon as you arrived, sir.”

Hugh sighed. “Of course.”

Concealed in a clump of shrubs by the faint depression of the old moat, a man waited, impatient, his thick boots doing nothing to stop the cold from seeping in to his feet.

But after fifteen minutes, Anneliese still hadn’t appeared as he thought she would. Maybe she was occupied with the new arrival.

He had heard about Group Captain Lakeside. They spoke of him in the way a comic book fan would speak of Batman.

In the military, he was a myth. From the moment he concluded Sniper School, he was called The Legend. And to corroborate the nickname, he won award after award, decoration after decoration. The tales grew: The Legend never wasted a bullet on his kills. He killed without blinking and with a smile on his lips. The Victoria Cross had just extended that myth and added a respect that bordered on fanatical.

There was a powerful story buried in all this fetishism, and the hopeless violence around him. A story about camaraderie and brotherhood born on the field of battle. About lives he had saved.

Ah. There he was: The Legend.

Frowning, the watcher slid away, taking care to stay out of anyone’s sight, since the moat shadows didn’t offer concealment any longer. He would return later. Or tomorrow.

At the base of the hill, he entered a broad belt of woodlands and paused to observe the new guest.

He wondered if anyone remembered Group Captain Lakeside was still just a man.

Fallible.

And made of flesh and blood.

Killable.

From the secret passage on the library mezzanine, Anneliese saw Hugh enter her grandfather’s office and watched as the two of them embraced and chatted amiably before the general invited Hugh for the customary walk on the mezzanine and through the gallery that adjoined it.

She had a perfect opportunity to learn what her grandfather was planning and be able to study Hugh and secretly become re-acquainted with him.

The years had been kind to him.

At six-foot-three he was much taller than her own five-foot-four and he’d grown larger than he’d been at twenty-four, packed with muscles. The strength of his body was now more rugged, even rough at the edges.

All the qualities she’d admired as a teen had now become magnified in her more mature eyes.

While his body and face had clearly benefited with the years, he looked…unhappy. There was a furrow etched between his brows and there was a scar that marred his strong throat and disappeared under his sweater.

His once beautiful hazel eyes seemed paler, almost an ice-washed green, as if the flecks of gold and warm amber that she’d loved to stare at had been extinguished.

The smiling, smooth-talking Hugh, who had broken down the wardrobe door and taken her out of that dark place, had become an intense man—dangerous.

“Does she have any idea?” he asked, as he stared out the window, eyes subtly darting over the room as though searching for something as her grandfather started a lengthy explanation about all the small incidents she had reported to him: from the mysterious appearance of Kuchi earrings in her jewelry box to the tulip bulbs in the hot house; from the kite found twisted in the tree branches in front of her balcony to the poppy seeds inside her afternoon sandwich, and other small things, completely innocent and harmless incidents.

If one overlooked the one link between them all: Afghanistan.

“Do you have any idea who might be doing that, sir?”

She didn’t catch her grandfather’s answer but the chilling look on his face made a shiver run down her spine.

What secrets is Papa keeping from me?