Mandate For Marriage

‘We made a commitment,’ he answered her drily. ‘I expect us to keep to it.’

‘Commitment?’ Fiona laughed cynically. ‘We were married less than three days before you left for America,’ she reminded him.

‘Left?’ Grant declared savagely. ‘Or driven?’ he demanded angrily. ‘Originally you were coming with me—a quaint custom called a honeymoon. You know, it’s something newlyweds do,’ he growled. He took her roughly into his arms. Their eyes met in mutual coflict, hurt and angry, and it was Fiona who first broke the deadlock.

‘Honeymoon?’ she echoed. ‘It would have been a farce, an empty sham, a lie!’ she countered, pulling herself away from his arms, as the haunting memories of how it should have been filled her mind.

‘If anyone is an expert, Fee, it’s you,’ he whispered. ‘Self-deception leading to self-denial,’ he mocked, pulling her back to him, till she fell agamst his hard chest. She reacted to his touch as she felt his familiar heat warm her.

‘You didn’t always find my touch so repulsive,’ Grant murmured, low and husky. A sudden shiver of anticipation ran the length of Fiona’s spine, and her stomach twirled in agitation. A telltale ache deep within her very being warned her of her body’s betrayal, but she was already too defenceless to move. Grant’s masterful hands stroked the length of her with slow rhythmic movements, as his soft lips claimed hers. She began to tremble as she responded to his expert caresses. She welcomed his kiss and, as the tip of his tongue gently edged the contour of her lips, teasing them apart, she parted them and invited him in. She felt drunk—giddy with excitement, breathless with desire—at his very touch. He inflamed within her an inner passion that made her grow increasingly hot. Her breasts were swelling with desire against the firmness of his chest, and his kisses became more forceful. Fiona could sense his growing need for her and her own willingness to comply. Yet some warning voice echoed deep within her numbed brain: she knew she should put a stop to what they were doing, but each stroke of his fingers increased her desire for him. Each probing kiss seemed to prevent her from uttering a sound. Instead of pushing him away, she pulled him closer to her, clinging to him as her tongue moved seductively in his mouth. Deep in the pit of her stomach came pangs of hunger that demanded satisfaction. She closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of his body next to hers and, without realising it, acknowledged she had missed him so much. Slowly they drew apart. Her eyes were darkened with arousal and she rested against him, savouring the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest. His strong arms wrapped around her slim frame, holding tightly as if he never wanted to leave go.

‘Fee, my Fee,’ he whispered huskily, as he stroked the thick bob of her hair. She lifted her head to look at him; the warm slumberous look in his blue eyes caused a gentle smile to curl her lips before the realisation of what she had done dawned. She lowered her vision immediately, struggling from his arms.

‘I think I’d better go,’ she said abruptly, wanting to put as much distance as she could between them. Now she wanted to be free of him, to erase all the pain and bitterness she felt, yet when she had been in his arms, she was transported back into a dream-world where only they existed. He sensed her alarm and dropped his hands to his sides. A grudging smile of acceptance was on his lips.

‘I think there’s quite a lot of fire left in our marriage; it’s not all old coals,’ he remarked. Fiona snatched up her bag. She wanted to remind him about the file of figures, but somehow her confidence failed her.

‘I’ll book a table at Jeanie’s for eight o’clock,’ she said despite the thudding of her heart, and he nodded his head in agreement. Fiona fled the office, her pulses leaping at the scorching memory of his kiss. She put her fingers to her swollen mouth, touching it tentatively. It was a hopeless situation: they had parted amid angry, hurt exchanges and she knew now that the whole marriage had been a farce—even her wedding-day had been marred. The vivid image of Mari flashed in her mind, her arms twined fiercely around Grant’s neck as she hung on to him with a possession that made Fiona sick. Andy had made a final plea to her before the wedding to wait and think about it, but she had been too besotted with Grant to realise Andy was telling the truth. And yet, she had had doubts—niggling fears that all was not right—but she had put them down to bridal nerves.

It was only during the reception, when faced with Grant’s adultery, that she had finally accepted Andrew’s word—which Mari’s behaviour had been quick to confirm. She remembered the tense atmosphere, Grant’s face contorted in anger as she became distant with him, so great was her sense of betrayal. Fiona shuddered; she wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t help reacting to him. Sex, she concluded grimly, that was all it was, but somehow, when she was in his arms, it seemed so much more than that. She took a deep, satisfying breath. It was good to be outside in the cool, fresh air, to let the wind blow away all her worries and doubts. It was beautiful today, the sky clear and blue. The sun was still pale, almost a watery yellow, but its gentle rays were already beckoning the buds awake. It was the first dry day in weeks and it finally looked as if winter was drawing to a close.

Fiona stepped out briskly across the car park; she had left her car at home because she enjoyed the walk and, somehow, despite the terrible situation she was in, her heart felt lighter than it had done in months. It’s the spring air, she joked to herself, as she jumped over a small grey stone wall and walked across the fields.

Grant watched her from the window: her chestnut bob of hair moved rhythmically with every step she took. Then he turned and rapidly pushed the file back into his briefcase before locking the door and leaving the offices.

Fiona couldn’t believe she had slept so long. It was after five before she awoke and sleep still seemed to hang heavily on her shoulders. She lazed in a bath for some time, till she heard someone downstairs. She wrapped the towel quickly around her damp body—surely he had not come so soon? She swallowed nervously as she made her way to the door, opening it slowly as her ears strained to listen. She peeped over the banister, pushing her damp hair from her face as it fell into her wide eyes.

‘Who’s there?’ she called hesitantly, her throat dry with fear. She had never grown accustomed to being alone and she was still afraid of the slightest sound.

‘Only me!’ called a grey-haired old lady, straining her tiny frame to look up at Fiona.

‘Gran!’ she sighed in exasperation. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’ She breathed with relief at the smiling face.

‘Oh, don’t exaggerate! I’ve made some bread and brought you some fresh eggs across.’ She grinned wickedly, before adding, ‘No doubt you’ll be having company for breakfast.’

Fiona frowned. ‘You’ve heard,’ she said stiffly, feeling uncomfortable at the way her grandparents could not understand her decision.

‘Of course, the moment Mrs Gaygill saw his car from the post office window, she was on the phone, and a good job too, because you weren’t going to tell me,’ Gran said in a slightly hurt tone.

‘There’s nothing to tell, Gran,’ Fiona replied resignedly. ‘He doesn’t want to buy the company——’ she began.

‘Good, that’s one problem solved.’

‘It isn’t good, Gran——’ Fiona tried to explain, but was instantly silenced.

‘Of course it is! Wasn’t all this nonsense about him leaving and going to America because you thought he wanted the company?’ she demanded.

‘There’s more to it than that, Gran. It just wouldn’t work. You can’t just marry people you hardly know and expect it to work,’ she said patiently, not wishing to hurt her dear Gran’s feelings. She had been a mother to Fiona since her own parents had died when she was just ten years old. She loved and respected her dearly, even if she did seem out of touch with the harsh realities of life.

‘You can, if you love each other,’ her grandmother countered briskly, smiling at Fiona’s doubtful expression. ‘Where is he now?’ she asked, suddenly looking around as if she expected him to materialise.

‘I left him at the offices. He’s going to try and sort something out, then we’re going out to dinner,’ Fiona admitted reluctantly, knowing exactly how Gran would translate this behaviour.

‘There!’ Gran said, smiling triumphantly. ‘I know you two can work things out. Just give him a chance, Fiona; you can be a little unforgiving at times,’ she reminded her softly, and Fiona felt a stab of pain. She remembered how she had blamed her parents for dying, blamed her grandparents for still being alive, and ultimately blamed herself for surviving the terrible crash.

‘I’ll see, Gran,’ she lied, determined not to change her mind.

‘And wear something pretty. That navy suit you wore today, Mrs Gaygill said it made you look like a nun!’ Gran informed her in a friendly but crisp voice, before disappearing again.

Fiona sighed. Much as she loved living in a small community, it did have its drawbacks, and Mrs Gaygill was certainly one of them. Fiona went back into the bedroom and stopped. She stared at the double bed as if seeing it for the first time, and then hastily diverted her attention to what she was going to wear. She sighed as she opened her wardrobe doors looking for something suitable for such an occasion, but somehow nothing sprang to mind. She changed her clothes several times; a dress looked too formal, her skirts were all too short and she was frightened of giving Grant the wrong impression. Finally she settled for a pair of black stretch ski-pants with a soft lambswool jumper in a cool off-white. She pulled a pair of high-heeled ankle boots on her tiny feet and decided she looked fine—casual but chic. She brushed her hair without enthusiasm, letting it fall heavily against her pale oval face. She frowned; she certainly didn’t look too good: her eyes lacked any sparkle, dark lines drooped under her eyes. Half-heartedly she applied a little blusher and flicked a bright red lipstick across her mouth. She would have to do, she thought, as she picked up her bag and went downstairs to wait for him.

She tried sitting still, flicking through a magazine but no story seemed to interest her. The television, too, seemed garish and uninteresting. She turned it off and began to pace the room. This is ridiculous! she chastised herself. You’re behaving like a schoolgirl on her first date. She could hear her heart pounding and it increased still further as the sound of a car horn beeped outside. Fiona walked stiffly to the door; she was determined to stay calm, to remain immune to Grant’s potent brand of sexuality.

He was standing leaning casually against the car door. Even in the shadows, it was pointless to deny that he was a formidable man.

‘Hi, Fee,’ he said huskily, allowing his eyes to caress her body with an intimacy that unnerved her. She was going to answer, but suddenly her mouth seemed painfully dry, and she merely smiled by way of reply. He looked magnificent, even taller in the black dinner suit he was wearing. The pristine whiteness of his shirt emphasised his deep golden tan, and his eyes seemed to sparkle with an electric blueness that excited her. She refused to invite him in, so slipped out immediately, closing the door behind her. He strode over to the other side of the car, his feet beating out a tattoo on the flat frosty path, and Fiona followed reluctantly. He opened the car door with a flourish and Fiona slipped past him, keen to avoid any personal contact. Grant’s eyebrows rose in amusement as he closed the door with a faint click. He got into the car on the driver’s side.

‘Not forgotten anything?’ he asked warmly and seductively and already playing havoc with her emotions. Fiona hugged her bag tightly across her waist, as close to her as she could. It was her only defence against him, like a shield to protect her.

‘No, nothing,’ she answered, aware of the tremor in the voice, and she wondered if it had been a wise decision to go out to dinner with him after all. He leant over and Fiona caught the scent of pine in her nostrils. She wanted to draw back and turned her head to look out into the blackness of the night. Her face flushed as a torrent of feelings leapt within her.

‘Fee,’ Grant whispered, his warm breath caressing her neck and sending shivers of delight through her body. He pulled her chin gently towards him and pressed his hot lips against her own till they melted together. Her mouth opened in welcome and her lips clung to his, hungry for his touch. Her arms crept around his neck and, for a moment, she kissed him back with a desire and longing she had not thought possible. But, inevitably, she pulled away suddenly and tried hard not to see the look of rejection in his eyes. She turned swiftly, aware of the hot pinheads that pricked against the back of her eyes. This was going to be far harder than she thought, she decided as she gazed miserably out of the car, staring aimlessly at the raindrops that had started falling silently down the pane.

CHAPTER THREE

THE drive to Jeanie’s was taken in silence. Fiona could no longer trust herself to speak. She knew her voice would betray the turmoil that swirled increasingly inside her.

A gentle bell tinkled as they opened the door of the intimate little bistro. It was simply designed, furnished with bentwood furniture and decorated with cooking vessels which adorned the tartan-covered walls. The warmth of the open fire heated Fiona’s cheeks, brightening her face a little as Grant gallantly drew back her chair. She nodded her thanks and slid into her chair, picking up the hand-written menu that was on the table and burying her head in it. Jeanie’s was a small, intimate restaurant specialising in ‘a taste of Scotland’, and the menu was full of excellent local produce. There was always an abundance of fresh seafood and this was reflected in the many fish courses available, but tonight, Fiona decided, she needed fortifying, and there was a comfort in traditional haggis.

‘I hope you’re hungry?’ Grant said, a trace of something in his voice. ‘You certainly look as if you need a good meal.’ His appraising gaze raked over her body. Fiona felt herself flinch inwardly at his criticism.

‘It’s quite fashionable to be slim; most women are. Men seem to find it more attractive,’ Fiona parried, as an image of Mari’s slender form flitted through her mind.

‘I don’t. I liked you the way you were,’ Grant countered crisply.

‘Yes, well. I really can’t imagine why,’ Fiona retorted, her expression making him aware that she meant more. He studied her for a moment, his jaw clenched, but he remained silent. Fiona lowered her eyes back to the menu; she was hungry and tonight she was going to eat; the enticing aromas from the kitchen confirmed that.

‘Have you decided?’ Grant asked, and Fiona was forced to lower the defensive wall of her menu and confront his cool blue eyes.

‘Yes,’ she answered, lowering her eyes back on to the menu.

‘And?’

‘I’ll have the venison pâté, then the Scotch beef with haggis and maybe, to finish…’ She paused; desserts were always her favourite and it was a difficult decision to make. Perhaps she’d leave it till after the main course.

‘Raspberries,’ he suggested, with an amused grin suddenly crossing his face. Fiona caught his smile as she darted him a quick look, and understood exactly what he was referring to. There was a full, teasing, sexual smile on his face now.

‘They were wild raspberries,’ she snapped back, wanting to take the smile from his face, to erase the memory of those early days.

‘I’m surprised you remembered,’ he hit back swiftly, but Fiona was already drifting back to that autumn day…

They had been walking all morning over the hills, catching glimpses of red deer and watching the acrobatic skills of the buzzards. They had taken off their boots and thick woollen socks and had paddled and splashed in the icy waters of a stream. Then they had taken the old raiders’ path back through the forest, enjoying the quiet stillness of the late afternoon; the sun was still bright and, by chance, they discovered raspberries. Like eager children they had picked at the soft warm fruit, staining their fingers deep red as they ate their fill. Fiona sighed as she recalled standing openmouthed like a tiny bird while Grant popped the berries on her tongue, and she remembered how she had licked his fingers clean as he traced them around her lips. That had been their first intimate moment; that gesture suggested so much more and awoke in them both the realisation that they were deeply attracted to each other. Though they had constantly been in each other’s company, up till then Grant had just been a friend, someone who wanted to see the Lowlands through the eyes of a local, and Fiona had willingly spent all her free time with him. Fiona remembered how magical it had all seemed. The forest had suddenly grown completely silent and Fiona had felt that, if she had spoken, her voice would have broken the magical spell forever. Instead she had planted the gentlest of kisses on Grant’s fingertips, lovingly savouring the firm touch of his strong, slender fingers on her pliant lips. The world stopped as they had both stood transfixed. Fiona had known he was waiting for an invitation. She’d seen the look in his eyes and it had excited and frightened her at the same time. No man had ever looked at her with such longing, and the sense of power it gave her was overwhelming. Their eyes had met in the silent acknowledgement of each other’s desire. Then Grant’s gaze had drifted to Fiona’s full lips, coloured vivid red by the fruit, and her lips parted to reveal her perfect white teeth in such a provocative way that he’d moaned softly. He’d drawn her gently into his arms, and she had trembled as he ignited a warm flow of blood through her veins. His hands had cupped her face and his thumbs traced across her cheeks, bringing a flush of colour to her pale features.

The first kiss had been innocent enough, gentle and soft. A simple exchange of love—both were giving without demands. But soon the sensual expertise that Grant possessed had made Fiona submit still further and, though willing, she had had a fleeting sense of something darker. She surrendered willingly, enjoying their growing desire. Their passions deepened as their kisses increased and, before long, they were both struggling against their heavy outdoor clothing to touch the bodies beneath. Fiona wanted to feel his skin, to taste and touch it. Her fingers traced the tight curls of blond hair that clung to his broad chest. She explored his body further with a slow fascination, loving the sense of his smooth, tanned skin beneath her hands. She toyed teasingly with the mat of hairs on his chest, twirling her fingers between them.

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