The Lost Dreams. Fiona Hood-Stewart
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window and for a moment he was tempted to enter the cottage in a less orthodox fashion.
Even as he debated climbing in the window, the door opened. Charlotte, dressed in worn stonewashed jeans and her usual white T-shirt that displayed her slim midriff, a half-munched apple suspended in her right hand, stared at him through translucent violet eyes.
“What the hell did you think you were doing, moving out of the castle?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“Whoa!” Charlotte took a hasty step back, her flash of pleasure at seeing him dampened by the fact he was clearly in a flaming temper.
“Why, Charlie?”
As the bright blue eyes pinned hers, a slow flush flooded her cheeks. This was going to be more difficult than she’d anticipated, she realized, wishing her pulse would stop racing. But it was just Brad, after all, and she knew how to manage him. She had every right to move wherever she wanted and make a home of her own. Mustering a smile, she tossed her hair back and inspected the apple thoughtfully to buy time.
“I want an answer, Charlotte,” Brad muttered, eyes narrowed. “And I want it now.”
“Brad, don’t get all bossy on me, I don’t owe you any explanations. I can live wherever I want. And right now, that happens to be here.”
“Did I make myself clear?” His tone was measured.
“Perfectly,” she responded, standing her ground and trying to look a lot more composed than she felt. Then, seeing his eyes narrow dangerously, she gave in and dropped her arm, wishing her pulse would calm down. “Okay, okay, don’t get all uptight. I’ll tell you why I moved.”
“This had better be darn good. Why?”
“Because Strathaird’s yours now and I need my own place.” She tried to sound reasonable and casual as she looked beyond his shoulder with a nonchalance she was far from feeling.
“That’s bull,” he shot back, taking a step forward. “Strathaird’s your home. It always has been and will be for as long as you choose. I never intended for you to leave.”
“I’m well aware of that, but I decided to go anyway.” She gave him a bright, sassy smile and bit into the apple.
“Charlie, don’t push me.” There was an edge to his voice and his eyes remained dangerously alight. “I want you out of here and back home by tomorrow, is that clear?”
“No.” Her own temper flashed at his autocratic attitude. Did he think she was still an irresponsible child who could be told what to do? “Who the hell do you think you are, barging into my home and dictating how I lead my life? I’ll do what I like, when I like, and I’ll thank you to mind your own business.”
They measured one another in the tense silence, then he drew back, crammed his hands in his pockets and stared at her hard. “Okay, fine. Be that way. But I’ll tell you something, Charlotte, you’re darn selfish.”
“Me? Selfish?” she spluttered.
“Selfish,” he asserted, nodding slowly. “Did you stop for one moment to think of Genny when you decided to grab your stuff and come to this godforsaken hole? Or Aunt Penn? Or—”
“Oh, do shut up and stop being ridiculous, Brad,” she exclaimed, irritated. “Of course I thought of Genny.”
“No, you didn’t. As usual, you let your pride get the better of you.”
“As I already pointed out, what I do and where I live are none of your damn business. And anyway, living here will be good for Genny. The castle’s just a fantasy existence,” she said, annoyed she was justifying herself. Trust Brad to pinpoint her one real doubt about her decision. That was the trouble with people who’d known you all your life—they were impossible to fool.
“Coming from someone with your past lifestyle, that hardly flies,” he responded witheringly. “Charlotte, grow up, for Christ’s sake. Understand that you can’t drag that kid from pillar to post like a gypsy. Strathaird’s as much her home as yours.” He eyed her in the same superior way he used to when they were adolescents, leaving her temper sizzling once more.
“I’ll not have you dictating to me,” she snapped, the physical and emotional exhaustion of the move coming down on her like a pile of bricks. She stamped her foot angrily on the front step. Her amethyst eyes flashed and the apple core flew over his shoulder into the flower bed. “Go boss Sylvia around, maybe she likes the macho approach. I, for one, can do without you telling me what I should or shouldn’t be doing.”
“Charlie, you’re too old for a tantrum,” he retorted, taunting her further.
“I’m not having a tantrum,” she said through gritted teeth. “I’m trying to make you understand that I’m not seventeen anymore.”
“Well, you’ve an odd way of going about it.”
“Oh, stop being prissy, Brad. It doesn’t suit you. I may not be picture-perfect like you, but then, we can’t all be faultless examples of duty and devotion, can we?”
“You’re doing a pretty good job, from all I gather,” he remarked, watching her from under hooded lids as he leaned up against the cottage wall. “Still jumping to attention whenever your husband flickers an eyelid?”
“How dare you,” she hissed, torn between tears and fury. “What right have you to come here and insult me? It’s my life. If I want to be miserable, then it’s my problem, okay?”
“No. It’s not okay.” He took a quick step forward. “Damn it, Charlie.” He grabbed her shoulders and gave her a shake. Their eyes met and locked and she shivered involuntarily. “Why didn’t you have the balls to tell me you were leaving?”
A flush crept back into her cheeks and her temper slowly abated. She knew she should have called and warned him. She had lifted the phone countless times, then thought better of it, afraid of his reaction. And apparently she’d been right.
She looked down and bit her lip, eyes softening. “I suppose I should have told you. But it really isn’t a big deal,” she conceded. “You can’t expect everyone to comply with everything you want. Life just isn’t like that.” God, it was good to see him again, she realized as his arms slipped from her shoulders to around her waist. “Don’t be cross, Brad, please?” she said in a more gentle tone, looking up at him through thick dark lashes. Her hand slipped to his cheek. “Come in and have a drink, there’s no reason for all the fuss.” In a rush of affection, she flung her arms around his neck.
He stood, unyielding, then despite his misgivings held her close, temper disappearing when she nestled her head into the crook of his neck. “It’s so good to have you back,” she whispered.
“It’s good to be back,” he murmured, breathing the familiar, tantalizing scent of her freshly washed hair, a mix of sea and wildflowers. “But it’d be a darn sight better if you hadn’t taken this crazy step. Why do you always have to be so drastic, Charlie?” His fingers dipped unconsciously into her glorious hair, and automatically he began gently massaging the back of her neck.
“Do we have to keep on talking about me?” she asked, the feel of his hand making her want to sink against him, close her eyes and forget all her worries. Instead, she pulled back, hands looped around his neck, and squinted up at him. “Truce, please?” She dropped a friendly peck on his right cheek. “In time you’ll understand, Brad. Believe me, it’s for the best. Now let me show you the cottage.” She disengaged herself and grabbed his hand, leading him through the tiny hall and into the low-ceilinged living room.
“It’s pretty small,” he said grudgingly, noting the skillful trompe l’oeil on the living-room wall, the tasteful flower arrangements, the hodgepodge of prints and paintings, photographs, ceramics and silver. “Not exactly your usual style.”
“Small but nice, don’t you think?” She gestured to the walls. “I painted the place myself. I’m terribly