Under a Storm-Swept Sky

To Julie Young, for reading countless scenes and several full drafts of this book; for your enthusiasm, suggestions, and eagle eye; for all these years of friendship, and for being the bestest roomie ever.

To Nicole Pinto, for reading many drafts and scenes, for your advice and suggestions, and for being a sounding board and a dear friend. We may not have Grimm anymore, but at least we have Kiefer and Milo!

Prologue

All I’d known for the last few hours was pain. Four small summits, they’d said, like it was no big deal.

Lies. All lies.

I wanted to drop to the ground and refuse to go any farther. But there were so many reasons why that wasn’t an option, not the least of which was tall, Scottish, and sexy. And had been the bane of my existence since the beginning.

He was keeping pace with me, looking over every few minutes to make sure I was still there. It was mortifying, but I took some sadistic pleasure in knowing that his long legs were probably aching from the effort to go slowly as much as mine were from trying to keep up with the group.

My thigh and calf muscles screamed on the ascents, and my knees screamed on the way down. My eyes burned from the wind, and my shoulders ached from my pack.

And we hadn’t even made it to lunchtime yet.

What the hell was I doing here?

Chapter One

Amelia

Two Days Earlier

Welcome to the Isle of Skye!

The enthusiastic shout startled me from the weird stupor I’d fallen into following my overnight transatlantic flight from New York to Glasgow, the four-hour train ride from Glasgow to Fort William in the West Highlands, and nearly three hours in a van, broken up by a few stops along the way to stretch our legs and take photos of the increasingly more spectacular scenery as we ventured deeper into the Highlands before crossing the bridge to Skye.

Where I’d spend the next week walking over eighty miles from the northernmost tip of Skye down along the eastern side of the island.

I had a vague impression of the other people in the van from our brief meeting in Fort William before we were picked up by the guys from Scotland By Foot, the trekking company I’d be hiking with: a couple from Florida and two women from London, all around my parents’ age, and two bearded brothers in their thirties from somewhere in New England. They had all looked super-fit and super-excited, and if their well-used gear was any indication, super-experienced, too.

Unlike me.

And they were all pairs. Couples, friends, brothers—and me. Traveling by myself, sitting in the front bench seat of the van with the two male guides. As if being a novice hiker doing a week-long trek on the Isle of Skye wasn’t bad enough, I would be the only solo traveler in a group full of pairs.

Rather than dwell on that, I focused my attention on the jagged mountains in the distance, a blue-gray haze against the bright blue sky.

I sat up straight. Wait, were those mountains part of the Skye Trail? Carrie, what the hell were you thinking? And what the hell was I thinking when I decided to do this?

It was so wrong to be doing this trip without her. Carrie was the hiker, not me. We did everything else together, but not this. I was from flatter-than-flat Long Island, New York—how the hell would I be able to hike that mountainous trail?

Somehow, I would do it. I had to do it. For Carrie.

How much longer? asked one of the women in the back.

About another half hour, said Tommy MacDonald, the guide who sat next to me on the bench seat, the one who’d just welcomed us to Skye.

If we don’t get stuck behind too many tourists, muttered Rory Sutherland, the other guide and driver of the van. If Tommy was the friendly guide, as evidenced by the way he’d bounded up to us in Fort William with a blinding smile on his face, Rory appeared to be playing the role of surly guide, barely saying a word on the three-hour drive except to swear at the drivers ahead of us.

Hopefully his grouchiness was due more to the long, slow drive on the narrow, one-lane-each-way roads—which I could relate to, coming from Long Island, where every hour was rush hour and every road was permanently under construction—and not an indication of how he’d be on the hike.

Otherwise, this would be a really long week.

God, the scenery was awesome. On one side of the road, jagged mountains stretched off into the distance as far as I could see; on the other side was the sea, sapphire blue in the afternoon sunlight. And all around were hilly, green fields dotted with fluffy, white sheep and frolicking lambs. Skye was remote, stunning, and intimidating.

But Carrie, did you really have to hike it?

I lowered the window so I could take a few photos. Then I looked at them to make sure they came out okay.

Rory said something under his breath.

I’m sorry, were you talking to me? He hadn’t spoken to me at all other than a mumbled hello when Tommy introduced them both in Fort William.

I said, ‘there she goes again with her phone.’

I stared at him. Do you have some kind of problem with me? I knew I sounded bitchy, but I so did not need this guy’s attitude after eleventy million hours in transit.

He glanced at me, then back at the road, his facial features obscured by dark sunglasses and a ball cap. I just don’t understand why people travel thousands of miles from home to see a new place, and then spend the entire time on their phones. You haven’t put yours down for more than five minutes since you got in the van. Maybe you should try stepping away from Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook for a little while and experience Skye for yourself rather than for all your many friends and followers.

I opened my mouth to tell him to piss off, but Tommy cut me off before I could speak. Not this again, he said, looking at me apologetically. Rory’s like a broken record. He hates technology, would probably toss his phone and live off the grid if he could. Don’t pay attention to him.

Tommy’s diplomatic response derailed most of my angry retort. But I couldn’t let Rory’s condescension go unanswered. You don’t know anything about me, Rory, I hissed. Not. One. Thing. So how about you don’t make snap judgments, and I’ll show you the same courtesy and not call you a jerk to your face.

Burn, muttered Tommy.

I shouldn’t have said that, Rory acquiesced after a moment, looking over at me again.

I couldn’t tell if he was sincere, but at least he’d sort of apologized. I nodded once and then focused my attention out the window again.

I was right. This was going to be a long week.

My room at the B&B in Portree was charming, with a large bed that was covered with a white duvet that looked like a cloud. I emailed my folks, gushing about the beautiful scenery.

Then I gave in to the lure of the white duvet and napped for an hour. That, plus a long, hot shower, went a long way to making me feel human again, as did the soothing routine of running my fingers through my long hair as I blow-dried it. I wasn’t much for makeup, but with some concealer on the dark circles beneath my eyes and a touch of eyeliner, I looked less like a zombie.

I pulled on jeans and a black V-neck top and scrutinized myself in the mirror. Still pale, still tired-looking, but otherwise not bad. Besides, dinner in a pub I could handle easily enough.

It was hiking eighty-odd miles on the mountainous Isle of Skye over the next week, camping out nearly every night along the way, that might very well kill me.

Chapter Two

Amelia

The welcome dinner was at a pub a short walk down the street from the B&B. A long table was set up for us in the middle, and I took a seat next to Lucy, the woman from Florida.

How are you feeling, dear? You look more rested than you did before.

I smiled. Don’t underestimate the value of a hot shower and some makeup.

Oh, I never do.

The table filled in with the rest of the group, including two women who hadn’t been in the van, and Tommy, Rory, and another woman, all in polo shirts bearing the Scotland by Foot logo of a figure with a walking stick.

Rory had ditched his hat and shades, and I finally got a good look at him. The light in the pub was dim, but there was enough sunlight coming in through the curtains to see that his wavy, longish hair was a lovely dark red color and his eyes were light—I couldn’t tell the color from where I sat. He was also younger than I thought, probably not much more than twenty-one, like me.

Unlike Tommy, whose default expression seemed to be a cheerful grin, I’d yet to see Rory smile, even a little. In spite of the attitude, he was hot, and I couldn’t help but imagine what he would look like if he did smile.

We all ordered drinks, and then the woman from SBF stood. She was in her thirties and lean and pretty, with a blonde ponytail.

"Hi, everyone, I’m Scarlet. I’ve been in touch with all of you via email, and I’m thrilled to welcome you to Skye in person. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, Skye has an extremely varied landscape. It won’t be an easy week, but I promise you that it will be amazing to experience Skye on foot. You will feel small in the shadow of the Cuillins and the Quiraing, and you will feel tall when you stand atop Beinn Edra on the Trotternish Ridge.

Rory Sutherland and Tommy MacDonald will be your guides. They’re both certified Mountain Leaders, trained in first aid and with extensive experience leading treks all over Scotland, so you’re in excellent hands.

She paused while the waitress passed around our drinks. "A quick toast to the start of our trek. Slàinte mhath!"

I raised my glass of white wine and repeated the toast.

We ordered our dinner, and then everyone went around the table to introduce themselves. The new arrivals were sisters in their mid-twenties from Edinburgh, who’d driven up that morning. I was glad there were some girls my own age, though it made my chest ache to look at them. Their constant touches—a hand on the other’s arm as a story was shared, a shoulder jostle when one of them razzed the other—was so reminiscent of how Carrie and I were together that it just made me miss her even more.

Each of the others mentioned some of the previous hikes they’d been on. I mumbled something about some of the day hikes I’d done with Carrie back home (when I was like fifteen, which I didn’t mention), but reality was setting in fast.

I was so out of my league.

The group seemed nice, and dinner was fun. But before long, I could feel my body begin to crash.

I can see that you’re all tired, so we’re going to wrap this up, said Scarlet. Tomorrow morning, we’ll meet at eight forty-five, at the market right across from your B&B so you can get your lunch for tomorrow and the day after. You’ll also want to have at least two to three liters of water with you, as well as some bags for trash.

We settled the bill and exited the pub into the early evening. It was May, and although it was after eight p.m., the sun was only now beginning to set. The road we walked along was atop a hill, providing a view of the brightly colored buildings along the waterfront below.

I’m going to take a walk by the water, I said to Pat, the fifty-something woman from London, who was traveling with her friend Linda while their husbands were golfing in St. Andrews. I’ll see you in the morning.

You sure you can find your way back to the B&B?

She sounded like a British version of my mother, and I had to smile. Yes. I’ll be fine.

All right, then. Good night.

’Night.

I snapped a few shots of the waterfront and then followed the road down and leaned against the railing. Small boats and dinghies were tied off to cleats, and sailboats sat quietly at anchor.

I glanced at the time. Just after three p.m. back home. I dialed the number.

Amelia? Where are you?

Hey, Helen, I said to Carrie’s mom. I’m on Skye. We just had dinner, and we start the walk tomorrow. How is she?

No change. But that means she’s not any worse, she added brightly.

Every day for three weeks now, it was the same. No change. And every day, it killed me a little more to hear that desperate brightness in Helen’s voice. She was right; no change meant that she wasn’t any worse. But would she ever get better?

We just have to stay positive, I said, knowing I should take my own advice. Can I say a quick hi to her?

I gave Carrie a quick rundown of the scenic drive to Skye and briefly described the group, making sure I sounded as upbeat as possible.

After I ended the call, I gazed out at the harbor, willing the serenity of the scene before me to seep into my soul and relieve some of the ache that had been there for so long.

The two sisters from Edinburgh, Molly and Megan, walked on the shore below, their arms linked, laughing about something.

One blonde and one brunette, just like Carrie and me. They could be Carrie and me, the way their strides matched exactly, the way their long ponytails swung from side to side as they walked. The way they laughed so hard that they had to hold onto each other to keep from toppling over.

Tears filled my eyes, and a wave of pain washed over me, so intense that I had to clutch the rail. Would Carrie and I laugh like that again?

Yes, we will. I had to believe it. Anything less was unacceptable.

You should get to bed. We have a long day tomorrow.

I wiped my eyes and turned to see Rory standing a few feet away. Something about his tone got my back up. Scarlet didn’t mention that we had a curfew.

He frowned, clearly not expecting my sarcasm. You don’t. But even though it’s only about eight miles tomorrow, I don’t want you holding up the group because you’re tired and jet-lagged.

My whole body stiffened. First I’m addicted to social media, now I’m holding up the group. Looks like I’m off to a good start. Thank you for your concern, I hissed. It’s time for me to go, anyway.

He looked down for a moment. Amelia—

I held up a hand. "You’re right. I am tired, and it’ll be a long day tomorrow. But you don’t need to be a jerk about it. Again."

I stomped up the hill, all of my earlier serenity gone. Why was he such an ass to me?

It didn’t matter. I didn’t need him to like me. He just had to do his job and guide the trek.

Only eight miles tomorrow, he’d said. I’d done a few ten-mile walks back home over the last two weeks in an effort to prepare myself. But as I looked at the hills overlooking Portree and remembered the peaks that loomed in the distance on the way here, I didn’t think that those flat, paved paths on Long Island were going to be any help at all.

I had bigger things to concern myself with than Rory not liking me.

Chapter Three

Rory

Way to go, jackass. I watched Amelia stalk up the hill, her curtain of shiny brown hair swinging against her back. Though I wasn’t sure why my advice had caused a confrontation. Well, accusing her of holding up the group before you’ve even started walking might have had something to do with it. After insulting her in the van.

I shouldn’t have said that. I was already on edge, which was why I’d walked down by the water. I’d hoped to clear my head, to find some zen in preparation for the week to come, and it hadn’t worked. And suddenly she was there, gazing out over the quiet harbor, looking as though she’d found the peace I’d failed to achieve—except for her hands, which had clutched the railing like it was the only way she could keep upright.

Like she was terrified of what lay ahead.

That was what had set me off. If she was afraid, it meant she was likely inexperienced. Which was fine on an easy trail, but not on Skye. Inexperience led to mistakes. It put other people in jeopardy and led to injury—or worse. You just had to look at the reports from Mountain Rescue to see how true that was.

Maybe I was overreacting. Tommy, with all his psychology classes, would say I was projecting—transferring my own worries on to her. And maybe he would be right.

I trudged back to my B&B and entered the room I was sharing with Tommy. He looked up from his phone, his smile fading. What’s wrong?

I sighed. Tommy knew me too well. I just had a confrontation with Amelia.

His eyebrows went up. Amelia from the group?

I pulled my fleece over my head and stared at him. Do you know another Amelia I’d be likely to encounter in Portree on this particular evening?

He rolled his eyes. No. I guess I’m just trying to figure out why you would have started another fight with a lass in the group who you barely know.

What makes you think I started it? Christ, I sounded like a twelve-year-old.

Because she seems like a nice lass, because you already picked one fight with her, and because I’ve known you for a long time. You always get snappish when we do the Skye Trail.

I don’t—

You do. You could say no, you know, ask Scarlet to have one of the others do Skye. But you never do.

I sank down on the edge of the bed and scrubbed my hands over my face, then met his steady gaze. "No. I have to do it. You know I do."

He nodded. Aye, I know. I just wish you’d stop torturing yourself.

The Skye Trail was challenging, but that wasn’t what either of us was talking about. I’d guided plenty of other treks, some much more difficult than the mountainous and unpredictable Skye Trail, and I’d bagged dozens of Munros—the nickname for Scotland’s peaks that stood three thousand feet or higher.

There were other reasons why the Skye Trail was difficult for me—and why I would keep doing it, over and over again. I had to.

It was my penance.

Chapter Four

Amelia

The next morning, after a forty-minute ride from Portree, our group gathered in a car park on the north end of Skye. Our guides were in cargo shorts and lightweight fleeces, while the rest of us were in long pants and heavier jackets against the chilly morning. Was it a macho thing, or were they really not cold?

Welcome to the beginning of the Skye Trail, said Scarlet. Tommy, you want to start the briefing?

"Rory and I will alternate who leads and who brings up the rear. The Skye Trail isn’t easy. Sometimes we’ll be walking along the edge of a cliff, or out on an exposed ridge in the wind. There are sections where there’s no trail at all, and sections where we’ll be crossing a bog or a burn—that’s a small river for the Yanks who don’t know the lingo. And the weather is often unpredictable. If either of us gives you an order, we expect it to be followed, as it’s for your safety and that of the group. There won’t be any facilities along the way—pretty much ever—but feel free to duck off the trail when you need to.

As you’ll see this week, the trail does occasionally run close to a town or village, but sometimes it doesn’t, which is why some nights we’ll be in a B&B or hostel, and other nights we’ll be camping.

Right. While most people our age chose to vacation near a beach, or perhaps someplace where you could do a hike in the afternoon, Carrie had chosen to walk across half the Isle of Skye. Not because that was the only way to get around—the map had clearly shown that there was at least one perimeter road that would get us almost to the same places—but because she wanted the challenge. And so I would do it. Because she couldn’t.

Rory spoke up. Today’s walk will probably take about six hours, but remember, it’s not a race. We are a group, and we will do this trek as a group. If you wander off ahead, you are no longer our problem, as we won’t be leaving the others behind to go look for you.

I thought about that jagged, imposing mountain range that had been silhouetted against the sky, and a shiver ran through me. I pictured myself wandering around looking for the trail. Alone. Terrified. Hours passing, watching the sun beginning to set, knowing it would soon be dark and a wrong step could mean injury or death. I closed my eyes. I can’t do this. I’m so sorry, Carrie, but I can’t.

A hand came down on my shoulder. We won’t leave you behind, Amelia.

I opened my eyes to see Rory in front of me. His sunglasses were pushed to the top of his head, and his eyes were steady as he looked into mine. I hadn’t noticed their lovely gray-green color the night before.

Wh-what?

It’s Tommy’s and my job to make sure the group stays together. We’re not going to leave anyone behind, I promise. It’s bad for business, he added with a slight quirk of his lips.

His attempt at levity worked, and I could feel myself calming down. Good to know.

It’s why Scarlet keeps the groups small, quipped Tommy. So the guides don’t have to worry about counting too high.

Yeah, once you guys run out of fingers, it gets dicey, she said.

Everyone laughed at that. I managed a small chuckle. Okay? murmured Rory.

Yeah, sorry. I just had a moment. Thanks.

He nodded and returned to his pack, leaving me both surprised and relieved by his unexpected kindness after last night’s jerkage. He squatted down, his cargo shorts riding up to reveal his muscled thighs—not that I noticed—and opened his backpack. My first aid kit is at the top of my pack. Tommy’s is in the same place. It’s extremely unlikely that either or both of us will become incapacitated, but just in case.

Just in case?

We both carry emergency blankets, extra torches—flashlights to you Yanks—and extra food and water, Rory continued. You’ll find that most mobile phones don’t get consistent service out here, but we’re both wearing transponders on our packs, which Scarlet will monitor. In the event of an emergency, we can activate an additional signal that she’ll see. There is also a volunteer Mountain Rescue group, which you can reach by dialing the police first. But it could take them a while to get out here.

He said it so calmly, but my stomach was roiling again.

Calm down. These guys are professionals. They’ve done this many times before, and they know what they’re doing. It’s just a safety announcement, like the ones they do on airplanes.

I knew that. But still.

He zipped up his pack and slung it onto his back. It looked a lot heavier than mine, though he didn’t seem bothered by it.

Okay, guys, said Scarlet, Tommy and Rory will update you on the terrain and conditions as you go, as well as tell you about the sights you’ll see. Don’t hesitate to ask them questions—challenge them a little, she added with a grin. And if you have any issues, please let them know so they can help.

Especially blisters, said Tommy. Those will be your worst enemy on the trail, but if you start to feel one forming, we can hopefully prevent it from getting worse.

Today should be sunny and mild, though as we’ve said, Skye is known for its unexpected weather changes. Make sure you use sun cream so you don’t burn. Okay, have a great walk, and I’ll see you later!

I took a few quick shots of the group as we fell in line behind Tommy.

And we were off.

The path was easy enough to start with, and before long, we caught a glimpse of a ruin on a cliff that jutted into the sea.

That’s Duntulm Castle, said Rory. It was once a MacDonald stronghold—though not Tommy’s branch of the clan—and is, of course, rumored to be haunted.

It looked like a strong wind would send the rest of it tumbling off the edge. What kind of people had lived in this forbidding place, subject to the whims of the wind and the sea?

A short while later, we reached a fence with a gate. Tommy approached it first.

This is called a kissing gate, he said. You’ll see why in a moment. He slipped off his backpack and unlatched the gate, pushing it open as far as it would go, which was just wide enough for him to step in and sidle around it. He would have to face us and push the gate closed in order to continue. It’s sometimes considered tradition for the person going through the gate to kiss the next person in line as they face each other when passing through. Who’s next? he asked with a waggle of his eyebrows.

That’ll be me, said Gordon, sauntering up as everyone laughed. Tommy planted a loud kiss on Gordon’s cheek. Sorry, Lucy, he said with a wink.

Oh, that’s okay. You can have him, she said, but happily accepted a real kiss from her husband as she passed through after him. Everyone seemed to be up for the tradition, kissing cheeks or lips as they passed through the gate.

Mike from Maine gave me a friendly peck on the cheek as he passed through. But when I turned around, it was just Rory behind me. We stared at each other for an awkward moment, and then he suddenly knelt to re-tie his boot.

Whatever. I let the gate slam into place and joined the rest of the group.

Well, that was a cop-out, said Megan.

I laughed at the disappointment on her face. It’s okay. He’s not my type, anyway.

"Girl, that lad is everybody’s type," said Molly.

Ohhh, aye, said Pat, and we all laughed—even harder when Rory looked at us questioningly as he passed.

Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as I’d anticipated. The group seemed nice, and the walk was easy so far. I was starting to sweat under my layers, so clearly Rory and Tommy knew what they were doing with their lightweight clothes. We went up a hill and veered off onto a small path that continued to a summit. The wind was stronger there, and it felt good against my hot skin.

Rory slung his pack to the ground. I’m sure some of you are overheated, so let’s take five minutes to de-layer. While the mornings might be chilly, once you start moving, you’ll warm up fast.

With that, he stripped off his fleece, the bottom of the shirt beneath riding up to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of his taut abs. I looked up just as his head emerged from his fleece, the sun catching the tousled waves and turning them burnished