Page 40 of Vows of Revenge

He turned back to her. ‘I need to keep my strength up,’ he said.

He dropped a kiss on her mouth. As he drew back, his eyes were glinting. They were the colour of the dark, peaty loch water, Kassia thought, as she gazed helplessly back.

‘And so do you,’ he murmured wickedly. He kissed her again. ‘Glad we came?’ he asked.

Her eyes shone as she answered him. ‘Oh, yes,’ she breathed. ‘Oh, yes.’

Her questions—questions she did not even want to ask—evaporated into the clear Highland air. Perhaps she had known Damos only a short while, and perhaps she was being swept away by him, by her own happiness—but how could she argue against it?

And it wasn’t just the sensual ecstasy she found in his arms.

That first day with him, after bumping into him like that, out of the blue in Oxford, surely had been a sign? And the easiness between them, when she had never thought there could ever be anything between them—surely that told her there was a connection there? Something that went beyond the heady delights of the nights they spent together?

We can talk together, laugh together, be together. And it feels so right, so natural...as if it were meant to be...

Surely all that was a sign that what was happening between them was good? That she could trust it. Trust Damos—and trust this wonderful, blissful happiness...

‘Good,’ he said, and there was satisfaction in his voice. Then he pointed towards the end of the little beach. ‘There’s a path there. Shall we see where it leads? Work up an appetite for lunch?’

He set off, and Kassia followed. The path was wide enough, threading between the shoreline and the spruce and birch, to afford easy going along its mossed surface, even in the trainers she and Damos were wearing. For anything more demanding, let alone bagging a Munro, they would definitely need proper walking boots.

They got them the following morning, after driving into the local town—a good twelve miles away from their remote castle—together with a fearsome array of mountain-proof gear that Damos insisted on. Kassia smiled indulgently. He was so enthusiastic she hardly liked to point out to him they were unlikely to need quite so much.

The shopkeeper was perfectly happy to cater to his foreign customer’s very expensive enthusiasm, and as they finally left, piling umpteen bag-loads into the back of the four-by-four Damos had hired when they’d landed at the airport on arrival, Kassia smiled fondly.

‘You,’ she said, ‘have made that Scotsman a happy, happy man!’ Her expression sobered. ‘I just wish you hadn’t bought so much for me, though, Damos.’

He shut the tailgate with a slam.

‘How could I bag a Munro without you? I wouldn’t even know what one was, for a start! Now, all that kitting up has made me hungry. Where shall we have lunch? How about over there?’

He pointed across a cobbled square lined with solid granite buildings towards an ancient-looking pub.

They walked towards it together, Kassia slipping her hand into Damos’s, knowing how right it felt. How very right it felt to be with him. She felt a glow inside her. However much she might have rushed into this affair with Damos, it was something she was going to trust.

Because I know I can.

Damos’s brow furrowed in concentration. Duncan MacFadyen, the husband half of the castle’s married couple, was teaching him how to cast a fishing line. It required focus, and just the right amount of flexibility in the wrist.

‘Aye, that’s right, your grip’s fine. Now, lift back, and—’

The line shot forward, arcing across the water. Damos, like his tutor, was standing calf-deep, wearing waders, in the shallow, fast-flowing river.

‘Och, not bad...not bad, laddie,’ said Duncan MacFadyen. ‘Now, reel it in and try again. Watch for those low trees, mind, or they’ll tangle your line in a gnat’s breath!’

Damos did as he was instructed. His focus was absolute. But then, when his mind was set on something, when he saw a goal he wanted to achieve, he went after it until he had it in his possession—whether it was skill at fly-fishing, or...

His thoughts were diverted for a moment. Behind him, curled up on a groundsheet and tartan rug on the bank, he knew Kassia was sitting, half reading, half watching him, enjoying the pale Scottish sunshine, batting away the midges.

Kassia—her name was sweet in his head. Sweeter than he had ever imagined it would be. But then, how could it not be? She was all that he wanted, and this remote spot in the Highlands was the perfect place for her to be with him. It gave him Kassia all to himself, far away from anyone else. His thoughts were shadowed for a moment. Far away from Greece, where word might get out of their being together. His eyes darkened as he thought of her father and Cosmo Palandrou. Then, deliberately, he pushed them both aside. That whole business was for later—not now.

The shadow left his eyes. Now was for Kassia, for his time with her, for their time together.

And how good it was...how very, very good. Every single moment of every single twenty-four hours.

He felt his breath catch with searing memories. By night, Kassia’s passion for him swept him away. She was as ardent in his arms as that very first amazing night. She gave herself so totally to him, so completely—and he returned it in full. Never had he known how it could be...

And by day? Oh, by day there was hour after hour of good times, one after another.

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