Alex Ryder - Shores Of Love

Avalon’s spirits sank. Four hours by boat! This place must be even more remote than she’d thought ‘You mentioned a harbour,’ she persisted. ‘Is it far from here?’

‘Put on that dressing-gown and I’ll show it to you,’ offered Kirsty.

A few moments later they were standing at the front door of the cottage. From here there was a commanding view over the fair-sized fishing village. Nestled in a sheltered bay the white-painted houses and buildings looked clean and well-looked-after. A few brightly painted fishing boats were tied up at the jetty in the sleepy-looking harbour but there was nothing remotely resembling a motor-cruiser.

Avalon breathed a silent sigh of relief. She was safe for the moment, at least.

‘What do you think?’ asked Kirsty at her elbow. ‘Pretty little place, isn’t it?’

Avalon wasn’t yet in the mood to appreciate the finer points of the scenery but she murmured politely, ‘It’s lovely. Very picturesque. What’s it called?’

‘Port Suilvach.’ Kirsty pointed across the bay to an imposing, granite-built mansion, half hidden behind a stand of pine trees. ‘That’s the Chief’s house. You’ll be staying there from now on.’ She paused for a moment, then added, ‘I really expected you sooner, but better late than never, I suppose.’

Avalon eyed her uncertainly. There was something decidedly odd going on here. Or perhaps it was just Kirsty. She was pleasant enough but seemed a bit eccentric.

They went back inside the cottage and Avalon had a chance to look around. Although there was an atmosphere of solid comfort she had the peculiar feeling that she’d entered some sort of time-warp. A fire burned brightly in an ancient blackleaded grate that apparently served for cooking and heating water as well as providing warmth. An old Victorian sideboard surmounted by silver-framed photographs and two blue and white china dogs took up most of one side of the room while a sombre-looking grandfather clock stood in the corner, reluctantly ticking off the seconds.

‘Bacon and eggs suit you?’ Kirsty asked cheerfully.

Avaion, feeling lost and rather foolish standing there in her grossly oversized slippers and dressing-gown, nodded and admitted quietly that she felt as if she hadn’t eaten for a week.

Kirsty beamed. ‘A healthy appetite is a good sign. Well, the bathroom is through that door. By the time you’ve had your bath I’ll have your breakfast ready.’

The bath was a cast-iron and chipped enamel museum piece, but as Avalon relaxed in the hot sudsy water she wasn’t inclined to be critical. She had far too much to be thankful for—not least the fact that she was being offered such overwhelming hospitality by a complete stranger.

More relaxed now, Avalon considered her next move. Perhaps she should just try to forget all about Mr Smith and his friends and put it down to experience. No doubt the law would catch up with him sooner or later. She definitely didn’t want to see or get involved with them again, and if she reported them to the police she’d end up having to go to court and answer a lot of damned awkward questions. Once she got back to London she’d simply fade anonymously into the population and try to start a new life.

Half an hour later, pink and glowing and feeling at least halfway civilised in her own freshly laundered clothes, she sat at the plain deal table and pushed her empty plate away. ‘That was delicious, Kirsty. I’ve never enjoyed a breakfast as much as that.’

Kirsty chuckled. ‘Aye. I could tell by the way you were tucking in.’ She produced a battered tin full of dark tobacco and deftly rolled herself a cigarette then, after tapping it expertly on her thumb, lit it and blew an acrid cloud of smoke at the ceiling. ‘I don’t suppose folk from London ever bother to bake their own bread. And of course the eggs come from my own hens out the back and the butter is fresh-made in the village creamery. And the water here isn’t full of chemicals. Oh, aye, you’ll find a big difference living here in Port Suilvach.’

It was on the tip of Avalon’s tongue to tell her that she’d no intention of staying here any longer than she could help when there was a loud rap at the front door and her heart gave a lurch. Could that be Mr Smith—or one of his gang—searching for her?

Kirsty gave her an odd look followed by a reassuring smile, then called out loudly, ‘Come in, Jamie.’

A tousled, red-haired, freckle-faced eight-year-old burst in and handed Avalon a shoebox along with a torrent of Gaelic and only stopped when Kirsty reproved him gently. ‘Mind your manners, Jamie. Avalon doesn’t have the Gaelic yet. You must talk to her in English.’

The boy flushed, grinned, then said breathlessly, ‘You have to try them on and if they don’t fit I’ve to take them back and get them changed and is there anything else you need?’

They were top-of-the-range trainers. Avalon tried them on, then smiled at the boy. ‘They’re perfect, Jamie. And no, there’s nothing else I need at the moment.’

As soon as he’d gone Avalon poured another two cups of tea from the enormous teapot. ‘We’ll have this then I’ll help you with the washing-up,’ she offered. ‘Then I’ll have to go down to the village. Do you think there’s any chance of me finding a few days’ work there?’

The brown eyes widened in shocked surprise. ‘Work? But…why?’

‘Why?’ Avalon repeated. ‘Because I’ve no money, that’s why. I’ll have to earn enough to repay you for all this and then pay my fare home. Of course I suppose I could always hitchhike. That would save—’

‘Oh, you poor wee thing!’ Kirsty burst out suddenly. ‘I…I didn’t realise. You still haven’t any idea why you were brought here. How could you? You must have been wondering what I was talking about half the time.’

‘Well…’ said Avalon, feeling thoroughly bemused at Kirsty’s outburst. ‘I’m sorry, Kirsty, but at the risk of appearing rude I still don’t know what you’re talking about. No one brought me here. It was just—-just an accident.’

‘You may think it was an accident but it was all planned by them,’ Kirsty maintained stoutly. ‘They told me. How else do you think I knew your name or that you came from London?’

She could see that Kirsty was beginning to get agitated and she replied in a calm, reasonable voice. ‘Well, anyone can tell from my accent that I come from London. And, as for my name…Well, perhaps you heard me talking in my sleep last night That’s the most likely explanation, isn’t it?’

Kirsty gave an emphatic shake to her head. ‘You must believe me, Avalon. The guardians brought you here to us. Your destiny is here.’

Oh, God, thought Avalon. She’d been right. There definitely was something odd about Kirsty. Guardians…and destiny? Mild delusions, more likely. Perhaps she’d been living here too long on her own. There was probably a medical name for it.

Kirsty heaved a sigh. ‘Oh, dear. I suppose the sooner you know the truth the better.’

Avalon gave her a cautious smile. You didn’t argue in cases like this. You simply played along and pretended to agree with everything they said.

‘I’ve known about you coming here for the last two months,’ Kirsty began quietly. ‘The guardians told me to expect you. They assured me that the old tradition would carry on.’

‘And what tradition is that?’ Avalon asked with feigned interest.

‘The bride of the Clan Chief always comes from the sea.’ Kirsty took another puff at her cigarette. ‘You can’t deny that you came from the sea, can you?’

Somehow, Avalon managed not to laugh outright. ‘No. You’re right about that So you’re telling me that I was brought here to marry this…this…What was his name again?’