Highland Mist Read Online Free
Author: Rose Burghley
more?”
“I should imagine that’s quite enough unless you have a reasonably large car,” Charles replied with a note of disdain which he might, or might not, have been aware rendered his voice distinctly ungracious.
Euan MacLeod merely looked at him.
“I can shove them away in the boot.”
Toni felt herself blushing for Charles, just as a minute or so before she had very nearly blushed for her mother, with whom Charles was temporarily out of patience.
“It’s awfully good of you, Mr. MacLeod,” she said impulsively, and with one suitcase balanced on his shoulder, another under his arm, and yet another in his free hand, he turned and looked at her.
“Not at all, Miss—?”
“Drew,” she supplied, with nervous eagerness. “Antonia Drew.”
“Delighted, Miss Drew,” he assured her smoothly. Then he looked at Henderson, and his blue eyes hardened. They made Toni think of hard blue stars on a frosty night. “I’m not at all sure I can get through, but I’ll do my best. If I fail it’ll be up to you!”
“If you fail,” Charles retorted curtly, “we’ll be in the devil of a mess. So I sincerely hope you will not fail!”
Looking back on that drive in after days, the wonder of it was to Toni that they ever attempted it. If the two men had been different types—or if they hadn’t taken such an instantaneous dislike to one another, with the result that a strange sort of obstinacy entered into each of them, and discretion was temporarily banished to the winds—they might not have attempted it. They might have listened to the stationmaster’s half-hearted effort to dissuade them at the last moment.
“If you get stranded with the lass it’ll no’ be very comfortable for her. Why not stay here for an hour or so to see if the wind drops?”
“In that case we’ll be here all night,” Euan MacLeod snapped back at him, and Charles Henderson agreed. It was practically the only thing they were to agree about for the next twenty-four hours.
The night, now it had closed down, was very dark, as well as full of the blinding white particles driven by an icy wind. MacLeod’s car was a fairly roomy one, and its boot accommodated the better part of the luggage—Toni kept her feet on the only case that wouldn’t go into the boot—but it was very old, and it smelled of oil and spare parts. There was a box of provisions on the seat beside Toni, but she didn’t realize they were provisions until some time afterwards. There was also a sack of flour.
Charles sat in the front beside the driver. In the dim light from the dashboard Toni could see his dark head—bare as it always was, even when he was attending a fashionable wedding (in which case he carried his top hat in his hand)—shining as it had shone in the ray of light from her sleeper doorway the night before. Euan MacLeod’s luxuriant curls were just a dark thatch in front of her.
For a half-mile or so the going was not impossible, although as the windscreen wipers failed to function, it was necessarily very slow. Even so, the car had been built for speed, and occasionally it picked it up and they roared blindly into the night, with MacLeod bending forward to peer through the windscreen and rubbing fruitlessly with his handkerchief at the inside of it. Henderson offered the suggestion more than once that they stop and clear the windscreen of snow, which they did, although MacLeod said he knew the road like the back of his hand.
“In that case we’ll almost certainly arrive some time or other,” Henderson observed dryly. “Although whether in one piece or not I wouldn’t like to say.”
The other man frowned fiercely at the little he could see of the way ahead.
“Normally I don’t go as far as Inverada House,” he explained. “And I was referring to my own particular stretch of the road.” His thick brows knitted themselves together as he was forced into a skid to avoid a sheep that blundered recklessly right in front of his
“I should imagine that’s quite enough unless you have a reasonably large car,” Charles replied with a note of disdain which he might, or might not, have been aware rendered his voice distinctly ungracious.
Euan MacLeod merely looked at him.
“I can shove them away in the boot.”
Toni felt herself blushing for Charles, just as a minute or so before she had very nearly blushed for her mother, with whom Charles was temporarily out of patience.
“It’s awfully good of you, Mr. MacLeod,” she said impulsively, and with one suitcase balanced on his shoulder, another under his arm, and yet another in his free hand, he turned and looked at her.
“Not at all, Miss—?”
“Drew,” she supplied, with nervous eagerness. “Antonia Drew.”
“Delighted, Miss Drew,” he assured her smoothly. Then he looked at Henderson, and his blue eyes hardened. They made Toni think of hard blue stars on a frosty night. “I’m not at all sure I can get through, but I’ll do my best. If I fail it’ll be up to you!”
“If you fail,” Charles retorted curtly, “we’ll be in the devil of a mess. So I sincerely hope you will not fail!”
Looking back on that drive in after days, the wonder of it was to Toni that they ever attempted it. If the two men had been different types—or if they hadn’t taken such an instantaneous dislike to one another, with the result that a strange sort of obstinacy entered into each of them, and discretion was temporarily banished to the winds—they might not have attempted it. They might have listened to the stationmaster’s half-hearted effort to dissuade them at the last moment.
“If you get stranded with the lass it’ll no’ be very comfortable for her. Why not stay here for an hour or so to see if the wind drops?”
“In that case we’ll be here all night,” Euan MacLeod snapped back at him, and Charles Henderson agreed. It was practically the only thing they were to agree about for the next twenty-four hours.
The night, now it had closed down, was very dark, as well as full of the blinding white particles driven by an icy wind. MacLeod’s car was a fairly roomy one, and its boot accommodated the better part of the luggage—Toni kept her feet on the only case that wouldn’t go into the boot—but it was very old, and it smelled of oil and spare parts. There was a box of provisions on the seat beside Toni, but she didn’t realize they were provisions until some time afterwards. There was also a sack of flour.
Charles sat in the front beside the driver. In the dim light from the dashboard Toni could see his dark head—bare as it always was, even when he was attending a fashionable wedding (in which case he carried his top hat in his hand)—shining as it had shone in the ray of light from her sleeper doorway the night before. Euan MacLeod’s luxuriant curls were just a dark thatch in front of her.
For a half-mile or so the going was not impossible, although as the windscreen wipers failed to function, it was necessarily very slow. Even so, the car had been built for speed, and occasionally it picked it up and they roared blindly into the night, with MacLeod bending forward to peer through the windscreen and rubbing fruitlessly with his handkerchief at the inside of it. Henderson offered the suggestion more than once that they stop and clear the windscreen of snow, which they did, although MacLeod said he knew the road like the back of his hand.
“In that case we’ll almost certainly arrive some time or other,” Henderson observed dryly. “Although whether in one piece or not I wouldn’t like to say.”
The other man frowned fiercely at the little he could see of the way ahead.
“Normally I don’t go as far as Inverada House,” he explained. “And I was referring to my own particular stretch of the road.” His thick brows knitted themselves together as he was forced into a skid to avoid a sheep that blundered recklessly right in front of his