He counted it a homecoming of sorts. Cadell picked up the rental car at Prestwick airport on a fine midsummer day in Scotland. Several years had passed since he drove through Glasgow toward Loch Lomond. Deciding he was far too tired to risk taking the longer more scenic route, the A737, Cadell settled for the M77 then the A82 up the west side of the loch.
Forty-eight hours of travel had Cadell more than ready to find a comfortable bed in the MacGrough Glen. Too many hours in too many uncomfortable seats, caused his body to ache along with his head. But it would be good to see everyone again.
His Dad and his stepmother, Catherine, along with their young son, Glendon, would be celebrating their six-year anniversary. He wouldn’t be allowed to dodge this year's celebration. He understood it to be a huge combination twenty-eight-year anniversary celebration for his Uncle Hamish and Aunt Lori as well.
Cadell adjusted the rearview mirror before buckling up the seat belt. If he asked someone would have picked him up. But he wanted his own transportation as he might need to get away for a while.
A niggling feeling of guilt caused a lump to form in his throat. His liaison, a better word might be tryst, with Davina, invaded his thoughts. Only fifteen at the time, Davina had been a beauty. Lust did play its part, but more than that, he needed Davina as he needed sunshine.
She brought warmth and peace to him when he got enmeshed in turmoil. Quite aware of the difference in their ages, he tried to ignore his feelings. But she drew him as steel to a magnet.
Until the very last night, Cadell managed to deny his need for her. As an unwanted melody, the vision of Davina's long slim fingers reaching for the buttons of her shirt rose in his mind.
His deep sense of shame played a major part in his refusal to return to the Glen for the last few years. Guilt nagged him over that. He should have returned before this. Grandmum Wier was old, and not well. At eighty-nine, she had every right to be slowing down. Thankfully, she still lived. If she died before he could see her again… Cadell dismissed that thought, he would be seeing her soon.
As he swung the Range Rover out onto the A79 motorway, Cadell wondered why on earth he didn't rent something smaller. With a slight grin, he supposed it might be because he was out of practice driving on the wrong side. Also, it might be because he gotten used to Humvees.
At the very bottom of his refusal to return, if he decided to be strictly honest with himself, sat guilt and resentment. He didn’t want to see Davina's lovely face for a while. The miserable way he treated her burned his conscience.
Yet, he resented the lack of communication. There hadn't been one message from her in the intervening four years. Not a hint of anything from Davina.
Why should there be? Cadell asked himself as he drove on toward the roundabout where he would pickup the A78. He made it clear to her, one night was all they could have. The hurt in her eyes stayed with him.
Since the day he came to live with Hamish and Lori in the Glen, Davina became his almost constant companion. At thirteen, Davina was anything but an awkward teenager. With her long black hair and deep dark eyes, she reminded him of the small bust of the Egyptian Queen, Nefertiti. She possessed the same elegant features with lovely high cheekbones and a neck made for draping with jewels.
MacGrough Glen became his home the year his mother died, 2007. A blowout caused his beautiful blonde mother to go off a twisting road in Rio de Janeiro. At the time, his dad had been on tour for Uncle Hamish. But everything got cut short, and he came home for Cadell. They flew directly to Scotland after the funeral. His Uncle Hamish was the first person he saw and the first to hug him tightly.
Right fine way to repay him, having sex with his fifteen-year-old daughter. Once again, Cadell castigated himself for his lapse in judgment. It didn't matter that Davina had thrown herself at him when she knew he must leave. She was Hamish and Lori's baby girl and he ignored the fact for a half hour of stolen bliss.
Bliss did describe what took place between them. At twenty-two, he understood things better than Davina did. But every time he thought about her, he ached inside. Shame still haunted him, worse yet, he still wanted her. Not another woman, not that he could call a fifteen-year-old girl a woman, ever came close.
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