down completely. And she knew just how to accomplish that task.
If he wanted more fish for supper, than she would be the one to provide them this time. If he could fish, then so could she.
T hinking she could be Jules’s equal, Claire headed outside toward the boathouse. It took much effort to drag the heavy wooden boat she had found there across the grassy field that seemed to go on forever until she reached the shore of the loch.
She glanced around, searching for Jules. Only an hour had passed since they’d been together earlier. When she did not see him, she took off her shoes and left them on the shore. Then, with the hem of her dress clenched tight in her fist, Claire pushed the ancient boat away from the edge of the loch. She took the last three steps on the narrow beach, two in the water, then hopped into the vessel.
Her father had taken her out in a boat several times in her youth. While he studied the fish and animal life, she had drawn the scenery. It had been one of their favorite things to do on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
The wood creaked and moaned beneath her as the boat glided over the steel-gray surface of the loch. She settled herself on the small wooden bench in the center and gripped the oars. It took several strokes to find a rhythm that sent the boat out into the loch, instead of in a circle back toward the shore.
The air around her grew a little cooler. A breeze tugged at the ends of the hair that had fallen from her chignon in her efforts to drag the boat from the boathouse to the water. The air was heavy with the scent of heather and pine. The oars gave forth a rhythmic cadence that seemed so in harmony with this setting.
Claire tipped her head back and let the sunshine warm her face. She drew a breath of clean, fresh air and relished the sensation of freedom that came to her as she glided toward the deeper waters.
She pulled the oars back inside the boat and picked up the net she had tossed in the back of the boat. Cool liquid met her fingertips and dragged down the hem of her gown as water lined the bottom of the boat. Obviously the vessel had a leak, despite the fact that she had inspected it before launching it into the loch.
A quick glance back at the shore in the distance brought a sense of unease, but she pushed the sensation away. She had come here to fish, and to prove to Jules that she was capable. And prove that point she would . . . unless she drowned herself first.
Determined to succeed, Claire turned the boat back toward the shore, then tossed the net over the edge. Several large holes were visible as the net dipped below the surface.
A leaky boat, a hole-filled net—this adventure was not turning out exactly as she had hoped. Dragging the net against the side of the boat with one hand, she reached for the oars and tried to row back to safety, but the netting hampered her movements.
The water level in the boat had risen to her ankles. She felt a pinprick of fear as the frigid water crawled up her skin, but kept rowing. The water was coming in faster now. Realizing she could row faster without the net, she dropped it, watching it for a moment as it sank down into the steel-gray depths of the loch.
Her heart constricted in her chest as the water came up to her midcalf. She had learned to swim as a child. Her father had taught her how, but it had been years since she had been in the water. She gripped the oars, rowed hard. Despite her efforts, the water flowed in, dragging the boat down, making the vessel heavy and impossible to maneuver.
Water slipped over the side. For an instant she floated as the boat slipped out from beneath her, pulling the oars from her hands. She let them go, unable to counter the deadweight. Fear threaded through her as she thrashed at the water. Regardless of her efforts, she slipped below the surface.
She felt herself falling, weightless, her arms spread and her hair escaping the tight chignon to float into her eyes. Cold water sucked at her;
If he wanted more fish for supper, than she would be the one to provide them this time. If he could fish, then so could she.
T hinking she could be Jules’s equal, Claire headed outside toward the boathouse. It took much effort to drag the heavy wooden boat she had found there across the grassy field that seemed to go on forever until she reached the shore of the loch.
She glanced around, searching for Jules. Only an hour had passed since they’d been together earlier. When she did not see him, she took off her shoes and left them on the shore. Then, with the hem of her dress clenched tight in her fist, Claire pushed the ancient boat away from the edge of the loch. She took the last three steps on the narrow beach, two in the water, then hopped into the vessel.
Her father had taken her out in a boat several times in her youth. While he studied the fish and animal life, she had drawn the scenery. It had been one of their favorite things to do on a sunny Sunday afternoon.
The wood creaked and moaned beneath her as the boat glided over the steel-gray surface of the loch. She settled herself on the small wooden bench in the center and gripped the oars. It took several strokes to find a rhythm that sent the boat out into the loch, instead of in a circle back toward the shore.
The air around her grew a little cooler. A breeze tugged at the ends of the hair that had fallen from her chignon in her efforts to drag the boat from the boathouse to the water. The air was heavy with the scent of heather and pine. The oars gave forth a rhythmic cadence that seemed so in harmony with this setting.
Claire tipped her head back and let the sunshine warm her face. She drew a breath of clean, fresh air and relished the sensation of freedom that came to her as she glided toward the deeper waters.
She pulled the oars back inside the boat and picked up the net she had tossed in the back of the boat. Cool liquid met her fingertips and dragged down the hem of her gown as water lined the bottom of the boat. Obviously the vessel had a leak, despite the fact that she had inspected it before launching it into the loch.
A quick glance back at the shore in the distance brought a sense of unease, but she pushed the sensation away. She had come here to fish, and to prove to Jules that she was capable. And prove that point she would . . . unless she drowned herself first.
Determined to succeed, Claire turned the boat back toward the shore, then tossed the net over the edge. Several large holes were visible as the net dipped below the surface.
A leaky boat, a hole-filled net—this adventure was not turning out exactly as she had hoped. Dragging the net against the side of the boat with one hand, she reached for the oars and tried to row back to safety, but the netting hampered her movements.
The water level in the boat had risen to her ankles. She felt a pinprick of fear as the frigid water crawled up her skin, but kept rowing. The water was coming in faster now. Realizing she could row faster without the net, she dropped it, watching it for a moment as it sank down into the steel-gray depths of the loch.
Her heart constricted in her chest as the water came up to her midcalf. She had learned to swim as a child. Her father had taught her how, but it had been years since she had been in the water. She gripped the oars, rowed hard. Despite her efforts, the water flowed in, dragging the boat down, making the vessel heavy and impossible to maneuver.
Water slipped over the side. For an instant she floated as the boat slipped out from beneath her, pulling the oars from her hands. She let them go, unable to counter the deadweight. Fear threaded through her as she thrashed at the water. Regardless of her efforts, she slipped below the surface.
She felt herself falling, weightless, her arms spread and her hair escaping the tight chignon to float into her eyes. Cold water sucked at her;
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