Page 42 of Savage Blooms (Unearthly Delights #1)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Finley

Nothing good, Finley had always privately thought, could ever really last. His sullen nature wasn’t something he was particularly proud of, and his mother had always said he was the most pessimistic child she had ever met, a surly old man walking around in the body of a little boy.

But Finley had only ever known a world in which the fulfillment of his wildest fantasies – a single-bed dorm room with his name on the door, Eileen in his arms calling him beloved – were followed up with tragedy and misery and death.

He had lasted all of four months at university before his father had gotten so ill he couldn’t tend the grounds any more, and Finley had dutifully returned home to help him pack for his retirement cottage on the Isle of Skye, finding Craigmar unchanged and Eileen waiting for him in the doorway of the big house with wounded eyes.

He had heard her tell him she loved him more times than he could count, but every time they tried for a baby, Eileen’s brutal monthlies returned with a vengeance, and every time they let themselves dream for one foolish moment about getting married, those dreams would be dashed as the reality of their situation set in.

She needed a suitable partner, one who could pad the threadbare bank accounts or at the very least help her carry on her family’s grief-filled legacy.

Finley knew that.

It didn’t make it hurt any less.

But even though Finley didn’t believe in the permanence of joy, the next few days at Craigmar stretched long and languid, like the first day of summer that, every year, felt like it would never end.

Eileen was kind to him, circling his waist with her arms and nuzzling her face into his chest while she asked about his day, or asked him to make them a pot of tea.

Nicola was charming, telling him about her works-in-progress as she piled her arms with books from his personal library, swearing that she wouldn’t dog-ear a single one, and that she would pay him back in kisses.

Even Adam was far more pleasant, helping Finley haul firewood and do dishes and inviting him into a spirited but friendly round of checkers in the parlor.

As excited as Adam seemed about being part of Eileen’s family – Finley couldn’t understand why, as he had never met a Kirkfoyle who didn’t end up cursing their own name – he didn’t act high and mighty about it, which Finley appreciated.

Finley saw Adam and Nicola walking together often, bundled up against the mist as they chatted animatedly to each other, or stealing kisses in the rain, the library, on the master staircase.

Anywhere really. They were like the hares depicted in the paintings and stained glass all around the house: sweet and soft and desperate to fuck.

It was damn near close to a functioning household, with chores split four ways and meals made tastier by good company and the sun finally starting to shine more clearly and more brightly with each passing day.

The wildflowers would be in full, riotous bloom soon, and Finley very much hoped Nicola would stay at Craigmar long enough for him to show them to her.

Privately, he hoped she would stay long enough for him to show her the autumn leaves too. It was a foolish hope, and greedy besides, but if Eileen was endlessly selfish in every walk of life, maybe Finley could be selfish with his heart, just this once.

He was in such good spirits, despite his built-in aversion to feeling comfortable in his own happiness, that he decided to plant some bluebells in the cauldron-style planters moldering in the shed, and then line the drive with flowers.

Finley usually didn’t bother with decorating the big house for any reason; it was in a state of marked disrepair, and with no team of staff to see to its upkeep, there was no point in gilding any lilies.

But Eileen loved bluebells, so why not take a chance on making things look extra beautiful, just this once?

The bluebells took less time than he thought, so Finley decided to take the scenic route back to his cottage, cutting through the woods and passing by the loch where he had spent so many summer days as a child.

It was a small, dark pool, hardly big enough for a boat, but it had made a fine swimming pool for him and Eileen year upon year growing up.

When he crested the hill and spied the loch in the distance, he was surprised to find there was someone in the water, swimming steady laps and sending ripples shuddering out to the edge of the shore.

Finley stopped and peered through the trees, wondering if he was going to have to shoo some townie kid out of Eileen’s loch.

But then the swimmer looked over their shoulder and Finley realized that it was Adam.

Adam’s clothes lay discarded in a heap on the banks of the loch, and the sunlight glanced off the muscles working in his shining shoulders.

With his hair slicked back from his face, he had a more severe appearance, almost aristocratic.

He looked perfectly at home, for all the world like a young lord making recreational use of his ancestral land.

Finley had never been oblivious to the fact that Adam was good-looking, nor that their ostensive rivalry had an edge of eroticism to it.

But every time Finley had noticed himself really noticing Adam, he had talked himself out of it.

So what if Adam’s eyes were a shade of blue Finley had only ever read about in fairy tales?

That wasn’t any of Finley’s business. And perhaps it had been thrilling beyond measure for Adam to entrust himself into Finley’s hands as the eager student of kink, but surely any excitement Finley felt about that had more to do with Eileen than with Adam.

And perhaps Finley was defensive of Adam’s well-being, and increasingly concerned about him getting caught in the crossfire of Eileen’s moods or schemes.

All that meant was that he was a decent person. Nothing untoward about it.

But as Finley watched Adam’s strong breaststroke, the reality settled in. Out there, with no one to witness it, Finley really let himself look. And for one shameful, secret moment, he let himself yearn.

Then, Finley tore his eyes away.

The last thing he needed in his life was another Kirkfoyle tangling up the strings of his heart.

Adam was a distraction he couldn’t afford, not if he wanted to keep his sanity.

The longer Adam remained at Craigmar, the harder it would be for Finley to keep him at arm’s length, but that was exactly what Finley needed to do, for all their sakes.

He turned to go, navigating down the rocky hill.

Then a wordless shout pierced the air.

Adam.

Finley trekked back up the hill and peered down into the loch. Adam was nowhere to be found. There was just a series of ripples emanating from the center of the loch, where bubbles were disrupting the surface of the water. Had he tried to dive down to the bottom?

Finley waited for three heartbeats, then four and then five as he anticipated Adam coming back up from under the water.

Six heartbeats passed.

Seven.

Where was he?

Adam burst from the water with a ragged gasp, his arms flailing. Finley’s stomach lurched.

Something was wrong.

Adam struggled to catch his breath, then disappeared beneath the waves again. When he came up for air a second time, he could barely keep his head above water.

He was being dragged under.

Finley was watching a man drown.

“Goddamnit,” Finley swore, then wrenched off his shoes and shucked off his jacket. He ran down the side of the hill, heedless of the sharp rocks underfoot, and hurled himself down the dock.

Without thinking twice, he dove into the green waters of the loch.

The water was bracingly cold but not shockingly so, and Finley knew this loch from his youth. It was ancient, but it wasn’t that deep, and Finley could swim to the bottom before losing his breath.

Adam was thrashing in the water when Finley found him, fighting off some unseen foe. He had kicked up so much sediment that Finley could barely make out anything at all, but strange shadows loomed up behind Adam.

Finley’s eyes must be playing tricks on him, because he could have sworn he saw a webbed hand circle Adam’s ankle and tug him further towards a watery grave.

Without sacrificing precious brain space to processing what he was seeing, Finley hooked his hands under Adam’s arms and began to kick furiously back up towards the surface.

Adam was lead in his grasp, heavier than he ought to be, and for a moment Finley believed they wouldn’t make it.

They were going to die down here. He thought of Eileen finding them both floating bloated and lifeless in the loch, of Nicola’s shrieking cries of grief.

He thought of his father on Skye, receiving the news with watery eyes.

Then, just as his morbid visions were pressing down on him with the weight of the suffocating water, Finley broke through to the surface.

He gulped in air, eyes stinging, chest heaving. Adam was still a dead weight, and the comparison suddenly seemed all too apt. Finley laboriously kicked through the water until he could feel the silt and stone of the loch bed underfoot, and then he dragged Adam out of the water.

Somehow, Finley managed to get them both onto dry ground. A merciless wind whipped down off the mountains, making Finley shiver, but Adam didn’t stir at all, which was more concerning. He had stripped down to his boxers, and his lips and eyelids were blue.

“Adam,” Finley pleaded, kneeling on the water-smooth stones next to the other man. “Adam, wake up.”

He jostled Adam’s shoulder but nothing happened. He couldn’t really tell if Adam’s chest was rising or falling; if he was breathing, it was only shallowly.