Loving Our Heroes. Jessica Hart
wouldn’t have been as interesting, though,’ said Tilly, meaning it, but Campbell clearly thought that she was joking.
‘I’ve had the mick taken out of me for years,’ he said in a resigned voice. ‘Anyone would think I had some bizarre fetish. It’s only military history, for God’s sake.’
‘But why the Romans?’
He shrugged. ‘I like their logical approach. Their sense of order. They were great engineers. Great strategists.’
‘And successful,’ Tilly reminded him, sure that was the key to their appeal for him. ‘The Romans were winners, too.’ She caught his look. ‘Hey, I did history at school. Roman history may not be my bedtime reading, but I’m not completely ignorant!’
She studied him from under her lashes as she toiled on beside him. She hoped he wasn’t regretting telling her. She rather liked the idea of him sitting quietly and reading by the fire, and was touched by the fact that he seemed faintly embarrassed by it, as if he had confessed some weakness.
‘So…have you got a fantasy meal cooking in the background while you read your book?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not someone who spends a lot of time thinking about food,’ he said. ‘I eat what’s put in front of me. I’ll have some of your roast.’
Tilly wished he hadn’t said that. It was enough to conjure up an instant cosy domestic scene. There she was, upstairs in the bath, and there was Campbell by the fire. Any minute now he would look at his watch, put his book down and go and check on the roast, then he would come upstairs and sit on the edge of the bath.
I’ve turned the potatoes, he would say, topping up her glass. If you were going to have a fantasy, Tilly believed, you might as well make it a really good one. Will you be much longer?
And Tilly would sip her champagne and ask him to wash her back while he was there. She could almost feel his warm, firm hands soaping her, and obviously he wouldn’t stop at her back …
‘That must be some bath.’
Campbell’s voice jerked Tilly out of her daydream. ‘What?’ Disorientated, she looked around her to find that she had somehow made it to the top of the hill without even realising it.
‘You haven’t said a word for the last mile. I’m impressed by the power of your fantasising!’
If only he knew.
A guilty flush stained Tilly’s cheeks and her eyes slid away from his just in case an ability to mind-read was something else he had forgotten to mention, along with a knowledge of ancient military history.
Now that she had snapped out of it, she was appalled at herself. What had she been thinking? Harry and Seb had been right. She had been on her own too long. It was time she found another man.
At least she knew she was over Olivier. He had been the focus of her fantasies for quite a while, most of them involving him crawling back and confessing that he had made a terrible mistake. Satisfying in their own way, but nowhere near as erotic as the one that had carried her up the hillside.
‘Perhaps I can make one of your fantasies come true,’ said Campbell, digging in his rucksack.
For a blanket? Tilly wondered wildly and gulped. She must get a grip.
‘Which one?’ she asked, appalled to hear that her voice came out as barely more than a croak.
‘Chocolate,’ he said, and produced a bar. ‘You can have a rest for ten minutes, too.’
Tilly didn’t know whether she was disappointed or relieved. ‘Great,’ she said weakly.
The light was already going from the sky and the air was cooling rapidly as she perched on her pack. Unwrapping the chocolate, she broke the bar in half and offered part to Campbell, who shook his head.
‘You have it,’ he said.
He was fast becoming a fantasy man in reality, thought Tilly ruefully. A man who gave you chocolate and insisted you ate it all without sharing.
Unaware of the trend of her thoughts, Campbell was unfolding the map that he had shoved carelessly into his pocket.
‘Isn’t it a bit late to be looking at that now?’ said Tilly through a mouthful of chocolate. ‘I hope you’re not about to tell me that we’ve climbed the wrong hills?’
She almost wished he would so that she could go back to feeling cross with him. It would be a lot easier than this unnerving awareness. See what happened when you let your fantasies get out of control?
‘No, we’re in the right place. I’m sure Roger’s GPS would tell us exactly the same thing.’
‘Then why aren’t they here with us?’
‘We had a head start, remember? And Roger may well take a different route to Ben Nuarrh.’
‘I bet it’s an easier one!’
‘This is quicker,’ said Campbell firmly.
He passed Tilly the map. ‘We’re here,’ he said, pointing, and Tilly found her eyes riveted on his hand. The one that had done such incredible things with the soap in her fantasy…
‘Concentrate, Jenkins!’ Campbell’s peremptory tone made her jump. ‘You’re fading out, there.’
‘Oh…um, yes…sorry…I’m just a bit tired.’
A frown touched his eyes as he glanced at her. ‘I thought we’d camp there,’ he said, moving his finger on the map. ‘Do you think you can make it, or will you need a new fantasy to get you there?’
Tilly swallowed. ‘I think I’ve done enough fantasising for today!’
‘Are you ready to get on, then? I can’t promise a bath or a bed, but we’ll have something to eat and you’ll be able to sleep.’
‘That’ll be enough for me,’ said Tilly.
It was a mistake to have stopped. She found the last leg a real struggle. The threatened blister had become a reality, and her feet were killing her. She was stiff, too, and tired and cold.
Seeing her hobbling, Campbell took her pack for her and managed to walk just as easily with two. He stayed beside her, encouraging her up the last steep slope, and refusing to let her stop when she threatened to collapse.
Tilly couldn’t have done it without him, but she was vaguely distrustful of his motives all the same. It was all very well being Mr Nice Guy now. She might appreciate his help, but she knew quite well that he was only doing it because he wanted to get to the top of Ben Nuarrh first.
Her father was just the same—determined to get his own way whatever happened. If charm was the easiest way to get what he wanted, he would lay it on with a trowel, but he would never lose sight of his goal. Tilly had learnt early to distrust men who’d do anything to win, but it was still hard not to warm treacherously at the approval in Campbell’s voice as he practically carried her the last few yards.
‘Well done.’
It was almost dark by then, so Tilly couldn’t see much. They were somewhere high on the flank of Ben Nuarrh, that much she knew, and Campbell seemed to have found a sheltered hollow where a peaty burn ran between granite outcrops and there was enough flattish, if somewhat soggy, ground to set up the tent.
He lowered her on to one of the outcrops and she sat, numb with exhaustion, and watched as he put up the tent with an efficiency that didn’t surprise her in the least. Unrolling the bedding, he backed out and held open the flap.
‘Why don’t you get in?’ he said to Tilly. ‘You can take off your boots and do your video diary while I make the stew.’
‘Stew?’ She gaped at him, wondering how on earth he was going to conjure a casserole out of his pack.
‘Don’t