"Yes," I said, in a pathetic attempt to sound casual. "Not sure about the front of my dress though."
He stared down at me, his eyes intense and unblinking. For the longest time, neither one of us moved.
When he finally stepped around me and returned to the front room, I dropped the stack of plates onto the table and leaned against it.
--
When the front door opened and closed for the last time, and Meg had gone to bed, I crept down the stairs as quietly as a cat.
I had prepared myself like a bride, brushing my hair until it was soft, rubbing scented lotion into my hands and elbows, and donning a long white nightgown--modest, but with lace at the neck and on the ends of the sleeves.
The fire had been smoored, and cast but the faintest glow. The flagstone floor was cold beneath my feet, and I almost lost my nerve. I stood with both hands on the bar, gathering courage.
If I turned back, it would be like nothing had ever happened. If I kept going, I would be stepping into the great unknown.
Maddie, she gave you her blessing.
I slipped into the kitchen, and felt my way along the wall until I found one of the carved wooden doors that slid shut in front of his bed. In the darkness, I couldn't tell if they were open or closed. I let my fingers crawl along the wood until I reached the far edge.
The doors were open. I was standing right in front of him.
I found myself in a beam of blinding light, and jumped backward. When Angus saw it was me, he leaned the flashlight against the wall so it was aimed at the ceiling instead, then swung his legs around. He was wearing blue striped pajama bottoms and an undershirt, just as he had on the night of our arrival.
"What's going on? Is everything all right?" he said, rubbing his eyes.
"Everything's fine," I said, blinking quickly. The flashlight's glare had left two white spots in the center of my vision.
"Then what is it?"
I dropped my gaze and bit my lip. After the better part of a minute, when the blind spots had mostly gone away, I forced myself to look up again. He was watching me with obvious concern.
"What is it, m'eudail?" he asked gently.
I steeled myself. "Angus, there's something I want to...no, something I need to tell you. Something important." I swallowed loudly and looked directly into his eyes. "I know the situation is unusual and that under any other circumstances none of this would make sense, but nothing about our circumstances is normal, and I've come to realize that...that there are...that I have..." I clapped my hands over my mouth to stifle a cry. "Oh God! I'm so sorry! I've never felt so stupid in all my life!"
In a flash, he was up and I was in his arms. "Hush, m'eudail, you don't have to say a thing. I already know."
"But how can you know if I can't even manage to tell you?" I sobbed.
"Because I just do," he said. His heart went thumpity-thumpity-thump, inches from my ear.
Eventually he pulled back, keeping his hands on my shoulders. He stared into my eyes, and held my gaze until there was nothing on earth but his face. When he put his hands on my cheeks and leaned toward me, my legs almost abandoned me. I closed my eyes and let my lips part.
He kissed my forehead.
"M'eudail, you're grieving," he said quietly. "You're vulnerable. This is not the time for such things."
--
I don't know how I made it upstairs. Certainly quickly, and certainly not gracefully, and when I finally reached my bed, I blubbered shamelessly, burying my face in the pillow.
There was a quiet knock on the door. Even though my sobs had subsided into quiet weeping, my ignominious retreat had certainly been loud enough to wake Meg.
"It's not locked," I said.
The door opened, and the light of a candle cast long shadows at the far end of the room. Judging by its silhouette, the chair was almost as tall as the ceiling. I lay facing it, my knees folded nearly to my chest, my face and pillow wet with tears.
"Sorry I woke you up," I mumbled.
"I'm not," said Angus.
I jerked my head off the pillow and looked behind me. He was standing in the doorway, holding the candle.
"May I come in?"
I pulled myself upright, sliding backward until I was against the headboard. I sniffed and wiped my face with shaking hands.
He set the candle on the dresser and crossed the floor to the bed.
"Forgive me," he said.
I stared at him, trembling. Fresh tears rolled down my face.
He sat on the bed and ran a thumb across my cheek. I held my breath and closed my eyes.
"Forgive me," he said again.
When I opened my eyes, I was looking directly into his.
"I was wrong, mo run--this is exactly the right time."
He shifted closer and began kissing the tears from my cheeks in a slow, tender dance that moved from one side of my face to the other. Finally, when I thought I couldn't stand it any longer, he put his lips on mine.
They were warm and full and slightly parted, and I felt the quickness of his breath behind them. He kissed me over and over, with increasing urgency, his beard brushing against my skin. His hand slid down my neck and into my nightgown.
I gasped, and he stopped.
With his hand cupping my breast, he searched my face for a signal. It was a moment of excruciating sweetness, of torturous rapture, of exquisite need. It was unbearable.
I leaned forward, tugging at his shirt. He stood and pulled it over his head. I knelt on the bed, yanking at my nightgown.
"Wait," he said, and this time I was the one who stopped.
He removed my nightgown, slowly, reverently.
I had never felt so exposed, yet I didn't want to cover myself. The candlelight flickered behind him, and his breathing grew even heavier as his eyes traveled my body, resting without shame on my breasts and hips.
"Mo run geal og," he said. "So beautiful."
He untied his pajamas and let them drop to the floor. I caught my breath. I obviously knew the anatomy, but other than statues, I'd never seen a naked man, never mind an aroused one. Angus seemed to sense that and paused, giving me a chance to look.
Finally, he knelt on the bed and put a hand behind my neck, supporting my head as he guided me backward.
Moments later, when he was poised above me, he looked deep into my eyes and said, "You're sure, mo chridhe? For this cannot be undone."
"Yes," I whispered. "I am completely and absolutely sure."
When he sank into me, I was so lost my body began to quake. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, holding on for dear life.
--
The next morning, it took me a moment to realize I wasn't dreaming. The candle had long since burned out, so we were in cave-like darkness, side by side, our naked bodies pressed together. He had one arm under my pillow and the other across me, his hand resting between my breasts. I lay very still, with my hands on his forearm. When he stirred, I clasped his hand to my heart and ran my fingers up his arm, marveling at our different textures. Although he was still asleep, a pulsing nudge intensified until the length of him was pressed against my back.
I rolled over and pulled the sheets down, kissing his chest and tracing his scars with my lips and fingers. When I finally worked my way up to his mouth, he took my face in his hands and pressed his lips against mine, parting them so we shared the same breath. A moment later, he lifted me across him like I weighed nothing, setting me down so my knees were on either side of him. I put both hands on his abdomen to brace myself, more than a little shocked to find myself straddling him.
He reached up and ran his thumbs over my nipples. I sucked in my breath and almost didn't let it out again.
"Maddie, mo chridhe," he said.
"Angus--oh my God," I said in a broken voice. "I don't know what to do."
"You do, though. Let yourself come to me."
I lowered my hips slowly, and stopped breathing altogether when I felt the tip of him pressing against me.
r /> "Angus--"
"It's all right," he said, stroking my face. "Na stad. I'm right here with you."
He held himself steady while I took him into me, slowly, slowly, sliding down until he was buried so deep our hips met, then lifting myself up until I was afraid I might lose him, then sinking back down until we were joined again. I leaned forward and put my hands on either side of his head, breathing hard into the pillow beside his face.
He had his hands on my waist, and his hips rose a little higher each time I sank down, pushing himself deeper and staying there longer. I felt his blood pounding, as if our nerve endings had merged.
My legs were shaking violently, and just when I thought I was going to lose control entirely, he reached up and clasped my hands, intertwining our fingers, and guaranteed it.
The contractions overwhelmed me, so unexpected and intense I cried out, and he held my face, covering my mouth with his, pressing into me, faster, more urgently. When I felt his own surrender, I was shot through with an ecstasy so intense I thought my heart might actually stop.
After, as we lay in each other's arms, he stroked my hair and back. My face was buried in his neck, and every breath I took was suffused with his scent.
"Well," he said, kissing me. "I'm afraid that while I'd love to stay here forever, duty calls."
I caught his wrist. "I love you, Angus Grant. With all my heart, I love you."
He leaned over and gave me a long, lingering kiss.
"And I, you, mo chridhe."
Chapter Thirty-nine
Meg knew exactly what had happened the second she laid eyes on me. She said nothing, just smiled in a knowing manner. It didn't help that I blushed and looked at the ground, or that I was wearing a turban because I hadn't set my hair.
I finished the upstairs chores at about the same time Anna finished the downstairs, and the three of us wound up around the kitchen table having a strupag.
Anna had spent the last few afternoons clearing rocks from the tatty beds at the croft, and was suffering from a stiff back.
"It's the buckets of stones," she explained. "They weigh more than buckets of milk, and you're always picking them up and putting them down, and then leaning over to collect even more...It's murder on the back, I tell you. I'll look like Rhona when all is said and done."
"Of course you won't," I said, although not as convincingly as I wished. Crofting sounded like a very hard life indeed.
"Stand up and lean over the table," Meg said. "I'll work those knots out for you."
Meg stood behind her and massaged Anna's back, digging her thumbs into the areas just above Anna's hips.
"I'll come help with the stones," said Meg. "Many hands make light work."
"I should think not," Anna said with righteous indignation. "Dr. McLean has not cleared you for any type of work yet, especially not clearing rocks."
"Well, I can't just do nothing, can I?" said Meg. "I'm sick to death of Maddie's crossword puzzles and their fiendish American spelling--why would anyone put an e in whisky, for goodness' sake? Anyway, Dr. McLean is going to clear me for work any day now, which probably means I'm already perfectly capable."
"Maybe I can help clear stones," I said.
Anna and Meg looked at me, deadpan. A couple of seconds later, they burst out laughing.
"And get your hands dirty?" Meg practically crowed.
"I get my hands dirty all the time!"
"I didn't see you offering to help clean the range this morning," said Anna.
"You didn't ask," I said. "And for your information, I was upstairs scrubbing the toilet. I didn't see you offer with that, either."
"Oh go on," said Anna. "We're just having a little fun."
"I know that!" I said, laughing. "Don't be silly!"
Anna narrowed her eyes and looked me up and down. "You're in a very good mood this morning..."
The front door opened, and after a few seconds it closed. Anna glanced at the clock.
"That'll be Willie with the mail," she said in a panic. "And here I am all covered with soot and oven blacking!"
"Grab a cloth and clean yourself up," said Meg. "I'll stall him."
Willie was expected to pop the question at any moment, having already asked permission from Anna's father.
It was a mystery to me what the attraction was--it was easy to see why Willie was attracted to Anna, but what did Anna see in Willie? He had always struck me as an angry, orange gnome who was quick to judge and was also a good twenty years older than she was, but apparently she was madly in love with him. I supposed there was no accounting for Cupid's aim. I felt sorry for poor one-legged George, though.
Anna ran to the sink and began scrubbing her face. I followed to make sure she didn't miss a spot.
Meg returned, pale as beeswax.
"It's not Willie," she said.
"Then who...?" I asked.
Meg looked despondently at me, and I knew.
"Dear God in Heaven," I said.
Meg stepped forward and squeezed my hands. "He's not asked for you yet--when he does, I'll tell him you've gone walking."
"No," I said quietly. "I'll go out. There's no point in delaying the inevitable."
"What are you going to tell him?" Meg asked.
"I have no idea."
"At the very least, wait until Angus comes back."
I shook my head.
Meg watched me for a beat, then nodded. "All right, but I'll be standing right here with the heaviest saucepan we have, should you find yourself in need of assistance."
I pulled my apron over my head and hung it on a peg. Then I walked through to the front room, my legs seeming to move of their own accord.
--
Ellis and Hank were settled by the fire in their usual places, as though they'd never been gone at all. Ellis sat on the couch with his back to me, and Hank sat in one of the wing chairs. He stood at once.
"Maddie, darling girl!" he said, raising his arms in welcome. When I didn't respond, he dropped them and frowned. "What's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I feel rather as though I have. What are you doing here?"
Ellis shifted around to face me, draping his arm across the back of the couch. "That's an odd question. We're staying here, of course."
"Well, no, in fact, you haven't been."
"You knew we were going away," said Ellis.
"You said you'd be gone a few days," I said. "It's been two weeks."
"Thirteen days," said Hank. "But who's counting?"
"I was," I said. "I didn't think you were coming back."
"Oh dear--you didn't think I'd abandoned you again, did you?" said Ellis. He raised an eyebrow and turned to Hank, adding, "I told you she has quite an imagination."
My knees buckled. A moment later, Hank and Ellis were steering me toward the couch.
"What's the matter? Are you having an episode?" said Ellis.
"Get her a glass of water," said Hank.
"I can't," Ellis replied. "There's no one behind the bar."
"Then get a glass and find a sink!"
"You mean in the kitchen? What if the hag's in there?"
"Then use the bathroom, for Christ's sake!"
Ellis glanced at Hank in a wounded manner, then went behind the bar for a glass. After pausing at the door to the kitchen, he changed his mind and went upstairs.
Hank perched on the low table in front of me. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs.
"Darling girl--what's going on? Talk to me."
"There's nothing going on," I said, although my voice betrayed me.
"It's not nothing, obviously. And if you don't tell me what's going on, he's going to think you're having an episode."
I couldn't help laughing. "He always thinks I'm having an episode. I don't care anymore."
"You don't mean that," said Hank.
"Oh, but I do."
"Fuck," Hank said. He glanced quickly at the stairwell. "Look, I think you should know that
Ellis has been making inquiries. Actually, more than inquiries. Arrangements."
"So, he's really going to try to have me locked up, is he?"
"No, he's going to have you treated."
I was shocked into momentary silence.
"Treated?" I asked in a hollow voice, although of course I already knew.
"Given the severity of your symptoms, the physician he spoke to thought a permanent cure was the best solution. You wouldn't even have to stay in the hospital."
You'll be so much happier, my mother had said. An easy thing. In and out in an hour.
"And what did Ellis say to the doctor to make him think that?"
"Well, for starters, that you flushed your medication--"
"I flushed the pills because Ellis was eating them hand over fist. I've had one pill in my life. One. Pill. He's always been the one who took them. Hank, you know that."
"You've lost all sense of social structure, you're showing signs of paranoia--"
"Paranoia? Really, Hank?"
"--and you've begun having delusions."
I stared at him and began nodding. "So that's what this is really about."
"What?"
"As if you don't know. I'm sending a telegram to the Colonel this very minute."
"Saying what?" Hank asked.
"That Ellis isn't color-blind! That he lied to get out of service!"
Hank went slack-jawed. "Maddie, my God! Of course he's not faking it. That's a terrible thing to say!"
"Oh, please," I said. "How stupid do you think I am? You obviously planned it together, finding conveniently invisible ailments to keep you out of the war."
"What are you talking about?"
"Flat-footed? Please."
Hank sputtered in outrage. "I am flat-footed. I've been wearing custom shoes my entire life!"
"You're each as bad as the other. I've had it." I stood up.
"Maddie, stop--"
He said it with enough conviction that I did.
"Don't do it," he said.
"Why? There will be no point in having me treated once everyone knows the truth."
"Because it's not the truth, and this is exactly the type of rash behavior Ellis is worried about. You get something in your head, and then you act on it without any regard for consequence, no matter who it damages. If you send a telegram to the Colonel, Ellis will just have you treated sooner rather than later--it's all been arranged, he only has to make a phone call--and then for good measure, he'll probably have Blackbeard hauled off as well."
"Angus? Why?"
"Because of exactly that. The unsuitable familiarity. Ellis is sure he's been taking advantage of you, so he stopped by the courthouse to check the penalty for poaching. It's two years in prison per offense, by the way."