BlackWind

by Boyett-Compo

  “We'll be together one day, Bronnie. I swear.”

  She looked at his unsmiling face. “Do you believe in destiny?”

  He leaned his arms against the counter. “I believe what is meant to be will be.”

  “So you think you and I were meant to meet?”

  “As surely as the wind blows, a ghrá mo chroí."

  Bronnie grinned. “That's Gaelic.”

  “Aye. Do you know what it means?”

  “Chroí means heart,” she replied, proud of her knowledge.

  “Ghrá means love,” he said softly. “The phrase is ‘love of my heart.'”

  Her eyes widened. “Love of my heart.”

  “As you will always be,” he said, holding her gaze.

  She folded her hands in her lap. “I love you, too.”

  He looked down the counter and his eyes narrowed. “Hey!” he called out. “You have a customer down here. You think you can tear yourself away from lover boy long enough to take her order?”

  The waitress turned away from the uniformed Air Force serviceman with whom she was flirting. “Hold your water, sonny. I'm coming!”

  “Did you hear me?” Bronnie asked, a little embarrassed by his rudeness to the waitress, but exhilarated by his show of authority. She was not prepared for his answer.

  “I have loved you from the moment I saw you. You are mine, Bronwyn McGregor.”

  A chill went through Bronnie; she shivered. “You think so, do you?”

  “You understood that long ago.” He glanced at her. “Didn't you tell your mother so?”

  “Soul mates,” she agreed, liking the sound of the words. “Destined to be together.” She didn't question how he knew what she had told her mother, even though another chill traveled down her spine.

  He reached out to cup her right cheek. “Never fear me, Bronnie. For as long as we draw breath, I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

  “What can I getcha?” the woman behind the counter asked as she sidled up. Popping her gum, she pulled the order pad from the pocket of her apron.

  “A Cherry Coke to go,” Sean answered for Bronnie. He wasn't looking at the waitress, but through the front window of the variety store.

  “Is my mama staring at us?” Bronnie asked.

  “If looks could kill, I'd be a pile of ashes,” he said and turned so he faced the back of the counter.

  “Daddy will no doubt have a talk with me tonight,” she sighed.

  “About the unacceptable company you won't be allowed to keep.”

  “I don't care what they say, Sean,” she said fiercely. “If we have to hide our love, then—”

  The waitress came back with Bronnie's drink. “You got a real anxious boyfriend here, sweetie,” she said. “He ‘bout wore a hole through the glass lookin’ for you.” She leaned forward, propping her elbows on the counter and affording Sean a good look down the front of her white uniform. “'Course if I had a boy as cute as this one a'waitin’ on me, I'd make sure I hurried up to get to ‘im.” She flicked her tongue across lips.

  “Get out of my face,” Sean sneered.

  “Care to try a woman instead of a little girl, handsome?” the waitress cooed.

  Sean glared at the woman, but she just winked at him, laughed, and headed back to her serviceman.

  “That's what my mama calls a brazen woman, I guess,” Bronnie said, her face flaming. She took a long sip of her Cherry Coke.

  “That is what your mama would call a whore,” Sean countered, digging into the pocket of his jeans for money to pay for Bronnie's drink. He slapped the coins on the counter.

  Bronnie didn't reply. She sat there sipping her Coke, her eyes glued to the ice in the glass.

  “If I gave you a token of my love for you, would you wear it?” he asked.

  Bronnie was stunned, completely unprepared for the question. She stared at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Aye, I'm serious, woman.”

  She turned to look at the nearby jewelry counter, where several rows of friendship rings twinkled in the glass case.

  “Not one of those,” he said irritably. “This.”

  She looked down at his outstretched palm. Nestled there was an octagonal silver disk, its edges braided with intricately intertwined Celtic knot work. At the top of the pendant was a trinity triangle: three triangles interlaced into one. Below that were symbols that looked familiar to her.

  “It's called a Claddagh,” he told her. “This is a very special Celtic wedding amulet.”

  She cocked her head. “I think my granny has a ring with these symbols on it.”

  “She most likely does. But this one is one of a kind. It belonged to my grandmother. Her husband was a silversmith and he made it for her for their Joining day.”

  “What do the symbols mean?” She reached out to trace the engraved hands, heart, and crown on the charm.

  “Will you accept it?”

  She looked into his eyes, her finger still on the charm lying in his palm. “Yes.”

  “And all that it means?”

  “Which is?”

  “Put your trust in me, Bronwyn. And know I will never do anything to harm you.”

  She took a deep, quivering breath. “All right. Yes, I will accept it and all that it means.”

  “The amulet is silver, for that is the metal of purity to designate love in its purest form. The intertwined knot work around the edges represents eternity, the linking of our lives through the ages. It was placed there to remind the one who wears it that the love of he who gave it would never end. The unbroken lines of the Trinity Knot triangle symbolize spiritual growth, eternal life, and never-ending love. It also symbolizes the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Celts believe all life is reincarnated, that we are continually re-born after we leave this world. If you love a woman in this life, you will love her in the next.”

  He took her wrist, turned it, and placed the amulet in her palm. He closed her fingers around it.

  “I have bared my heart to you, Bronwyn Fionna McGregor. From my hand into yours do I place it, crowned with my eternal love and devotion.” He squeezed her fingers. “Wear my heart close to yours and we will never be apart, for where my heart goes, so will I.” Bringing her hand to his lips, he kissed it. “Let love and friendship reign,” he whispered.

  Tears filled Bronnie's eyes. She could feel the warmth of the amulet tingling in her palm. When he released her hand and turned away, she wanted to throw her arms around him and press her mouth to his.

  “And have your mother come in here and drag you out by your hair? I think not,” he muttered.

  “How do you do that?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  He turned his head toward her. “I want you to remember something, Bronwyn,” he said, his face grave, his eyes boring into hers. “They might be able to take you out of my arms, but they will never take you out of my heart. No matter what. No matter where you go, I will find you. I will remove anything that gets in the way between us. Don't ever forget that.”

  She lifted her chin, thinking of one of the songs her mother had sung to her as a child. “'You choose the road, love, and I'll make a vow that I'll be your true love forever,'” she quoted.

  He stared into her eyes for a long time, then smiled. “My Celtic warrioress.”

  “I like that!”

  He laughed and it was the first time she had heard him do so. It transformed his stern face, and she thought he was the most handsome boy to ever walk upon the face of the earth. A stray curly lock of flaxen hair dipped low over his forehead and she ached to reach out and push it back. She wanted to run her fingers over the mole on his right cheek and trace the faint white scar under his chin. She wanted to slip into his arms and have him hold her against his chest, a chest that had filled out nicely over the years.

  His look softened. “You'd better go.” His eyes left hers as he stared through the window. “She's getting antsy.”

  Bronnie scooted off the stool. “I'm going to the show wi
th my friends Marti and Jean this weekend. Meet us there?”

  He shrugged. “If I can. Which one?”

  “The Albany.” She blushed. “We can sit in the balcony and have some privacy.”

  He nodded. “We'll see.”

  She tucked her lip between her teeth, wanting to say more, but not knowing what.

  “Go,” he said, shooing her away with his left hand. “She's waiting to read you the riot act.” He grinned. “Don't disappoint her.”

  Bronnie giggled and started out of the store.

  “Hey, little witchling?” he called to her.

  She looked back at him. “What's that?”

  Sean was holding up his right hand, the thumb, index and little fingers extended, the middle and fourth tucked under. “It's the American Sign Language symbol for I love you.”

  Bronnie imitated the sign and held it out to him. With that, she turned and hurried out, her gay laughter following.

  CHAPTER 3

  Tift Park, Albany, Georgia, May 1984

  He pushed her higher.

  “You did it on purpose,” she scolded.

  “I never was good at math,” he responded.

  “You're good at everything you do.”

  “Not everything.”

  “You did it so you'd have to repeat the year.”

  “Maybe.”

  “No maybe about it, Cullen,” she said, pulling hard on the swing's chain to propel her body higher. She dug her heels into the air. “I know you.”

  He stepped from behind her and leaned against the swing set's front leg. “Are you complaining?”

  “You betcha,” she snapped. “I don't like having an ignoramus for a boyfriend.”

  He chuckled, folded his arms over his chest, and stared at her. “I've been called worse.”

  The smile slipped from her face. He had been called worse—mostly, she thought, by her parents. She lowered her legs to slow the swing.

  “You know it doesn't matter to me what they think,” he told her.

  She had long since given up asking him how he seemed able to read her mind. Each time she asked, he either grinned, wagged his thick brows, or simply ignored the question.

  “It matters to me,” she said, dragging her feet against the ground.

  He reached out to grab the chain of her swing seat. He stepped in front of her, grunting as her knees struck his, but bringing her to a stop. With his hands wrapped around hers, he leaned forward.

  “Stop obsessing about it, Bronwyn,” he demanded. “Let them think whatever they want. You and I know we will be together, so what they think doesn't count.”

  “They'll know you failed so you could stay behind and be with me.”

  “But they can't prove that I'm not just a retard.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, that, I might agree with them about.”

  He smiled, crossed his eyes, comically twisted his lips, and sent her into gales of laughter.

  “You goofy nincompoop,” she said.

  He drew her from the swing and into his arms, arms now thick with muscles from his daily workout with the weights at the school gym. “But I'm your goofy nincompoop.”

  She circled his neck with her arms, laid her head against his chest, and sighed. “That you are.”

  He looked about them. Bronnie knew that prying eyes was something about which he constantly worried. Not only prying eyes, but wagging tongues that would carry tales to both her father and his. Seeing that no one was watching them, he put his finger under her chin, lifted her face, and bent down to claim her lips.

  Sean's kisses—so few and so far between—were precious to Bronnie. They were intoxicating moments in which their two souls seemed to blend through the pressure of their lips. The taste of his tongue as it slipped gently, tenderly, and possessively into her mouth was a mating of their souls and sent shivers of ecstasy through her body. Unconsciously, she pressed closer against him, needing the feel of his masculine length against hers.

  He released her lips and stepped back, putting distance between them. As her eyes fused with his, he shook his head. “One day, little one,” he promised.

  “I'm a woman.”

  “Not quite yet. You're going to have to wait a while for that to happen.”

  “I don't want to wait.”

  “But we will,” he said firmly. “When this...” He hooked a finger under the chain around her neck and pulled out the amulet she had not removed since the day she put it on. “When this can be replaced with a ring to signify our lawful Joining as bondmates.”

  She groaned with frustration. “You're a beast, Sean Cullen.”

  “I'm a good Catholic boy even if you're a wicked Catholic girl,” he teased. “Stop trying to seduce me. You're giving me sinful thoughts. I'm gonna wind up confessing to Father Mike tomorrow.”

  “I take it back—you're not a beast, Sean Cullen, you're a priest in training!” She pouted.

  “You will thank me when you're able to tell our grandchildren their granny went to her Joining bed as pure as the white gown she was entitled to wear.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  He chuckled, cupped her cheeks, slanted his mouth brutally across hers for a moment, then set her aside. “Take that to your dreams this eve, Milady!”

  She lifted her hand to swat him, but he danced away, wiggling his fingers toward him. “Come on, witchling! Give it your best shot!”

  She ran at him but he skipped away, darting around the merry-go-round and setting out for the cages where the zoo animals were kept. She chased him, dodging between the tall pines and occasional park visitor.

  “Be careful!” one elderly man warned, drawing Bronnie's attention to him and away from Sean.

  “Sorry,” she said, blushing.

  When she turned around, she didn't see Sean. She slowed to a walk, knowing full well where he would be.

  She found him at the manatee tank. His shoulders were hunched, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his jeans. She went up to him and put her hand on his back.

  “It isn't right,” he said.

  She looked down into the tank and felt her heart ache. “I agree. It isn't.”

  The huge creature was barely able to move about the tank as it swam in an aimless, awkward circle.

  “Sometimes,” he said, “I wish it would die. At least then it would be free.”

  She slipped her arm around his waist. “I know.” They had had this conversation before.

  “The gods didn't mean for wild creatures to be caged out of their element,” he said in a hard voice.

  “She's safe here,” Bronnie said, laying her head against his shoulder.

  “She is in agony here,” he protested, shrugging her away. “She misses her own kind. That is worse to her than not having freedom. Being able to commune with your own kind...” With his face set and hard, he turned and stalked off.

  Bronnie took one last look at the sea cow, wondering if, in his fey way, the man she loved so desperately could somehow communicate with the creature. If he could, it would not surprise her. He had always seemed capable of reading her thoughts at will. She hurried to catch up with him, falling silently into step beside his tall frame.

  He did not acknowledge her presence. His jaw was clenched, his shoulders still hunched. They walked to the Teen Center at the western end of the park without speaking.

  “It bothers me,” he said finally.

  “I know.”

  He stopped beside her car. “She is so lonely and doesn't understand why she is where she is. She doesn't understand torture but she understands grief. She grieves for those she left behind when she was captured.”

  Bronnie stood beside him, wishing she could take him into her arms and make the sadness leave his eyes.

  “They all feel that way,” he said softly, looking back toward the zoo. “They were taken from their homes and shipped thousands upon thousands of miles away to a place so unlike what they are used to. They spend the rest of their lives l
ocked in a cage, looking out at the humans who can come and go at will, dreading the little boys who come to taunt and torment them.” He ran a trembling hand through his hair. “Sometimes I wish they could all go to sleep and never wake.”

  Bronnie understood how he felt. She hated zoos as much as he did. “They are safe,” she said lamely.

  “Safe but unhappy. As miserable as you or I would be if such a thing was done to us.” He shuddered and turned his back on the zoo. “Let's change the subject.”

  She smiled gently. “Fine by me.”

  He leaned against her car. “I got a job.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “Other than with your dad?”

  He nodded. “Over at Griffin Motors.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Detailing cars, changing tires. That sort of thing,” he said with a shrug. “Tym Cullen doesn't pay me for working at the butcher shop and I need the money.”

  “So what do you need money for, Cullen?”

  “To take you to the prom.”

  Bronnie's mouth dropped open. “Get outta here!”

  Sean narrowed his eyes. “You don't think I'd let some other guy take you, do you?”

  She clamped her lips together. They'd had similar discussions over the years. “Not if I don't want you to punch the poor boy in the face.”

  “So it's settled.”

  “No,” she drawled, drawing out the word. “I don't remember you asking me if I wanted to go to the prom.”

  “Every girl wants to go to her proms, Bronwyn. It's a right of passage.”

  Sean was big on rites of passage, she thought. Although she had always dreamed of going to her junior and senior proms, she had given up on the notion because she knew he'd never let her go with someone else and she thought such things would bore him to tears.

  That and the fact she also knew he did not have the money to rent a tux.

  “Well?” he queried, one thick brow arched.

  “Well, what?”

  “Is it settled or not?”

  “Are you going to ask me or not?”

  Sean sighed, dropped his head, shook it in what could only be exasperation, then drew in a breath. He raised his head and released the breath with his words. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the prom, Milady?”