by ADAMS, J.
By some strange good fortune, I never seem to lose hair when Julian touches it, nor when we are intimate, and I thank the heavens every day for that. I've tried different shampoos, conditioners and other styling products, but nothing has helped or made any amount of difference.
Well, it isn't as bad as some women. At least not yet. Rather than dwell on it, I style the curls in an attractive up-do and do my best to change the course of my thoughts to something positive.
With gratitude in my heart, I think on this past week. It has been an amazing one.
Dad took us to his parent’s home a couple of days ago and things went really well. As soon as we stepped through their door, Jim and Donna Mason swept me into a loving embrace and the apprehension I felt quickly faded away. My grandmother and grandfather spent the better part of the evening getting to know us, and they totally fell in love with little Aidan. The memory of the love and acceptance I felt from them brings tears to my eyes even now. It was an amazing visit and Julian and I are glad to have had the opportunity to get to know them.
And now we are privileged to travel to Utah for Mark's wedding.
Despite my other concern, it has indeed been a good week.
Chapter 3
The beauty that addresses itself to the eyes is only the spell of the moment; the eye of the body is not always that of the soul.
George Sand
Grabbing a couple of potholders, I take the last batch of bread from the oven. I baked eight small loaves, five of which will go to friends. After wrapping one in a new dish towel, I quickly head upstairs to change out of my flour-covered shirt, then fix my hair, and stop by the den to let Julian know I am leaving.
“John and I are separating.”
Covering my mouth, I attempt to hide my shock. “I can't believe it! What happened?” I ask, squeezing my friend Libby's hand.
“Truthfully, I don't know. We have been struggling for a while now. And the simple fact is, though I want our marriage to work, John doesn’t. It takes two and I have given it all I've got. I can’t do it alone anymore and I’m tired of trying. I asked John if there is someone else. He says no, but I'm not so sure. I mean, I know my age is starting to show and there are women far more attractive and in better shape, but I do try to take care of myself and look nice for him. I've noticed his eye straying a bit when we are out in public and I have always chosen to ignore it. I pretend I don't see. I've asked John what I can do to make things better and he says nothing can make it better. He thinks divorce is the only option and I’m beyond protesting.” She pauses. “I don’t know how we are going to tell the kids.”
“I'm so sorry, Libby,” I say, putting my arm around her, my heart aching for her. Libby and John have been married for twenty-five years and have raised four children. They have always seemed so happy. It seems they have just been playing their parts well and it has been an illusion. I am sad for them, but this will surely devastate their family. I continue to listen, offering what comfort I can.
“I thought real love was supposed to be unconditional. I mean we've had trials like everyone else and we've somehow made it through them, but . . . this is the most painful thing I've ever had to deal with. To know he no longer wants me the way I want him just hurts my heart. Why am I not good enough anymore?”
“You are better than good enough. You are an amazing person and you are very beautiful. If he can't see that, then it is his loss.”
Libby gives me a watery smile. “Thank you, Giselle.”
Before I leave, I hug her and again tell her how great she is, and that her value is beyond price. We women tend to forget that most of the time and need to be reminded.
If I could only make myself believe . . .
During my drive home, I contemplate my own marriage. I am blessed to have Julian, and I have always felt nothing could ever come between us. The day we married was the happiest of my life, and I will forever be grateful for the trip I took with some friends to Scotland on my twentieth birthday. Because it completely changed my life.
Three years ago.
Glasgow, Scotland
Famished after a long day of shopping, we stopped in a pub to grab a quick bite before heading back to the bed and breakfast where we were staying. The place had just started getting busy when this tall, muscular, drop-dead gorgeous man walked up on the small stage with his guitar and started singing. He was amazing! My eyes immediately connected with his and stayed connected for the entire hour. I was glued to my seat. Our food was long gone and my friends had been ready to leave for some time, but their attempts to get me to leave were futile. The Scottish god and I smiled at one another the entire time. It was as if we were the only two people there and he was singing just for me. Little did I know he was the owner of the pub, as well as a few others scattered all over Scotland.
As soon as his set was done, he approached my table. He had looked astounding on stage, but up close he was walking perfection!
He greeted the four of us, but his gaze was still fixed on me. “I'm Julian Mackenzie,” he said, introducing himself, and before I could give him my name in return he asked, “Do ye believe in love at first sight, love? Please tell me ye do, darlin', because if ye should get up an' leave, ye will be takin' ma heart with ye.”
My friends sighed and giggled like school girls.
“Really?” I said, smiling.
“Oh, aye. I cannae let ye get awa' now. T'would be the death o me, an' ye wouldnae wan' tha' on yer conscience now, would ye?”
“No, I wouldn't want that.”
“Then we are in agreement. For the sake o ma health, ye must stay til I can see ye back safely ta where yer goin', and then ye must promise me the opportunity ta win yer heart for ma own.”
“Girls, I think that's our cue,” my friend, Merrilyn said. “Good to meet you,” she gushed, ushering the others away from the table. “See you later, Giselle.”
“Giselle, is it?” Julian said, his smile wide. “A bonnie name for a verra bonnie lassie.”
My face grew warmer. “Thank you. And you are an ummm . . . bonnie laddie . . . did I say that right?”
“Och, aye. An' I thank ye, Giselle. Now, gettin' back ta ma heart, tis at this verra moment beatin' only for ye, an' if I donnae make ye mine, ye may as weel bury me because the life will be bleedin' right oot o me.”
“So, are you saying I would be saving you life?”
“Aye, tha's the truth o it.”
I heave a dramatic sigh. “Well, I guess I should do my part in helping to preserve your life.”
He grins. “Aye. I thank ye, fair Giselle.” He held a strong hand out to me and I placed mine in it, basking in the warmth of his smile as he closed his fingers around mine.
And that was it for me. My heart was already his and I hadn't even given him my name. With his lightly-bearded face, brilliant blue eyes, muscular physique, and lush black hair, which was secured in a ponytail, I should have automatically assumed this was a rehearsed come-on, but the intensity of his gaze said it wasn't. We truly claimed one another's hearts that night.
For the rest of my time in Scotland, Julian and I were inseparable. He introduced my friends to some of his male friends and they were occupied for the duration. My days with Julian were wonderful, full of fun, laughter and loving embraces. His kisses were amazingly-decadent and completely addicting, and we couldn't seem to get enough of each other. Being with him had shifted my whole world and made everything fall into place.
Julian was beautiful, funny and talented, and I was frequently a recipient of that talent and his hilarious sense of humor. He would sing Scottish folk songs to me and share funny stories. I loved his voice, whether singing or simply speaking. The gentle cadence of his accent was almost soothing at times.
Every night he performed, I was there, at the same table up front, and his eyes were always on me, which earned me some pretty envious stares, sometimes glares. But I didn't mind. Each night he ended with the same song, and always dedicated it to me.
My love is like a red red rose
That’s newly sprung in June
O my love is like a melodie
Thats sweetly play’d in tune
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in love am I
And I will love thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
My dreams were always pleasant.
“Ye ken, I saw a leprechaun once,” he told me one night after closing up. He sat down at my table and pulled me onto his lap.
“You did?” I grinned, arching a brow. “You saw a leprechaun, here in Scotland?”
“I did in deed.”
“Well, do tell.”
He smiled at the unbelieving smirk on my face. “Weel, when I was five years auld, ma faither took me on a picnic. I didnae remember the name o the place, but I do remember it was bonnie. There were green rollin' hills an' the sky was so blue. It looked like a scene from a fairy tale.
“I was sittin' in the grass playin' ma wee guitar when a butterfly flew by. It was verra bonnie. The butterfly flew towards a small row o trees an' I chased it into the grove. When I cam' oot on the other side o the trees, I couldnae find the butterfly. It had disappeared.
“I became verra sad. Since I couldnae find it, I turned ta go back to ma faither when I heard this wee voice. I turned aroun', an' low an' behold, there was a wee leprechaun. He stood lookin' up at me with a big smile on his face.”
““Why are ye so sad, child?” he asked me, his big blue eyes a twinklin'.
“I wanted ta play with the butterfly,” I said, “But it flew awa'.”
“There, there, child,” he said, “I’ll play with ye.” I was so excited. A real live leprechaun wanted ta play with me.”
“Tell me yer name, child,” he said.
“Julian. Wha's yers?”
“Ma name is Patrick.” He took o his cap an' bowed ta me. Then he taught me some games an' we laughed an' played. Pretty soon we sat under one o the trees an' he told me stories. Wonderful, fantastic stories, some o which I ken an' some I didnae. After a while, I started ta yawn. I was tired after runnin' aroun' an' playin' all those games. He took o his wee green jacket an' filled it with shamrocks. Then he placed it on the grass under the tree for me ta use as a pillow. Even though it t'was small, t'was the softest pillow I ha' ever felt. Then he said, “Now child, let me tell ye one last story.””
Julian stopped at that point.
“So what happened?” I asked. He had my curiosity peaked.
“I dinnae know,” he said. “The next thin' I ken, ma faither was kneelin' by me under the tree. I ha' fallen asleep there.”
“So, it was all a dream,” I said, smiling.
“Maybe,” he said, a slight smile playing on his lips.
With all the detail with which he told the story, I might have actually believed him, if I hadn’t known better. “Well, even if it was a dream, it was a good story.”
“Aye. Ye ken, I never eve' told ma faither tha' story.”
“Really? Then I feel very special that you shared it with me.”
“Ye are special,” he said, kissing me. “The most special person in the world ta me. An' wha' made the experience eve' more special was the fact tha' it happened o St. Patrick’s Day.” He grinned and winked.
I chuckled. “Now that’s classic.”
“Ye cannae tell anyone. If it got oot tha' I was dreamin' o the wee green guy, the Scots would run me oot on a rail.”
“All right, I promise not to tell a soul.” In return for my promise, he gifted me with a kiss so full of passion, it left me weak. I definitely had sweet dreams that night.
The next day, after spending an hour at Loch Ness, hoping in vain to get a photo of the famous Nessie, Julian took me to see the Sir William Wallace monument. Standing in front of the imposing structure, wrapped in Julian's arms, I was awe-struck.
I relaxed against him. “I wonder what he was really like?”
“Good man an' a great warrior, but complicated. Did ye see Braveheart?”
“Yes, I loved that movie.”
“Nice movie, but no completely accurate. Then again, movies seldom are.”
“True, but hey, it's Mel Gibson! Seeing that man in a kilt is the stuff of dreams.”
“Dreamin' o Mel Gibson, are ye?” he growled against my ear.
“Yeah, but that was before you. I'm sure you look a thousand times better in a kilt.”
“A thousand? Ye thin' so?”
“Definitely. But getting back to the movie, you gotta admit the love story about him and his probably-fictitious wife makes good Hollywood romance.”
Julian laughed. “Och, aye. Yer right aboot tha'. Which is why I wanted ta bring ye here . . . ta propose ta ye in front o Scotland's greatest warrior.”
“What?” I whispered, turning around. He knelt and my emotions bubbled to the surface, accompanied by tears.
“I ken I'm no a knight, but I promise ta be as faithful an' honorable as a knight, ta love an' treasure ye with all tha' I am, if ye will be ma wife.” He pulled a small box from his pocket and opened it, revealing a ring–a single solitaire surrounded by tiny emeralds and set on a white gold band.
“Will ye marry me, darlin'? I love ye with all ma heart an' I hav' ta make ye mine.”
I was so overcome with emotion, I couldn't speak. With tears splashing down my cheeks, I nodded. He smiled and placed the ring on my finger, and then he stood and took me in his arms.
After taking me to Edinburgh to meet his parents and his brother and sister, Julian moved to the states and we were married two months later. We went back to Scotland for our honeymoon and had a traditional Scottish wedding ceremony for his family. I got to see Julian in a wedding kilt twice, and he was definitely a million times sexier than Mel.
Since then, our love for each other has increased with each passing day. Sure, there will always be obstacles to overcome, but we are both determined to do any and everything we can to insure that our love will stay strong enough to withstand anything.
Even hair loss?
My thoughts return to the present as I pull into the driveway. I say a quick prayer for Libby and John before going into the house. Julian is standing at the kitchen counter buttering a piece of bread.
“How was yer visit?”
I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.
“Wha's this for?” he asks, his deep voice soft.
“I’m just so happy to be your wife.”
His embrace tightens. “An' I’m glad ta be yer husband.” He draws back a little, looking into my eyes. “Did somethin' happen?”
I take his hand and we move to the table. While Julian eats, I tell him about Libby and John. The news takes him by surprise as well. Swallowing the last of the bread, he scoots his chair closer to mine. “Ah, darlin', I cannae imagine wha' they must be goin' through.”
I nod, heaving a small sigh. “She is hurting so much. I feel sorry for them.”
Julian takes my hands in his. “T'will be hard, but they will get through it somehow. Libby is a strong woman an' I'm sure she appreciated havin' ye ta talk to.”
I flick a tear away. “Julian, promise me we will always be close. I don't think I could bear it if we weren't.”
Pulling me from my chair onto his lap, he wraps me in his warm embrace. “We will, mo nighean donn. I promise.” He meets my lips with his, kissing me tenderly. “I love ye, Giselle. An' tha' will never change.”
“I love you,” I murmur against his mouth.
Then, deepening his kiss, he endeavors to prove his words.
Chapter 4
Let there be nothing within thee that is not very beautiful and very gentle, and there will be nothing without thee that is not beautiful and softened by the spell of thy presence.
James Allen
As soon as we get past some major turbulence, I loosen my death grip on Julian's hand. “Sorry,” I say as he flexes his fingers.
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“Tis all right, darlin'.” He gives me a reassuring smile. “I wouldnae give up the use o ma hand for anyone but ye.”
“Thanks,” I say, leaning over to kiss him. “Is that better?”
“Weel, let me see.” he again flexes his fingers. “T'will do for now.” I elbow him and he grins, lacing my fingers through his, kissing my hand.
A male flight attendant, making his way down the aisle, stops by our seats with the service cart.
“What would you like, Ma'am?” The young man's grin widens as he leans over Julian to serve me. Julian releases a low snort and I nudge him.
“Can I get you anything else?” he asks, turning on his best southern charm.
“No, thank you,” I say, glancing at Julian’s amused expression, and then across the aisle at Dad's matching grin where he sits with Aidan.
“Well, if you need anything else, don’t hesitate to let me know.”
I wait to see if Julian will receive the same syrupy hospitality, and I'm actually kind of surprised when he doesn’t. The attendant serves Julian his drink without conversation.
“Now, as I said, if you need anything,” he says, putting emphasis on anything, “don’t hesitate to ask.” His eyes never leave mine as he makes this offer, and though I am flattered–especially now when my confidence is so floundering–I almost want to punch him in the eye with my wedding ring. And it is obvious that Julian is thoroughly enjoying this. Once the attendant moves up the aisle, I playfully punch him. “Oh, you!”
“Wha'?” he asks innocently.
“You know what. What's with the grin?”
“Och, I was just admirin' his warm southern hospitality.”
“Right.”
As we exit the plane and stop for a moment before heading down to baggage claim, the flight attendant who served us comes through the gate.