Sound of the Heart

by Genevieve Graham

  And she bit him. He yelped and stepped back, rubbing his lower lip.

  “What—” he cried, but she was there first.

  “What was that?” she shrieked, sounding out of breath. Now it was her own hands clutching her face, her fingertips digging into bright red cheeks. “Ye jus’ think ye can . . . Ye grab me an’ . . . I canna believe ye’d—” She exhaled quickly and spun away, heading back toward her trapline. “Ninny,” she muttered.

  “Oh no, ye don’t,” Dougal said, finally roused. A ninny? She’d see he was no ninny. “Ye canna dare me as such, then spurn me. I’ll no’ have it.”

  “Spurn ye? Spurn ye?” she hissed at him. “Is that what ye think this is? Ye think ye can—Och!” Her fingers went to her hair, gripping the roots of it so the long blond locks popped out from between her fingers. She held her head tight, as if afraid it might explode. Even standing like this, angrier than he’d ever seen her, he admired her. Maybe even more. Falling from between her fingers, her hair was smooth and golden, shining with sunlight since she’d washed it that morning. He had traded for some lye soap in the nearby village, and she’d been ecstatic after she’d cleaned herself with it. He had thought she was beautiful before, but now, furious and flushed, he thought he’d never seen anything quite so magnificent. “I said for ye to do somethin’, but I didna mean—”

  “Aye, ye did,” he said, his mouth quirking up in a smile. She tightened her lips and shook her head slowly, but without much conviction. Her eyes darted to the right, then the left, like she was thinking, looking for words.

  But Dougal now knew. What he wanted more than anything in the world was to repeat his performance, hold her and kiss her until neither could breathe. But he held back. It was up to her now. She’d asked for him to do something, and he had.

  “Right. I’m goin’ for a swim,” he said, and walked away.

  CHAPTER 16

  Sound of the Heart

  He tried to look nonchalant. As if this were something he did every day. Smiling to himself, he relived what had just happened. Well. Even if she hadn’t wanted that, he had. And now he could go on with his days, knowing what it felt like to kiss her.

  Except . . . his step faltered. Except he’d still have to live with her if she hadn’t liked it. That could be tricky. Nothing he couldn’t handle, though, he was sure. Almost sure. He kicked a pebble down the path in front of him, frowning. What had he done? Surely they would work this out somehow. She wouldn’t just leave, would she? Certainly not. She might be strong, but not that strong.

  He pulled the image of her back into his mind, the one where her cheeks blazed red and her eyes glinted like freshly sharpened daggers. That was grand. He could do with upsetting her more often if she were to react that way every time.

  He slipped off his breeks and tunic and waded into the freezing stream, feeling everything below his waist pull tight in reaction to the cold. He shivered but pressed forward, needing to cool his emotions. Something smooth tickled past his ankle and he wished he’d brought his fishing pole. At least she’d left the lye soap on the big rock where they always stepped into the water. He grabbed it and scoured the soap over his chest and belly, scrubbing the dirt from his skin. The stream was never deep enough that the surface went over his head, but the bottom dropped suddenly in one spot so the water covered most of his shoulders. The rushing water took what it could of the lye and dirt while Dougal raked soapy fingers through his mass of black waves. He plunged under again, using his fingers like claws to rinse the soap from his hair. Then he burst through the surface, grinning and swiping hair from his face. He loved the shock of the cold water. Made him feel alive.

  A sound from the shore distracted him, and he blinked water from his eyes. Glenna sat on the big boulder, calmly tossing pebbles into the water and studying him. He wasn’t surprised to see her there, and didn’t pretend that he was. Whether she were pleased or not, Glenna never walked away from a discussion that needed to be had. He tossed her the slippery soap and she caught it deftly, setting it beside her on the boulder. She hopped down to rinse the suds from her hands, and scooped a handful of pebbles into her hand while she was there. Climbing back onto the boulder, she lobbed one of the little stones. It landed with a neat plop beside his head. Exactly where, he knew, she’d intended for it to land.

  “What do ye think about at night, Dougal?” she asked, tossing another pebble into the water. It landed six feet away from him.

  He shrugged. “No’ much.”

  “Do ye think of me?”

  Dougal rubbed his hands over his wet face, hiding a grin. “What a question,” he replied, emerging with a straight face.

  “Do ye?”

  “Ye’re a cheeky lass, askin’ questions like that. What do ye think of?”

  “No. I asked first.”

  “So ye did.” He stroked his jaw and gazed skyward, toward where the sun glinted through treetops, on its way down. His beard needed a trim. He hadn’t shaved in two days. He started wading casually toward shore, needing his dirk for the operation. With every calculated step he revealed more of his body, confident now. He was in good shape. They had eaten well and worked hard since coming to this place, and he felt like himself. He knew he looked good, and he wasn’t shy to use whatever weapons he had in this battle.

  The water had just reached the level of his navel when she slid off the boulder, looking suspicious. “What are ye doin’, Dougal?”

  “I need my dirk,” he said.

  “Stop,” she ordered. “Catch.” She yanked his dirk from his belt, then tossed it in a gentle arc toward him. He caught it by the handle and nodded thanks. Just for fun, he took another step forward, feigning innocence.

  “Dougal!” she cried. “Turn around an’ go deep.”

  “When, my dear Glenna, did ye become such a prude? Ye spent months wi’ the hairiest, most naked men alive, ye saw all there is to see, an’ suddenly ye’re shy wi’ me?”

  She frowned, arms crossed, then looked toward the trees as if something fascinating was going on in there.

  He wanted to laugh. He hadn’t been wrong after all. He just had to figure out a way to help her see that he was right. She was, after all, only seventeen. She knew little about love. Neither did Dougal. But having reached the ripe old age of twenty-one, he did have a fair amount of experience with women. He was more than willing to teach.

  “What do ye think of, Dougal?” she repeated quietly.

  And one thing he knew about women was that they liked to talk. Dougal could talk.

  “Not much,” he admitted. “I think about the day, I suppose. What we’ve done. Sometimes I think on my family, but mostly not.” He tucked up his chin and dragged the dirk along his throat and under his jaw.

  She watched him dip the blade in the water, then scratch at his cheeks, sucking in his upper lip so he could clear the moustache from under his nose. “Why do ye ask?”

  “It’s the only time we don’t speak,” she replied with a shrug. “From the moment we’re awake in the morn, we talk all the time. Then there are those moments just before ye fall asleep, aye? After ye’re done readin’ to me? An’ those are the moments when I think the most. So I just wondered if ye were the same.”

  She was right, of course. Because he did think before falling asleep. He just didn’t want to talk about the things he sometimes saw.

  “Aye, that’s the same wi’ me. What is it ye think of?” he asked.

  “Oh, everythin’,” she said, exhaling so her breath puffed up the short fringe on her forehead. “I think about Joseph a lot. About how we were, an’ I think about the last time I saw him, crumpled on the dirt like that.” She hesitated, letting herself think a bit. Dougal said nothing. She had started this conversation, so she most likely had more to say. “I remember a lot of the battles, too. I remember all about Culloden. On those nights I practically smell the stink of the gunpowder as I fall asleep. I think that smell is maybe burnt into my nostrils.”

  She looked s
traight at him, blinking as if hypnotised. “But I think of good things, too. I think of the fun Joseph an’ I used to have before all this happened. An’ now I think about how much I enjoy bein’ wi’ you, Dougal. How I’ve never laughed so much or felt safer. How much our friendship means to me. I dinna ken what I’d do wi’out ye,” she said quietly, and from twenty feet away Dougal saw her eyes shine with tears. “I feel as if I’ve known ye forever an’ I’d be lost on my own. So . . . so when ye kissed me . . .”

  She shoved the heels of her hands against her eyes to keep the tears at bay, then sniffed. When she glanced back toward him, Dougal saw the reddened skin where she’d pressed. He felt an urge to comfort her, but didn’t move.

  Her voice was choked. “I canna lose ye, Dougal. I’m afraid that if we become more than friends, I’ll lose that. Ye’ve acted a complete fool of late, an’ ye had me right pissed at ye. But the thing is . . . well, the thing is I—Oh. Never mind.”

  Dougal cleared his throat. “Look away, lass,” he said, and splashed out of the water. He lowered his tunic over his body and as it clung to his wet skin, he wished, as he always did, that he had his plaid. Then he wouldn’t have had to worry about a shirt at all. He supposed he could have only put on the wretched breeks and forgotten about the shirt, but at this point that might make things even more awkward with Glenna. He tugged on the breeks, belted them, and slid the dirk into its sheath.

  She was looking into her lap, toying with the pebbles on one palm. Her head was tilted and a soft veil of golden hair fell across her face. He was struck again by how angelic she appeared, then fought the urge to tuck the loose hair behind her ear so he could see her perfect features. His Glenna. She was a challenge. Skittish as a fawn, with the teeth of a wolf.

  “Look,” he said, taking a casual step toward her. “I’ve had friends my whole life. Folk I’ve laughed with, fought with, oh, done most everythin’ with. My brother Andrew was always my closest friend. And now it’s you. Ever since we first struck up a conversation, I’ve felt as if I’d known ye forever. Even wi’ yer secret, well, ye knew I was hurt that ye didna tell me sooner. But I understand it now.”

  Dougal was a talker. Loved words and innuendos and games. But right now he wasn’t tempted to tease. He felt a need to say it like it really was. Make everything clear. He lowered his voice so its tone was gentle. “Glenna, I understand what ye’re sayin’ to me. I do. And I feel as ye do. I’m unhappy when I’m no’ wi’ ye. But aye, I admit it. Knowing ye’re a lassie changes how I look at ye. Ye’re lovely.”

  “But I’m no’ Aidan, am I?” she said softly. She was frowning, offering him a challenge.

  He ignored it. “Why must ye be Aidan? I loved Aidan as a friend. Very much. But wi’ Glenna it would be different. It would be more.”

  She swallowed. “I’m afraid, Dougal.”

  Go canny, lad. She’s the fawn at the moment, but could tear your heart out in a breath. He took the five remaining steps until he stood directly in front of her and, with a monumental effort, kept his hands resting on his hips. His voice was calm. As if he soothed one of the horses at his uncle’s stables. “I’ll never hurt ye, Glenna. Whether ye decide ye want me or no’, I’ll never hurt ye.”

  A tear trickled from the corner of one of her eyes and tumbled down her cheek. “Oh, Dougal.”

  He leaned forward and set one hand on either side of her, bracing himself against the boulder. This brought them face to face, and he was suddenly very pleased he had shaved, though he hadn’t done a great job at it. She didn’t shy away, but he saw the panic in her eyes. Her breathing got faster; he felt it on his cheeks. Her smooth white complexion was flushed and her eyes probed his. Anchoring his hands securely on the rock, Dougal touched her lips with his. She didn’t move, but when he drew away, her eyes were closed. So he did it again. This time he felt her lips move against his, experimenting. He laid one palm on her cheek, gentle, gentle, as if she were a babe.

  His hand drifted down her neck, over the curve of her shoulder, and started down her arm. His other hand moved to her waist.

  “Come here, lass,” he breathed into her ear, and she sighed. He felt something give within her; the walls she had so carefully built around her heart began to crumble. Dougal would be the one to catch the stones as they fell. She wrapped her slender arms around his neck and kissed him a little harder. He put one of his hands on her cheek, gently stroking the line of her jaw with his thumb, and the woman in her responded to his touch, leaning against his hand, uttering a small purr of pleasure when he kissed beneath her ear.

  He guided her body closer, until it pressed against his, and his fingers returned to their slide down the contours of her sides. As they travelled toward her waist, his thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts and she gasped, jerking a little with surprise. She almost pulled away, but he held her tight and did it again. This time she shuddered against him and the sensation made his pulse jump. Her kisses dove deeper, and she breathed more heavily. He responded, letting his hunger take over.

  “God, Glenna,” he murmured against her lips. He reached down until he cupped her bottom in his hands, then lifted her from the boulder, kissing all the while. She wrapped her legs around his waist so he could carry her more easily, and when she shifted against his hips, the sensation made him dizzy.

  He carried her to a place where they’d often sat on pleasant days, a soft bed of grass atop a granite outcropping. The view of the Highlands from the spot was magnificent, falling in shadowed peaks for hundreds of miles. But neither of them noticed. She watched him through heavy lids as he laid her on the grass, then he settled onto his hands and knees, poised above her, wondering what to do next.

  CHAPTER 17

  A Lad No Longer

  Kissing and touching was one thing. He’d done that with a great many willing lassies over the years. But going any further than that was always a question. Some had bargained with him: would he marry them if they agreed to make love with him? No. He had sufficed with the more innocent contact, and made do. Others had welcomed him to their beds, but afterward, though he left with a smile on his face, he often carried a feeling of indifference as far as the girl was concerned.

  Neither was the case here. Clearly, Glenna was as roused as he. She waited beneath him now, eyes closed, chest rising and falling with excitement and, probably, fear. If he made love to Glenna, there was no going back. She wouldn’t ask about marriage. Their partnership was one that would never require confirmation of that sort. But it would change their bond. There would be no indifference between them, ever.

  She opened her eyes and they softened as they met his, blue as the sky, deep as the ocean. Love me, they said to him. For the first time, he heard her voice as clearly in his mind as if she’d said the words out loud. Love me, please.

  “Ye’re sure?” he asked quietly. If she asked him to stop, he would, though he thought he would probably explode at the least breath of wind.

  She nodded and whispered, “Aye, I am.”

  His stomach rolled with anticipation. She sat up and took a deep breath, then offered him a tremulous smile. “Ye’ll have to help me out,” she said quietly. “I’m new at this, aye?”

  “Glenna.” He kissed her again, then turned his concentration to her tunic. Fighting the urge to rip the worn, flimsy material off her, he gently tugged her tunic out of her breeks. She giggled suddenly and slammed her hands down onto the tunic.

  “Tickles,” she said.

  “Oh, does it?” he asked, matching her grin, then adding a little spice. “Just ye wait.”

  He pried her hands from her stomach and placed them at her sides, though he could see she had trouble keeping them there. Every fibre in her body was taut. He leaned down to kiss her again, and found that while he did it to reassure her, it did the same for him. She seemed to gain strength from the kiss. Maybe she sensed his own nervousness and wanted, as usual, to help.

  The material skimmed her belly and Dougal leaned down to kiss it. Her sk
in was white as snow under the rough fabric, and it jumped at his touch. He cursed the fact that he’d done only a haphazard job on shaving; his whiskers would scrape her perfect skin. But she didn’t complain. Instead, she giggled, only this time her voice was a little less confident. She was questioning now, without saying a word, and he wanted to give her all the right answers. The material strained a bit against his fingers as she took a deep breath, readying herself. As she might for battle, he thought wryly.

  “Dinna be afraid, Glenna,” he said. “I want only to love ye, to give ye pleasure.”

  She sniffed quickly and nodded. “I’m fine,” she managed.

  Best to just dive right in, he decided. He pulled the tunic up, trying not to stare, but failing miserably.

  “God, Glenna,” he said. He put his hand behind her neck and pulled the material over her head, then dropped it on the ground at their side.

  “What?” she asked, her voice like a small child’s.

  He stared at her perfect body, marveling at all she had hidden for the past two years. Her breasts were small, which had been useful for her disguise, but they were by no means insubstantial. Her stomach lay flat, rising quickly with her nervous breathing. The arcs of her hipbones were visible above the waist of her breeks, fragile and strong all at once.

  She eyed him without moving, watching his reaction. He caught her gaze and grinned, aware his smile might resemble that of a wolf at that particular moment.

  “Ye’re no laddie, Glenna.”

  She chuckled, then shivered. “I’m cold,” she said.

  “Aye,” he replied, looking pointedly at her breasts. “I can see that. No’ for long, though.” He got to his feet and removed his own tunic in one quick motion, dropping it beside hers. Then he dropped back down to his hands and knees so he could kiss her some more.