Sound of the Heart

by Genevieve Graham

  That’s when he noticed how her expression had changed. Her blue eyes were wide with curiosity as they flicked over the contours of his chest. He waited, letting her see or touch, letting her do whatever she wanted to do. If she wanted to see, he would show her. Anything she wanted, he would give her. God, she was beautiful. The lines of her face were softening with this new expression. Her eyes seemed darker, her lips were partially open. Could it possibly be that she felt the same way as he did? He watched the corners of her lips curve gently upward and she blinked at him, looking something akin to guilty.

  It was his turn to ask. “What?”

  Her fingertips touched the dark skin of his chest and goose bumps rose like wildfire over his body. “Ye’re no lassie,” she said.

  He roared with laughter and dug his lips into her neck again. She had seen him without a shirt so many times and had never reacted this way. He was delighted.

  “Those are very cold fingers,” he said, then pressed his hand against the back of hers so her palm lay flat against his skin.

  “I can feel yer heartbeat,” she said quietly. “Under my hand.”

  He dug beneath her and wound his arm around her waist. Lifting her from the ground, he pulled her against him, kissing her all the while. Her breasts were cold, pressing against his chest with a sweet urgency he had hardly dared hope for. The difference in temperatures between their skins was one of the most exquisite sensations he had ever felt.

  Still holding her against him with one hand, he reached to the side and grabbed their discarded shirts. He bundled them into a makeshift pillow, then set it on the ground behind her. “Lay yer head down,” he murmured, and she did.

  Dougal’s body screamed for release, but his mind was wholly occupied with devouring Glenna. He knelt beside her and ran his fingers over her body as if she were a musical instrument and he searched for the right notes. He found a spot on her lower belly that made her jump, then kissed her there. When he caressed her breasts, she gasped and stared at him as the sensation raced through her. Her eyes were wide and searching, but he just smiled. She bit her lip, then lay back and let him do what he wanted.

  What he wanted was to be gentle, to trace the lines of her with his fingertips until she shivered uncontrollably, but there was only so much he could restrain. He straddled her and leaned down, kissing upward from the centre of her belly, and tasting each breast in turn. She made a small whimpering sound and he froze.

  “Does it hurt?” he asked. “Are ye all right?”

  “No, no,” she said, her words coming in gasps. “No’ so much hurt . . . I’m . . . Do it again.”

  This time she held his head against her chest and moaned as his lips closed over her. His head buzzed when she raked her fingers through his damp black hair.

  “God, Dougal,” she whispered and he chuckled against her skin, now warm and damp from his kisses.

  With his lips still at her breast, his hands slid to her hips, then to the tie of her breeks. Her hands suddenly caught his and he met her gaze.

  “Ye’ll no’ hurt me?” she asked.

  “No’ on purpose,” he said. “But—the first time a lassie makes love, it can hurt.”

  “Oh?” Her eyes went round again and beneath his hands he felt fear clench in her belly.

  “Only for a moment. Then . . . then it shouldna hurt.”

  She swallowed, then nodded and worked the tie of her breeks. “I can take those off.”

  “It’s all right. I want to,” he assured her.

  It struck him that this small act was intensely erotic, removing a woman’s breeks. Before Glenna, he hadn’t ever seen a woman dressed in anything but gowns, and he’d become fairly adept at helping them to remove those. This was something new. He pulled the knot loose and began to slide the worn brown wool down her hips. He followed the line of the material with his thumbs, tracing her hipbones until he revealed her lower body. He pressed his fingertips against the blond, coarse hairs and she relaxed again. His breeks joined hers beside them and it was her turn to stare.

  “What?” he asked, flushing slightly. “Ye’ve seen it before.”

  “I havena seen it do that before.”

  “No?” He chuckled. “Well, I canna help it. I want to be inside ye more than anythin’ in the world.”

  She bit her lip. “I’m frightened.”

  “Aye, I ken ye are. But I’ve promised, haven’t I? I’ll hold ye close. Trust me.”

  One large knee worked its way between her thighs and he settled on top of her, balancing his weight on his elbows so as not to crush her. She still trembled under him and he wondered if she could feel his own tremor. He felt dizzy with anticipation. He kissed her breasts, her neck, her lips, anywhere he could reach, and she kissed him back. Her fingers explored him, grabbing the muscles of his arms, skimming over the lines of his chest. At some point he felt the tension in her legs loosen and slowly, slowly, trying not to spook her, he shifted positions and pressed her thighs apart.

  He held her gaze, asking. She looked back at him, small face so trusting beneath his. She nodded.

  “Dinna be afraid,” he said, then pressed himself between her legs. She stiffened immediately, and he met opposition from within. He kissed her again, soothing, reassuring, then pushed hard.

  He tried to ignore the cry of pain he shoved out of her. He tried to disregard the taste of salty tears on her cheeks he knew he had put there. Instead he concentrated on the feel of her around him; not only from within, but in the solid press of her thighs against his body, the cut of her fingernails as they dug like claws into his back. Eventually the little sounds she was making changed, softening into something more like curiosity than pain. He dared himself to look in her eyes and discovered she wasn’t even looking at him. Her eyes were skyward. He stopped moving.

  “Glenna?”

  She jerked her gaze from the sky. “Aye?”

  “Are ye all right?”

  “Aye, I reckon I am. Are we done?”

  He frowned. “No’ quite.” He propped himself up on one elbow and peered at her. “Are ye no’ enjoyin’ yerself then?”

  She shrugged. “Well, it doesna hurt now, if that’s what ye mean.”

  “No, that is no’ what I mean. Does it feel good to ye?”

  This time it was she who frowned. “It feels . . . odd. I reckon I’m still thinkin’ on that first bit. It’s no’ like that every time, is it?”

  “No. Only the once. Glenna?”

  “Aye?”

  “Forget that first bit. Look at me. Am I who ye want?”

  Her eyes grew dark, like very deep lochs. “Oh aye, Dougal.”

  “Then let me love ye proper. Forget that part an’ think of how it feels now.”

  He moved slowly and her eyes started to close. He sank his lips into her neck, feeling her pulse, quick and light under his tongue.

  “Does that feel good to ye, Dougal?”

  “Oh, aye.”

  She relaxed under him. He could tell the moment when she decided to stop thinking and instead enjoy the sensations as they presented themselves. Now it was his turn to think rather than feel. How to bring her pleasure? He wanted her to love this, to feel the exhilaration he felt. He wanted her to want more. He certainly did not intend for this to be their one and only time. He tried varying his speed depending on the little purring noises she issued, then realised he couldn’t stand thinking anymore.

  He closed his eyes as a familiar, delicious rumble began deep within him, taking hold and growing, wave after wave, taking possession of his mind and body.

  “Glenna,” he whispered, and surrendered.

  And somewhere in the back of his mind he heard another sound: Glenna’s voice, calling to him, crying out.

  When he opened his eyes at last, she was watching him, her face relaxed into a sweet, peaceful expression. She closed her eyes and started to drift off to sleep, but he gathered her up against him first, turned her back to his chest, and pulled her tight against his body
. She was soft and pliable in his arms, as if unwilling to argue. He wrapped an arm over her, stuck his nose in the golden tangle of her hair, and fell asleep.

  CHAPTER 18

  Dougal’s Secret

  The most beautiful sounds Dougal had ever heard filled their croft. When Glenna wasn’t singing, she laughed, and when she laughed, he couldn’t stop his own from bubbling over. And the relief he felt was almost as wonderful. He had known all along there was something between them. A connection that went beyond friendship. And now here they were, lovers as well as friends, their days and nights filled with each other.

  He hadn’t been wrong, approaching her like that. Now there were no more nights of silence. Their beds were pushed together so they fell asleep in each other’s arms, sometimes mid-sentence. They awoke in the barely lit hours, nudging each other by accident or on purpose, making love whenever the feeling came upon them.

  And she no longer whispered in her sleep. She had shed her secrets, let them out of her head and given them to him.

  When they weren’t loving or laughing, they worked together at making their secret life in the Highlands successful. Life wasn’t safe in Scotland anymore. Not only did the English still wander the Highlands, ridding the land of Scots, but Glenna and Dougal were escaped convicts. They had to stay hidden from any wandering troops and were always on the lookout.

  They did the best with what they had. They fished, hunted, and trapped side by side. Glenna was a skilled archer, and Dougal delighted in watching her take down a deer with one perfectly aimed arrow.

  Every now and then they made the trip to a nearby town to trade in furs and come back with necessities. In the beginning they had hidden beneath hoods, skulking in the streets. Then one day Glenna traded for a plain homespun dress. She brought it home and slipped it on, then tied the long fall of her hair back. It took Dougal back a step, seeing her dressed like that, and she seemed equally shocked, but it made visiting town a lot easier. When they were alone, she usually still wore breeks because she complained the dress was heavy and bulky, but whenever they went to town, she was every bit the beautiful, but typically dressed lady.

  No one was looking for an escaped Scottish prisoner who wore a dress.

  Dougal shaved his thick black beard almost every day, and cut his hair until it no longer covered his face unless the wind pushed it there. The ends reached to his shoulders but no farther, and he combed it back into a tail, tying it with a leather cord like he had as a boy. He wanted to look as presentable as she did when they went into town.

  In the twilight, in the flickering dimness of an oil lamp, he taught her to read. She was frustrated at first, demanding perfection from herself from the beginning, but he moved slowly, with infinite patience. She wanted this, and Dougal was determined to give her everything she wanted. He brought new books home from almost every trading mission.

  When they reached the end of one of their tethers, they would either stop for the night or move on to something new. Dougal dug in his memory for the lessons his mother had so earnestly tried to teach, and was able to unearth lessons in mathematics, history, and geography. Glenna was a sponge, soaking up everything he had to offer. There were times she nearly wore him out with her thirst for learning, but he never discouraged it. Every bit of information he taught her opened a new window into her fascinating mind and he reveled in her determination.

  Glenna sang to him almost every night. Sometimes after they made love, he was aware of her watching him fall asleep. She leaned on her elbow and toyed with the strands of his hair while singing something sweet as honey, just for him. He felt her there, though his eyes were closed. It was as if her diminutive presence cushioned him, kept him safe, as ridiculous as that might sound. Her fingers were strong, their tips small and calloused, and he kissed each one separately, listening to her giggle.

  But deep in his heart, which was almost entirely filled with her, he struggled with an unspoken secret. Every time she looked at him, her eyes so trusting, her own secrets all told, he got closer to telling her what no one else knew. About the things he heard in his head that he shouldn’t hear. He’d never shared the secret with anyone.

  One night after they’d made love, she snuggled her back against his side and sighed deeply, resting her cheek on his arm as if it were a pillow. He imagined her feathery eyelashes touching her cheeks and kissed the back of her neck.

  “Ye dinna believe in the kirk, do ye?” he asked.

  “In the kirk? Why? What made ye think of that?”

  “It’s only I want to ask somethin’ that has to do wi’ believin’ what ye canna see.”

  “Oh?” She rolled back so that she faced the ceiling, and gave him a bemused smile. “Believin’ what ye canna see is easy for me.”

  “Is it? Why’s that?”

  “Because, my wee fool, I canna see how much ye love me, but I believe it.”

  He grinned. “Ah. I’m the fool, aye? Well, perhaps ye’re right, mo ghràidh. For ye’re wise—most of the time.”

  She nudged him with her elbow. “Tell me this thing. What is it I canna see, Dougal?”

  He propped himself up onto one elbow so that he gazed down into her face. She lay relaxed, her expression curious. She made him feel safe, and that made him marvel.

  “I’ve never told a soul this,” he said, then paused, still waiting to hear her laugh at him, doubt him, ignore this most precious of secrets.

  “Tell me,” she whispered.

  “It’s something that I . . . Well, it’s something I’ve done since I was a young lad. Ye’ll say I’m—”

  “Dinna think of what I’ll say, Dougal. Just say it.”

  “All right. Here it is then. Laugh if ye must. Since I was wee, I’ve been able to hear what some men think.”

  She frowned and gave a little shrug. “Aye? So? It’s easy to tell what a man’s thinking.”

  “No. No’ like that. No’ like ye think. I dinna read a man’s expression an’ figure it out from there. No. I hear what’s kept inside their heads. Andrew could do it as well, I think.”

  The frown still creased her brow and he dragged a golden strand of hair across it. “If that’s so,” she asked, “then why is it ye didna ken I was a woman?”

  “Because I canna read women’s minds.”

  She lifted her eyebrows and the wrinkles disappeared. “Do ye do it all the time?”

  “The voices come to me whether I want them or no’. Sometimes I listen, sometimes I try not to.”

  A few moments of silence passed while she ingested his secret, then she looked away, staring instead at the wooden beam of their home. When she looked in his eyes again, he thought he detected sadness in them.

  “That must be a chore,” she said, then brightened. “Then again, it might be a help as well.”

  “Aye. It can go either way.”

  She didn’t move for a second and Dougal peered closely at her in the darkness. She stared back at him, her eyes open wide, unblinking, her face a mask of intensity.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  She continued to stare at him, saying nothing.

  “Glenna?” he demanded. “Are ye all right? Are ye angry? Did I say somethin’ to upset ye?”

  She huffed and grinned. “All right then. I was just makin’ sure.”

  “Of what?”

  “That you couldna read my thoughts. I dinna want ye in my head all the time.”

  He laughed and ducked his head down so he could nuzzle her neck. “Why no’? Ye’re in mine all the time.” She giggled. “What were ye thinkin’ of anyway?”

  “I was thinkin’ how much I’d like to go huntin’ tomorrow, fetch us some venison.”

  Dougal shook his head, smiling. “I make love to ye, I tell ye my deepest secret, and ye think of aught but huntin’?”

  He saw the white of her smile in the dark. “I only wanted to think of something ye’d no’ be able to guess.” She took one of his ears between her fingers and began to massage it in the w
ay he couldn’t resist. “Can ye read what I’m thinkin’ now?”

  “No, Glenna, I told ye, I canna—”

  Her other hand skimmed over his chest, moving downward until she could press it firmly between his legs.

  “How about now?”

  He breathed deeply and kissed her waiting lips. “Oh, aye. I read ye well.”

  Days, months, and years passed, their lives as simple as those of any other couple in the Highlands, aside from the fact that they were outlaws and therefore needed to remain invisible. Dougal was constantly amazed at how she made him feel, how she filled him with such contentment, whether they kept busy around the home or simply sat by the fire, doing something quiet like mending or sharpening blades. He had thought his life before had been happy, before war had taken it away. But it was nothing to this new existence, this sense of knowing. Of understanding that he had found what he’d been lacking all along.

  She was everything he needed: a companion, a confidante, and a lover with a hunger equal to his own. He still missed his family; he wished he could introduce her to them. Andrew would have loved her. He’d have said she was far too good for Dougal, but Dougal would have known he was joking.

  His mind drifted to Andrew fairly often, reluctantly following that bittersweet path. Of anyone in the world, Andrew would appreciate the life Dougal had now. If only he could have lived long enough to experience his own love. If only he could have lost himself to a woman as Dougal had. The thought made Dougal chuckle. How would their silent conversations go then? Maybe it was better he couldn’t share those thoughts. As much as he was proud of Glenna, wanted to show her off, there were certain aspects to their relationship that no one but they should see.

  Glenna seemed just as happy as he felt. Her smile became a sight so familiar to him he couldn’t imagine living without it. As long as he had Glenna, everything would be all right.

  CHAPTER 19

  The Hunt Begins

  The winter of 1756 had been brief and violent, as if it had handed out a severe punishment, then relaxed with satisfaction, witnessing the devastation it had wrought. Hunters and hunted were famished when mid-February arrived, and fortunately it was warm enough for Dougal and Glenna to hunt again. Ice and snow still claimed most of the land and the few tufts of stubborn grass poking through were dry and brown. Deer were scarce. Dougal and Glenna spent all morning scouring the woods for spoor, though they knew any prey they found would be emaciated.