Fire Along the Sky
Page 37
She began to swim away but he caught her up and then he subdued her while she struggled, and when she was exhausted and could do no more than let him hold her he said it, against her ear. “I love you, Jennet Scott, and well you know it. I've loved you since you were a girl with dirt on your face, I loved you the day I left Scotland and every day since.”
“And?”
“And?” he asked in mock outrage. “Is that not enough? Don't be greedy, girl.”
“And?” she said, pinching him mercilessly until he yelped and snatched at her flying hands.
“And on the day the war ends I'll marry you. You harpy.”
“The war could go on for years and years,” she said into his ear, so he would hear her and the rest of the sleeping world would not; what she was about to say was hard, even for the brazen wanton she had just proved herself to be.
He went very still. “It could.”
“So I have an idea.”
He nodded, though Jennet felt the muscles in his arms tense. “Go on.”
“Handfasting. You know the old custom, for a year and a day.”
Luke was very quiet. “And? What happens in a year and a day?”
Jennet heard her voice going very rough. It was irritating to have her own voice betray her, but she pushed on. “In a year and a day we meet, right here.”
“Just like this?” His hand slid over her bum and slipped between her thighs.
She pinched him again and he caught her hand and bit it, lightly. “And then, what happens in a year and a day when we meet here?”
“If you have changed your mind, or if I have changed my mind, then we part peacefully from one another.”
“I've waited ten years for you, Jennet. I can wait ten more, if I must.”
“Then you're far more patient than I,” she said testily. “For I'll not pace away what's left of my youth counting out empty days and wondering. Hear me weel, Luke. I'll not wait more than a year and a day.”
He frowned at her. “And if neither of us have changed our minds in a year and a day?”
“We marry.”
“And if I don't come on that day?”
“Then the assumption is you've released me from my promise and I'm free to bestow my favors elsewhere.”
“Ah.” A shadow passed over his face. “And would you?”
She bit back a smile. “Finally.”
He frowned at her, inclined his head, and his arms tightened around her. “Finally? Finally what?”
“I'm thinking of Thunder,” she said, leaning back in his arms to study his expression.
“My horse.”
“Aye, your horse. All the care and grooming and worry for a great bloody beast, and when Dugal Montgomerie offered you three times what any animal is worth—”
The muscles in his cheek jumped. “What's mine is mine.”
“Aye. And here am I, the happiest of women because you value me as highly as your horse.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “All this by way of promising that you won't go off with Dugal Montgomerie.”
“Or anyone else,” Jennet said. “Should you keep the terms of the handfasting, of course. Luke Bonner. Or Luke Fraser or Scott or whichever name you've settled on. What is it to be, may I ask? So I can have my initials sewn into my linen.” She tried to look serious, and failed.
“I'm using Bonner for the time being,” he said, studying her face. “If that suits you.”
“Very well,” she said. “I'll take it, in a year and a day.”
He brushed her wet hair back from her face. “This feels like a trap.”
Jennet studied his expression by the light of the lantern reflected on the water. There was some worry there, but more resignation.
“Och, nae. It's just the opposite.”
“It feels like a trap,” he said again. He studied her face as she studied his. “But if you're in need of a promise, Jennet, then fine and good.”
“You'll marry me in a year and a day whether or not the war is over?”
He was looking at her intently. “In a year and a day I'll come back here and we'll settle it then. That's as much of a promise as I can give you. Will you be satisfied with that?”
It was very late and the moon was long gone, but Jennet had never felt more awake in her life. He was leaving tomorrow and she would not see him for a very long time, perhaps all of the winter and spring and through the summer, but he would come back to her. And he would marry her then, she would see to it.
“Aye,” she said. “I will.”
Then he was towing her toward the falls and through the rush of water to the cavern behind, cool and dark. The lantern light wavered thinly through the curtain of the falls so that she could make out his face, but she had to shout to be heard.
“What are we doing here?”
“Sealing the bargain,” he shouted back. There was a little ledge of rock and he pulled himself up on it and held out his hand for her.
She paddled away and treaded water. She could not deny that she wanted to go to him, but more than that Jennet needed simply to look. With the light flickering on his wet skin he was like an illustration out of the great book of myths in her father's library, a grinning messenger of the gods come to teach her a lesson or play a trick on her.
She said, “You'll be very tired on the morrow, and you've got a long way to travel.”
“And?”
“And?” he asked in mock outrage. “Is that not enough? Don't be greedy, girl.”
“And?” she said, pinching him mercilessly until he yelped and snatched at her flying hands.
“And on the day the war ends I'll marry you. You harpy.”
“The war could go on for years and years,” she said into his ear, so he would hear her and the rest of the sleeping world would not; what she was about to say was hard, even for the brazen wanton she had just proved herself to be.
He went very still. “It could.”
“So I have an idea.”
He nodded, though Jennet felt the muscles in his arms tense. “Go on.”
“Handfasting. You know the old custom, for a year and a day.”
Luke was very quiet. “And? What happens in a year and a day?”
Jennet heard her voice going very rough. It was irritating to have her own voice betray her, but she pushed on. “In a year and a day we meet, right here.”
“Just like this?” His hand slid over her bum and slipped between her thighs.
She pinched him again and he caught her hand and bit it, lightly. “And then, what happens in a year and a day when we meet here?”
“If you have changed your mind, or if I have changed my mind, then we part peacefully from one another.”
“I've waited ten years for you, Jennet. I can wait ten more, if I must.”
“Then you're far more patient than I,” she said testily. “For I'll not pace away what's left of my youth counting out empty days and wondering. Hear me weel, Luke. I'll not wait more than a year and a day.”
He frowned at her. “And if neither of us have changed our minds in a year and a day?”
“We marry.”
“And if I don't come on that day?”
“Then the assumption is you've released me from my promise and I'm free to bestow my favors elsewhere.”
“Ah.” A shadow passed over his face. “And would you?”
She bit back a smile. “Finally.”
He frowned at her, inclined his head, and his arms tightened around her. “Finally? Finally what?”
“I'm thinking of Thunder,” she said, leaning back in his arms to study his expression.
“My horse.”
“Aye, your horse. All the care and grooming and worry for a great bloody beast, and when Dugal Montgomerie offered you three times what any animal is worth—”
The muscles in his cheek jumped. “What's mine is mine.”
“Aye. And here am I, the happiest of women because you value me as highly as your horse.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “All this by way of promising that you won't go off with Dugal Montgomerie.”
“Or anyone else,” Jennet said. “Should you keep the terms of the handfasting, of course. Luke Bonner. Or Luke Fraser or Scott or whichever name you've settled on. What is it to be, may I ask? So I can have my initials sewn into my linen.” She tried to look serious, and failed.
“I'm using Bonner for the time being,” he said, studying her face. “If that suits you.”
“Very well,” she said. “I'll take it, in a year and a day.”
He brushed her wet hair back from her face. “This feels like a trap.”
Jennet studied his expression by the light of the lantern reflected on the water. There was some worry there, but more resignation.
“Och, nae. It's just the opposite.”
“It feels like a trap,” he said again. He studied her face as she studied his. “But if you're in need of a promise, Jennet, then fine and good.”
“You'll marry me in a year and a day whether or not the war is over?”
He was looking at her intently. “In a year and a day I'll come back here and we'll settle it then. That's as much of a promise as I can give you. Will you be satisfied with that?”
It was very late and the moon was long gone, but Jennet had never felt more awake in her life. He was leaving tomorrow and she would not see him for a very long time, perhaps all of the winter and spring and through the summer, but he would come back to her. And he would marry her then, she would see to it.
“Aye,” she said. “I will.”
Then he was towing her toward the falls and through the rush of water to the cavern behind, cool and dark. The lantern light wavered thinly through the curtain of the falls so that she could make out his face, but she had to shout to be heard.
“What are we doing here?”
“Sealing the bargain,” he shouted back. There was a little ledge of rock and he pulled himself up on it and held out his hand for her.
She paddled away and treaded water. She could not deny that she wanted to go to him, but more than that Jennet needed simply to look. With the light flickering on his wet skin he was like an illustration out of the great book of myths in her father's library, a grinning messenger of the gods come to teach her a lesson or play a trick on her.
She said, “You'll be very tired on the morrow, and you've got a long way to travel.”
