Chapter 26 #2
The rain has stopped, somehow leaving the air warmer than before. I have no idea where we’re going, and it feels good. I trust Callum implicitly. It’s exhilarating to simply let go and give control to someone else for a while. When he stops short, I realize I’ve started to giggle.
He gazes down at me, asking in a laughing voice, “What’s all this about?”
“I’m just happy, I guess. This feels, well…it’s amazing.”
“Had I known you’d make such a dear, wee racket, I’d have taken you for a dash through the woods sooner.”
“It’s not just the woods,” I say, trying to find words to describe something I’m only now discovering myself.
“I’m always so careful. I never do stuff like this.
Our farm is surrounded by trees, and I’ve never run through them at night.
And never ever in the rain. It wouldn’t occur to me.
I don’t do things that might be reckless. But it’s awesome.”
Thoughts of home overcome me, only they’re lighter than before, as if traveling through time has tilted my universe, and now I’m perceiving life from a different angle, seeing how precious simple pleasures can be.
How happiness can be a choice.
Racing through the night with Callum, joy thrums through me. Despite the grueling work, the poverty, the hunger and uncertainty, I’ve never felt this alive.
This, Callum, the trees…it’s like wandering through some strange dream. And the day will come when I have to wake up.
This moment is a gift. I could cling to moments like these. Pursue them even. Why shouldn’t I? I crave happiness. I’m starved for it. So why not seek it as deliberately as I do actual food?
My time here is short. It’s not my true reality.
But I am here, and there’s nothing I can do about it until we find the right Celtic festival, or magic island, or blue moon, or whatever it is that needs to happen.
As long as I keep up with my chores, don’t do anything to get us in trouble, and neither of us gets hurt, what’s the harm in savoring the moment?
I gaze up at Callum. He’s in this dream with me. My taste of pleasure and adventure and recklessness.
I could just do this. Be with him. Let go. Enjoy.
“I’m really, really loving this,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
“I’m pleased to oblige,” he says, and I can tell he genuinely is. “And while your ‘York’ apples sound lovely, you’ve nae tasted an apple till you’ve tasted a Scottish apple.”
“I’m ready,” I say, and I absolutely am. Ready. For all of it.
He touches a finger to his lips and lowers his voice to a whisper. “From here, we need to be verra quiet. Because we’re about to be verra naughty.”
Oh, hell yes—bring it on.
I follow him into a clearing, where there’s an apple tree.
I gasp, recognizing the twisty, gnarled branches—smaller than the tree I know from the future, but unmistakable. In the moonlight, it looks both haunted and wise. Goosebumps shiver up my arms as I’m struck again by that lone gravestone I saw sheltering in its shadows.
“Wait here, Rosie-love. I won’t be but a moment.” Callum lets go of my hand, takes a few steps toward the tree then stops and comes back, guiding me several feet off to the side.
“You’ll want to mind your head.” Then warm lips, the barest brush against my forehead. A blink, and it’s gone.
Before I can react, he winks and propels himself up the branches.
Soon apples begin to drop, and by the time he clambers back down, I’ve stuffed several into the satchel.
“Well?” he whispers. “Have you tried one?”
I shake my head and reach into the bag, but he’s already got an apple in his hand.
His gaze holds mine as he lifts it to my lips. Fingers graze my chin, tilting it slightly. His voice dips low, rough at the edges. “Have a taste, love.”
A slow, melting heat unfurls in my belly. This is more than an apple.
I wrap my hand around his wrist and lean in for a bite. It’s crisp and tart, and juice bursts into my mouth and dribbles down my chin. I hum with pleasure. I thought our apples were good, but fruit isn’t like this in the future. Not anymore.
He touches his thumb to my chin, gently wiping it clean.
Somehow I manage to chew and swallow without choking. “Thank you.”
The cavalier Callum is back, and he sweeps me an elaborate bow. “Anything for milady.”
But then I catch him darting his eyes right and left.
“What is it?” I pitch my voice in the barest whisper. “Are we not supposed to be here?”
He half shakes, half nods his head as if to say the jury’s out. Finally, he admits, “Servants are forbidden this particular fruit.”
“Sounds biblical.”
His smile is sudden and delighted, and I decide that amusing Callum is pretty much the most gratifying thing ever.
“Truly said, lass. And here’s another truth: God alone grows the apples. I’m fairly certain the Campbell has naught to do with it.”
My heart sinks a little. These are Campbell apples. Because of course they are.
“Even so, we should have a care.”
I sigh. “You’re right. I should probably go back to the cottage.”
His grin is slow, wicked, and completely adorable.
“Och, my Rosie,” he purrs, “I was thinking we should leave.” His eyes gleam with mischief. “Not that we should go home.”