Chapter Fourteen
Kirk
As we leave my family behind, I keep my eyes on the road ahead and try not to drive too recklessly.
I rarely worry this much about something like that, but with Gretchen in the car, I've become oddly concerned with safety.
I even slow down when I'm navigating sharp curves.
What on earth has happened to me? I've toned down my wild side.
Mhac na galla. I've become a weakling.
"Is everything okay, Kirk?" Gretchen asks, leaning toward me. "You look like you might throw up. Maybe these crazy curves are getting to you."
I scowl at her. "Only children vomit in cars."
"Then why are you acting this way?"
"In precisely what manner are you accusing me of behaving?" Christ, now I sound like a petulant bairn. I do my best to tame this bizarre instinct I've acquired in the last few minutes.
She flattens her lips and squints her eyes. "Something is definitely wrong with you. What gives, Kirk?"
I grip the steering wheel with one hand, trying to seem unaffected even though my other hand wants to reach for hers. "Ahmno acting any particular way."
She gives me the side-eye. "You are acting weird, Kirk. Did your family liking me somehow break your brain?"
I cough out a laugh and try to loosen my white-knuckled grip on the wheel. "Dinnae be a dafty."
Gretchen grins, barely suppressing a laugh. "Okay, if you aren't weirded out by me getting to know your family, then you must have another reason for driving like an old lady. I mean, a badass stunt man like you couldn't be afraid anything."
The lass is right. I'm acting like an old woman. No more of that ye, dafty.
I slide a hand onto her thigh. "How would ye like to learn about stunt work? I reckon you've got a daredevil streak hidden inside you."
She leans closer until her breaths tickle my cheek and whispers, "I must be a daredevil. Why else would I let a hot Scot seduce me five minutes after we met? You are an adventure all your own, Kirk Balfour."
"Is that a yes? Ye do want to learn stunt work, if only for a lark?"
"Or maybe I'll become an adrenaline junky like you."
The idea arouses me more than I expected.
Gretchen gone wild? Aye, that makes me randy as a bull.
So. I take the next hairpin with a little more flair.
Gretchen yelps, clutching the passenger seat with both hands.
I'm rewarded with her laughter---open, delighted, the sound not of a terrified woman, but one who expects the world to bend to her will.
"Holy shit, Kirk! I thought you were being careful!"
I tap the brakes just in time to slide onto the shoulder and cut the engine.
We're perched above the loch now, the entire valley spread out before us like a Renaissance masterpiece.
Gretchen's eyes are feverishly bright, her hands clinging to the edge of her seat as she gawps at the water.
Adrenaline and fear have made her look even bonnier.
"You said you had a surprise," she reminds me, her voice raspy and still a wee bit breathless. "Is this it? Car sickness with a side order of cardiac arrest?"
"No." I unbuckle her seat belt with a flick that makes her eyebrows shoot up again. "The surprise is down there, by the water. And before ye start griping, aye, you're coming with me---even if you worry your loafers cannae handle the terrain."
She narrows her gaze, but I can tell she's fighting a smile. "If you murder me and dump my body in a Scottish loch, my parents will sue your entire country and my dad will hunt you down with his favorite weapon---a shotgun."
"My family would probably commission a statue in my honor," I retort, and before she can parry, I'm out of the car and circling to her side.
The wind coming off the loch is crisp, and the aroma of salt seems to cling to the air.
I offer my hand like a gentleman, and after a brief roll of her eyes, she accepts it.
I lead her down the narrow, sheep-worn path that snakes toward the pebble strand.
The sheep have left their mark everywhere here---hoof prints, tufts of wool, and a faint perfume of creatures blissfully unaware that they're the dumbest animals on earth.
But the scenery is so staggeringly beautiful that even Gretchen stops for a moment to enjoy it.
"So, what's the deal?" she asks, faintly winded by our march to the shore which, admittedly, would knock the air out of anyone not descended from a backwoods Highlander.
"Will you teach me how to become one with nature, or does this end with you stripping off your clothes and jumping into the freezing water? I wouldn't mind that, actually."
"I might do both," I suggest, flashing her a grin. "But first, I want to show ye how a real Balfour man makes a splash."
At the edge of the loch, the water is clear as glass, the surface so flat it mirrors the clouds in a perfect twin. I slide my mobile out of my pocket and hand it to her, gesturing for Gretchen to stand back a bit. "Ye'll want to film this, lass. Otherwise, no one will believe you."
She accepts the mobile, gripping it with both hands, no doubt expecting me to do something either idiotic or illegal. Most likely both.
"Okay, when will you wow me, Kirk?"
"There's a reason they call this the Balfour Leap.
" I'm already removing my boots, then I strip my shirt off with the sort of abandon I inherited from a dozen generations of Highlanders who didnae give a toss about fashion.
"It's a tradition---one that, to my knowledge, no American has ever even attempted. Yet."
Her eyes have gone wide, locked on me the way a hawk tracks a mouse---hungry and predatory.
I point to a mossy crag thirty meters up the shore, a massive stone overhanging the water. It's painted with ancient runes and the faded shard of a red-and-white target. "See that up there?"
She squints, bobbing her head as if struggling to see. "Come on, you aren't doing what I think you are. Kirk, you could break your neck. Or your spine. Do you know what happens when you land wrong in cold water?"
"Nothing, if you do it right," I assure her, already marching toward the rock. "But if it goes tits up, toss me a life ring."
"Do you have a life ring?!"
I ignore her shriek and the way it echoes off the loch, scrambling barefoot up the rocks with ice-cold stone slicing into my soles and fueling the adrenaline already buzzing through my bloodstream.
Every sensation feels sharper---the tang of wet stone, the wind biting at my chest, even the scar where my last injury never quite healed.
I live for this feeling. And knowing Gretchen's watching adds an extra sort of arousal, like some primal part of me wants to either impress her or die in the attempt.
She shouts to me, "Careful! And make sure you don't give the sheep an aneurysm."
I raise a fist and howl like a wolf during a full moon, strictly to be certain I'm living up to expectations.
At the top of the crag, the wind whips so fiercely that my nipples instantly turn hard.
Out here I'm exposed. This is what it means to be a Balfour---stripped to your bare soul, shivering and unafraid.
I glance down at the drop. It's higher than I remember.
The loch below beckons me with its irresistible darkness, the kind that's so deep, so impenetrable, it might as well be the gateway to Hades.
I glance back over my shoulder and see Gretchen standing there with my mobile poised for the money shot, and the anticipation is nearly unbearable.
Then I swan dive off the cliff.
The cold air sears my skin as I plummet toward the water, every inch of my body awake and alive.
I keep my arms pinned tight to my sides, chin tucked, toes pointed---the way my da drilled it into us as boys before he'd ever let us swim in the lochs alone.
I aim for the dead-center of the target, ignoring the twist of fear that always coils up in the second before hitting the water.
The shock is a full-body punch. The loch swallows me whole and everything is black, soundless, impossibly cold. I can feel my veins constricting, my heart pounding. It's perfect. I surface, laughing so loud it feels like a primal victory cry, even as my bagais are shriveling up.
Only for a wee while. I'll be in perfect shape to fuck Gretchen soon. My balls will recover quickly.
Her screams echo above me, but that is not terror. I recognize the wild, triumphant sound of someone witnessing genuine madness. She's sprinting along the shoreline, shoes abandoned.
"You're completely, terminally insane!" she shouts, waving my mobile in the air as evidence. "Oh my God! Kirk, are you alive? Say something, you idiot!"
I climb back up the steep trail and meet Gretchen there. "Oh aye, lass, I am more alive than ever before. And now it's your turn."