Chapter 34
“As I recall,” James said with a tease in his voice, “you claimed you dreamt of going on holiday to a warm isle and no horse riding. ” He kicked his mount into a trot.
Loch Eil was already at their backs and it wasn’t a long ride now to Loch Ailort, where they’d hire a boat, and propelled by the spring tides, head into the Sound of Arisaig to their destination.
“Yeah,” Magda said, quickly catching up. “But this pony counts as a horse, James. You know what I meant.”
“Oh, aye.” He leaned far over the saddle and gave a squeeze to her thigh. “But some riding is necessary, aye? I’ll not have you walking.”
“But on a pony?”
“I’d not entrust my horse to some ferryman,” James laughed. “’Tis but a short ride. And I am producing your requested isle.”
“Yeah, but I had something more like Hawaii in mind.”
"Ha—where?” James stood in his stirrups, eyeing the horizon.
The spectacular edge of Scotland was visible in the distance, a glare of white on water with crags beyond, as Loch Ailort snaked its way out to the open sea.
“As for the warmth,” he added, “well, we’ve waited till spring and cannot wait any longer.
The men are fully rested and we must be on our way.
I’d not try Cameron hospitality any longer. ”
Magda was greatly relieved to feel the sand at her feet when they finally landed on the Isle of Eigg.
James and the captain had gotten out, dragging the boat some ways through the shallows to shore.
It hadn’t been much more than a dinghy, and the trip would’ve been an anxious affair even if she hadn’t had the nagging fear of water to contend with.
James had made the mistake of telling her whales could often be seen this time of year, and Magda spent much of their crossing envisioning scenarios whereby they were flipped into the sea by a gargantuan, breeching marine mammal.
Once her heart returned to its normal rate, though, Magda looked around and was delighted.
It was as if a comb had been dragged through a painter’s palette, swirling together but not quite mixing basic shades of blue and beige and brown and red and green, the colors of ocean giving way to sand, beach grasses to mud, then onto the turf that stretched into an impossible shade of emerald in the distance.
“Charming, eh?” James came up from behind to wrap his arms tightly around her. The sound of gentle waves slapping at the retreating boat already faded in the distance. “Less than one hundred souls live here. We can go about unhampered.”
His breath tickled her ear. “So shall we?” He nuzzled past her wind-tangled hair to kiss at her neck. “Go be . . .” He bit lightly at her shoulder. “Unhampered?”
"That sounds perfect,” she purred. "No gunfire? ”
“Nary a sword in sight, hen.”
James knew of an abandoned farmhouse and gave her the option of a roof overhead, but Magda actually wanted to sleep outdoors.
All of the camping they’d done, and she hadn’t yet truly felt the joy of what it was to lie next to him, naked under a bowl of stars, without the fear of soldiers coming for them in the night.
They headed for the highest point on the island, setting up camp on a carpet of lush grass on the lee side of what James told her was the Sgurr pitchstone, an enormous black rock formation that jutted violently from the isle’s soft green flesh like a broken bone.
Winter was well past, and the sun was setting much later now. By the time James settled them with a tent and small fire, it was late afternoon. A shelf of clouds hung low in the sky, breaking clear just along the horizon so that a thin band of white glowed luminous, gilding the sea in the distance.
“This would be a wonderful place for a house.” She sighed contentedly.
“No, hen, this would be a miserable place for a house.” The cool of the evening approached fast now, and he snuggled closer to Magda to share his heat.
She shot him an indignant look, and with a devilish smile in his eyes, he stole a kiss at her cheek.
“But why?” she asked. Magda sat forward, studying the lay of the land in earnest. “That huge rock blocks the wind. And there were those pretty yellow daisies all around. They’re a little overgrown, but you could probably cut them back and transplant them to a little garden. It would be pretty.”
“’Tis ragwort, and very poisonous indeed.” Chuckling, he shook her shoulder gently, teasing. “I’m told you once tried to poison a platoon of soldiers with spindle berries too.”
“Well, I didn’t plan on eating the flowers, James,” she grumbled. His bark of laughter in response made Magda smile despite herself.
“Come, hen.” Sliding his hand to her neck, he gently smoothed errant hairs from inside her collar and then rubbed his hand down her back. “Time to rest.”
“It’s not even night yet,” she protested. “And I’m hungry.”
“Aye,” he said, as he wound his arm tight around her waist. James kissed his way along her shoulder. “I’m hungry too.” Nibbling at her ear, he whispered, “There will be time to fill our bellies later.”
She gently tugged his arm from her waist and, lacing her fingers in his, clasped his hand and tucked it between them.
“I . . . do you mind if we just sit for now?” She searched his face. “I know it’s supposed to be our special getaway and everything.”
“Of course, lass.” He tenderly cupped her cheek. “Is there something troubling you?”
“No, I . . . I just want to lie with you tonight.”
He stroked his fingers lightly along her skin, silently considering her face. “As you wish, my love.” He kissed each cheek, and then touched his forehead to hers. “Now, shall I muster some food on this homestead of yours? ”
“Yes, please,” she said with a light heart.
Their bodies tangled close that night, stretched on the soft ground with his tartan to warm them, his hand smoothing through her hair until their breathing slowed to a deep, dreamless sleep.
They walked along the beach the next morning, and Magda giggled like a child, running and stomping and dragging her feet to hear the sand hum at her touch.
“I’ve heard of singing sand,” she said, “but I had no idea.” She plopped down. The sand was dry, yet still firm with the memory of the sea. Magda rubbed her fingers through the soft, beige powder, eliciting eerie tonal sounds like whale song.
“This is beautiful,” she beamed. “Thank you for taking me here.”
“Och, hen, you’re the one who’s beautiful.” He kissed the top of her head, then dropped to sit beside her.
"See there”— he pointed to an island rising black from the water, its evenly undulating hills suggesting the humpback of some great sea creature floating along the horizon— “that’s the Isle of Rum.”
“Ooh, that sounds like a fun one.”
“Indeed.” He smiled and raised a brow. “And just there, you can see Skye.” He gestured to a faraway island, a ghostly gray in the far distance.
They sat in amicable silence for some time. Seabirds cawed and swooped overhead, making quick dips, then bombing into the water for food. A thin halo of foam hissed and sighed lightly against the small black rocks and smooth sand of the shore.
“I think it’s time, hen,” he told her in a grave voice.
Fear at once prickled up Magda’s back. These sorts of pronouncements from James were usually followed by random and dangerous military missions. “For . . . ?”
“For putting a bairn in your belly. I ken you’ve been counting the days,” he continued. “That’s what last night was about, if I’ve the right of it?”
She nodded. Magda had been counting the days, doing what she could to avoid a pregnancy. “But how did you know?”
“Och, I’m with you every night lass. I can count too.”
“A bairn,” she said. The word was foreign on her tongue.
Magda went quiet. That they would begin having babies as soon as possible would be the obvious assumption, and yet it was something she hadn’t fully considered.
She felt uncertain. Magda realized she had an idea of herself that she’d grown up with, a particular understanding of who she was that was etched at her core.
She’d defined herself by her childhood, her home, and even her parents.
To consider motherhood somehow set all of those elements into strong relief.
“I . . . I just need to think. But I do love you, James.”
“And I you, lass.” He laid her back gently, taking her hands in his, holding them in the cool sand over her head. “And I you.”
They passed the rest of the morning with slow, hushed kisses to the sound of the surf.