Chapter Nineteen #2
His Highland bride, Evan thought, smiling to himself as he watched her descend the hillside with natural grace, dark skirt swinging about her ankles, now and then giving a tantalizing glimpse of slender ankles and ruffled petticoats above sturdy brogans.
The group continued down the long slope toward the glen, trekking over ground studded with rocks and stones and scattered with old heather and bracken.
They stopped often to examine rocks and plants, and admire the view, and Arthur eagerly pointed out geological features as they went.
Progress was slow but the air was brisk, and the sky held no threat of rain, although the mountaintops were veiled in mist.
Walking beside Catriona, Evan extended a hand to help her skirt a tangle of heather and gorse.
As she rested her hand in his, he squeezed her fingers.
She sent him a glance and a little smile, blue eyes sparkling, cheeks pink.
He hoped that lovely spark of delight was a response to his touch; more than likely, it was due to sunlight, crisp air, and exercise.
“What’s that over there?” Mrs. Wilkie pointed toward a low cluster of rocks in a beehive shape. “Is that what they call a cairn?”
“Aye. That one is very old,” Catriona said. “No one knows why it was set up there.”
“Is it a grave?” Lady Wetherstone asked, pausing to catch her breath.
“Unlikely, all the way up here. The stones are stacked to mark a place, or in memory of an incident or a person. Sometimes they were set up to honor someone who stopped here on their way somewhere else. Look at that tall stone over there,” she added, indicating another direction.
“It is ancient and rather remarkable, with a natural hole through it.”
“Oh, I must see!” Anna Wilkie took Reverend Wilkie’s arm to tug him in the direction of the standing stone as the others followed.
Evan strolled beside Catriona, astonished to see the stone, which he had not even known was set up in his own glen. Standing upright about five feet high, the monolith had a sizable round hole near its apex, like a crude stone sewing needle stuck in the ground.
“How odd!” Jemima stuck her hand in the hole, and her sister Emily did the same.
“There are markings here,” Emily said. “Swirls and crosses and such.”
Aedan MacBride went over to trace his hand over the designs. “These might be Pictish carvings. My wife is an antiquarian and an expert in this sort thing. She would be fascinated to see this.”
“I’ll make a rubbing impression on paper and send it along for her,” Catriona offered.
“Fascinating!” Reverend Wilkie walked around the standing stone. “I’ve heard that fairies make the holes in these sorts of stones. They are very rare.”
“Fairies!” Lady Wetherstone scoffed.
“They say these hills are inhabited by fairies,” Catriona said. “That is why the valley below is called Gleann nan Sitheach, Glen of the Fairies.”
“Nonsense,” Arthur said briskly, coming closer. “Holes are rare, true, but occur naturally from the action of water over eons. This stone was probably transported here by some ancient tribe to be used for some religious or magical purpose.”
“This particular stone is said to have magical properties,” Catriona said.
“Magic?” Anna Wilkie stepped up to set her face in the hole like an ancient frame.
“They say some people can see the future when they look through the hole,” Catriona replied.
“Indeed! What do you see, my dear?” Wilkie asked his wife.
“This wonderful glen. It’s like paradise.” Anna stood back.
“I take that to mean our future will be perfect,” her husband said.
One by one, they peeked through the stone. Evan took a turn too, looking down over the vast and beautiful glen and the mountains marching into misty infinity.
“All of our futures look promising, apparently,” he said with a chuckle, and stepped away to allow Catriona a turn. But she hung back and shook her head.
“Don’t you want to see your future?” he asked.
“Not yet. I want to decide it for myself.”
“And well you should.” He felt a punch of excitement in his core, hoping again.
The upright stone stood between them, she above on the slope, he below, so their faces were almost level as they watched each other. Evan rested his fingers on the gritty stone. Behind him, the group wandered down the incline.
“Shall we go?” he asked her. “They are heading down.”
“The gillies are far ahead! We must catch them,” Jemima called as the group moved.
Evan gestured, but Catriona stood on the other side of the stone and met his glance. “This stone serves another purpose,” she said. “It is called the Marriage Stone.”
“Oh?” He waited. “You did not tell the others.”
“They seem to be in a hurry. In ancient times,” she said, resting her fingers on the lower edge of the hole, “when a couple wanted to wed, they would come up here, hold hands through the stone, and say their own vows without need of a priest. And the marriage was good.”
He rested his hand on the other side of the opening. After a moment, he stretched out his longer fingers to brush her fingers lightly, deliberately. Then he grasped her hand in his and drew it closer.
She did not pull away, only watched him with wide blue eyes. Wary at first, her gaze seemed to soften.
“My lass,” he said. Just that. A question hung beneath the simple words.
She was silent and watchful, her eyes deep. He glimpsed a world there that he wanted to inhabit with her. He had to know if she felt the same.
“Catriona,” he murmured, tightening his fingers on hers inside the hole.
She leaned closer, the stone framing that lovely face. He lifted her hand in his and kissed it. “Evan,” she whispered, “what shall we do?”
“What you want. That is all I need to know.”
“I wish I knew,” she whispered. “Sometimes I think I do. And then—it changes.”
“We could fix it here and now.” The stone cocooned his whisper like a confessional. “In this magic stone.”
“But what if—things happen and—it is not so magical?”
“You worry too much.” He kissed her fingers, dropped them. Then he came away from the stone, stepped around it, and pulled her toward him. “I did not take you for a worrier. What troubles you?”
“Nothing,” she said. “Everything.”
“Something.” He drew her to him, hands on her shoulders, and kissed her, the stone shielded them from view.
She seemed to melt in his arms, sighed against his lips, slipped her arms around his neck as he kissed her again, then renewed it over and over, each kiss deeper, hungrier.
She curved against him, lips opening under his, her hunger matching his.
The wind blew cold down the slope. Dimly Evan heard someone call, heard laughter. He pulled away, reluctant but practical.
“Tonight,” he said. “Come to me tonight.” He should not push her to agree, but he was impatient, his body urging, his soul more desperate for her with every day, every hour.
The need for her compelled him, felt more than passion, felt strong and eternal beside this ancient stone, full of secrets and love and power. His heart slammed.
“Evan—”
“Tonight,” he said hoarsely, hearing another call from down the slope.
Drawing back, he brushed his fingers over her windblown hair, kissed her brow, her cheek, her lips. He loved her. He knew that without doubt now.
Somehow, when he had taken her hand through the old stone, he had made a silent soul-deep promise that he was only just realizing. This sudden union of theirs would last. He felt it within him, calmly and clearly. But she was not sure.
“You still believe it is a risk.”
“But you are not bothered by risks.”
“I see no risk in this, lass. To me, it feels right. But I will not rush you.”
He saw the shine of tears in her eyes. “I wish—”
“Kildonan!” Arthur’s voice carried. “Are you staying up there?”
“We must go.” She sounded almost relieved.
“Let them wait.” He bent to kiss her cheek.
“Newlyweds!” Lord Wetherstone guffawed from below.
“Oh, Evan.” Her whisper was like an elusive draft of wind.
He wondered what troubled her so. “Tonight,” he urged again.
She stepped back to walk around the stone. He followed her down the slope toward the others, who smiled at the romance they likely imagined between the two.
Then he realized that his wife had not answered him.