Chapter 26 #2
I lead us down another trail back toward the house that follows a smaller stream that forks into the one we’d hugged all morning. The trail narrows as we go, the trees press closer and their branches knit overhead like the ribs of a cathedral.
A twig snaps.
Not a gentle crack of something shifting under our own boots. Something else.
I stop so abruptly that Cameron walks into my back.
My hand shoots out, instinctive, catching him at the chest. And before he can speak, before he can even inhale to ask what’s wrong, I turn and cover his mouth with my other hand. His whole body jolts beneath my palm.
His eyes go wide, startled, bright, and full of alarm.
“Gregg—” he tries to say, but it’s muffled against my hand.
I lean close, my lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice barely more than breath. “Quiet.”
Cameron freezes.
Not because he understood, but because he trusted me.
The forest holds its breath, and the air seems to sharpen, silence suddenly deafening, as though every living thing has stopped moving to listen.
Then, rustling. Low and deliberate.
A shift of branches somewhere to our left, just beyond a line of ferns and bracken.
I feel Cameron’s pulse flutter beneath my hand, fast and startled, and for a moment my own heart kicks hard against my ribs.
My mind supplies a dozen possibilities in an instant.
The Highlands can be gentle, but they are never tame.
I don’t move. Don’t blink. I keep Cameron still with nothing but the pressure of my arm and the steadying weight of my hand over his mouth.
The rustling grows louder. Closer.
Then the bushes part like a curtain, and a red deer steps through into view.
Majestic doesn’t even begin to cover it. The stag is enormous, its copper coat catches the thin light, and its muscles move beneath its skin like silk over stone. Antlers rise high and branch out, impossibly intricate, like the forest had sculpted them out of bone and power.
It crosses in front of us only metres away.
Cameron’s breath hitches against my palm, warm and trembling.
The stag stops at the edge of the stream, and for a long moment, it simply looks at us. It has dark eyes, ancient and unreadable, that are not afraid. Not aggressive either, just aware.
As if he knew exactly what we are, what we are doing in his realm.
I feel something cold slide down my spine, primal and reverent.
Then the deer steps forward, hooves finding the stones with effortless precision, and it moves across the stream with shadow and light. It doesn’t hurry. It didn’t look back. It just continues on, vanishing into the trees as though it was never there at all.
I slowly lower my hand from Cameron’s mouth, and he turns to me, stunned, eyes wide and shining. “What the—”
“Red deer,” I whisper, my voice caught in a tense register. “They roam the grounds, but you don’t always see them.”
Cameron stares after it, like he is trying to convince himself he hadn’t imagined the whole thing. “That was… massive.”
I shake my head, still watching the place where it had disappeared. My heart hasn’t quite decided it was safe to slow down.
“It’s like it came out of nowhere,” Cameron murmurs.
“They do,” I agree. “Elspeth used to say the Hunter never truly hunted. He only appeared when he needed to be seen.”
Cameron’s gaze flicks to me, curiosity breaking through the awe. “Elspeth?”
I finally look at him, the name settling between us like a familiar ghost.
“The story,” I say. “The one I told you about.”
Cameron swallows. “Elspeth and the Hunter?”
“Yes.” My voice is soft. “Remember, she was meant to choose the safe choice. The approved love. The one that made everyone else comfortable.”
Cameron’s eyes hold mine, attentive, steady. “You never told me what you think happened.”
A faint smile tugs at my mouth despite lingering tension. “I think she chose the love that felt like truth. Even if it meant the whole world would call her reckless.”
Cameron’s expression shifts, understanding moves across his face like sunrise. “And the deer?”
I glance once more toward the trees, where the stag had vanished. “In the old telling… the red stag was the sign.”
“The sign of what?” Cameron inquires, voice low.
I loose a breath slowly. “That you’ve wandered far enough into the woods,” I explain. “That there’s no pretending you’re only passing through.”
Cameron’s lips part, and the stream keeps murmuring beside us, indifferent and eternal.
The house always feels like it’s old at night.
Not in an eerie way, but in a way that the walls remember every season they’d ever survived.
The wind outside picked up and pushes at the windows softly and persistently, and somewhere deep in the bones, pipes groan lightly.
But the small fire I’d made in the drawing room does most of the talking.
Its steady crackle, occasional pop of sap, and warm pulse of light moves across the room to us where we are folded together on a sofa.
Our bodies are tangled in a way that isn’t accidental.
Cameron lies half against my chest, his legs stretching across the cushions, and I’m sunk back into a corner with a quiet stillness of someone who’s finally stopped waiting for the world to take something away.
I move my fingers through Cameron’s brown hair slowly, smoothing wavy strands from his forehead.
He hasn’t spoken much since we’d returned back from the trails.
He’d been fine, smiling and laughing. He even let me press him into the doorway with a kiss that tasted of cold air, warmth, and lingering thrill of seeing the stag.
But now, in the hush of the room, firelight gilding his profile, he is quiet in a way that I recognize.
It’s a quiet that comes right before something honest.
“You’re thinking again,” I observe, glancing down at him.
“I’m always thinking. It’s a dangerous pastime.” His mouth twitches, a small attempt at humour.
I chuckle lightly. “I know, but this feels… different.”
He shifts slightly and turns his face toward my chest, pressing himself into the fabric of my shirt. His voice is muffled when he speaks.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t say it back.”
“Say what?”
“You know what. Back in San Francisco.”
I lean my head back against the sofa and close my eyes for a moment as I absorb his words. I jumped the gun when I said the ‘L-word’, I just know it. And this is when it was going to come back and haunt me. I open my eyes and look down at him with patience.
“Hey, you don’t owe me anything,” I say gently. “No words. No promises. Not even a timeline.”
He lifts his head enough to look at me, the fire catches his eyes, glossy and bright.
“I know,” he whispers. “And that’s what makes you dangerous.”
“Me? Dangerous?” I knit my brows.
He nods once, slowly. “Because you’re kind about it. You don’t demand. You don’t pull away. You just… stay. And it makes me want to run and hold on at the same time.”
My throat grows tight and I lift his chin, forcing him to meet my eyes. “You can do both. You can be afraid and still stay.”
His lips part like he wants to say something else, something clever, but it doesn’t come. Instead he stares at me with those beautiful eyes.
I brush my thumb over his cheekbone. “Cam, you don’t have to say anything. It’s alright.”
And then, as if the words had been sitting behind his teeth all night, he says it. Quietly, not dramatically or polished.
“I love you.”
I go still, and the room seems to go still with me.
Cameron’s eyes flicker with panic briefly. “I—” His voice cracks. “I didn’t plan to… I didn’t mean to say it like that… I just… Gregg, I…”
I cup his face fully with both hands, firm and gentle. “Hey,” I breathe. “Hey. Look at me.”
Cameron blinks hard, and I notice his lashes are damp. My own chest feels too full, too tight, like it may split open.
“You don’t have to say it. Not if it scares you. Not if you're not ready. I meant what I said in California, but I don’t want you to feel it as a weight.”
“No.” He swallows. “That’s not what this is.”
My eyes search his face. “Cam…”
He brings his hands up and grips my wrists like he needs the contact, needs something to hold onto. “I’m terrified,” he admits. “But I mean it. I do love you.”
My breath leaves my body, and I suddenly realize, no man has ever said that to me.
“I’ve been carrying grief like it’s the only thing I’m allowed to have,” Cameron whispers. “Then you happened—” His voice breaks. “You happened. And you didn’t try to replace anything. You just, made space for me.”
I feel my jaw tighten and my eyes begin to burn.
Cameron leans forward till our foreheads touch, our breath mingles between us. “So I’m saying it,” he whispers again. “I love you. I love you, Gregg.”
Something in me gives way. I pull Cameron into me tightly, almost desperately, and wrap my arms around him. He makes a soft sound against my throat, not quite a sob, not quite a laugh. Just the release of a feeling that had been held too long.
I kiss him, not as a question, but as an answer.
Slow at first, warm and deep, I move my mouth against his, and his hands tremble against my shoulders.
The fire continues to snap in the hearth, the light flicking across Cameron’s face as he shifts closer, planting himself on my lap without thinking.
I slide my hands down his back, holding him there like an anchor.
Cameron kisses me back, harder this time, needier, like he is trying to pour every unsaid thing into me. When we finally break apart, he stays close, breathing against my mouth.
“I mean it,” he murmurs again, as if he needs to make sure the words stay real.
“I know.”
His eyes flutter shut and I press a kiss to his temple, then his cheek, then the corner of his mouth. All small, lingering touches that feel like worship.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I whisper.
“Gregg…” His eyes are dazed and warm.