“Really? That sounds wonderful! Can we go faster? You know how I love being near the water.” My excitement causes Willow to pick up her pace.
“Of course,” he agrees, pushing Magni into a slow gallop.
Following Alasdair down the worn path that weaves around the tall pines, I am struck by the magnificence of not only this regal forest but of my husband. The way he rides his powerful horse with such ease and grace, steering him and guiding him with the slightest movements of subtle communication. His strong muscles are flexing with exertion through the thin fabric of his shirt and breeches, mimicking those of Magni. I see his hand reach back to release the tie that was holding his hair at his nape, and I feel my chest expand as I watch his dark wavy tresses fly free, the sunlight accentuating its movement as it flows with the wind. This is an image of Alasdair Stewart in his element, and I am suddenly reminded of the poem he left for me on my settee.
Not only do you share the blood
Of your mother and of me,
You share the spirit of this land
And the forest by the sea.
Seeing him now, I know the same can be said about him. He is a part of this land—it is a part of him. Its knowledge and wisdom, its history, its fertility all are woven into the fibers of the man before me, and I am hit with a deep sense of comfort and love for my husband and for Scotland. I realize I never had this connection with England; I certainly felt out of place there. Is it my love for Alasdair that draws me in, or is it something deeper, like he spoke of yesterday, of us loving in another life? Maybe it was here, upon this land of mystery and beauty and magic, where it all started. I cannot deny that the thought brings a sense of contentment, of truly being home.
Up ahead, I can see the sparkle of moving water through the trees, and I must force myself not to go faster as excitement wells inside me.
“Oh, Willow! There it is!” I say with delight.
A minute later, Alasdair is exiting the forest ahead of me, the bright light of the sun making him glow in contrast to the shaded wood.
“’Tis been a while since I’ve been here. I did’na realize how much I missed it until now.” He looks out across the stream that seems more like a river.
“It is amazing! I can’t believe the size of some of the boulders,” I say, looking with wide eyes at the moving water, its edge lined with rocks, boulders, and the thickest moss of bright green I’ve ever seen.
“Aye, they create deep eddies that the trout love to rest in. My father and I used to fish here all the time before I joined the Navy.” There is sadness in his tone.
“Well, that will be you and your son soon enough,” I say encouragingly.
He turns to me then, the serious look on his face making my stomach stir as I wonder what he is thinking. He abruptly dismounts and walks over to help me get down.
Still holding onto my arms, he says, “Ye have no idea how much I love ye, Ella.” And then he kisses me, not with the force of his passion, but with the tenderness of his love.
I don’t want it to end. I feel as if I’m floating, though my feet are firmly on the ground. There is something different about this kiss, the emotion of it palpable, encompassing us in its warm embrace.
His hands are still cradling my head as his lips release mine. I open my eyes to find his painted in the true sentiments of his heart. It is a mirror of my own, the deep and profound love I only dreamed my heart would know, yet here I am.
“I think I may have some idea, Lord Galloway. After all, my heart is overflowing with love for you as well.”
“Aye, ’tis true. I have no doubt of yer affection fer me. It speaks to me through yer eyes, yer touch, yer kiss.” His lips touch mine again, soft and warm. “But I love ye even more than that.”
“Is that so? This may be an ongoing debate for some time to come.”
“’Tis very likely, and it is one I will thoroughly enjoy.” He kisses my forehead and turns back to Magni. “Let’s sit by the water fer a bit. I brought a blanket.”
“You did? You are always thinking ahead. Did the Navy teach you that? To always be prepared?” I ask, watching as he shakes the blanket open in one big swoosh.
“No. It was my mother. She was a MacAlister, ye see. They’re a sneaky bunch, always plottin’ and plannin’ something, trying to stay one step ahead of everyone else, friend or foe. Sometimes it panned out in their favor, and sometimes it got ’em hanged. So, it’s not hard to imagine they always needed to be watchin’ their backs. My mother said ye always need to be prepared because ye never know when yer situation could change and ye need to flee. She had satchels packed with necessities hidden all over the bloody castle.” He stops to laugh at the memory as we get comfortable by the water’s edge. “Thankfully, there were never any emergencies that required us to leave wi’ such haste. Regardless, we never left the house without water, dried meat, and a wool plaid. And I can tell ye, I was thankful we had them more often than not.”
“Your mother was a MacAlister? I’m assuming that’s where you got your name?”
“Aye. She was very proud of her heritage, as are all Scots. Alasdair Mór is our descendant father, so as ye can imagine, there are a bloody lot of Alasdairs coming down the family tree.”
“Ah yes. Just as England has its fair share of Edwards, Williams, and Georges. We must commit to being more original with the names of our children, unless, of course, you were hoping for an Alasdair Gavyn Stewart II,” I suggest.
“Well, ’tis the Scottish tradition to name the first son after my father and our first daughter after yer mother. The pattern is the same for the second son and daughter wi’ the grandparents. I don’t get an Alasdair Gavyn II until son number three.” He holds up three fingers, wiggles his eyebrows, and offers me a charming wink. “And if ye ask my grandmother, we are obligated to do so, or it’s bad luck fer the family.”
“She’s the clairvoyant that told you the sweet story of our souls?”