“Where will we go?” she asked once she was settled and he pulled powerfully on the oars. There was a sail on a slender spar, but he had not yet unfurled it.
“I thought we might hug the coast so ye could see how far our land reaches and”—he grinned at her—“ye might no’ be too afraid.”
“I am not afraid.”
“Liar.” He smiled again.
“Very well, I am lying. But people will be able to see us from shore. I long to get clear away.” Alone with him. “Can we not sail out?”
“We can.”
Away into the blue sea, which today held the exact color of his eyes. She longed for that almost as much as she longed for his company.
Because now here out on the breast of the water, once her heartbeat settled, this seemed strangely familiar.
Like everything else to do with him.
She sat where he’d put her and watched the beautiful way he moved, the serenity that came to his eyes, the color of his hair against the sea and sky. Never, never had she been so happy.
“How far can we sail?” she asked after a time, when the settlement had slipped out of sight.
The corners of his mouth crinkled and his eyes smiled. “All the way to Ireland, if ye like.”
She liked. She did. They could make a life together there. Never come back.
“What are those lands, there?”
He named them, the islands that guarded Scotland’s coast like sleeping dragons. He told her there were other lands far, far to the west.
“In the old days, our ancestors believed Tír na nÓg lay there. The place warriors went when they died. A land of revelry and ever-youth.”
That caused her a pang, though she could not say why.
“Do you believe in such tales, Deathan MacMurtray?”
He shrugged. “There must be something better than the sorrows we face here in this place.”
Sorrows. His mother was slowly dying, his family wrought asunder. Could she be his joy?
With certainty, she said, “I cannot imagine anything better than being here with you. And I would not embrace any prospect that would take you from me.”
His gaze met hers, deadly serious this time. The oars froze in his hands. She leaned forward, rocking the little boat perilously, and pressed her mouth to his.
A kiss.
Ah, and she had been living for this. Living a lifetime, though she had not suspected it. His lips, warm and soft beneath hers, tasted of sweetness and desire. They tasted of eternity.
Surely she had done this before, somehow, somewhere, if only in dreams—kissed him and felt her very soul pull him in, lost a bit of herself as it did so, the one of them becoming part of the other.
“Darlei,” he breathed, and suddenly she was in his arms, the oars in the bottom of the boat, for he had the presence of mind not to lose those.
The little boat rocked again and she did not care.She did not care.
For his arms were around her where they needed to be, as hers were around him where they needed to be, and their mouths were open, searching, taking, giving without measure.
She could feel his heartbeat thundering against her breast. She could smell the sunshine on his skin, and she could ask for no more of life.
There was no more to be had than this.
