He loved her.
Not as a boy loved a friend or as some calf-love flutter of infatuation.
No.
Tavish loved Isla as a man loves a woman.
He adored the way her laugh shook her shoulders. How her eyes never failed to track a bluejay or robin in flight. How she became agitated and loud over any slight toward a friend, himself included.
How their thoughts and dreams felt like two halves of a whole, and when they conversed, it seemed as if they were the only two people to see reality through the same eyes. They were strange creatures, he and Isla.He knew she felt like an outsider in her family—the only girl, the one her brothers usually ignored, just as her father had before them.
Tavish was lost in a different way within his own family. There simply wasn’t enough money or love to go around. The demands of his other siblings had always been louder than his own, and so Tavish faded into the background—the afterthought. The son no one ever asked after or fretted over.
Having a person of his own was a profound gift. Someone he could confide in, who trusted him with her own confidences. Their snatched bits of time were never enough. The longer this secretive relationship went on, the more unbearable it became.
He wanted to spend every hour of every day with her.
They hadn’t kissed. Not yet. Their minds were so attuned that Tavish already understood her thoughts.
Until he and Isla kissed, they could pretend that this wasn’t happening. That they weren’t scions of the Montagues and Capulets, falling in love. Everyone knew Romeo and Juliet ended in disaster.
But did Tavish and Isla have to endure the same fate?
Today, Isla pulled back first from their embrace, a grin on her lips. “I have come prepared!”
Bouncing on tiptoe beside the pool, she turned back to her abandoned basket. Instead of the scones or cheese he had supposed, she removed the top to reveal a towel. She unfurled it proudly.
It took Tavish a moment to understand.
He laughed. “Today is the day, lass?”
She nodded, eyes lit with excitement. “Today, Tavish Balfour, I will learn to swim.”
“Huzzah!”
Tavish had been trying for weeks to coax her into learning to swim. It was a lifesaving skill and one that most gentlewomen never learned, for obvious reasons. Unless a lady had a brother or father or husband who wished her to learn—or she was scandalously daring, as Tavish’s Isla—a lady would never be so unclothed in company.
Isla clasped her hands. “I can scarcely believe I am going to undertake this. You have described the basics, but as you’ve said, I need practicalexperience. I am determined! So turn around, if you please, while I disrobe to my shift.”
He jolted at her words.
Och,he spent far too much time tryingnotto imagine Isla in her shift. What had he gotten himself into?
On a steadying breath, Tavish did as he was bid, turning around and shucking his own jacket, waistcoat, neckcloth, socks, and shoes. After a moment’s consideration, he pulled his shirt over his head, too, leaving him in only his breeks. The sun felt heavenly on his bare chest.
Behind him, he could hear Isla moving . . . the rustle of her clothing, the shuffling of her feet. It was almost unbearably intimate. A preview of his yearned-for future.
Tavish was unsure if swimming together was the most brilliant idea he had ever had. Or, categorically, the worst.
The urge to turn around, to swing her into his arms, was almost overwhelming.
Instead, he took three steps to the water’s edge and dove in. The icy water swallowed him whole, jolting his system and instantly cooling his ardor. He and Callum had spent many an afternoon swimming here over the years. Tavish doubted there was an inch of the swimming hole he hadn’t memorized. He stroked across the pool to where the water met the cliff face. A wee ledge rested there, the perfect height for sitting. He slid onto it, water lapping at his breastbone.
Finally, he dared a glance toward Isla.
She stood at the edge of the pool where it sloped up a grassy bank, the white of her shift a stark contrast against the dark cliffs and trees. Sunlight rimmed her from behind, catching the indistinct outline of her narrow waist and the length of her legs.
He forgot to breathe.
