“This would be a wonderful place for a house.” She sighed contentedly.
“No, hen, this would be a miserable place for a house.” The cool of the evening approached fast now, and he snuggled closer to Magda to share his heat.
She shot him an indignant look, and with a devilish smile in his eyes, he stole a kiss at her cheek.
“But why?” she asked. Magda sat forward, studying the lay of the land in earnest. “That huge rock blocks the wind. And there were those pretty yellow daisies all around. They’re a little overgrown, but you could probably cut them back and transplant them to a little garden. It would be pretty.”
“’Tis ragwort, and very poisonous indeed.” Chuckling, he shook her shoulder gently, teasing. “I’m told you once tried to poison a platoon of soldiers with spindle berries too.”
“Well, I didn’t plan on eating the flowers, James,” she grumbled. His bark of laughter in response made Magda smile despite herself.
“Come, hen.” Sliding his hand to her neck, he gently smoothed errant hairs from inside her collar and then rubbed his hand down her back. “Time to rest.”
“It’s not even night yet,” she protested. “And I’m hungry.”
“Aye,” he said, as he wound his arm tight around her waist. James kissed his way along her shoulder. “I’m hungry too.” Nibbling at her ear, he whispered, “There will be time to fill our bellies later.”
She gently tugged his arm from her waist and, lacing her fingers in his, clasped his hand and tucked it between them.
“I . . . do you mind if we just sit for now?” She searched his face. “I know it’s supposed to be our special getaway and everything.”
“Of course, lass.” He tenderly cupped her cheek. “Is there something troubling you?”
“No, I . . . I just want to lie with you tonight.”
He stroked his fingers lightly along her skin, silently considering her face. “As you wish, my love.” He kissed each cheek, and then touched his forehead to hers. “Now, shall I muster some food on this homestead of yours? ”
“Yes, please,” she said with a light heart.
Their bodies tangled close that night, stretched on the soft ground with his tartan to warm them, his hand smoothing through her hair until their breathing slowed to a deep, dreamless sleep.
They walked along the beach the next morning, and Magda giggled like a child, running and stomping and dragging her feet to hear the sand hum at her touch.
“I’ve heard of singing sand,” she said, “but I had no idea.” She plopped down. The sand was dry, yet still firm with the memory of the sea. Magda rubbed her fingers through the soft, beige powder, eliciting eerie tonal sounds like whale song.
“This is beautiful,” she beamed. “Thank you for taking me here.”
“Och, hen, you’re the one who’s beautiful.” He kissed the top of her head, then dropped to sit beside her.
"See there”— he pointed to an island rising black from the water, its evenly undulating hills suggesting the humpback of some great sea creature floating along the horizon— “that’s the Isle of Rum.”
“Ooh, that sounds like a fun one.”
“Indeed.” He smiled and raised a brow. “And just there, you can see Skye.” He gestured to a faraway island, a ghostly gray in the far distance.
They sat in amicable silence for some time. Seabirds cawed and swooped overhead, making quick dips, then bombing into the water for food. A thin halo of foam hissed and sighed lightly against the small black rocks and smooth sand of the shore.
“I think it’s time, hen,” he told her in a grave voice.
Fear at once prickled up Magda’s back. These sorts of pronouncements from James were usually followed by random and dangerous military missions. “For . . . ?”
“For putting a bairn in your belly. I ken you’ve been counting the days,” he continued. “That’s what last night was about, if I’ve the right of it?”
She nodded. Magda had been counting the days, doing what she could to avoid a pregnancy. “But how did you know?”
“Och, I’m with you every night lass. I can count too.”
“A bairn,” she said. The word was foreign on her tongue.
