“You knew everything that mattered.”
“I knew how your hands felt on my skin and what it was like to kiss you. And how hard you could hold my hair without it hurting.”
He kicks his heels and the horse gallops off. Ellidh’s ears prick and I know she’s jealous wanting to run too. We all want to run. All the time.
I let her go, following Ben around the glen, in the shade of the trees and where the shimmering rays of sun capture the blades of grass in a moment that will never be repeated.
My hair is tossed back by the motion, the breeze tangling it. Ben doesn’t look at me, concentrating fully on his mount and the speed at which he can gallop. He’s good; fearless, maybe stupid but talented. Like he always was.
He comes to a stop next to the stream that runs through the glen and dismounts, leading the horse to drink. I copy him, giving him distance. Ellidh is interested in the water, and the other horse. She whinnies and stamps her feet, a little protest at something, as is her way, and I offer her a sugar cube I have in my pocket.
“I was eight when my mother died. She was called Minna. Me and Majken went to live with her sister, my aunt.” His voice is like the stream, cool and trickling, its power in its continuity. Steadiness.
“Who’s Majken?”
“My sister.”
“I didn’t know you had a sister.” I didn’t know he had anyone, apart from his father.
“There was never any reason to mention her. She’s older than me by five years. And she’s, well, she’s unique.”
We’re standing next to each other by the stream, the trees behind us and the mountains in the distance, sheltering us from the castle. There’s no one here. It’s still private land and too far away from the rest of the world for anyone without an agenda to actually be.
“Do you still see Majken?”
“Sometimes. We clash.”
“Tell me about your mother. Was she Scottish?”
“Norwegian. She was strict but warm. She always smiled and laughed.”
I don’t think. My hand goes to rest on his arm because my words may be factual and nosey, but there’s tenderness I can convey with a touch.
Ben doesn’t flinch but neither does he acknowledge.
“Your father hugged you too.” I’d seen Ben being side hugged, full hugged, patted on the back multiple times by Leonard, but he’d been reticent to ever initiate touch with me, or anyone else, not until someone had touched him first.
“He did. I think he tried to make up for our mother not being there.”
“How did she die?”
He’s quiet and I know he’s wondering if to tell me the truth or to lie.
“She was living in England but because she was an immigrant she was forced to leave. She died on the boat on the way back to Sweden. She was sick. Cancer. But couldn’t be treated in England when they changed the laws.”
There is nothing I can say because no words can wash away that pain, so instead I turn to face him, knowing he was the one to dismount first, that he led us here.
He’s not running.
Neither am I.
I lift my hands and cup his face, feeling the scruff on his jaw, seeing his eyes, feeling the power in my hands that came from touching someone so intimately and them letting you even if it was for just a moment.
There’s no thunder. The air doesn’t change. Birds continue their summer song. July surrounds us with its stagnant promises of glorious summers where the heat kills everything and nothing moves.
Ben licks his lips and swallows, his eyes dark pools of secrets. Then his hands pin themselves onto my hips and I have no idea who kisses who first, but our mouths are hungry and there’s fire in every synapse, every pulse.
He tastes of mint and him, and I remember this. His hands don’t shift from my hips, holding me as if I’ll float away if he lets go. I’ve changed my hold to his shoulders, pulling myself closer, pushing my body against his, but he doesn’t crush me.
