This living-in-the-past thing must be getting to my head, because it’s a revelation. I give him an amazed nod. “I do, Callum. I need a blade.”
His hand is still wrapped around mine, and now he’s brought his other hand to cradle it completely. He’s leaning closer. The air is charged.
Oh yes, Iwasright.Every nerve ending comes alive.
Now. Now is when he’ll kiss me.
Then my stomach grumbles—no, it doesn’t just grumble, it roars. Callum barks a laugh, and we pull apart as I slap a hand to my belly, heat flooding my face.
“Och, lass, what sort of devil have you hidden in there?”
“Sorry. I think I’m still hungry.”
“You think it?”
I let myself meet his gaze. “All right, Iknow. I am hungry. I love cheese and bread. And the potatoes, and the turnips. And eggs. And it’s been so great to be able to cook—thank you for that. Aoife would’ve never let me touch her stove if it weren’t for you. But all that beige stuff, it’s not enough. I would kill for some fiber. A crispy salad. Or something juicy, that crunches when I chew.”
“Ah, I ken your meaning. Like a radish.”
I can’t stop the automatic curl of distaste on my lips. “I guess maybe kind of like that?”
There’s a glint in his eyes that says he was teasing about the radish. He looks into the distance with elaborate concentration. “I believe the lady craves something sweeter. An apple, perhaps?”
“Yes, exactly like that. Apples.” Simply hearing the word makes me shiver. Servants sometimes get to eat dried apples made from the half-rotted ones, but I crave a fresh, crisp bite. “You have no idea how good the apples are in upstate New York. It was apple season when I left. They get so sweet and juicy.” I shut my eyes, humming with longing.
But they fly open when he snatches my hand again. He’s beaming with excitement as he plucks what looks like a burlap satchel from among his things. “Come with me.”
I don’t ask questions. That Rose is gone. I’ve discovered my inner Rosie, and she doesn’t fret over implications or consequences.
When we reach the bottom of the ladder, he sweeps my cloak back over my shoulders. Folding my hand in his, he pulls me running into the night.
The rain has stopped, somehow leaving the air warmer than before. I have no idea where we’re going, and it feelsgood. I trust Callum implicitly. It’s exhilarating to simply let go and give control to someone else for a while. When he stops short, I realize I’ve started to giggle.
He gazes down at me, asking in a laughing voice, “What’s all this about?”
“I’m just happy, I guess. This feels, well…it’s amazing.”
“Had I known you’d make such a dear, wee racket, I’d have taken you for a dash through the woods sooner.”
“It’s not just the woods,” I say, trying to find words todescribe something I’m only now discovering myself. “I’m always so careful. I never do stuff like this. Our farm is surrounded by trees, and I’ve never run through them at night. And never ever in the rain. It wouldn’t occur to me. I don’t do things that might be reckless. But it’sawesome.”
Thoughts of home overcome me, only they’re lighter than before, as if traveling through time has tilted my universe, and now I’m perceiving life from a different angle, seeing how precious simple pleasures can be.
How happiness can be a choice.
Racing through the night with Callum, joy thrums through me. Despite the grueling work, the poverty, the hunger and uncertainty, I’ve never felt this alive.
This, Callum, the trees…it’s like wandering through some strange dream. And the day will come when I have to wake up.
This moment is a gift. I could cling to moments like these. Pursue them even. Why shouldn’t I? I crave happiness. I’m starved for it. So why not seek it as deliberately as I do actual food?
My time here is short. It’s not my true reality. But Iamhere, and there’s nothing I can do about it until we find the right Celtic festival, or magic island, or blue moon, or whatever it is that needs to happen. As long as I keep up with my chores, don’t do anything to get us in trouble, and neither of us gets hurt, what’s the harm in savoring the moment?
I gaze up at Callum. He’s in this dream with me. My taste of pleasure and adventure and recklessness.
I could just do this. Be with him. Let go. Enjoy.
“I’m really, really loving this,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
