Page 30 of A Dangerous Highland Affair

“Nae, nae ye,” said Neacal, offering her his handkerchief. As he did so, he had a hairy moment when the shiny sixpence in his pocket almost came flying out with it. “Here, have this…”

Teasag took the handkerchief. “Thank ye,” she said forlornly. Then she smiled. “I’m sorry…”

“Nae lass, there’s naething to be sorry for!” he said, smiling at her. Beneath his fingertips, he felt the energy rising. When he looked down, it was to see he was stroking her skin, the tips of his fingers had come to rest on her hand, and for a few moments, the pair of them sat there, holding each other.

Then, Teasag cleared her throat and continued. “Well, anyhoo, I need to go an’ see my brother, Lorcal, an’ go an’ pay my respects….”

“Of course,” said Neacal. There was a brief silence, in which the wild brown mare kicked its hind legs in annoyance at being grounded.

“Tsk, mardy mare,” muttered Neacal, but Teasag only smiled.

“Come on,” she said, indicating for him to continue on. He felt the warmth of her touch as her arms pressed against his waist. Instantly, a tingle spread around Neacal’s midriff, working its way down the base of his spine and into a frenzy of passion in his loins.

To try and take his mind off his thoughts of lust, he turned to her gently.

“So, then, family matters, a pressing reason for going back, I see…”

“Aye,” agreed Teasag, but from the faraway look in her blue and gold eyes, Neacal could see that there was more to it than this. He waited awhile for her to elaborate.

“Aye, family matters, for sure, but there was something else, an’, something that I’ve nae told anyone, at least, nae for real, anyhoo…”

Teasag’s voice drifted off, and a slight color rose in her cheeks. Neacal noticed her eyes flashing, refusing to settle on any one object or thing.

“Which is?” questioned Neacal gently. They had come to a dead stop again, but neither he nor she noticed it, far too engrossed in their conversation.

Overhead, the heavens began to open, spitting coldly from above. Both of them ignored it as Neacal sat waiting for Teasag’s explanation.

“Well, when I went away from Blackness, all those years ago,” continued Teasag in a quiet voice. “I had this idea; maybe it was crazy,” she laughed, her cheeks turning pinker.

“Go on, I’ll nae laugh, ye can tell me anything,”

“Well, anyhoo, when I left, I wanted to be…,” she tapered off again, until Neacal nudged her impatiently, his eyes sparkling. “Well, a painter…”

Teasag waited for his reaction.

“A painter?” said Neacal. Out of all the things he had been imagining, this had not been one of them.

“See, I told ye it was daft!” said Teasag, blushing. But Neacal was fascinated by what she said and wanted to hear more.

“Nae, it isn’t at all, although I must admit, it caught me off-balance a wee bit…,” added Neacal.

By now, they were moving again, the stout brown mare proving to be stronger than she first appeared. With her arms fastening tightly around Neacal’s waist, the pair trotted off, along the dirt track road to Blackness, through the intermittent summer rain.

“So, a painter, well, how did that come about?” he asked, curiously. “It’s nae something ye hear of every day!”

Teasag looked at him hesitantly. “Aye, well, at the moment I’ve nae had much practice wi’ the paints,” she began, shyly. “…but I have been practicing wi’ inks an’ o’ course, charcoals…”

With his eyes straight ahead on the road, Neacal could not see much of her, but he could hear in her voice, stilted and halting, that she was choosing her words carefully.

“So how does a lassie like ye get started as an artist then?” asked Neacal. It wasn’t meant to be an interrogation, but for a good few minutes, it had the effect of making Teasag clam up.

“I, I didnae mean to put ye on the spot, lass,” said Neacal finally, after a few moments of silence. “I was just curious, that’s all… nae-one I’ve ever kent has ever wanted to be, or is a painter…”

“That makes me sound like a right barmpot, doesnae it!” said Teasag, with a self-deprecating laugh. “The thing is, I havenae ever told anyone afore because I kent they would laugh. Or think I’m simple…”

“Lass, I’m nae laughing,” said Neacal, slowing the horse down to a very slow trot. He turned to look around at the shape of the girl clinging to his waist.

Then, having fully appreciated her willowy contours, with her straw blonde hair billowing out on a Highland sidewind, he turned back to the road once again. “An’ yer nae simple, either,” he added.