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Chapter Twenty-Three
The sunrise gives me a measure of clarity, and I no longer feel like I've committed a crime by thinking of sex with my wife as making love. It's a common expression. Why did I panic when I heard her speak those words? It's ridiculous. But I do enjoy shagging my wife, and I don't even mind that I've agreed to take Emery on a tour of the Highlands. If she wants to see the ocean, I will show it to her. After everything I've put her through, with our light-speed marriage and hauling her off to Scotland, where she spends most of her days alone, I owe her whatever barmy activities she wants to undertake.
And I feel an inexplicable need to show her an activity I enjoy. She won't participate in it, but I want her to see me in action. For once, I don't analyze the impulse. I go with it.
That means I sneak into her bedroom while she's still asleep and leave a note on her nightstand. I keep it brief and simple: "Meet me on the green."
I change into the appropriate attire and head for the green, aka the lawn behind the castle compound, just outside the walls. The garden doorway opens onto the green, and I shut it behind me. Then I gather the necessary equipment for my display. I'm not showing off. Emery wants to know more about me, and this activity is something I used to enjoy.
While I wait for my wife to arrive, I warm up with stretches and lunges. Then I lay out the only item I need, settling it onto the grass lengthwise in front of me.
The second I hear the garden door creak, I know Emery is about to emerge onto the green.
I take up my position at the foot of the wooden pole, facing away from the castle walls.
The garden door bursts open with a thud. Aye, it always requires a bit of force.
A quick, furtive glance over my shoulder assures me Emery has stepped onto the lawn.
Only a few clouds dot the blue sky, as if the heavens approve of my plan and have given me perfect weather for it. I stand at the center of the green, wearing only a kilt and tall leather boots. The sun warms my back, but I'm hoping that in a few minutes it will be more than sunshine making my wife feel hot.
Aye, it's time for the caber toss.
I crouch to grasp the wooden pole with both hands, heave it up, and walk my hands down its length until it rises above my head. I now hold the pole, a tree trunk with its branches shaved off, straight up in front of me. I risk a quick glance and see Emery sidling up to the wall, her fascinated gaze riveted to me. But I don't want her to stare at my back while I do this. Keeping the caber between my hands, I move around until I'm facing the opposite direction, facing Emery. Since I don't want her to think I'm doing this strictly for her benefit, I scan the green as if I'm just enjoying the bonnie day. When I finally look at my wife, I let my chest puff out.
Which is barmy. But I don't care right now.
"There you are," I say. "At last."
"What are you doing?"
I smack the pole. "Practicing my caber toss."
"You're seriously planning to chuck that thing?"
"I am."
Her tongue darts out to slide across her bottom lip.
Aye, this will arouse her for sure. I shift my hands down the pole to squat at its base, then heft its end up with both hands beneath it. The muscles in my arms and back tauten with the effort.
The caber wobbles a wee bit.
Emery watches me, seemingly entranced.
With a harsh yell, I thrust my hands up and out, hurling the caber end over end. I estimate my throw landed fifty feet away.
"Holy shit!" Emery shouts.
And I smirk. "I'll take that as a compliment."
My wife sweeps her lustful gaze over me, her fingers touching her throat delicately. She glances at the caber. "Is it safe to practice flinging trees by yourself?"
I roll one shoulder in a careless shrug. "Safe enough. I used to practice with Lachlan, but I gave up the sport three years ago."
"Why?"
I give her another casual shrug, though her question triggers a pang of unease.
