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I don’t know what he’s up to but he takes both my hands in his and clears his throat. It feels serious and important and deeply ceremonial, like we’re about to be wed or something, and my heart morphs into a thousand captured butterflies. “Sassenach,” he begins, and pauses. “Jessa, I…”
But I stop him before he has to finish, and I cup his cheek lovingly. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“Naw, that isnae how speeches work.” He breaks away from me for a moment, pacing our secluded silvery clearing. He wrings his hands, thinking deeply. “Tae the lassies,” he finally begins, turning to me, “who dare tae love in these nightmare times, and whose passions have nae reason or rhyme…” His hand dances across the gray stone lip of the fountain, and he pauses again, a smirk spreading across his cheek. “In a world so bleak, it’s four chiefs ye’ve decided tae keep, yer love a flame that only the brave seek.”
I’m slightly stunned. This is… for me? A whole speech for me?
“So here’s tae the lassies, the fierce and the brave,” Finlay continues, and he crosses the clearing to catch my hands again, “the ones who stand for love in a world so grave…” He pauses, massaging my hands with his thumbs, and I watch in awe as he slowly lowers himself onto his bended knee. “May yer love continue tae flourish and shine, and — tae the gods — will yer spirit never be confined.” He gazes up at me, his green eyes bright and soulful and clear, as he raises an imaginary glass in my direction. “So cheers tae the lassies, the brave and the strong… ‘cause in this heart, ye’ll forever belong.”
“Fin,” I finally manage to whisper, touched. He rises slowly, his gaze fixed on mine, and bows to place a tender kiss on my lips. And for a few blissful moments, everything seems perfectly right in the world, the nightmare that Finlay’s speech alluded to pushed far to the back of both our minds. At this moment, as we stand entwined in each other’s arms, under the soft glow of the moon and the canopy of sparkling rural stars, two sets of fingertips gently touching, I know that something has shifted between us.
“Ye’re meant tae dae a follow-up speech,” he murmurs, almost preening at the idea. “‘The Reply tae the Toast tae the Lassies,’ a’ about how wonderfulIam. Nae biggie or anythin’.”
I hold back my grin. “I’m not as good at flattery as you,” I whisper against his lips. “So how about I show you instead?” I raise my chin, offering him a sly look, and I don’t wait for him to agree before drawing Finlay close and kissing him hard. His delighted laugh rumbles low in his chest as I deepen the kiss, sliding my hand behind his neck to hold him steady. The kiss turns filthier and more urgent, and the heat of lust spears me until it threatens to overwhelm. I can hardly bear it. I want nothing more than to hitch up my dress and hike up Finlay’s kilt, for him to take me right here on the hotel grounds, but I hold back, forcing myself to calm.
We kiss until we need to break for air, and when we do Finlay gives me one last loving peck, as if unwilling to leave my lips at all. “Aye, that was a lovely speech,” Finlay murmurs against my mouth, his fingers tracing over my face affectionately. The moonlight makes his face gleam silver in the night, and his wild hair a messy black halo around his head, his bright green eyes sparkling with joy. He rests his forehead against mine, at peace and smiling, kissing soothingly beneath the stars as we sway, comforted, in each other’s arms.
Footsteps interrupt us. At first, I ignore it, unwilling to part from Finlay’s warmth. But then a gate creaks and I hear the crunch of gravel, faster and faster, as though the person is sprinting as hard as they can run away from the hotel. Finlay and I gaze at each other in concern, the rushing footsteps at odds with the serenity of our hideaway.
“It’ll be nothin’,” he whispers, and I almost wish I could believe it. “Just someone goin’ oot for a… jog?” I pull away from Finlay with an unhappy sigh and step closer to the gate leading to the main driveway. I peer from between shrubs, examining the gleaming parked cars, wondering who it could be at this late hour. When another gate squeaks open and closes suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck rise. There’s no one. The parking lot is silent except for my pounding heartbeat and the distant sound of running feet. Finlay comes and stands beside me, his breathing shallow as he holds himself rigid, preparing to run. He places a comforting hand on my shoulder as he stares past me into the darkness.
“I’m going to check.” Finlay nods, following right behind me. I unlatch the gate and step slowly onto the gravel.
In the distance, beyond the parked coaches and the deep cloying shadows, I make out a figure. As I stare at it, it shrinks and shrinks into a small black dot, but I swear before that I could see the flash of a beautiful red and black dress.
53
“You’re taller — can you see anything?”
Finlay squints into the distance. “No. It’s too dark.” He turns, studying the fancy hotel entrance. Music still blares merrily inside, and from our position by the front, we now hear voices raised in laughter and joyous singing. “Naebody’s comin’ oot, so it cannae have been some kind o’ fall-oot.”
“So they’ve sneaked out.” With a sigh, I bend down, tightening the clasp of my shoes, and prepare for the inevitable journey ahead.
Finlay watches me with interest. “Ye’re no’ thinkin’ about goin’ oot there…?”
“Face it,” I say, grunting as I rise, “I’m the one whose behavioral record is permanently fucked after tonight.” They aren’t the most ideal running shoes, but I shake out my feet, testing my patent black shoes, feeling them grip my soles comfortably.
“Well, same here. So if you’re goin’, I’m goin’.”
I glance sideways at him and give a halfhearted smile. We’ll look ridiculous, darting across town dressed in such splendor, but what choice do we have? I turn back toward the wide expanse in front of the hotel. The castle is an eerie dark dot, limned by moonlight and alone in the distance, its assortment of collapsed turrets and crumbling towers creating an overall structure as jagged as heather. The land emerging from the shore resembles a dark line of ribbon.
I move in its direction as though compelled. Finlay gently catches hold of my arm, stopping me.
“Wait,” he says quietly, and points toward the gate we just emerged from. “That way’s a’ coastal — I cannae see them goin’ up there at this time o’ night. There’s a way oot ontae the main road through the garden. It’ll lead straight intae toon, and that way we wullnae be seen from the hotel. We should be able tae reach them quicker.”
For some reason, I have my doubts about this explanation. I know that ifIwanted to run away and scare the shit out of everyone, visiting the fallen castle at deepest, darkest nightfall would be my number one spot. But I suppose there’s logic in searching the nearby perimeter first, and so I give Finlay a reluctant nod.
The path leads us through the manicured gardens, and once again we find ourselves surrounded by the same beautiful greenery as where we danced. We can’t help but slow our steps, taking in the scent of the flowers, the sweet haze of grass, and the sound of the nearby fountain, as we walk past the clearing silently. A large metal gate stands at the very edge of the property, at the end of the garden, the way out that Finlay had mentioned. But when I give the metal gate a jolting shake, the latch doesn’t come free.
We’ve nowhere else to go and we need to move quickly. With an exhausted sigh, I start forward, gripping the metal bars between both palms. I glance over at Finlay, who blows out an anxious breath at this idea. His dark wing of hair falls in front of his eyes as he inspects the imposing gate.
“Let’s just keep moving, okay?” I tell him, trying not to wince as I flex my hands around the chilled bars. “Obstacles can get fucked.” With these three words, I launch myself up the gate. I reach up high to grab the long flat bar horizontal above my head, and tug myself forward. My heart races with adrenaline. I’ve never climbed a locked gate before, like they do in the movies. Behind me, Finlay’s hands fasten securely around my hips, helping to buoy me up. My shoes scrabble against the shiny black bars, not a speck of rust anywhere to be seen to create friction in my grip. I curse the hotel’s obsessive perfection.
“Watch yerself, sassenach,” Finlay whispers. I’m almost at the top, my arm muscles straining as I hoist my whole body weight higher and higher. Streetlights glimmer in the distance. I see parked cars and shop signs, but I don’t see the girl.
When I reach the summit, I swing my legs over the metal bar and make sure I don’t look down. My legs are shaky, my heart thumping, my palms aching. Sweat slicks along my temple and my muscles are tense with exhaustion. My dress is a mess, and my lovely shoes are scuffed to bits from the way I struggled to gain any kind of purchase clambering up the bars. I take in a deep, shaky lungful of air at my zenith, as the adrenaline courses through my body — and then, after a moment, drop.
It’s further than I expected, and I end up crouched and pained by my feet. Gazing from the ground, I watch Finlay scale the gate with more muscle and ease than me. When he reaches the top of the gate, he scans the area and shakes his head at me. He lands effortlessly beside me, barely struggling. Sometimes it’s too easy to envy the gifts of men.
