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Rory eyed him curiously. "Ye want her to remember she is no yer wife?"
Aulay hesitated, his mind torn on the subject. Part of him wanted her to remember everything. The part that found hope in her response to his kisses and in her admission that she was attracted to him. That part wanted her to know they weren't really married so that he could ask her to marry him for real. Because that part was daring to hope that she might agree, and that he could have the wife and children that he'd always taken for granted that he would have before he'd taken the injury to his face.
But another part, the one that still ached from his fiancee's rejection as well as the horrified response of others to his battered face . . . that part would rather she never know. It would rather they continue in this limbo of being married, but not married. Of having her, but not being able to have her. That part feared she would be relieved by the news that they were not man and wife, and would admit she'd just been making the best of a bad situation, but would be happy to escape having to look at him every day. In truth, he'd rather have this strange half relationship than risk losing her altogether. But what he said in the end was, "The sooner she remembers who she is, the better able we will be to keep her safe from whatever threat she was afraid of before she lost her memory."
Rory stared at him so hard for so long that Aulay suspected his brother knew about his other hopes and fears, but finally he said, "Very well. We will take her to the beach to break her fast."
"Good," Aulay said with a grin, not even minding that Rory would accompany them. In truth, he knew that it was probably for the best. It would make it easier for him to behave himself, which was becoming harder to do all the time. This morning's antics certainly weren't helping him any. He couldn't get the image of waking up to find Jetta taking him into her mouth out of his mind, and even the pain that had followed was no longer detracting from his body's response to the memory. Nay, it was better they have a chaperone from now on.
"'Tis beautiful," Jetta breathed, peering over the windswept beach.
"Does it look at all familiar?" Aulay asked as he urged his mount down the sloping path to the shore, and regretted it almost at once. If she had seen shore at all from her position on the mast, it would have been from the opposite angle, from the water. Besides, a glance down showed her frowning as she now tried to find some memory of the beach. "Do no' try to force the memories, lass. Just relax and let whatever comes, come."
"Aye," she said on a sigh.
Aulay hesitated, and then asked, "Were ye saying aye to--?"
"To just relaxing and letting the memories come," Jetta said on a laugh, and then added apologetically, "I do not recognize anything."
"'Tis fine," Aulay assured her, and then looked over his shoulder toward Rory, who was following them on his own mount. "I thought close to shore might be nice. We can walk a little way along the beach in the surf after we eat. 'Twill be easier than trying to walk in the dry sand."
"Aye," Rory agreed easily and followed when they reached the sand and Aulay urged his horse toward shore.
He stopped a good ten feet short of the surf. While it would be easier to walk in the wet sand than the dry, he didn't want to picnic on it. Aulay lifted Jetta from where she sat before him on the mount and leaned to set her on her feet in the sand. He then quickly dismounted himself. Noting the way Jetta was self-consciously plucking at the plaid she wore over her borrowed shift, he smiled and assured her, "Ye look fine, lass."
Jetta peered down at herself with a slight grimace, but nodded, and he felt bad that he hadn't had a dress to offer her. This was the best he could come up with, pleating a spare plaid he had and fashioning a sort of overdress for her to wear with the somewhat indecent shift. She was swimming in cloth, but decently covered at least. Still, Aulay decided he really needed to arrange for clothing for her if they were going to start leaving the lodge more often. Besides, he had to return to Buchanan soon. While he knew that, between his uncle and his brothers, the keep and its people were in good hands, he still felt guilty for not being there himself. He was the laird, after all, and should be tending to his people, not delegating it to others.
The worry over clothing for Jetta made him wonder about Alick and what was taking him so long. He should have been back with any gowns Saidh might have been able to loan them by now, if not with his sister herself. Hell, he expected Geordie and Conran to return with their report anytime, and they'd had to ride both up and down the coast, stopping at every port as far away as England in the south and all the way up the Scottish coast to the north.
"This should be good."
Aulay glanced around to see Rory unfolding and shaking out a plaid to lay it on the sand.
"Oh, lovely, I am starving," Jetta said, moving toward the picnic spot Rory had chosen.
"Well, seat yerself then, lass," Rory said lightly. "Mavis packed this basket full. She sent some lovely pastries, some fruit, some cheese, some boiled eggs and even some meat."
"Goodness, she must have thought she was feeding an army," Jetta said, settling on the plaid and watching wide-eyed as Rory began pulling out the offerings. Turning to grin at Aulay then, she added mischievously, "That or two Buchanan brothers."
"Har har," Aulay said dryly as he settled next to her on the plaid, but he couldn't hold back the grin her teasing caused. Catching Rory's confused expression, Aulay explained, "She thinks I ha'e an exceptionally large appetite."
"Ah," Rory said and then smiled at Jetta and told her with certainty, "He doesna. Dougall eats more than him, and our youngest brother, Alick, eats more than he and Dougall combined."
"Nay!" Jetta cried with disbelief. "'Tis impossible that anyone could eat twice what Aulay does."
"Men eat more than women," Aulay said with amusement. "Surely ye ken that from yer father?"
"Nay. My father never ate like you do. He preferred his drink," she assured him.
Aulay stilled at the words, just a heartbeat before she gasped and cried, "Oh! I remember my father preferred drink to food!"
Exchanging a glance with Rory, Aulay reached out to cover her hand with his own and said soothingly, "Aye. Ye do. Now, remember no' to force it, but did ye recall anything else just now? Did ye picture someone in yer mind? Or think o' yer uncle's name or anything?"
"I . . ." Jetta frowned, but when he squeezed her hand gently, she relaxed her forehead and breathed out before saying, "I got a quick impression of a small man. Not muscular or tall like you and your brothers. He was slender and not much taller than me and his head was balding," she said slowly and then shook her head and met his gaze. "That is all."
"But that is good," he assured her, squeezing her hand again. "Every memory that comes back, no matter how small, is a good thing. It means the rest will most like follow, does it no', Rory?" he asked, turning to his brother.
Rory smiled and nodded, but Aulay could read his brother and knew he didn't really think it was all that good. A frown tried to claim Aulay's mouth then, but not wanting to alert and alarm Jetta, he forced it away with a smile and squeezed her hand again. "Come. You said you were starving. We should eat."
The three of them began to eat, Rory and Jetta chatting and laughing as they did, but Aulay was quieter, his gaze slipping between Jetta and his brother as he worried about the man's expression when he'd asked him if her remembering was not good. It troubled him, and he wanted to ask him about it, so he was incredibly relieved when Jetta decided she'd had enough to eat and walked down to the surf. Watching her hitch up her plaid and wade into the water a ways until she could wash her hands, Aulay asked solemnly, "Is it not good that she is remembering?"
"Of course, any memory is good," Rory said solemnly. "But it troubles me that she is not getting full-on memories, just bits and pieces. I should think her memory would be coming back on its own by now if it ever truly will."
"You told her no' to try to remember," Aulay pointed out with a frown. "And so ha'e I because you advised it. She has stopped trying to remember
and is just letting whatever come, come."
"Aye, I ken," Rory said solemnly. "But I expected by no' trying, she would relax and the memories would shake loose o' their own accord. That does no' appear to be happening."
"Ye want her to try now," Aulay realized.
Rory nodded, and then said quickly, "But only to see if trying still brings on the pain. If it does, she should stop at once. If not . . ."
"If not, what?"
Aulay turned his head swiftly to see that Jetta had returned. She was smiling, her expression curious. While she'd obviously caught Rory's last couple of words, she hadn't heard much before them. If she had, he didn't think she'd be smiling.
"All cleaned up?" he asked, getting to his feet.
"Aye. Mavis's pastries are lovely, but do get me all sticky," she said on a laugh, and then looked around as the sound of horse hooves caught her ear.
"Someone's approaching," Rory said, standing up next to them.
"Aye," Aulay murmured, his hand on his sword. He watched tensely for a moment and then relaxed when a rider came into view, heading down the path they'd taken to the beach. "'Tis young Simon."
"Who is that?" Aulay heard Jetta ask Rory as he started toward where the path ended at the beach.
"One o' the Buchanan soldiers," Rory answered. "Rest here. We will see what is about."
