Island of the Swans (95 page)

Thomas scanned her face once again, but she avoided his direct gaze.

“I’d like to keep
you
with me as long as I can…” he murmured, bending down to kiss her lips, at first softly, and then with growing intensity. His hands caressed her shoulders. “How long might that be, Jenny, lass?”

Her lips parted as a rush of emotions gripped her with as much tensile strength as his large hands, which were now pressing the length of his body against hers. His arms wrapped her in a tight embrace and he bent down and kissed her ravenously. Memories of numerous painful farewells pierced through the passionate haze that had started to envelop her. She pushed hard against his chest.

“
No!
” she gasped, her breathing ragged. “I can’t bear to hold you close and then have you leave me again. Thomas! If I let you touch me like this, and then tomorrow, you go—” She stepped back several paces, swallowing tears, and shook her head fiercely. “We seem to make love every ten years or so!” she cried passionately, “and then we part. The next time ’twill be 1807—a new
century
—and I’ll be an old crone! I can’t
bear
losing you again, Thomas, so I—”

Suddenly, she bolted along the gravel shoreline, leaving Thomas staring at her retreating form.

“Jenny!” he shouted after her. “Jenny, come back!”

Jane ran blindly toward the stand of Caledonian pines that led away from the water’s edge. The soles of her thin slippers were punctured by stones and she tripped repeatedly. She felt slightly foolish to be escaping from a man who, only a few short minutes earlier, had told her he would be leaving Scotland soon—and probably forever.

She stopped running and leaned heavily against a tree, trying to catch her breath. She fought to regain some sense of composure. Thomas suddenly appeared behind her.

“Look at us, lassie!” he panted. “We can scarcely draw a breath! We’re too old for such nonsense!” He gathered her resisting body against his and kissed the top of her head. “You’re feeling sad because I told you I’d planned to stay in Scotland only a short while, am I right?”

Unable to dissemble, she merely shook her head.

“’Tis clear to me I’m not the only one who has suffered loss after loss, darling girl,” he said softly, stroking her hair in a soothing, familiar fashion. “You’ve watched me go away many a time, havn’t you, dearheart? I’m probably the only man you’ll ever know who’s braved the treacherous Atlantic six times… but here I am… and ’twas always
you
who brought me back.”

“Not true,” Jane mumbled into his neck. “This time you came back for Louisa’s sake.”

“That was only one of the reasons, pet,” Thomas said. He brushed his lips against hers once more. “You do know that I love you still… love you so very much?” he asked gently. “I think I need to tell you that because you have a certain look to you, sometimes… a look that shutters your eyes and shuts me out.” He took her by both shoulders and with infinite gentleness, shook her side to side. “I love you
still
, you devilish wench! And I’m more than pleased to hear from Angus all the consternation you’ve stirred up in Parliament with your electioneering and backstairs maneuvering at Court, even if you
did
keep old Geordie on his throne!”

He pulled away and stared at her, as if willing her to accept the truth of his words.

“I will always love you, Jane Maxwell, until they bury me in the ground and use this kilt as my shroud.”

For a moment, she stared at him silently and then flung her arms around his shoulders. She pulled his head down and pressed her cheek close to his, luxuriating in the feel of his bronzed skin, in the slight stubble that had grown during his journey from Struy. She thought of what her life would have been like, had she always had the right to hold this man close to her all these years, to cosset him and cry on his shoulder when life’s blows struck, to be angry with him and then make it up, to talk to him in the easy way they’d always shared, to be flesh of his flesh… to be Thomas’s
wife.

She released her hold and searched his face, more dear to her now than ever before. “Gods wounds! Don’t talk of shrouds and such!’ she cried. “Don’t talk about death on such a day as this!”

“Then let’s talk of life.” He smiled down at her. “
Our
life. Will you be staying the summer at Kinrara?” he asked, gazing at her steadily.

Nodding affirmatively, Jane knew instinctively that Angus had told him of her long estrangement from Alex and their separate living arrangements. She fought the impulse to let her mind speed ahead to wherever Thomas’s question might be leading.

“I have an even better idea,” she said quickly, leading him by the hand toward a small boat tethered to the branch of a tree which hung out over the water. “Let’s not talk at all. Please step into this bateau, good sir,” she said brusquely, pointing to the bow. “I shall row. I enjoy it.”

Thomas fell silent as Jane pulled skillfully on the oars. As the boat pointed toward the small island studded with the flagstone castle, her mind drifted back to the many times she had rowed out here, seeking solace from the dreadful pain of Thomas’s many departures… from the exhaustion of long years of conflict with Alex… from the disappointments and resentments she had felt that seemed, at times, too much to bear. Yet bear them she had, with the help of this place… the peace of this lair of the ferocious Wolf of Badenoch. Coming here had always made her feel closer to Thomas somehow. The sight of the vine-covered castle walls and the swans nesting in the reeds had often calmed her and stemmed her tears.

Jane pulled hard on the oars and headed for the old stone dock. She scanned the clusters of canary grass and yellow marsh marigolds nearby for a glimpse of the pair of swans that each year had made Loch-an-Eilean their home. She often wondered if it were the same pair Thomas and she had seen back in 1768, since she knew swans could live for thirty years or more in feathered monogamy, returning again and again to the same breeding grounds.

Thomas stepped from the bow of the little boat and secured the line to an iron ring embedded at the rim of the stone dock. Jane heard a loud rustling in the reeds. A large-breasted trumpeter emerged, honking at them angrily.

“They’re still here…” Jane breathed as Thomas caught her hand and helped her ashore.

“They’ll always come back to this spot, I expect,” he whispered. “They, or their children.” He scanned the overgrown courtyard and strode toward a small pine tree, which had struggled to take root in the thicket mantling the ground and stone outcrops. “Peel off a few branches, my love,” he said with a wolfish grin, “unless you’d prefer to be bedded right here on this stone dock…”

Jane’s heart beat faster at his allusion to their making love.

“Why, you’re actually blushing!” he teased as she ducked her head to break off small fragrant pine boughs near the base of the tree.

“You’re a confident jackal…” she tossed over her shoulder. “Cocky, aren’t you, that you’ll woo me so easily into your lair?”

“Aye, that I am,” he said, grinning. His face grew serious as he caught her hand, which clutched a small branch, and kissed the tops of her fingers. “Angus told me you and Alex had separated long ago. So, if you’ll have me, darling Jenny, I’d like to spend the summer with you at Kinrara. I could take some of the burden off you and Angus till you can train a new factor.”

Jane’s mind whirled at a dizzying speed. Four months with Thomas by her side. Four months away from cares and worries and prying eyes and Alex’s caustic jabs and the demands of being a duchess of the realm. Four months with Thomas… and then a lifetime without him.

Thomas took her other hand and held them both fast.

“We’ll sleep night after night in each other’s arms,” he said, “and sometimes I’ll woo you not at all—just like old married folk!”

Jane leaned her weight against him and closed her eyes. He was really here. He wanted to stay. It wasn’t a dream. They could live together at Kinrara as man and wife… at least for a while. Her breath caught in her throat. Could she ever acquire a talent for not looking forward and not looking back? Could she learn to live her life, a day at a time, enjoying the sweetness of each moment… the blessedness of having Thomas with her for a time? And could she possibly survive parting from him once again—probably for the last time—when the autumn leaves on the larches and birch settled on the rich, moist soil, and the lavender heather turned brown on the moors of Kinrara?

Her silence extended a moment longer. Then she spoke quietly.

“’Tis the most wonderful proposal a lass could be offered,” she said. “I’d be most pleased if you’d stay the summer, Thomas. And I’d be pleased if you’d let me serve as tutor to Max in exchange for your acting as factor while you’re here. Dear God! Let us
please
be like old married folk!”

“But not today,” he responded.

She looked at him questioningly. He laughed and gave her a swift hug.

“I’ll not treat you like an old married woman
this
day, my Jenny of Monreith!” he exalted. “We’ve gathered branches enough, lass. Come on!”

Arms full of the pungent pine, they scampered like children up the moss-encrusted stairs that wound around the tower, up, up to the highest chamber. An empty bird’s nest, large enough to house an osprey, rested on the wide ledge of the stone window. Jane and Thomas constructed a soft, fragrant pallet on the slate floor and stared at each other across its green expanse.

“I’m not a lass of seventeen—nor even twenty-five, my love,” she said with uncharacteristic diffidence, referring to the previous times they had made love at Loch-an-Eilean. “I’ve birthed seven children, and I show it.”

Thomas patted his midsection as he unstrapped the leather belt that held his kilt in place.

“You won’t find the same bold stallion of memory here either, Jenny love… but an aging fool… a man who loves you with all his heart and soul and poor, decrepit flesh. Come here, my dearest heart.”

Silently, Jane stepped forward and allowed Thomas to undress her. His movements were deliberate and slow, relishing each moment as he removed the last vestments of Jane’s clothing, except for her thin chemise.

“’Tis so strange,” he said, his eyes sweeping her body. “But when I see you like this, I still feel like that eighteen-year-old stripling who first kissed you in the hay byre behind Hyndford Close.”

“Aye,” she said, her voice crackling with emotion. “’Tis the same for me.” She kissed him softly on each cheek. “And now
you
, Captain Fraser,” she whispered. “I doubt your flesh looks quite as decrepit as you claim.”

She tugged at his linen blouse. Her breath caught at the sight of his bare torso, still tightly muscled, despite the jagged scar indenting his upper arm and the other old wound, which slashed across his chest. The mat of russet hair nestling there, like that on his head, was now dusted with gray. Thomas was still a magnificent-looking man. With a mischievous glance, she unwrapped his kilt from around his hips, which were still smooth and trim. Then, she removed her own chemise and allowed his eyes to feast on her naked form.

“It may be a fine, sunny day,” he smiled at her as he gloried in the sight of her full breasts and slightly rounded belly, “but I would like it very much, lass, if you’d wrap your arms around me for warmth. I do believe the sight of my gooseflesh might soon disgust you!” he laughed.

They both glanced toward the windows cut into the chamber’s stone walls and shivered slightly as a chilly current of air blew into the room.

Together, they spread Thomas’s kilt on the pine boughs, and stretched out on their makeshift bed. Enfolding each other in their arms, they sought warmth and comfort and an almost mystical closeness that they both had hungered for, for so long.

Jane nuzzled Thomas’s neck, licking his ear like a proprietary cat. Soon, she was covering his upper body with excited little kisses. She could feel the strength of his desire for her against her thigh “You always could do this to me, couldn’t, you wench?” he whispered, as if reading her thoughts. “Since you were a wee lass you’ve known you could bewitch me and reveled in it all your life. Well,” he added, gently kneading the small of her back with one hand, “so have I.” Shifting his weight abruptly, he rolled her over on her back “Precious,” he murmured against her flesh. “So precious.”

He lifted his head and steadily met her gaze, “I’ll not dissemble,” he said huskily. “I want you, and I love you, and I want you to want me. ’Tis always been this way for me.”

It all means something
, a part of her mind sang as she reached up and pulled his weight down on her. All the love and caring and loyalty she’d carried for this man for an entire lifetime was well invested. All the pain and sorrow and loss and finding their way back through the confusion of their lives had led to these cherished moments at Loch-an-Eilean.
It all means something… still!

There was a seasoned joy to their lovemaking on pine boughs in the tiny stone chamber above the lake. A lifetime of caring and concern shone in their eyes, speaking eloquently of the bond that they had forged between them in childhood and that they had managed to preserve and nourish, despite their long separations and their missteps along the way.

’Tis like Robert Burn’s poetry
, some sane part of her brain cried out.
And he knew her…
oh yes, this man
knew
her. Thomas knew her beginnings, knew her struggles, knew her diffidence as well as her bold ambition, her weaknesses, and her strengths. Thomas Fraser knew everything there was to know about her, good and bad, and
still
he loved her!

She was naked before him. Not merely in body, but her very soul was stripped of pretense and subterfuge, stripped of defenses and her lifelong need to control her world so she could protect herself from being hurt or abandoned. She could reveal to Thomas who she really was, including her flaws. And he accepted her—which only made her love for him multiply a thousandfold.