Summer of Love (32 page)

    
After changing into their riding gear, he retrieved the two wedding bands
he had bought and offered her the smaller one without a word. She took it
hesitantly, studied it, and then slipped it on the ring finger of her left hand.
Holding up the hand in front of her, she looked at it and smiled bashfully. He
put on his and kissed her cheek.

    
They were soon on their way west again, now keeping close to the ridges
of the Campsie Fells, south of Endrick Waters, rather than to the more
populated valley floor. They started looking out for a secluded glen to spend
the night, where their horses could graze without risking discovery. Below
the Corrie of Balglass, they saw a short valley, enclosed on three sides by
steep crags, its entrance blocked by a dense copse of trees and bushes.
Leading the horses on foot up the stony creek through the trees, they found
a small meadow at its far end, offering succulent grasses for their horses.

    
They laughed with joy and spontaneously embraced. After releasing the
horses, they lay on Andrew’s riding coat, their first occasion for talking
leisurely. Helen wanted to know everything of his travels. Dusk was settling
into the glen when their stomachs asserted themselves again, and they ate
more cheese and bread. When darkness had swallowed the glen, they
wrapped themselves in his coat, snuggling tightly up to each other, listening
to the sounds of the night, until they fell asleep in each other’s arms.

13

Midmorning on the next day, they saw in the far distance the church tower
of Killearn, surrounded by a few whitewash houses and cottages. Andrew
turned south, and they soon joined the road to Glasgow. Their pace picked
up, and they again watched out for a group of four riders. Periodically they
cantered, letting their horses recover their strength in between. By late
afternoon, the faint outlines of St. Mungo’s Cathedral heralded their
approach to Glasgow.

    
They put up at the Hotel of the Good Shepherd, the first inn they came
across into Glasgow, just below St. Mungo’s Cathedral at the intersection of
Rottenrow Street with the top of High Street. This time, they were not met
with suspicious glances. Helen’s neat, fashionable outfit, their expensive
looking horses, particularly the black stallion, and Andrew’s impeccable
English accent, cultivated for the occasion, were thoroughly convincing.

    
After a leisurely evening meal, crowned by an excellent bottle of French
wine, Andrew suggested with a telling smile that they retire to their bedroom.
Helen immediately knew what was on his mind, and what she wanted too.
Once the door was securely locked, they smiled at each other, and without
a word each began to undress the other teasingly, giggling, kissing, and
cuddling.

    
"Oh, Helen, you’re so lovely," he whispered, holding her away from him,
his hands on her hips, admiring her sensuous womanly curves. He bent
forward and kissed her left nipple. She lifted her right breast for him to kiss
also, giggling as he did. Their eyes met, full of anticipation. She put her arms
around his neck, and their bodies came together, skin on skin. He felt her
soft, warm breasts against his chest. She clasped his hot manhood inside her
thighs. They kissed, their tongues playfully teasing each other.

    
"It’s the first time we make love in a bed, Helen," he whispered.

    
She simply smiled and continued kissing him peckishly. "Andrew, don’t
make me with child yet. Not as long as we aren’t married and still on the
run."

 * * *

Lying on the bed in blissful contentment, tenderly stroking each other, she
said: "Andrew, do you believe me that I never lay with Robert. He was
lying."

    
He kissed her nose. "Yes, Helen, I do."

    
"You’re the only man I’ve ever been with," she whispered, and then she
added, accusingly: "But you’ve been with other women, I know."

    
"How do you know?" he replied, smiling.

    
"Because you’re so much more skillful. You do things that you didn’t do
the first time we made love up on the lochan. Sometimes I can hardly stand
it."

    
"Maybe I just invented them, dreaming of making love to you these past
four years." There was a teasing twinkle in his eyes.

    
"Maybe you did dream of making love to me, but you also were with
other women… You can’t fool me!"

    
He nibbled on her left earlobe. "Yes, I was with a few women," he
whispered huskily into her ear.

    
"Many! … How many?"

    
"I don’t know. I didn’t keep track."

    
She pulled away from him. "That many?" Her voice had assumed a
bellicose quality. "I thought you loved me! And the moment you left me, you
went to other women?"

    
"Love, none of them compared to you."

    
"How can I believe you really loved me when you forgot me so quickly?"

    
"I couldn’t forget you, nor did I love any of them. Initially, I tried to forget
you, … and then it dawned on me that I tried to find you in them. But I never
did… I guess this is why I had to come back… I only love you."

    
She was still sulking. He pulled her back in top of him. She tried to avoid
his kiss.

    
"Helen, I never stopped loving you. Do you believe me?"

    
She nodded, putting her head on his chest. He stroked her back.

    
"Come, give me a kiss, love."

    
She raised her head and offered him her lips.

    
"Don’t you ever dare even looking at another woman again!"

    
"Looking, yes. But no more."

    
"You promise?"

    
"Yes, my love. I promise," he murmured with a smile. "I didn’t know you
were jealous."

    
"I am …with you. I wouldn’t have cared a hoot if Robert had been
unfaithful, but I want you all to myself."

    
"Oh Helen. I’m glad that you’re jealous." He nuzzled her. "I only want
you. I’ve no desire for other women. I never wanted another woman… You
believe me?"

    
"Yes, but you did go with other women."

    
"You forgive me?"

    
"Yes, but—"

    
He turned her briskly on her back, and his kiss smothered whatever she
wanted to add. "Let’s do it again, love," he murmured with a wistful smile,
as his right index drew ever tighter circles around the nipple of her right
breast with a featherlike touch.

 * * *

Saturday morning they dressed in their best, Helen in her dark blue gown,
Andrew in the clothing that the maid had cleaned and ironed overnight. The
intention was to find a minister of the church who would be willing to marry
them. Rather than go to the cathedral, they searched for one of the smaller
churches on High Street closer to the center of town. After ascertaining that
they were both above the age of consent and accepting their reasons for
getting wed without the presence of any family members, the minister agreed
to perform the ceremony. He instructed them to be in the church in half an
hour’s time with two witnesses.

    
After leaving the minister’s sanctuary, Andrew whispered: "Helen, I’ll go
to find two witnesses. Will you wait inside the church? Maybe two of the
men we saw working outside will agree to do it."

    
"Don’t be long, Andrew."

    
"I won’t, love," and he hurried away.

    
But rather than simply search for the workmen, he quickly ran down High
Street to Trongate where he asked a flower girl to prepare a small bouquet,
as he had seen brides carry at weddings while traveling in France. He waited
impatiently, watching her select the flowers and tie them with a small white
lace ribbon. Then he rushed back, offered two workmen sixpence each to
serve as witnesses, and joined Helen in the church. All this took longer than
he had intended, and he found her sitting anxiously near the entrance. With
the light behind him, she saw only his silhouette in dark outlines as he
entered. She rushed up to him and whispered reproachfully: "Where have
you been so long? I got all worried!"

    
Then she saw the bouquet of delicate lilies of the valley that he held out
to her, and she broke into tears. "Oh Andrew, I’m sorry… How sweet, …
how thoughtful of you."

    
"You like them?"

    
She took them and nodded, smelling their sweet fragrance, smiling
through tears. He dried her cheeks with his handkerchief. She took it and
blew her nose, laughing softly, embarrassed, relieved that he was back. They
sat, holding hands, while they waited for the minister to call them to the altar.

    
This time the ceremony went off quietly and without a hitch, and
afterward the two newlyweds walked arm-in-arm out of the church, Helen
with a mixture of elation and vague doubts about what they had just done.
This was final. No going back. She had cut all ties with her own family.

    
Rather than return directly to The Good Shepherd, Andrew suggested that
they celebrate by eating in a tavern. They wandered down High Street,
strolled around Trongate and down Saltmarket Street, admiring the
impressive stately houses of the merchants. A vague memory surfaced about
the first time she had met Andrew at the Killin market. How she had then
fleetingly toyed with the thought that marrying a man like him would offer
her all the worldly comforts of living in a big house. These mansions here
were even bigger and more beautiful than the ones of her dreams. And she
had fallen in love with Andrew without ever thinking of such comforts.
Will
I ever live in such a house?
she wondered, but she didn’t really care.

    
At the top of Bridgegate Street they saw a tavern with a big sign outside.
The delicious smells wafting from its door invited them to dine inside. They
toasted each other over a bottle of champagne, followed by a scrumptious
dinner of smoked salmon and grouse. After the meal, Andrew retrieved
several coins from his little purse, slipped them into a pocket of his coat, and
passed the purse to Helen: "You keep this."

    
She looked at him questioningly. "Why?"

    
"In case we ever get separated temporarily… I’ll try to get more cash
tomorrow from Jarvis and Sons, the local correspondents of my bankers in
London. By the way, there’s a piece of paper in the purse with their name and
London address, should you ever need it and I can’t help you."

    
With an uncertain expression on her face, she hid the purse in the pocket
of her skirt. "You frighten me with such talk. I wouldn’t know how to
contact them in the first place."

    
"Look, Helen, it’s just a precaution. We never know, and now that we’re
married, anything I own is also yours. Any reputable merchant house will be
able to help you, but I’m sure you’ll manage if you ever need to. I’ve close
to one thousand English pounds with these bankers. If anything happens to
me, you should not want."