The Queen of Swords: A Paranormal Tale of Undying Love (22 page)

She shrugged. “What can I
say? I’ve had a lot of distractions.”

Chapter
18: The Birds and the Bees

“What was it like the first time you made love?”

Surprised by her question, he looked at her and wrinkled his nose
. They’d been on the road several hours now and were nearly to Scotland.

“What brought that on?”

“Call it idle curiosity.”

He smirked. “Haven
’t you heard curiosity killed the cat?”

Her
lips pursed and her face colored inexplicably. “I hate that expression.”

“
Do you?”

“Tell me
,” she demanded more forcefully. “I want to know.”

“Aye, well. To tell the truth, I d
on’t remember all that much about it.”

Her gaze hardened
. “How is that possible? Doesn’t everybody remember their first time?”

“Everybody hasn
’t lived for more than two hundred years. And all I really remember is how it felt rather strange and awkward at the start and pretty bloody brilliant at the end.”

She eyed him speculatively. “And was it brilliant for her too?”

Licking his lips, he harkened back to his first partner, a barmaid who’d gone with him into the alley behind the pub, a popular spot for such trysts. She’d leaned against a fence and pulled up her skirts and he’d lifted his kilt. He shot his load after a few quick pokes. “I rather doubt it. But I flatter myself I’ve improved over time. But you tell me.”

A grin stole across her mouth
. “For all I know, you’re total rubbish.”

He arched a brow. “D
o you get off?”

Mischief glistened in her eyes.
“Do you have to ask?”

“How do I ken?
You could be faking.”

She laughed. “It never occurred to me to fake.”

With a chuckle, he said, “I’m relieved to hear it.”

“So
, was it her first time too?”

Shaking his head, he
let out an exasperated sigh. “And what’s to be gained by speaking of this?”

“It’s called
sharing.
” The brusqueness of her tone gave him pause. “And greater intimacy between us is what’s to be gained.”

Jaw clenching, he
fixed his eyes on the road ahead. “As long as I’ve lived, I still don’t understand women. And probably never will if I live a thousand more years. If you’d had affairs in the past, I’d have no desire to hear the details.”

She was quiet for a minute or two before she
said, “What if I’d been raped? Would you want to know about that?”

“Aye. I would.
” He swallowed his surprise. “Have you been?”

His eyes narrowed as he considered this. How could she have been raped and still be a virgin? Perhaps she’d been assaulted in some other way.
Forced fellatio, for instance. Or digital penetration, which might not have broken her hymen.

“Let’s just say I would have been
, had he been able to get it in.”

He shot a concerned glance at her. “When was this?”

“Back in secondary school.” Her voice was a wee bit shaky. “I had a bit of a crush on a guy who tried to take advantage. I stopped him before things went too far, but he told all his mates we hadn’t stopped. The lot of them started sniffing around me like dogs, asking me out and the like. I thought they genuinely liked me until one of the more decent among them clued me in. Then, another less-decent bloke decided not to take no for an answer. I’m just thankful he didn’t know what the hell to do.”

“I’m sorry, lass
.” He swallowed. “That must have been a waking nightmare.”

S
he lit one of his cigarettes and smoked it in silence looking out at the view, a pastoral scene of fields, farms, pastures, and fences. This part of Scotland hadn’t changed much.

“
So, Graham. Is it the curse...or were you always an insatiable horn-dog?”

A scoff scraped his throat.
“Since you asked, I had a normal sex drive. And values. I wasn’t a saint, mind. But neither was I a libertine. And once I became engaged to Caitriona, I never so much as looked at another lass twice.” Pausing, he heaved a sigh. “I hate what the curse has done to me. With a bloody passion. But what am I to do? Pull a Boston Corbett?”

“
Who?”

“Boston Corbett, the soldier who killed
John Wilkes Booth, the man who shot Abraham Lincoln. He’d castrated himself with a pair of scissors earlier in life to avoid the temptation of prostitutes.”

The color drained from her face.
“Bloody hell.”

He arched an eyebrow as a smirk played on his lips.
“I should think so.”

“
And I should think self-castration a little extreme. Besides, wouldn’t they only grow back?”

“That I couldn’t tell
you…nor have the least desire to find out.”

S
he got quiet again for several minutes, and then, “If you can’t remember your first time, can you tell me something else? Something really personal you’ve never told anyone else?”

His eyes rolled.
What was he supposed to tell her? He was total shite at sharing, relationships, and reading female minds. He searched his memory for something, anything, digging deep. Finally, thinking he’d resurrected something fitting the bill, he cleared his throat. “I recall a rather mortifying exchange I once had with my Granda concerning the birds and the bees...or, rather, blades and scabbards, if you will. Is that the kind of thing you’d like to hear?”

“That’s just the kind of thing
. Will you tell me the story?”

“Only if
you promise not to laugh,” he said with a tense laugh. “Because it’s bloody embarrassing, the reason I’ve never shared it before.”

“
No laughing.” She held up her hand as if pledging. “You have my solemn oath.”

He
flicked a nervous glance her way, and then shifted his eyes to the road, taking a few moments to collect his thoughts. “Aye, well,” he began, eyes forward, “when I was a lad of about eight, my Granda told me the story of the part he played in the Forty-Five, and how he came to lose his leg. But he wouldn’t tell me of the evils that followed, insisting I was too young to be troubled with such atrocities. But he also promised to tell me when I was older.”

Pausing to
puff on his cigarette, he shot a glance at her. She eyed him intently, but didn’t say anything. As he blew out the smoke, he went on. “Well, I never forgot it, but said no more about it for the next five years. Then, one morning, shortly before I turned four and ten, I decided it was time. After looking high and low for the old man, I found him down at the stables. He and the groom—Duncan was the lad’s name, I believe—were trying to get a stallion up on one of the mares.

“I took
the place beside him at the fence. I can still picture him as if it was yesterday. His heavy tartan hunting coat and an old-style kilt, the kind we call a
Feileadh Mòr.
In the dull morning light, his complexion looked sallow and pale, though his cheeks were ruddy. A few tufts of gray poked out from underneath the slouching tam on his head. I was nearly as tall as he was by then and, like him, I leaned against the fence, set my foot on the lowest rail and draped my arms over the highest, letting my hands dangle. Neither of us spoke for a bit. We just stood there like men, side-by-side, watching the horses, breathing in the dung, listening to the groom’s coaxing clicks and soft commands while the stallion squealed and stomped in protest.

“After a bit
, I turned to him. ‘I believe I’m old enough now to hear about Cumberland the Butcher. I’m nigh enough to a man now to hear it, wouldna you say?’ His eyes moved up and down the length of me, sizing me up. ‘You may well be at that, lad,’ he replied with a thoughtful smirk. ‘But you ought to ken time alone willna make a man of you. It’s what’s in the heart and in the head that makes a man a man.’ I frowned at him. ‘Are you suggesting I’m not man enough to hear it? Even now that I’m nearly four and ten?’ He laughed. ‘I’m not saying that a’tall. I just want you to be right-headed about what makes a man a man. I want to see you grow into the right sort of man. One who’s brave and honorable, who commands the respect of his family, friends, and neighbors. And, most importantly, man who can respect himself.’

Stopping
for another hit off his cigarette, he gave her a chance to comment. When she said nothing, he went on. “He just stood there for the longest time, leaning on the fence, looking from the agitated animals to me. ‘You see what the stallion is doing there?’ I looked hard at the big black stud. His eyes bulged and his ears were flat. He reared and pawed wildly at the air as if he strongly objected to what the groom would have him do. ‘You mean mounting the mare?’ ‘Aye, well. Most members of our gender have the capacity to do that. ‘But in my book, that doesna make them men. Do you ken what I mean?’ ‘I’m not certain that I do, Granda. Are you suggesting that I’m not a man until I’ve bedded a lass?’ He let out a cracking laugh. ‘Has your Da not yet had the talk with you about the ways of the world? About growing up and what to expect and how to behave?’ I was beginning to feel unnerved. This was not the conversation I envisaged having that day, or any other day, if I could help it. ‘What in the name of the wee man has any of this to do with Cumberland the Butcher?’ He laughed. ‘I’m speaking to you of manhood, laddie. I’ll tell you about the Butcher after our wee chat. Can you live with that, do you think?’ I regarded him with suspicion. ‘I can, I s’pose, provided you dinna go embarrassing me apurpose.’

“He
grinned and shook his head. ‘You’re bound to be a wee bit abashed due to the subject matter, but I’ll go as easy on you as I can.’ He stopped and licked his lips. ‘I can hear the change starting in your voice and see the whiskers sprouting just there above your lip. Have you noticed any other changes in your person of late?’ ‘Ah, Christ, Granda,” I groaned, rolling my eyes. “You’ve driven the carriage right past abashed to total humiliation.’ He snorted. ‘Let’s talk freely, eh? Man to man. And let there be no shame in the sharing of wisdom and experience between an auld man and his grandson.’ I eyed him skeptically. ‘What kind of changes might you be referring to?’ He looked at me with a troubling glint. ‘Primarily things transpiring below your navel.’ I could tell by the determined set of his face he was like a dog with a bone. I turned then, pressed my back up against the fence and looked out toward the stand of evergreens in the distance, willing myself there instead of where I was.”

Turning toward her, he found her looking out the window.
“Are you sure you want to hear this?”

“Yes.
I like thinking of you as a little boy. And your Granda sounds like quite a character.”

“
That he was.” Suddenly missing the old sod something fierce, he bit his lip and waited for her to prod him before continuing his story. “After we stood there a long while, he asked what I knew about copulation. Only he used the Gaelic word. I wanted to say I’d rather be bled by leeches than continue this conversation, but I didn’t. Instead, I looked at the ground and mumbled, ‘I ken enough.’ He scoffed. ‘Just enough to be dangerous, I reckon...like most rascals your age.’ I shot him a searing look. ‘I’ll have you ken I saw Mackay the cooper in back of the tavern t’other day having his way with one of the serving wenches.’ I regretted it as soon as the words left my gob, and even moreso when he arched a bushy gray eyebrow with a glint in his eye. ‘Did you now?’ There was no turning back, so I went forward. ‘I came flying around the corner, heading home from the shops with a sack of sweeties, and there they were. At first, I thought Mackay might be hurting the lass, the way she was moaning and all, so I ducked around the corner and watched for a wee bit to see if I should try to be of service.’

“
My Granda looked right at me as bold as anything. ‘And just what did you observe?’ I snapped my eyes away from him. ‘What d’you think?’ ‘There’s no need to be coy, lad. I’m merely trying to get at what’s inside your heid. So, I can set it straight where it might need straightening. So quit hedging and tell me what you witnessed.’ I eyed him warily. My face felt like a red-hot poker as I begrudgingly began to explain. ‘She was leaning on a barrel with her skirts pulled up. I could see every bit of her legs and a wee bit more besides. The front of his kilt was up over his belly...and he was bumping against her like a wild man. To tell you the truth, I found it all fairly disgusting. But at the same time, kind of...well, fascinating.’

“He stood there just studying me for a
long while. ‘How long did you stand there a watching, eh?’ I felt the heat of shame scorch my face and I considered telling him a lie. But I kent he’d whip me if he found out, so I spoke the truth. ‘Until they went back inside.’ ‘And how did it make you feel?’ I looked up at the trees and shoved my hands in the pockets of my coat. ‘Truthfully, Granda, I mostly felt confused. What were they thinking doing something like that out there where anybody could see them? What if I’d been a wean or an innocent lass or, lord forbid, a fine lady coming upon them in such a state? I’m sure I’d be shocked near to death.’ My Granda snickered. ‘Were you not shocked then?’ ‘Aye,’ said I, ‘but only a wee bit.’ ‘And your Da has told you naught of such things?’ I let out a sigh. Would this insufferable interrogation never end? ‘One day when I was six or so, we were out walking and I saw a ram mount a ewe. When I asked him what they were doing, he told me they were making a lamb for Easter supper. But he’s said naught since.’ The auld man shook his head, ‘That being the case, I suppose I had better take it upon myself.’