Summer of Love (18 page)

    
"Mother has been spying on me," Helen said, out of breath, disengaging
herself from his embrace. She quickly told him what happened. "Andrew,
you must leave. I don’t trust her. She might come back again."

    
"No, Helen. I want to be with you. Even so we can only spend such little
time together and every minute is precious."

    
"But if she catches us, then—"

    
"—then we tell her that we want to get married." Suddenly, there was an
uncertain look on his face. "Or don’t you want to marry me?"

    
"Oh, silly! You know that I want to marry you."

    
They fell into each other arms, trading quick kisses.

    
"But she may not let us. She said that no MacGregor can ever wed a
Campbell… And father would rather kill you. Oh, Andrew. What are we
going to do?"

    
"We could run away and get married. You mean more to me than
anything else… Are you sure that your mother wouldn’t see reason? And if
she does, maybe your father might be willing to drink claret with me again."
A smile crossed his face, as he said that.

    
"I’ll try to catch mother when she’s in a good mood… But what shall we
do now?"

    
"Let’s release your goats and then have our little banquet hidden behind
the goat hut."

    
Later on, they lay in the heath.

    
"You proposed to me, Andrew."

    
"Yes, I did. Did you ever have any doubt?"

    
She shook her head. "No, but somehow I always thought that being
proposed would be more dramatic."

    
He jumped to his knees, pulled her into a sitting position, pressed his lips
to her hand, and then said solemnly: "Lady Helen, I have lost my heart to
you. Will you give me your hand in marriage?"

    
In vain, she tried to compose herself, and finally managed to push her chin
forward haughtily, while her eyes kept laughing. "Yes, Sir Lancelot, I do."

    
"May I kiss you then, my lady?"

    
She pulled him down to her, sealing his lips with hers, their tongues
teasing each other, their emotions threatening to boil over. She experienced
a strong tingling in her body, and knew that he felt the same, felt an urge for
more, for an even closer fusion of body and mind. Andrew’s right hand came
to rest on her bosom, cupping a breast. She smiled at him invitingly. He
gently gathered its softness, kissing her again. Suddenly, she slipped deftly
away from under him and jumped up, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
Reaching for his hands, she said: "Come."

    
"Where?"

    
"To the lochan… Let’s see who’s first in the water."

    
He looked at her questioningly.

    
"Don’t you want to?"

    
"Sure, I want to. But last time you told me off."

    
She smiled. "I won’t this time."

    
She darted off, laughing, fumbling with her brooch—the lurking threat of
her mother surprising them forgotten. When they reached the shore, she had
dropped her plaid and was wiggling out of her petticoat. Before he got off his
tight trews, she was already in the water. They splashed each other and then
dove into the lake, swimming side by side. He grabbed her around the waist.

    
"No, Andrew. Don’t dunk me!"

    
"I won’t. I want to hold you."

    
They embraced. He could barely stand. He was holding her up. She had
her arms around his neck, pressing the hard nipples to his chest. She sensed
his manhood swell against her thigh. Embarrassed, he let go. She looked at
him with sparkling eyes, and then started to swim toward the shore just under
their rock. He caught up with her. There were several bushes clinging to
cracks in the rock.

    
"Come," she said laughing and, ducking under one of them, she dove
through a fair size opening in the rocks. Two strokes got her through and she
broke the surface under a high vaulted ceiling. Light entered through narrow
the fissures in the rock wall. She was already climbing onto a wide ledge,
when Andrew surfaced.

    
The ledge led into a dry chamber, thirty feet long and ten feet wide at the
front, narrowing like a cone to three feet at its end. Beyond the ledge, the
floor was covered in fine sand, rising gradually to the back. Flat rocks along
the walls served as shelves for small knickknacks and Chaucer’s Canterbury
Tales that Andrew had lent her the week before. She saw him looking at the
book and chuckled: "I didn’t know anybody would write such naughty
stories."

    
"Don’t you like them?"

    
"Yes, I do." Making a sweeping motion with her hands around the cave,
she said: "This is where I hid after our first swim together."

    
"But I saw you get dressed. Did you get into the water again?"

    
"No, there’s a narrow entrance above the water. Come, I show you."

    
She took his hand and led him to an opening near the rear of the cave,
partially hidden behind a rectangular slab that seemed to fit perfectly into the
hole.

    
Helen was keenly aware of their naked closeness and noticed that he tried
hard to keep his gaze on her face, but couldn’t prevent his eyes darting to her
breasts.

    
"You may embrace me, Andrew, but promise not to do anything else."

    
She put her arms around his neck. He held her close, skin touching skin
from top to toe, and began to kiss her passionately. While one hand traveled
up and down her back, the other cupped a breast. His manhood felt hard
against her. Suddenly, he lifted her up and lay her on the soft sand, a few
steps away. He pushed her shoulders gently to the ground, stretching out next
to her, his chest touching her bosom.

    
Alarmed, she exclaimed: "Andrew, no. We mustn’t."

    
She tried to rise. He held her down, kissing her, and murmured in a husky
voice: "I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, I promise."

    
"You do? Really?" she stopped struggling, still hesitant, torn between her
mind and her senses.

    
"Yes, I do."

    
His free right hand began to explore her body, her breasts, her flat
stomach, the copper curls of her raised mound, her thighs, coming to rest
again on her bosom. His palms felt so soft and warm. Propping up his head,
he seemed to drink in her womanly body.

    
"Stop looking at me like that. I feel embarrassed."

    
He kissed her.

    
"But you’re beautiful. I want to burn this sight into my mind, so that I can
find it again at night, when I’m longing for you."

    
She smiled bashfully.

    
"Are you getting cold?" he asked, touching the raised nipple of her
breasts.

    
"Yes. We better go outside and get dressed." She felt suddenly anxious.

    
They left the cave the same way they entered. She let him dry off her back
with his plaid, and then they dressed quickly.

    
"I was afraid for us in there," she said, taking his hand, and leading them
back behind the goat shelter.

    
"I know. Didn’t you trust me?"

    
"For a moment I wasn’t sure anymore. But I was even less sure of
myself… If you had asked me I would have given myself to you."

    
"If you got pregnant, your father would have to let you marry me."

    
She looked at him, smiling briefly, but then a frown clouded her face.
"I’m not sure. I don’t trust him." She held him. "Oh, Andrew. Sometimes
I’m so afraid that something terrible is going to happen."

    
"We’ll be more careful. Maybe I’ll wait on top of the boulders at the head
of the glen until I see you coming, rather than be on our rock, … although I
loved meeting you there. It has a special meaning for me. That’s where we
met the first time, … that’s where you told me you loved me."

 * * *

Andrew had great difficulties to find sleep that night. He was strung almost
to breaking point, Helen’s sensuous curves constantly in his inner eye.
Finally, he relieved his sexual need and fell into a restless slumber. But the
inner tension was still there next morning. He would have liked to talk to
somebody, to share his turmoil, maybe to get advice. He knew that he
wanted to make love to Helen. It was like an irresistible physical urge. Was
there no way to make love without risking to get her pregnant? And how did
one make love, anyway? But he knew nobody that he felt close enough to
trust, except for Helen. And he could hardly ask her. More than ever, he
became aware of how alone he was in this world, and she suddenly became
even more precious.

    
What about Mr. Graham? The old man had several times offered a
fatherly word and given him good advice. Should he talk to him? All
morning he vacillated. Finally, he mustered his courage and asked the ailing
man if he could join him for lunch. It was served in the factor’s chambers.

    
Dougan was very pleased to see his young charge in a social way, and
chatted away of all sorts of things, starved for an audience. He lamented
much about the hard times, referring mainly to his own declining income
which was a percentage of the rents collected. Twice he asked Andrew
whether he might not be a bit too lenient with the tenants who were bound
to take advantage of his inexperience. Andrew assured him that he was
tough, but fair, and that he never granted any extensions without paying the
applicants a visit first. But he kept quiet about the McGregors being in
arrears.

    
After spending more than two hours with the factor, he still hadn’t found
a way to bring up his own problem. And then the old man fell asleep almost
in the middle of a sentence.

    
Paying a visit to a tenant, as he had earlier explained to Dougan Graham,
he returned late and missed dinner with the gentry in the mess hall. Instead,
he went down into the kitchen to ask for food. Having served their masters,
the cooks, their helpers, and the maids were eating their own dinner and
invited Andrew to join them. The open, often vulgar banter between the men
and the maids made him blush, but also prick up his ears.

    
"Michael, I hear, our sweet Anne’s locked her door to you," exclaimed
John, one of the cooks, grinning broadly to the maid in question.

    
"Yes, indeed, she did, the ungrateful damsel, after I gave her a new plaid.
There you see how they just take advantage of our soft hearts."

    
Anne feigned outrage and said haughtily: "You bought that plaid for a
penny from a soldier. It wasn’t new. And you know why I locked you out. I
don’t want to be with child."

    
"But why did you then let me eat your little pussy in the first place?"

    
The males around the table began to snicker.

    
"Did she now? And was it sweet as honey?" one asked, rolling his eyes
at Anne.

    
She pulled a face at him, not at all embarrassed. "You’ll never know,
Duncan!"

    
"It was delectable, and she was wriggling and cooing like a little turtle
dove, she was," said Michael, and turning to Anne he pleaded: "Honey-dove,
aren’t you keening for your lover?"

    
"I’ll have you back after you’ve spoken to the minister," Anne answered
firmly, glancing at her fellow maids self-righteously.

    
Shouts of "ho ho", "she’s telling you", "she got you pinned down now",
"that’ll tame you", "she’ll see you in church," greeted her response.