Summer Of Love Part 13

"Is it? You read the book. Did the possibility of stepping up a few rungs in the social ladder never enter her mind?"

"It did, but she was never willing to compromise to get there. All women have to be crafty and scheming to survive."

"You weren't with me, Helen."

"No, but you were different, not like other men."

"Was I? I don't remember. I wanted to make love to you."

"But you didn't try to seduce me. I wanted it to." She murmured and lowered her gaze, trying to hide her blus.h.i.+ng. Then she faced him squarely, and exclaimed with a challenge: "All that men want is to bed you, and if you give in, you are done. And when you're with child, they drop you."

"Not all men."

"But most. The only way to get them to church is to keep them at bay, letting them hope, but never giving in completely. And when they're married, they want to be served left, right, and center. We slave away, burdened with a child every other year, while they play gentleman."

He looked at her, an admiring smile in his eyes. "Don't you want any children, then?"

For a second, she was taken aback. "Yes, I would like three or four... And I would like the girls to be able to go to school, same as the boys." The defiant tone of old had returned to her voice. "But it's more. I don't want that my opinions are always belittled and sneered at. I want to be listened to," she wanted to add "like you did," but refrained. "I want to be involved when important decision are made that affect me and my children."

"Like whether or not to go to war?"

"Yes, that's right, and ..." All of a sudden, she became self-conscious and fell silent.

Andrew looked at her with a warm smile. "We had some good discussions that summer, didn't we, Helen?"

They sat quietly and occasionally smiled at each other. She was listening to memories in her mind. After a while, she got up.

"I've to leave, Andrew."

"I'll come down to the lochan with you."

He walked behind her on the narrow path. At the bottom, she turned. He placed both hands on her shoulders. Their eyes met and held each other.

"Helen ..."

"Yes, Andrew?"

"I love you." He pulled her slowly to him.

"Andrew, no! We mustn't." She tried to avoid his kiss. "I'm promised to be married."

He let go. "We were promised to each other," he murmured, bitterness in his voice.

"But it could not be, Andrew. It could not be." Her voice faltered. She turned to leave. Suddenly, he grabbed her and took her in a tight embrace. She struggled to get free. Then his lips found hers, burning, soft, yet demanding. She felt his tongue reach inside. Her own body responded, wanting him, and with a last desperate effort, she pushed him away and tore herself free. He let go.

"I'm sorry, Helen. I don't know what took me," he murmured, but he knew exactly what. "I love you." It was only a whisper.

"It can't be. You are my brother." She felt his strange look on her, as if he were denying it. He opened his mouth to say something, and she quickly added: "I'm betrothed to Robert and we'll get married within the month."

He lowered his gaze. "Don't you love me anymore, Helen?"

When she did not answer he looked up and searched her eyes. She saw hurt, despair, resignation. She fought the urge to sooth his hurt, to embrace him.

"Don't you?"

"Why do you want to know? What would it change?"

"I just need to know."

"Andrew, I'm betrothed." It came out more vehemently than she intended. "I knew I should not have come," she added in a murmur, and started to walk away. Turning briefly, she said: "Goodbye, Andrew."

He did not answer. She hurried down the path, almost running, oblivious to the tears streaming down her cheeks. Only when she was hidden in the trees did she slow down and wiped her face. "This won't do," she murmured to herself and went down to the creek to wash her face.

Andrew watched her disappear, holding himself back from running after her. Why didn't I tell her that I'm not her brother? ... Was it fear to find out that she might not love me anymore? He ambled back up to the rock and watched again the sun slowly plunge behind the western horizon in a blazing, red ball. But he didn't really see it. He tried to conjure up her image as she said goodbye. There was deep sadness in her eyes. I should have told her! But would it have made any difference. She had chosen another man-one of her own clan. She must love him or at least be fond of him. His Helen wouldn't marry somebody she did not love. And she still believed him to be her brother. I should have told her! he berated himself again, while at the same time afraid to know the truth.

He knew that this was the last time he would meet her and rather than part as friends, he had spoiled it. What had he really hoped from meeting her? To win her back? Hadn't he seen her laugh happily at the dance and smile at her chosen man?

The light was fading when he returned to Killin. He went to bed without eating dinner. He didn't feel like eating. Lying in the darkness, he relived every moment with her on that rock. The light in her eyes when she smiled. Her soft chuckles when they ate. The righteous protest when she talked about men. The warm softness when he held her in his arms, the sad look in her eyes when they parted. What did that sadness mean? That he had spoiled everything ... or that deep down she still loved him? But what did it matter. Tomorrow he would leave, never to return. Finally, when dawn was breaking, he slipped into a restless sleep, a sleep haunted with visions of Helen's face peering from the misty sh.o.r.es of Lochan nan Geadas.

When he woke up, his resolve to depart was gone. Instead of packing his few belongings, he asked the inn keeper for another packed lunch, saddled his horse, and was off to the lochan. He didn't expect Helen to come again, but nevertheless waited on the rock until sunset. At midday, he quickly went down to the cave to fetch the chewed-up copy of the Canterbury Tales.

He was back on Tuesday and on Wednesday, and the day after. He didn't really know why he was not leaving-they had done their farewell-why he was lingering on, why he was irresistibly drawn back to the lochan, each day growing into a new torture.

He attempted to resurrect the happiness he had felt when they were sitting on the rock on Sunday afternoon. But instead of bringing solace, it only deepened his despair. He looked down into the dark waters of the lochan, idly throwing down pebbles, watching two or three tight little rings form, slowly expand over the surface, and ultimately lose themselves at the sh.o.r.es. It took minutes for the ever fading ripple to reach the opposite side. He searched for the spot where they had made love the first and only time and lay there looking into the sky. He closed his eyes and saw Helen in her full womanhood standing over him, one hand reaching out for him to get up. Once he stood at the edge of the rock and the thought crossed his mind that he could jump and just let himself sink into the black, cold depth of the water below. But it lasted only for a fleeting moment. He searched his mind whether he was secretly clinging to a hope for her to return, to be his again.

10.

After Helen returned from the lochan late Sunday afternoon, Robert became angry and abusive when she declined again to go walking with him. She couldn't stomach the thought of him touching her. She chided herself. In less than a month she would be his wife. Her meeting with Andrew had changed nothing. He was still her brother. She was frightened how close she had come to yield to him-in fact, wanting him to take her. And now, the thought of Robert making love to her gave rise to a queasy apprehension.

That same Monday, when Andrew was driven back to the lochan for the first time, the young people of the MacGregor clan moved into the s.h.i.+elings with their cattle. As the oldest, Helen was in charge, at least until her mother and the other women joined them after they completed sowing the oat and barley crops. She welcomed getting away from Robert who, with the help of her two younger brothers, Robin and Alasdair, was setting up the rafters for the roof of their cottage.

On Wednesday evening, Betty and Helen sat on the bench in front of their hut, reading in Pamela. Helen's thoughts began to drift. She read the words, but they slipped her mind immediately, as if they never reached her brain. Her thoughts replayed the discussion with Andrew about Pamela's real motives. She felt again his attentive eyes on her as she expounded her theory. Her gaze left the page and lost itself in the distance. Betty's hand coming to rest on hers startled her. She looked at her sister, confused.

"Are you going to see master Andrew again?" asked Betty in a low voice.

Helen blushed. "How do you know I saw him?"

"I know. You're different. Often you seem to be far away, as you were just now."

"Does anybody else know?"

"I don't think so. At least not yet. But mother will guess if you don't hide it better... Will you see him again?"

"No. It was our final farewell."

"Did he kiss you?"

Helen's color deepened.

"You don't have to tell me. You just did... Why don't you run away with him, since you love him so much?"

"I can't."

"Why? Hasn't he asked you?"

"No. He wouldn't."

"But why? Doesn't he love you?"

Helen closed her eyes and brought Andrew's face up in her mind. Oh yes, he does! But she did not respond.

"It can't simply be because he's a Campbell and you a MacGregor! Mother or father can't forbid you to marry him anymore. Why, Helen?"

I wish I could tell. She needed to share her secret. To confide in somebody who would understand her pain, who would share the heavy load, help her endure it.

"Helen, please tell me. We've always been so close."

"Because he's our half-brother." It was out.

Betty raised a hand to her mouth, sucking in her breath. "How do you know?"

"Mother confessed to me that Andrew was her own son after I told her that he wanted to marry me ... almost four years ago. She got with child when she lived at the castle in Inveraray... But you now must promise never to let anybody else know what I told you. Andrew is the only other person who knows. Father doesn't know."

"Oh, Helen, how horrible for you!" Seeing the tears form in her sister's eyes, she embraced her.

After a while Helen murmured between sobs: "By now, he has already left for America... It's over. I shall never see him again."

Betty broke the embrace. "But he hasn't left, Helen. Yesterday ... and the day before, and today, I saw a horse graze at the lochan."

Helen stared at her sister in dismay. "No Betty! Why did you tell me?" and she rushed away, her feelings suddenly in utter turmoil. Why didn't he leave? Why is he so cruel? What else does he want?

That night she cried herself to sleep in Betty's arms.

However, next morning, after completing her ch.o.r.es, she asked Betty to keep an eye on things, and Betty did not ask her why. She climbed to the ridge overlooking the lochan, while inside her conflicting feelings and allegiances fought a bitter battle. A horse was peacefully grazing near the water. Andrew sat at the edge of the rock, looking down over the water. He got up and waved with both hands. Then, his call "Helen" reached her from across the valley, its echoes urging her on. Without any further thought she scampered down the steep slope, while he ran down the path from the rock. He caught her in his arms. If she did have any resolve when she had set out to confirm her sister's sightings, it was blown into the wind once his hungry embrace kindled her own irresistible pa.s.sion. She felt the sudden ache in her groin, ready to yield to him, hearing at the same time the silent scream of her conscience. Struggling to free herself, she cried: "Andrew, don't. You are my brother!"

He loosened his embrace, raised her chin so that she was forced to meet his eyes, and said: "No, I'm not. Your mother is mistaken."

She took a step back. "I don't believe she would have lied to me ... not on that."

"She doesn't know herself, but her boy died a week old."

"You are just saying that."

"Have I ever lied to you? ... I met the woman who helped deliver me. She said that I was born about six months after your mother left the castle. She said your mother never saw her own boy and that he died shortly after she was sent home."

Shaken, she hesitated for a moment and then entered into his outstretched arms. "How horrible," she whispered, burying her face in his shoulder, and then raised her head again, searching Andrew's eyes. "Is it true? Andrew, is it true?"

"Yes, Helen, I swear to G.o.d it is true... Helen, I love you. I love you more than ever." He kissed her. At first she tried to resist, but then responded with equal urgency, a dam of pent-up pa.s.sion bursting and sweeping away all resolve, all restraint, all inhibitions. Her blood seared in her veins. She pressed her body against his. He carried her swiftly a few steps to a patch of soft gra.s.s and lay halfway on top of her, repeating between kisses "I love you, Helen", and she echoed "I love you, Andrew".

She sensed his urge to fuse with her, met by her own craving to be one with him. In a frenzy they undressed each other. She was ready for the tender touch of his soft hands, as he skillfully made her soar to greater and greater heights. Suddenly, she wanted him inside her and reached for him, exploding into ecstasy almost instantly. She felt him catching up with her, and then suddenly withdraw-a symbol of their doomed love-his manhood pulsing against her belly, his warm fluid spilling onto her, his head nestled into the crook of her neck.

After a while, he moved off her and let his head rest on her bosom, while his index traced patterns on her stomach. "I ... l .. o .. v .. e ... y .. o .. u," she deciphered. He lifted his head and searched her eyes. They were like coals, radiating love. She kissed him.

Then he pulled her up. "I'll race you to the water."

She laughed and pushed him back into the heather. They dived into the water together and broke the surface face to face, laughing, oblivious to its icy cold, embracing, kissing, separating, diving again, chasing each other, coming together for another embrace-the playful game of lovers for the moment before the cold drove them out.

Lying intertwined in the gra.s.s, Helen asked reproachfully: "Andrew, why are you still here? Why haven't you left?"

"I tried, Helen. I really tried, but I could not. I couldn't leave you... Helen, come with me to America."

Could she leave and never see her family again? Leave Betty, her best friend. Could she live with her shame of breaking the promise made before G.o.d. Worse, could she betray the honor of her family by marrying one of the hated Campbells, be an outcast forever? "I can't. I solemnly promised in front of the priest to marry Robert."

"Why do you then come to me?"

"Because when I know you're here, I'm weak. Because when I'm with you, I'm under a spell. Because this is to remember for the rest of my life."

He kissed her. "I love you, Helen, more than anything, more than my own life. Come with me!"

Ignoring his plea, she searched his eyes. "Andrew, you must promise now that you'll leave tomorrow and never come back."

"How can I deny my love for you?"

"You don't have to deny it. You can keep it in your heart. But you must leave. We can't continue like this."

"Oh, Helen. I want you. I need you. Come with me! Be my wife!"

Say 'yes' cried her heart, but she freed herself and rose. "No, Andrew, I can't, and I won't come back to the lochan again."

She put on her petticoat and jacket. He got dressed too. They stood awkwardly in front of each other.

"One more kiss, Helen?"

"No, Andrew. Never again." She briefly brushed his cheek and dashed away, before he could grab her. She ran until she reached the crest. Only then did she look back, her vision blurred. He was still standing at the same place.

That same evening, Robert came up to the s.h.i.+elings to visit. Donald, one of the young lads, greeted him with a gleeful smirk, teasing him: "I saw you and Helen swim in the lochan today."

Robert laughed: "Donald, I wish it was true, but you saw somebody else. I wasn't at the lochan. Mind you, I think it's a great idea. I feel like cooling off." He winked at the boy, adding in a low tone: "I'll ask Helen to come."