“This is a sacred place.” She spoke in a hushed voice and looked around her in awe. “There is magic here. I can feel it. If I had tobacco, I would lay some down as an offering to the spirits who dwell within this circle.”
“Aye. This spring has been here since the beginning of time. ’Tis said those who followed the old religion considered it a holy place. I dinna know what tobacco is, but I take your meaning. Come. Drink from the spring with me. The water is the sweetest and most refreshing you will ever taste.”
Malcolm knelt by the spring and cupped his hands under the steady trickle of clear water. He bent low to sip, and when she joined him, he offered his hands as a cup for her to drink from. Alethia placed her own hands under his and drank the water from his palms.
Time stopped, as if the moment were a ritual, something spiritual and pure. The grove took on a golden hue, and for a moment, she felt a bone-deep sense of rightness. A chilly breeze caressed her cheek, breaking the spell.
“What did you do here as a boy?” She searched Malcolm’s vivid blue eyes, his beloved face, and had to swallow hard as love for him welled up. Such a beautiful man, inside and out. How could she face leaving him? Her own soul would be ripped right out of her. She studied their surroundings to hide her turmoil.
“I’ll show you.” Malcolm took a woolen blanket from the sack he’d brought and spread it out on the moss. He lay down on his back, folded his arms under his head and crossed one leg over the other.
She laughed. “And what is it you are doing exactly?”
“See for yourself.” He patted the blanket next to him.
Malcolm waited with bated breath as she settled herself beside him. “Now, look up and let your mind go. Watch the clouds and daydream.” He winked at her, pleased he’d managed to maneuver her down to the blanket.
“Tell me.” She turned on her side and propped herself up on an elbow. “What does a young Scottish boy daydream about?”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I dreamed of becoming a great knight and of winning battles single-handed with naught but my claymore and the strength in my body.” He grinned at her. “I dreamed of what I would do differently than my father once I was laird and earl. Especially when I was in trouble for some mischief or other.”
“You hid here when you were in trouble.” She laughed.
“Aye.” He winked at her. “Here I plotted how I would make my fortune.” He turned on his side to face her. “I dreamed all manner of things.” I dreamed of finding you.
“And you grew to be an extraordinary man.”
What he saw shining from her ocean eyes when she looked at him caused his heart to leap in his chest. “Nay, lass, no’ extraordinary. I am but an ordinary man with extraordinary responsibilities.” He traced her lips with a finger. “I have neither the ambition nor the ruthlessness to become a great man. My needs are simple. I am content with my lot in life. What I do possess is the will, the wit and the strength to hold what is mine and to keep it safe.”
“I did not say a great man, Malcolm. I said an extraordinary man. There’s a huge difference.”
Her gentle smile, meant for him alone, melted his insides. He leaned toward her and captured her smile with a brief kiss. “We should eat.”
He retrieved the sack and pulled out bread, cheese and apples. “Fill this with water from the spring.” He handed her an earthenware bowl and started cutting cheese with the dagger he kept at his belt. Once they were settled, he would tell her about the legend of the spring.
Malcolm knew she cared for him. He’d seen the precise moment during the harvest when she’d realized it herself. But did she love him? Nothing less than her whole heart would do, for he feared a time would come when she would have to choose. Would she stay with him, share his life, bear his children, or would she return to her home an ocean away? The fear of losing her consumed him, and he would use any means to keep her by his side.
“This is a sacred spring.” He handed her a share of their meal. “The water is said to have magical properties. Our people have been coming here for as long as anyone can remember.” He gestured with one hand toward the spring. “The stones you see forming the fountain were placed there by Druid priests eons ago.”
“Oh?” She turned to study the spring. Getting up from her place, she broke off tiny bits of her food and set them on the edge of one of the stones.
“What are you doing, lass?”
“Making an offering of thanks to the spirits who reside here. It’s a common practice amongst my people.”