Under the Highlander's Spell(20)
“You’d rather he be dead than alive?” he asked curiously.
“No, I prefer him to have loved my mother beyond reason.”
“That makes no sense,” he said, shaking his head.
“But it does.”
“Why?”
“Because love is what is important.”
He shook his head again and hesitated attempting to understand her reasoning but finding it difficult. “Being prudent is important.”
“It’s nonsense.”
“Being practical is nonsense?” he asked calmly.
“When it comes to love it is. How can passion exist if you are always practical?” she asked as if she made perfect sense.
“Love and passion have a time and place.”
“Love and passion know no bounds. They cannot be confined or manipulated or reasoned.”
“Anything can be reasoned,” Artair said.
“Not love.”
“Yes, love.”
She smiled a bittersweet smile. “Then, my dear Artair, you have never loved.”
He felt a pang in his chest, near his heart. Had her remark disturbed him? Could there be a ring of truth to her belief?
Once again he found her hand at his chest, firm and warm and pulsating with life…or was it passion that he felt emanating from her?
“You feel love here, deep inside. It churns and burns and rushes out, consuming all of you until you think you are going mad.”
“How do you know this? Have you loved someone?” he asked anxiously.
She shook her head and sighed heavily. “No, I haven’t loved, though I have seen it in the eyes of the young and old couples alike. I have watched how one suffers for the other, watched one pray for the other and watched them grasp hold one last time. Love consumes the heart and soul and never lets go.”
“Love is slow and steady and dependable,” he corrected, confident in his opinion.
With a disappointed shake of her head, she stepped away from him. “It is not.”
“It is,” he reasoned. “And it allows love to survive the difficult times.”
“How can you believe that?”
“How can you believe such fantasy?” he asked.
She sighed. “It is not fantasy to me.”
“You’re not being logical,” he said.
She tapped his chest. “Precisely.”
He laughed. “You make no sense and are proud of it?”
“I most certainly am.”
He scratched his head. “We are of different opinions. I reason with my mind, you reason with your heart.”
A sudden frown surfaced on her face and while he thought she would argue with him she remained silent in thought until her expression turned troubled.
“You think little of love,” she said.
“I think highly of love. I just approach love differently than you, with more sense and reason.”
“You think me a fool?” she asked bluntly.
He was quick to correct her. “I didn’t say that.”
“But if, as you suggest, I don’t speak with reason, then I must speak foolishly.”
“You twist my words.”
She smiled. “I clarify them.”
He grinned. “You are quick-witted.”
Her smile broadened. “I am knowledgeable.”
“Then perhaps it would do me good to think over your words,” he said.
“A wise choice,” she said with a nod, and walked off.
He smiled, admiring her opinion on love even if it was unreasonable. Love required sensibility if it were to survive. He saw that with his father and mother. They did what was necessary. He wanted the same, a dependable union .
Artair followed after her. “Are there more plants to gather?”
“You don’t need to help me. Take the time to think about love.”
“I can do both. Besides, I enjoy helping you. Just tell me what to do.”
“Truly?”
He smiled at her teasing glint. “Within reason.”
She sighed and shook her head, though the glint remained. “Too bad.”
“For you or me?”
“For both of us.” She turned and walked away swallowed by the dense foliage.
She taunted him and it worked, and made him follow her yet again. He disappeared after her and found her near a stream, harvesting another plant with her tender touch.
“Pudding grass,” she said without looking up at him.
He noticed the change in her before he hunched down beside her. She was focused intently on her chore and working as usual with a delicate touch.
“It makes a good stuffing mixed with honey and has good healing properties when brewed, though caution must be taken with it.”
Following her directions, he helped her pick the hairy leaves and after they finished they sat by the stream beside each other. There was so much he could say to her and yet he chose to say nothing. He simply enjoyed sitting beside her in silence.