Summer of Love

by Gian Bordin

  She put her head into her arms, closing her eyes, trying to come to a conclusion. When she looked up again, she saw Helen and Andrew chase each other in the heath. For a moment, she thought it looked silly. She had never seen two adults play like children. But then she noticed that they let themselves be caught again and again to steal a quick kiss, and she understood that this was their game of happiness. Suddenly, she wished that she would one day fancy a young man like Andrew who would play such games with her, and she knew at that moment that she couldn’t betray her sister.

  So, getting back to the shielings later than usual, she again reported that Helen had been alone all morning, as on the previous two days. She was glad when her mother told her that she did not have to go up there anymore.

  That night, when Betty and Helen were lying close to each other on their straw mattress after their little brother was asleep and the adults were still talking outside the hut, enjoying the unusually balmy evening air, she whispered: "Helen, mother made me spy on you."

  Her sister sucked in her breath. "When?"

  "The last three days… I saw you today."

  "You didn't tell mother, did you?"

  She could feel her sister’s heart beating suddenly faster. "No, I said you were alone all morning. She said I needn’t do it again. I think she believed me."

  Helen hugged her fervently. "Oh my dear little sister, I love you. Thank you."

  "I saw you kiss."

  Helen did not answer, just held her closer.

  "Do you love Andrew?"

  "Yes."

  "Has he told you he loves you?"

  "Yes, he has."

  Betty hoped that her sister would tell her more, but she simply whispered: "I’m so happy."

  "Will you tell mother?"

  "Not yet."

  "Why?"

  "She told me to stay away from people of the castle. She doesn’t trust them. She’ll forbid me to see him again."

  "But when will you tell her?"

  "When things have settled down. Maybe next year. Please, don’t tell on me."

  "I won’t."

  Helen hugged her again. They remained quiet for a while.

  "Helen, how is it to be kissed?"

  "You’ll find out yourself one day, Betty."

  * * *

  Helen and Andrew always met first on the rock, but were invariably drawn to the heath, lying in the grass, hugging, kissing, whispering endearments into each other’s ears, sometimes on their backs, watching the ever present white or billowing gray clouds float past, talking, sometimes side-by-side, locking eyes, gently stroking each other. Innocent lovers, just content to be close.

  Short as their meetings were—Andrew could not be absent for more than a few hours and even these started to raise questions at the castle—they filled their whole life.

  Helen now always brought something of their banquets to Betty, a biscuit, a piece of sausage, or cheese. It wasn’t only to make her even more an accomplice, but she also felt bad to have all that wonderful food while her dear little sister had to live on a diet of oats.

  * * *

  Helen visibly blossomed. She grew beautiful. There was a radiance about her. People noticed. One of the older women made a remark to Mary, wondering what had got into the lass.

  The girl reminded her of the time, years back, when she had lived at the castle in Inveraray and had been madly in love herself. She was also sure that the object of Helen’s love couldn’t be one of the two young men of their little clan. When they came back to the shielings after working on the cottages, Helen barely ever looked at them, ignoring their attempts to attract her attention. So the object of her love must be that visitor. And she was more and more convinced that this man was still visiting her regularly, despite Betty’s reports to the contrary and her husband’s claim that nobody had been seen riding into the mountains these last two weeks. The suspicion that Betty might have lied to protect Helen crossed her mind. She always saw them together most evenings, often whispering.

  So one morning, in the middle of August, she climbed herself to the ridge above the lochan. She spotted the goats first. They were grazing at the back of the glen. Helen was nowhere in sight. After searching for several minutes, she decided to go down to the lochan. As she neared the shore, she saw Helen on a flat rock at the edge of the water drying herself in the sun, her hair still wet. She had not seen her daughter naked for many years. She admired her youthful womanly body. If she felt that safe to bathe, she couldn’t expect any visitors, or was she already intimate with him?

  When Helen saw her, she quickly slipped on her petticoat. Mary waved and after some hesitation, Helen waved back and came to meet her.

  "Hello, mother, what brought you here?"

  "It’s high time that I checked on our goats. I’ve neglected it all summer. You took a bath?"

  "Yes, I do it often."

  "Aren’t you scared somebody might come?"

  She shrugged her shoulder. "Nobody except you and father have so far."

  "Come help me catching the goats. I want to have a look at them."

  After inspecting all six goats, she left again.

  * * *

  While her mother was with her, Helen made an effort to hide her agitation. She had no doubt that her mother had come to spy on her. Did she suspect Betty had lied? What would happen if she caught her with Andrew? Would she tell father? She suddenly broke out in cold sweat. She had to warn Andrew. Maybe they shouldn’t see each other here anymore. But where else? … "I want to see him," she whispered. She knew it was more than simply a wish. It had become an emotional, even physical need! They had agreed to meet again tomorrow. What should she do? She found no answer. However, she would be much more vigilant from now on.

  The following morning, rather than follow her usual gradual ascent to the lochan, she took the more direct but strenuous route over the top of the ridge. Andrew was already on their rock, waiting. She would have liked to shout a greeting, but cowered in tall clumps of grasses, watching the approach from the shielings. It did not take long, and she saw her mother rapidly come along the path. Quickly, she ran down to meet her.

  "Why aren’t you with the goats?" her mother called out, when she saw her.

  "There’s a man near the lochan."

  "Where are the goats?" her mother questioned alarmed.

  "They are still in their shelter. I saw them from the top. I thought I would wait there until he has left, and then I saw you and came down to warn you." She surprised herself how calmly she could lie. "You want to come up and see for yourself?"

  Mary hesitated for a second or two and then said: "No. You go up there again and wait until he is gone." She turned to leave. "Be careful, lass."

  Did her mother swallow it? She watched her return to the huts and then quickly scrambled up to the crest again. There she waited for about a quarter hour, keeping an eye on the shielings. Only then did she make her descent to the lochan. Andrew saw her scampering down and came to meet her near the shore.

  "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.

  "You can speak, John! Didn’t your own dame kick you out of the conjugal bed too?" interjected the third cook.