Page 124 of A Scot in the Storm
“I love you,” she said again, quieter this time. “And I didn’t mean to. I tried not to. Believe me, I tried very hard, which apparently was about as effective as Duncan trimming a tree.”
A broken sound escaped Rory, then he cupped her face in both hands.
“Abigail Winston,” he said, and her name in his voice nearly finished what the tears had started.
“I’ve loved ye since I found ye on the rocks.”
Her breath caught.
“I dinna know what ye were,” he said. “Where ye came from. Why the sea gave ye to me. I only knew that once ye were here, everything changed.”
She closed her eyes.
His forehead touched hers, cold from the wind.
“I love ye,” he said softly. “And I’ll no ask ye for what ye canna give.”
That was the thing that broke her.
Abigail let out a small sound and folded against him. Rory’s arms closed around her at once, strong, holding her close. For a while she simply stood there with her face against his coat, breathing wool, salt, cold air, and him.
Then, beneath everything else, the real fear surfaced in his voice.
“Are ye leaving?” he asked quietly.
Abigail lifted her head.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
His eyes closed briefly.
“I don’t think it’s my choice,” she said as a cough escaped.
“I don’t know if the door opens both ways,” Abigail said. “I don’t know if it opens at all unless the Cailleach wants it to. I don’t know if Sam is still alive right now, or if time is moving differently, or if… he’s already gone.”
The last words came out thin and terrible.
Rory pulled her close again.
“Then we face what comes when it comes, ye’re no alone in it now.”
Abigail closed her eyes against his chest.
The lighthouse turned above them, steady and patient, throwing its beam across water that had taken so much and still somehow carried men home.
After a while Rory drew back enough to look at her. “There is one thing I must ask.”
Her stomach twisted. “What?”
“This future of yours.” His expression was grave. “Will ye tell me about it?” He made a face. “What is a van? And surfing?”
She laughed. “I’ll explain everything.”
Rory held her as if laughter and grief were not opposites at all, but two candles burning in the same dark room.
On the walk back, she explained surfing and how Sam’s van was actually a home on wheels. There was so much to tell him, and she couldn’t believe he actually believed her, or was at least trying to accept that she was from the future.
Mrs. Gable’s voice carried across the snowy courtyard. “If the pair of ye are finished freezing solid, supper’s near ready, and Duncan’s attempting to carve something. I’ll no say what, as I’m no certain the bird would recognize itself.”
