If Not For Love - A Highland Romance

Chapter 8

 Eight

I drive until I reach the resort town of Oban and decide to stop. I check into a nice hotel and spa, renting a room with a view of the bay. Since moving to Scotland, I've grown so used to looking out over the loch, the watery sight has become a part of me. This town is supposed to be the seafood capital, but I don't think I could enjoy it much even if I did have an appetite.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I ponder the letter and wonder how a day that started so amazing could change so drastically. One minute I am downing in euphoric bliss, wallowing in Tavish's love, the next, I am nursing an aching heart. My sisters have always called me a spaz. Maybe they are right. That fact does not stop the questions.

Could Tavish really be someone so cold and unfeeling? Cold enough to have his own baby aborted? Could he really be that heartless? The Tavish I know could never do such things. And yet . . . do I really know him?

My brain hurts too much to think anymore. Feeling emotionally drained, I lie on the bed and close my eyes. When I finally open them again, the sun is setting and I check the clock. 8:00. I've slept for four hours. I take a moment to freshen up, then head down to the restaurant and grab something light to eat. Afterward, I go for a short walk around the grounds, wishing Tavish were here with me. Of course, that would be defeating the purpose. I am here because I need space, though to be truthful, space is the last thing I want between us. I just need to figure this out. Then I can go back and again give him my whole heart. Truthfully, he still has it and I don't think his grip will ever loosen. I need for me to be okay again.

For some reason, the words of one of my favorite poems fill my mind.

Can you hear it, love, mine soul's serenade?

Is thy heart touched by its desperate whisper?

Mine own wretched internal organ beats unceasingly,

longing for it's sweet cadence to be heard, and understood.

Do the ears of thy soul weep in open adoring emotion?

Or is all tone and feeling masked, untouched by this poor specimen?

But lo, I see thy soul now, love, hear its shattering voice.

I feel its whispered caress against mine own skin.

The unceasing beats in complete synchronization,

exercising a longing ear pressed against heated warmth.

The intertwined trail of tears calling forth a rush of sound;

the unmistakable sound of love.

The piece was written by the Swedish poet, Dylan Thomas, named by his parents after the original master poet. He wrote it for the woman he loved and eventually married. I don't know why, but right now the words affect me more than they ever have. Maybe it's because when I read it before, I didn't know what being in love felt like. The words always struck me as a terrifyingly-beautiful agony, the kind of love I longed to experience but feared it at the same time.

I understand now, Dylan.

* * *

Before going to bed, I read the letter again, trying to keep an open mind, but it is hard when my heart is full of fear that the bottom may be dropping from under my world. I read it again and again, each time acquiring a little more doubt of its validity. Refolding the letter, I slip to my knees by the bed and petition God to help me discern Tavish's character. When my head finally hits the pillow, I drift to sleep with the faith that things will be clearer in the morning.

* * *

This morning as I awaken, my thoughts are indeed clearer and my heart knows what it wants. It wants Tavish MacLachlan with a yearning that cannot–that won't–be denied. Until he gives me a reason to doubt him, I will choose to believe what he told me, that there was nothing more between them.

I quickly shower and dress and call Tavish. I completely forgot that he was coming to pick me up this morning. When he doesn't answer, I mentally kick myself for being so stupid. Running off like that was definitely stupid, and obviously not a mature way to handle everything. I finish getting ready, check out and get on the road.

I'm sorry, Tavish. I'll explain everything when I get there.

* * *

Tavish

Tavish repeatedly knocks on Adia's cottage door, but she doesn't answer. They had agreed to get together this morning and go out for brunch, but when he'd called, there was no answer, so he decided to come over. He had missed Adia fiercely yesterday, but they had both needed a day to catch up on things. Still, he'd had to come and see her, if only for a few moments. He loves her to distraction and he had needed to tell her what was in his heart.

Molly's appearance two days ago had been unsettling. The woman hounded him for years and the two times he allowed her to lure him to her bed had been the biggest mistakes of his life. He had been young with overactive hormones and she was willing. He knew he shouldn't have done it and had regretted it. He even apologized to her and promised himself it would never happen again. He'd been determined to keep that promise, but Molly had other plans.

For years, Molly basically stalked Tavish, managing to show up wherever he was, declaring her love for him. But he knew it wasn't really love. He wasn't the only guy to have been the object of her affections, for there had been many. But he was the one she had been determined to have. He finally had to confront her and be brutal in his declaration that there would never be anything between them. Then one day she left. That was two years ago. Now she is back.

Drawing his thoughts to the present, Tavish knocks once more. Heaving a resigned sigh, he gets in the car and heads toward town to look for her.