The Midnight Circus, стр. 30
Hiseyes were as purple-brown as his hair, like wild plums. And his skinwas dark from wandering. There is not much sun on Leodhas, summer towinter, but if you are constantly out in it, the wind can scour you.Iain the travelerhad that color; while others were red as rowan from the wind, he wasbrown as the roe. It made his teeth the whiter. It made the other menlook boiled or flayed and laughable.
Noone laughed at Iain. That is—no woman laughed at him.
Soof course I loved him. How could I not? I who had been denied nothingby my father, nothing by my nurse. I loved Iain and wanted him, so Iwas certain to have him. How was I to know the count of days would beso short?
Whenhe came through the next summer to collect on that promise, I waswilling to pay. We met first on the long sea loch where I had gone togather periwinkles and watch the boys come in from the sea, pulling onthe oars of the boat, which made their new young muscles ripple.
Iainspoke to all of the women, few of the men, but for me he took out hiswhistle and played one of the old courting tunes. We had a laugh atthat, all of us, though I felt a burn beneath my breastbone, by theheart, and could scarcely breathe.
Ipretended he played the tune because I was watching out for the boys.He pretended he was playing it for Jennie Morrison, who was marryingJamie Matheson before the baby in her belly swelled too big. But Ialready knew, really, he was playing just for me.
Thepipes told me to meet him by the standing stones and so I did. He actedsurprised to see me, but I knew he wasnot. He smoothed my hair and took me in his arms, and called me suchsweet names as he kissed me I was sure I would die of it.
“Cometomorrow,” he whispered, “when the dark finally winks,” by which hemeant well past midnight. And though I thought love should shout itsname in the daylight as well as whisper at night, I did as he asked.
Sneakingfrom our house was not easy. Like most island houses, it was small andwith only a few rooms, and the door was shared with the byre. Butfather and nurse and cows were all asleep, and I slipped out, barelystirring the peat smoke as I departed.
Iainwas waiting for me by the stones, and he led me down to a place wheresoft grasses made a mat for my back. And there he taught me the pain ofloving as well as the sweetness of it. I did not cry out, though it wasnot from wanting. But bred on the island means being strong, and I hadonly lately given over playing shinty with the boys. Still there wasblood on my legs and I cleaned myself with grass and hurried back asthe sun—what there was of it— was rising, leaving Iain asleep andguarded by the stones.
IfMairi noticed anything, she said nothing. At least not that day. And asI helped her at the quern preparing meal, and gave a hand with thebaking as well, all the while suppressingthe yawns that threatened to expose me, perhaps she did not know.
WhenI went back to the stones that night, Iain was waiting for me and thistime there was neither blood nor pain, though I still preferred thekisses to what came after.
But I was so tired that I slept beside himall that night, orwhat was left of it. At dawn we heard the fishermen calling to oneanother as they passed by our little nest on the way to their boats.They did not see us: Iain knew how to choose his places well. Still Idid not rise, for no fisherman dares meet a woman as he goes toward thesea for fear of losing his way in the waves. So I was forced to huddlethere in the shelter of Iain’s arms ’til the fishermen—some of themthe boys I had lately played shinty with—were gone safely on their way.
Thistime when I got home Mairi was already up at the quern, her face asblack as if it had been rinsed in peat. She did not say a word to me,which was even worse, but by her silence I knew she had said nothing tomy father, who slept away in the other room.
Thatwas the last but one I saw of Iain that summer, though I went nightafter night to look for him at the stones. My eyes were red fromweeping silently as I lay in the straw by Mairi’s side, and she snoringso loudly, I knew she was not really asleep.
Iwould have said nothing, but the time came around and my blood did notflow. Mairi knew the count of it sinceI was so new to womanhood. Perhaps she guessed even before I did, for Isaw her looking at me queer. When I felt queasy and was sick behind thehouse, there was no disguising it.
“Whois it?” she asked. Mairi was never one for talking too much.
“Iainthe traveler,” I said. “I am dying for love of him.”
“You are notdying,” she said, “lest your father kill you for this. We will go toAuld Annie who lives down the coast. She practices the black arts andcan rid you of the child.”
“Ido not want to be rid of it,” I said. “I want Iain.”
“He is walking outwith Margaret MacKenzie in her shieling.Or if not her, another.”
“Never!He loves me,” I said. “He swore it.”
“Heloves,” Mairi said, purposefully coarse to shock me, “the cherry in itsblossom but not the tree. And his swearing is