Ashes to Ashes (52 page)

“Does she ken ‘Yankee Doodle’?”

“I’ve been bragging to her how well you play, and she wants you to play for her New Year’s Eve party.”

“Oh?” He nodded, ego purring like Darnley stroked under his furry chin. “The State’ll no be sendin’ someone tae snatch the pipes from my hands at midnight. I’d be pleased tae play.”

“Oh aye,” said Rebecca to Jan, “he’ll be playin’, right enough.”

Jan giggled. One of Michael’s eyebrows tilted in playful affront. He cornered Rebecca in the angle where the cabinet met the wall, licked his lips and starting nibbling her neck.

“We’ll expect you about 11 o’clock tomorrow,” Jan said. “The kids’ll be having their stockings first thing, of course. It’d be cruel and unusual punishment to make them wait past six. But we’ll have the presents beneath the tree when you get here. I’ve got the turkey in the sink thawing, and I’m going to fix that cranberry relish of your mother’s.”

“Who?” Delicious frissons ran down Rebecca’s spine. Chasing them, Michael lifted the back of her sweater and excavated her blouse from the waistband of her jeans.

“Maureen Reid, your mother.”

“Oh?” Her mother’s name, not to mention her face, was absolutely the farthest thing from Rebecca’s mind.

“It’s the funniest thing about that recipe,” Jan went on. “Sue next door has a similar one. We were comparing notes, and she said something about cooking the cranberries.”

Michael’s hands slipped up under Rebecca’s blouse and unhooked her bra. He began exploring the joys of bilateral symmetry. His extraordinarily sensitive fingertips, she thought, must be the result of years of playing that chanter. She let her eyes cross in delight.

“But,” said Jan’s distant voice, “I’ve always made the relish with raw cranberries. It tastes all right to me. What do you do?”

Michael whispered in Rebecca’s unoccupied ear, “My jeans are gettin’ awful tight. You need tae come peel them off me afore anything’s damaged.”

“Rebecca?” Jan asked. “Are you listening to me?”

“No,” Rebecca replied. Making one last grab at coherence, she explained, “Jan, we have plans tonight. There’s something I need to tend to. I’ll have to let— you— go… .”

The line rang hollowly. Then Jan exclaimed, “Oh! Oh my gosh! How inconsiderate can you get? I’m so sorry— bless you, my children.”

Rebecca laid the receiver somewhere in the vicinity of its cradle. She turned, inserted her right hand into the back pocket of Michael’s jeans, and pulled him close. They stood clasped together, one of her legs hooked around his steady stance, his hands splayed on her bare back. Her senses, her wits, her cautious nature all cheered, go for it!

In some kind of amatory instinct they managed to get up the stairs without disentangling themselves. They found Darnley curled on the foot of Rebecca’s bed. He looked up, stretched, and sat with his head cocked in a benign smirk while she took out her contacts and laid the metal ring reverently in her jewelry case.

Michael picked up the cat, solemnly informed him, “We’ll be takin’ it from here wi’out your help, thank you just the same,” and set him down in the corridor. Rebecca turned down the bed, drew Michael back inside the room and shut the door. They looked inquisitively at each other, smiling with something between glee and amazement, in perfect accord.

All the windows of Dun Iain went dark. The castle closed its observant eyes and drowsed, finally at peace with love and time.

www.Fictionwise.com