Bruar's Rest

thatched roof and worked from morning till night, clearing bracken from acres of braeside. The factor only came by to pay us, apart from the day he handed my lassie a bag of scones. His wife had made a batch for a shooting party, but she’d baked too much. We ate them heartily, even if they were a week old and as hard as stones.
    Although the moorland around our makeshift home spread wide, a deep forest grew over the lower land. One Sunday we wandered off down through the vast forest, following a burn until it widened into a wild untamed river. She laughed when I said that those gigantic fir trees trapped a power of jungle heat, and for this reason, big hairy men over twenty feet tall dwelt in their midst. It certainly was a hot day, and when we were exhausted with the heat, we were so glad to see the beautiful waters of Bruar falling in sparking cascades over rocks and canyons. ‘Let’s jump in, my love,’ said my lassie.
    I thought it far too deep and dangerous, but she said that at our age there was no danger, only a challenge. So over we went, like salmon leaping to a magical spawning ground. Our skin tingled with bouncing bubbles that popped and danced all over our bodies. Oh, I can still feel the surge of water, what a feeling, I haven’t the words to describe it. I felt her legs tangling around mine; her hands found my face as mine entwined her small middle.’
    Megan blushed. She thought that maybe this wasn’t for her ears, but her truth-teller was living again through those heart-hid moments, and not she or anyone else would stop him. He continued.
    ‘Eventually we scrambled up on the bank, and there, while the water sparkled and danced around us in pools, we made passionate love.’
    Unaccustomed to such expressions of emotion, Rory blushed too and rose to his feet, leaving Megan completely dumbstruck. She threw back her head, panting with excitement at his words, her earlier embarrassment gone. ‘What wonder, what a brilliant scene! And ma lover was the result o’ that heavenly day—unbelievable, simply magical.’
    He smiled, glad she’d enjoyed his story and not run off red-faced. ‘Yes, your lad was the outcome of me and my lassie finding the joy that only the fairies know, making love beneath the mystical water. Now, there you are, you even know the heart of me, a wee skelp of a thing. I must be getting soft, telling you my secrets.’
    Unable to control the joy she felt at that moment, Megan rushed over, hugged, kissed and thanked Rory before going back to add more sticks to her own fire. At long last she had been given a glimpse into the past of this sad man, who lived only on memories of days gone by. Him sharing his innermost emotions had brought them closer now, and no matter what the future held they’d remain close, they both knew that. This man of scarred heart, his life riddled with many dubious twists and turns, hid in his depths a vision that would equal that of any great artist. His vivid descriptions she’d remember forever.

F OUR

     
    W inter brought a fierce biting wind swirling round their tents, drawing the young lovers closer for warmth. A surge of wanting ran through Bruar at her closeness. He unfastened two brown buttons, opening her woollen jersey, and kissed a small inch of exposed freckled shoulder. ‘Megan, I have waited so long. Are you ready? Oh God, how I hope you are, because it’s time now, no more waiting. I will be as gentle as the dove.’
    ‘You can be as dovey as you like, big lad, but me—well, I’ve waited all this time too you know, and I’m going tae swallow every inch of ye. So I’m for a wolf’s feast!’
    That night had been the culmination of a wanting and waiting that both could only dream of, and when the cold early morning frost smothered the sleeping grass around them, a love was cemented within the small canvas abode that only death could part. They knew inside that if life, with its cruel twists, separated them, then love would keep alive a flame nothing would extinguish.
    Next morning the pair rose to be greeted by a freezing fog which shrouded every inch of land with its grey blanket. It rushed inside the tent as they threw back the canvas door, into their eager, youthful faces. Everybody had heard their lovemaking from the night before, and it was Rachel who asked the question, ‘When are you getting married then?’
    ‘When the frost has thawed a mite, then we can lie without blankets.’ Bruar’s answer had a power of