She sat at the little table with him in the restaurant overlooking the Gulf, that they had made it point to stop at the end of their beach walks . In the section that looked out over the sandy beach and waves that crashed onto waiting tourists in their swimsuits and sometimes trunks that were too loose. Stealing passionate peeks at him when she didn�t think he would be looking. Once or twice her blueish green eyes had went to steal a loving glance at the man she had secretly fallen so hopelessly in love with and were met with his warm deep blue eyes in return. She blushed. She couldn�t tell him she loved him. That would jinx the whole thing and he�d leave her. She just knew it.
She couldn�t believe she was behaving like a giddy school girl at her age. But this man was every thing she had ever prayed for. A gentleman, smart, honorable, handsome, big and tall, strong yet possesed the art of feather-touch, and he genuinely appeared to want only her. It was hard to believe that he had chosen to be with her. She sat looking at her reflection in the tiled mirrors on the West wall above the booths across from them, thinking. Why would he want me when there were all these beautiful,thin women running around in string bikinis and little else? Young women with flat tummies and tits as hard as rocks that looked good, naked. She couldn�t believe he was sitting there with her.
She looked harder at her reflection in the mirror tiles. She wasn�t all that bad, she was still somewhat attractive, but then she looked down at herself. She was far from thin. Look good? Naked? She didn�t even like to look at herself with just panties and a bra, so how could he enjoy seeing her completely naked? Why hadn�t he ran screaming for the door the first time she stripped to nothing at his request, with the lights on? She knew she wanted to.
Since her unfair attack of obesity she had been reminded by many, "No one wants to be seen in public with you, like that. Lose the weight and then we�ll talk." She shook her head as if to shake away the tears beginning to well in her eyes. She didn�t want to ruin this moment. Here was a man that did not seem to mind what she looked like, instead, had made it clear that it was what he saw in her eyes; her soul, her heart and mind that had attracted him.
They had shared many opinions and experiences in the matters of love, heartbreak and love lost. A large gentle hand on hers, tenderly caressing, brought her back to reality. She smiled up at him and he smiled back. "So where�d ya go?" said another voice. It was Becky with the coffee refill.
Becky had been a long time friend of hers. Often nights after work, before she met him, she would go hang out at the restaurant and joke and carry on with Becky and during the dinner rush would run around take drink orders for the staff and bus tables until it calmed down and they could sneak a moment and say,"Hi."
She looked back at Becky and with a quick recovery, tossing her head from side to side, putting the tip of her index finger to her cheek and saying, "Tee-hee." Becky just looked at her, laughed and said, "Blonde moments are hell, ain�t they?" Which was really funny as Becky was blonde. They exchanged girl talk and a dirty joke or two then Becky had to go do her side work.
A herd of bikini clad sunworshippers made their way in the door, and in that instant she felt helpless. They were all so beautiful, wet tangled hair and all. She felt so inadequate in their presence. He glanced up, as if to see what had made her spirits sink so suddenly, and somehow knew what she felt. He immediately turned his attention to her. She wanted to get up and run as fast as she could through the door, before the Sun Goddesses had a chance to verbally rip her to shreds. She could think of nothing more horrifying then being ripped, emotional bloody strip by emotional bloody strip in public, in front of the man she had secretly given her heart to. She didn�t stand a chance against women like that. She knew what women like them were capable of. She had been the victim of verbal venomous strikes by women just like them. She wanted to hide. She wanted to run before they could smell her fear.
He felt her tremble ever so slightly, looked over in time to see a tear trying to sneak down her cheek. He gently wiped it away with his thumb as he set his eyes on hers. His eyes had changed, somehow. What had been deep blue was now blue with dashes of quicksilver.
Then, with his hand he tenderly caressed her face as he kissed her full on the lips. Ignoring the, "Awws" of the Sun Goddesses at the other table. He softly spoke, "I�m here with you, and I will leave with you."
She couldn�t believe her luck. Any other man would�ve tripped over himself trying to get to their table and downplaying her as their sister or visiting Aunt. This too had been one of those past experiences she did not savor. But, he was with her. She couldn�t believe it. It was too good to be true.
The rest of the time at the restuarant, that evening was spent with him snuggled up to her as they looked out of the large plate glass window-wall that overlooked the beach and visibly bigger waves. Not as many people on the beach as there had been earlier.
The Goddesses had long since left, but they took no notice of their departure as they had been too enraptured with each other�s company.
Becky brought the pot around with a double handful of creamers, "You two need to go get a room", Becky laughed, he chuckled and she blushed. "I can�t believe it! I made her blush" Becky retorted, as she put the pot of coffee down and fixed her fingers on the lapels of her uniform, like a braggart would do, while announcing their latest victory.
Small talk ensued as well as Becky�s �fyi� episodes, which more or less were a chance for Becky to get in a little gossip. But with Becky, gossip had 2 levels. The first level was regular gossip about some of the other waitresses and the management of the restaurant, and then there was level two, the real stuff, the down home-whose your mama-dirt. This round of refills just happen to be accompanied by the level two variety. After filling the coffee mugs and replenishing the supply of creamer and sugar, Becky made herself scarce, by hiding in the breakroom.
It wasn't long, in the absence of Becky, that she found herself staring out through the large plate-glass windows that overlooked the vast waters of the Gulf of Mexico, the white sandy beach and the sun worshippers. Yet, something began to happen. The blue-green of the water had changed to lush green land with large rocks,rocks not indigenous to any she could remember seeing when she traveled the US in the cab of an 18 wheeler. No, these rocks were like those she'd seen on Discovery channel, these rocks, she had seen before,not just on some television special about Scotland and England,but in the far recesses of an ancient memory. The large cobalt colored rocks were set into the landscape,mostly on the hillside.
She walked out through the glass door, onto the soft green grass, in wonderment at the house ahead, then down at herself and then back at herself sitting in the chair,looking out. Again she looked down at herself in astonishment. A single,"Ooh!" escaped her as she realized, she not only had a great figure, but also was about fifteen years younger! She marveled at her self standing there with a thirteen inch waist, decent enough knockers and her reflection in the glass-as she looked back to see herself-she was very pretty, with long red hair, blue-green eyes,full pouty lips,cute button nose.
But than, she noticed the clothing she was wearing. A full skirt made from what appeared to be a Clan tartan, a peasant blouse and a shawl from a different pattern. Not just a pattern but, another Clan tartan.
"Where the hell am I?" She said aloud and mostly to herself. "Who am I supposed to be?" These were questions she knew the people at the little farm up on the hill, would have the answers to. She walked slowly at first to the house built into the hillside. Stone from bottom to half-way to the top, then what looked like railroad ties from there to the top and a thatch roof. She felt like she knew this house intimately. She had been here before..but when. When was the next question.
She was greeted by an older lady, a motherly woman, speaking a language most foreign to her, yet she somehow knew what she said and replied in the same tongue..the same accent as well. She noticed the older woman's face suddenly full of concern staring at her. What had she said? She had no way to know, as she didn't speak this language and had only heard it or a reasonable facsimile of it spoken on BBCAmerica and Discovery. The tartans, she figured out and with the help of the older lady, she knew they were of the Clan McLeod. But why was she wearing two different Clan tartans? She heard herself ask the older lady, in the native tongue.
Her head began to swim, so she put her hand up to one side of her head. The older lady apparently took this as a sign that she had been hit on the head or fell and bumped her head. Understanding soon replaced the frustration in the older woman's face. She took the young lady by the hand, calling her by name, a name she had heard before, a name that belonged to an ancestor her grandmother had mentioned but she could not find in any records-Katey- and walked her around the little farm, telling her about the battle and they were waiting for her youngest son who had went off to fight the English, the one she was promised to since birth. "Fight the English? What year is this?" she looked at the older woman's eyes that were suddenly filled with tears and reached over to wipe one that had escaped and ran down her cheek. "Oh Lassie." was all she could understand, the rest was, as far as she could tell, in Gaelic. She reached up and touched the shawl and looked at the woman with the question not spoken, but understood. The shawl was of her own clan, the Clan Stewart.
She and the lady walked over to the other side of the farm, to stand by the short stone wall that encircled the property, watching. But watching for what? After a few moments a group of men came into view from over the next hill, tattered, tired and obviously hungry. The older woman's eyes focused on their tartans, then suddenly spoke. Before she realized it the woman had invited them to sit down while she had volunteered their services of feeding and caring for these men. The older woman obviously knew these men, as she talked like they'd been best friends for years. Katey kept her silence, washing the wounds and preparing bandages soaked in yellow dock. They spoke to her, but she only smiled and continued her work. The older woman told one of them that she just wasn't herself today. Conversation bantered back and forth between the older woman and the men, as her mate stepped outside the house and walked over to group. Katey could tell he was asking about his son. At first, no one volunteered, then suddenly, several of them began talking at once. Katey wasn't sure what they were saying, but she could tell from their voices, and the loss in their eyes that the son would not be coming home.
Out of nowhere, it seems, she understood, one of them wasn't speaking Gaelic, but it wasn't exactly the Queen's English either..but close enough that she could understand what he said or at least the jist of it. Her suspicions and the family's fears were confirmed...the boy had died in battle.
She felt a pulling on her body, drawing her away from the group of people, pulling her back to the present and back to herself sitting in the chair in the restaurant by one of the descendants of that Clan, McLeod.