Page 50 of The Speed of Lightning
She thought a moment, then asked, “What did He create first?”
“Light. The stars in the heavens.”
“Can you tell me the story?”
“Aye.” He began to stroke her temple with his thumb. “In the beginning, God created heaven and earth. The earth was empty and it was verra gloomy. The Spirit of God was hoverin’ there over the dark water. And God said ‘Light be made,’ and there was light. And God saw that it was good. And so he separated light from darkness?—”
She opened one eye. “That is how you do God’s voice?”
He chuckled. “What’s wrong in it?”
She opened her other eye. “You said he is a big God. He should sound…bigger.”
He leaned over her, their eyes caught, his grin widening. “All right then—if you think you can do better, give it a try.”
Confident she could, she closed her eyes. After a moment she peeked one open and found him still watching her. Smiling, she brushed her hand over his lids, gently closing them. “Ye must shut your eyes to see the story in your mind, MacLean.”
Drawing her eyes closed, she pictured the night they sailed to Mull, Calum the only presence in the dark night around them, the lapping of the waves against the hull, her head in his lap. “In the beginning, God alone created the heavens and the earth. There in the timeless darkness, the Spirit of mighty God hovered above the waters, above the formless, shapeless deep. So black was the darkness that it was void, stretching out in all directions without measure or end. Then God spoke into the void with presence and power, his breath sweeping across the waters of the deep,” she dropped her voice just above its lowest octave, imagining the voice of the one God. “Let there be light.” She paused, trying to imagine the scene. “Light blasted into the darkness, illuminating and sparkling with brightness and vivid color, glowing with His breath, reflecting the resplendence of His being. He recognized Himself within the light, and knew that this first creation was excellent and pleasing. And so He harnessed it, forming it with His mighty hands and placing it apart from the darkness.”
Pleased she had done justice to a tale of his God, she opened her eyes and found Calum watching her. Slowly, he smiled, his fingers tracing the lines of her face.
“That was beautiful—much as you are. You have a gift with words.”
A knot tightened in her chest. Did he suspect she was the one who had penned the very stories that had summoned him back to Jura? Would he ever forgive her when he knew? “I—I was only jesting. Your story was fine.”
His palm slid into hers, fingers weaving with her own. “You are the loveliest beauty I’ve ever held in my arms.”
Crackling with nerves she snorted and tried to make light of his words. “Ah, but you’ve held me before—the day I tumbled into your skiff. Was I no’ a beauty then, shorn-haired and laddish?”
The timbre of his voice was low and resonant. “You were beautiful. Even then. Your eyes, your smile, your heart. All breathtaking.” His thumb swept over her cheekbone. “I need to kiss you, lass. Then I will leave you be.”
She gulped, but decided that it was their wedding night which perhaps called for a bit of the getting to know each other that had eluded them the past four weeks. She steeled herself. “Give it a go, then.”
A laugh burst from him. “A ringing vote of confidence.” His hand passed over her eyes. “Ye must shut your eyes to enjoy the kiss, MacSorley.”
She opened one eye and peeped at him. “But I’ve never kissed anyone—except the wedding, and?—”
He gave her a questioning look. “Rory?”
A tremor ran through her, but she forced her voice not to quaver. “The ceilidh was the first time.”
He passed his hand gently over her eyes again. “Shh. I’ll teach you. Just close your eyes and breathe out.”
Her heart pounded as she obeyed, drawing in a breath and letting it out in a long, trembling rush.
His lips brushed hers—once, then again—so feather-light she wondered if she had imagined it. Then the kiss deepened—warm, melting, nothing like the harsh intrusion Rory had forced upon her. Calum’s mouth was soft and patient, masterful in its slow persuasion.
The weight of him hovered close, warming her beneath the thin sheet. Like the plaid that smelled of him, he surrounded her senses. And she began to see him clearly—Calum, her husband. The man who had run with her to safety. The man who hadbought her freedom. And as naturally as breathing, she yielded her lips to him, giving him a soft kiss of her admiration in return.
When it ended, their eyes met, her face coloring. Something subtle stirred in her belly. His marked hand moved along her cheek. “Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone.”
She looped an arm around his neck, holding him close. She did not fully grasp the words he had spoken, yet their truth settled deep in her spirit. They would guard one another now, until the end of their days—and that she loved very much indeed.
He lowered his head beside hers on the pillow. “Shall I finish my tale?”
She smiled. “Aye. But do God’s voice better.”
Chapter 13
