The water lapped against the loch’s shore, gentle kisses against the dirt under grey skies. Lucia shuddered with the chill that sank into her bones.
She pulled the tartan shawl, all green and blue hues tighter around her shoulders as the highland wind caressed the silver tears that stained her cheeks.
“I don’t want you to go.”
His hands were warm as they covered hers. Warm and tender and his touch as familiar to her as her own face in the mirror. The tears continued to leak and she didn’t bother to stop them.
“Aye, love,” he answered, a ghost of a smile against his mouth as he tucked a wild, windswept curl behind her ear. “I dinna want to either but you’ll be safe here. The war won’t come to the highlands.”
“What if I don’t want to be safe? What if I just want to be with you?”
“Lucia.” It was a sigh and a breath and love and pain all rolled into one. He pressed their foreheads together and the desperation was just as loud under his skin as it was under hers. “Believe me when I say I promise to return to ye. As soon as I can.”
“Swear it,” she demanded, her voice only a hoarse whisper because her throat was too ruined for more. She knew they didn’t have long. They had just a snapshot of happiness before he had to return to the front.
But Lucia was greedy. She wanted more.
The wind picked up, whipping white peaks against the surface of the loch like tiny white horses on the waves. It carried the scent of lavender from the estate’s gardens on the breeze. She could feel something swirling around her, faint at the edges of her mind, enough to make her shiver again. His blue eyes turned gunmetal grey under the dark skies and she clasped at his hands even tighter.
It was tight enough to leave marks on his skin but not tight enough to save him.
“Swear it,” she whispered again.
He tilted her face up and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. It was soft. Sweet. So unlike their unbridled passion of the night before. This kiss didn’t bruise. It didn’t mark. It was soft and salty sweet and for the only time in her life, she told herself she didn’t care if it might be a lie.
She had met him three months earlier, under the strains of the local brass band's tunes playing in the local dance hall on a spring evening on the second year of the war. The village was close to the Air Force barracks and the long empty stretches of land where the fighters would hurtle down the runaway and climb into the sky on noisy wings. It was quaint and leafy village, and as yet untouched by the ravages of war in the other mainland cities.
Here, in this little village, Lucia could almost forget there was a war at all. Almost, save for that close to every man she met wore a uniform of the various armed forces.
Her were skirts swirling around her knees as she sang along to the music. The dance hall was doused in cigarette smoke and crushed with more people than what she had ever seen gathered in one place in months and she was caught up in the air of celebration – although what there was to celebrate, no one dared look too closely at. It was as though just for one night, everyone had agreed they would indulge in the fantasy of peace, and Lucia was willing to take that fantasy and hold it tight with both hands.
She laughed with red painted lips brightly and sipped at spiced wine and vowed to herself she would dance until her feet blistered. It had been only mere hours before that she had swapped her greasy overalls and boots for a pretty dress and heels to match. It had been so long since she had worn them, she half wondered if she had forgotten how.
She had been dancing with a young private, blonde haired and green eyed when she saw him for the first time over the private’s shoulder. He had walked into the hall, removing his dark blue cap from his head and tucking it under his arm as he surveyed the room. His hair was longer than it strictly should have been for an enlisted officer and hard to determine the colour of in the smoky haze, but there was something about the lines of his shoulders and his stance that hinted he was battle hardened and weary. The mussed style told her he was from the front, and so did the soft shadow along his cheeks.
“Are you alright?” her dance partner asked as she stumbled ungracefully over her own feet. It wasn’t like her. She was always so smooth on the dancefloor. Nimble, like the music flowed through her veins and turned her to liquid. She was immediately embarrassed and her gaze snapped up – not to look at the private, but at the man who had just entered.
He was watching her, his expression inscrutable with the distance between them but Lucia felt the flutter in her stomach just the same.
The private swung her around again. She wasn’t sure what it was that made her gaze clash with the man watching her as she was being twirled around the dancefloor but once glance turned into two, then then three and four. She felt his hot gaze on the back of her neck as heavy as a hand against her nape.
“I’m sorry, I think I need a break,” she gasped, breathless as she pulled away from the soldier holding her.
“Already?” the soldier asked, reluctant to release her. Lucia had to push his hand away from her waist. He was young. Fresh faced and looked barely old enough to enlist although Lucia knew he was a few years older than her. “I can get you a drink if you like?”
“Thank you, but I need to find my friend. She’ll be wondering where I am.”
Without waiting for an answer, she stepped back, gave him a little wave and melted into the crowd.
“I don’t know if I can dance another step,” her friend Kate laughed, slightly winded and flushed with rosy cheeks when Lucia found her. The music kept going and so did the revelry. “My feet are killing me.” Kate glanced over Lucia’s shoulder curiously. “Who was that you were dancing with?”
“Saxon Fitzgibbons,” Lucia said with a small wrinkle of her nose. Saxon had been placing himself in her path for weeks. He was handsome and smooth and seemed like a good catch on paper but there was always an edge to his smiles that left Lucia with a bad taste in her mouth. “He’s been… persistent.”
Kate expression shifted. “I was watching him. His hands like to wander.”
Lucia picked up easily on Kate’s faint tone of disapproval and waved a hand dismissively. Saxon had been nice enough and Kate wasn’t wrong on her assessment of his hands. Lucia had definitely sensed that Saxon wanted more but she had escaped him easily enough.
“It’s nothing I can’t handle. But where is your beau? I wasn’t expecting Rourke to leave you alone for even a heartbeat tonight,” Lucia said with a raised brow.
“He’s gone to get his cousin,” Kate said, linking her arm with Lucia’s. It was painfully unfair, Lucia thought, looking up at her friend. Kate was tall and beautiful, glossy dark chocolate toned hair that lay in perfect styled ringlets against her head. Her skin was pale from the weak English sun and her eyes sparkled with a gold flecked green like the forests around the village. Next to her, Lucia was small and dark, an unhappy smear of freckles she gave up trying to hide under make up across the bridge of her nose and wild, unruly curls. Her hair, unlike Kate’s and the other ladies dressed up tonight, was impossible to tame even with the numerous pins all over her head. Messy tendrils were already escaping, corkscrewing around her face where it had slipped loose from the dancing.
“Hopefully Mr Fitzgibbons will leave you alone long enough to find a better prospect then,” Kate was saying to Lucia as her eyes followed her beau on the other side of the room. “There are plenty to choose from tonight after all.”
Lucia laughed and squeezed Kate’s arm. “Not all of us can be as lucky in love as you,” she teased. Kate and Rourke were a love story that Lucia had been watching unfold from the sidelines for weeks - the dashing American with Celtic blood who had shown up on British shores and had snatched up Kate’s heart with a smile and a kiss and a promise that now sparkled on her finger.
“You’ll get to meet him, you know,” Kate told Lucia conversationally. Her lips were at Lucia’s ear to be heard over the music and it took a moment for Lucia to parse what her friend was talking about. She was only half listening, the song playing an up-tempo beat that had Lucia swaying along to the trumpets and drums.
“Rourke’s cousin. You know, the one who’s been staring at you from the moment he walked in the door.”
A spark rolled down Lucia’s spine and her gaze immediately snapped to the dancefloor, half expecting him to still be there watching her. So, that’s who he was. The mysterious stranger that kept catching her eye – he was Rourke’s cousin.
“He has?” Lucia tried to fake innocence but when Kate laughed, Lucia knew it was a wasted effort.
“Don’t try to deny you haven’t been staring at him back.”
“Oh, it’s not?” Kate picked up Lucia’s hand and patted it. “Maybe it was another dark haired girl he had his eye on then?”
Something about that made Lucia’s cheeks heat and the flare of jealousy she felt caught her by surprise. How could she feel jealous? She didn’t know a thing about him. That man staring at her could be married for all she knew, but the fact of the matter was that she enjoyed his eyes on her. Even spinning around the hall with Saxon, her eyes kept finding his in the crowd, like there had been an invisible thread that was building between them with every glance.
It made Lucia feel hot in places no self-respecting woman would admit to feeling anything at all.
Kate’s voice sounded far away when she spoke. “-and here they are now.”
“Oh,” Lucia murmured breathlessly. The word fell out of her mouth on a surprised little gasp when she turned and suddenly he was there. He was even more compelling up close and his eyes… There was something about the piercing blue of his eyes that made Lucia’s chest feel suddenly tight.
And for a long moment, their gazes locked and Lucia had the dizzying sensation that they had met before.
It was Kate’s beau Rourke who greeted them first. Oblivious to the spark between Lucia and his cousin, he leaned in to kiss Kate’s cheek and slip an arm around her waist. “Katie, Lucy,” he said cheerfully over the trumpets of the band. “This is my cousin. Let me introduce you to Flight Lieutenant Alasdair O’Riain of the 602 Royal Auxiliary Air Force Squadron. But you can just call him Ryan.”
“Oh, so this is the cousin,” Kate chuckled. She tucked herself even further into Rourke’s side so close they almost became one. “It’s nice to meet you finally, Ryan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“And you.” Ryan’s eyes shifted from Lucia’s only long enough to offer Kate a polite nod before coming to settle on Lucia again.
“Sorry I’m late, Katie girl. I wasted half my evening chasing down this moron,” Rourke explained, jerking a finger at the man beside him. “Bail, if you can believe it. It’s only because he’s one of the Scottish squadron’s best pilots they let him out at all.” Rourke glanced Lucia’s way and gave her a wink but his quip was greeted by a snort and a roll of his eyes from the other man as Rourke kept talking.
Lucia barely heard him. She could see the faint family resemblance between Ryan and Rourke in the color of their eyes, a similar vivid blue like the ocean in the harbor back home but that was where the similarities ended. Ryan was older, only by a handful of years but enough to show in the weathered lines of his face and where Rourke’s hair was flaxen blonde, Ryan was darker, a reddish stubble to his cheeks that was at odds with the crisp press of his uniform. He wasn’t clean cut and polished like the other men here and there was a broad line to his shoulders and a crooked tilt to his nose that captured Lucia’s imagination.
She indulged in a brief glance along the rest of his solid frame and when their eyes met, she realized he had been doing the same to her.
“Must you stare,” she snapped uncomfortably, embarrassed to be caught out. Her cheeks flamed without meaning to. She didn’t want to admit how instantly he had grabbed her attention. “It’s rather unnerving.”
“Ye very beautiful,” he told her, undeterred and leaning close. Lucia inhaled notes of smoke and whiskey. Up close, his eyes were even more of a startling blue and his lips shone red. “Has anyone ever told ye that?”
Lucia shot him a glance as she leaned back. “Well, you’re very drunk.”
Lucia turned away with a huff in time to see Rourke snag Kate’s hand and draw her onto the dancefloor. From where she stood on the sidelines, she enjoyed the sight of her best friend twirling around the dance floor, her head thrown back and her laughter bright even over the music with a pang of wistfulness. Her American was smiling too, leading her in a dance, never taking his eyes off her for a moment.
Lucia sighed somewhere deep inside her before she pulled her gaze away, focusing instead on the wall of heat beside her. She looked the Scot up and down carefully, noting things she hadn’t let herself look too closely at before. He gazed back at her, with eyes so blue they looked like the ocean. And they were clear, aware and not at all hazy with drink like she had thought.
She felt immediately contrite for misjudging him.
“You’re not,” she echoed softly. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-“
“Ye beautiful,” he said again, cutting her off and taking a step closer to her. It wasn’t hostile, it wasn’t predatory but it was forceful and she was too startled by his movement to summon up any rebuke. She should have been nervous to having standing so close, but instead something inside her seemed to thrill at his close proximity. “It’s nice t’meet ye, lass.”
The rest of the world seemed to fade away when he took her hand in his. His palms were calloused but they felt like every dream come true.
“Will ye dance with me, bonny girl?”
Lucia stared down at the palm pressed against hers. “Oh,” she whispered faintly as the song ignited under her skin. The burr of his accent was like a warm blanket, soft and familiar in a way she couldn’t explain. It was music she had heard so many times before but always and only in her dreams. “It’s you.”
That night after the final dance had ended, he kissed her under the stars.
She kissed him back, and she found home.
He was a pilot, soaring high in the skies over Britain and France, liveried in Grey Douglas tartan gifted to their squadron by King George V years before. Where he conquered the skies, Lucia lent her skills to the fight on the ground. Everyone had to play their part, the wireless touted and Lucia pushed to be a bigger part of it.
“My father was a pilot in the first world war,” she told him one morning as they walked the quiet street arm in arm. More than one fine dressed woman looked him over, dismissing Lucia with a glance but their hungry eyes snagging on the stripes and pins on his uniform. Lucia wanted to claw their eyes out for staring. “I know my way around a Daimler-Benz and a Continental like the back of my hand. I could do so much more than they let me.”
“I wouldn’t trust anyone more than ye, lass,” Ryan said, pride staining his voice. When she looked into his blue eyes she saw that he meant it. It was one of the many things she adored about him. His faith in her, his pride. It was so much more than just the fire that burned when he touched her. He listened to her rambles, he laughed at her jokes. He surprised her with rare caramels and afterwards kissed the taste from her tongue.
But it was their shared passion for all things aviation that had her captivated. He even promised to teach her to fly one day.
That warmed her from the inside in a way his kisses alone couldn’t. Something deeper somehow. And compared to how powerful his kisses were, it said something.
“Oh, really,” she teased him, rubbing her delicate fingertips along the fine red stubble fighting its way through his skin. She brushed a thumb over his red lips, and gasped weakly when he caught it and sucked it briefly, his eyes never leaving hers. For a moment, she forgot what she was saying, until she remembered the war.
What she wouldn’t give to be the one there waiting for him in the hangar every time he went up.
Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she wondered what it would be like never to kiss them again. The thought terrified her. “Maybe I’ll show those mechanics a thing or two.”
“Aye,” he chuckled, pulling her close. “I’d wager ye could teach them more than that.”
Their time together was precious, but Lucia soon found herself separated from her heart for longer than she had him.
Three months passed without him and before long, she had decided she had had enough.
“Are you really sure about this?” Kate asked her worriedly, a pair of sharp scissors still poised in her hands in the bathroom of the small flat they shared. Lucia had almost wanted to laugh but her nerves were too fraught and the question was far too late in the asking anyway. She looked away from her reflection in the mirror only to be confronted with a basin full of dark curls but Lucia supposed it was one thing to take an inch off here and there but quite another to hack her hair well above her shoulders until they hugged her scalp.
Kate ran a hand through the curls that were left, her eyes tinted with sadness. “Couldn’t you have just tied it back or tuck it under a cap?”
Lucia eyed her reflection in the mirror once again. The plan had come to her like a bolt out of the blue. A way to be with him even after the Air Force tried to snatch him back. He was in her blood now, and she couldn’t breathe when he wasn’t near.
“I’m sure. It’s just hair, right? It will grow back.”
Kate hesitated for a moment longer before a loud sigh filled the room. “Love makes us do crazy things. I hope your plan works.”
Lucia watched another dark curl fall into the basin, a grim smile on her full lips. “So do I, Katie. So do I.”
It turned out that Rourke became her secret weapon getting onto the base where Ryan was stationed. While Lucia had passes for the southern bases, the one on the outskirts were his elite squadron was based was beyond her credentials.
Rourke had to look twice when she had approached him, finding him leaning against the side of his car on the cobblestone streets in London. Lucia secretly thrilled at the success of her ruse. If Rourke was fooled, then perhaps the cap, her short hair and overalls would fool everyone else too.
“Lucy, look at you,” he breathed, eyes wide as he looked her over. “You look… You’re a boy.”
She grinned weakly at his startled expression and reminded herself to stand a little straighter. “Good. That’s the idea,” she said firmly. Then doubt bit at her. “Do you think it will get me past the checkpoint?”
Rourke’s face finally spit into a grin as he looked her over once more. “Oh yeah,” he drawled easily. “I think you’ll be with him before you know it.”
Despite her heart racing in her chest and the persistent fear that at any moment she would be caught, there was no trouble when Lucia finally climbed into the military jeep at Rourke’s side just a few kilometers from the airbase. Her insides fluttered, as though she had swallowed an entire swarm of butterflies and not for the first time she doubted herself. Doubted her plan and the welcome she might receive.
Three months was both forever and no time at all. Maybe he had already forgotten her. Maybe she was just a summer fling between battles. Maybe he had already moved on-
She fingered the brooch hidden under the coarse, shapeless overalls she wore and pushed the thoughts aside. That night after the dance they had talked. They had touched. They had found magic between them, so much so that before dawn the next day, he was pressing the ancient luckenbooth into her palm and whispering promises against her lips.
She closed her eyes as the jeep rumbled down the dirt road towards the air base’s fence line and held his face in her mind. She could feel him, could feel the threads between them, pulling them closer.
As inevitable as the moon pulling on the waves, it was a tide that couldn’t be stopped.
She held her breath as they made it through the first checkpoint. Soon, Rourke was hurtling them towards the hangars and they arrived before Lucia could voice her thanks out loud.
He waited for her to get out before he gave her a solemn nod, his usual jovial warmth muted as though he knew the stakes as much as she did. Maybe he did.
She walked into the hangar, pausing only to adjust the cap over her head and clutch the clipboard to her chest like a shield before realizing she needed to act more self-assured. More like a boy – a man - and less like a woman, so she straightened her shoulders and walked out of the sunlight streaming in through the doorway and straight into the shadows of the workshop. The hangar was full of planes of all kinds but the most prominent were the row of Gloster Gladiator’s along one side standing silent and dark. Her eyes caught on them – they were the same plane Lucia knew Ryan flew.
The air smelled like grease and fuel and voices rose at the far end of the hangar where it was dark and the sunlight couldn’t reach.
“I dinnae care if you think the couplers go there,” a snarl carried across the hollow space. “I’m telling you they don’t-“
Lucia’s heart leapt at the sound of his voice and she hurried towards it. He was right where she expected him to be, the sleeves of his uniform rolled up to his elbows, his hair dishevelled. A smear of dark grease stained one pants leg and he cursed as he rummaged around the bowels of the plane’s engine. “Is there really no one who cannae tell me where the couplers belong? What is the army sendin’ us these days? Ye expect us to take up these planes and dogfight in the sky with only half the equipment on board?”
The mechanics nearby grumbled and glared at him sullenly. None of them paid any attention to her as she approached.
“Lieutenant Commander O’Riain, would you sign this please?” Lucia said hesitantly, holding out the clipboard. Ryan withdrew his hands from the plane engine and wiped them on a stained rag.
“It’s a requisition order for-“
“Nae. I’m busy, lad, find someone else.”
Lucia’s heart raced and she had to fight the giddy twitch of her lips. He didn’t recognize her! Not yet. He had dismissed her already, barking at the other mechanics, sending them all scurrying and snarling a curse in frustration when he realized she hadn’t moved.
He rounded on her and Lucia kept her head lowered, her cap pulled down low over her head.
“Ye still here, boy?” he snapped. “Go find someone else t’bother.”
Lucia lowered the clipboard and lifted her chin but she kept her eyes averted. Behind her, there were mechanics arguing. “The couplers go in the aft bay. Right behind the intake manifold and next to the oil line.”
She knew the moment he it clicked. He stiffened in place, then stared.
“Luke-“ Lucia looked up, a warning flashing in her eyes as she hurried to correct him. “Ah-“
Understanding dawned. His gaze softened, only slightly, but in a way Lucia knew belonged only to her and her alone.
“Aye, Luke,” he said. It was almost as though he was trying not to smile. “Forms to sign, eh? Well, then, you’d better come with me.”
She didn’t know how she stopped her hands from shaking or kept her legs from running as she followed him past the silent aircraft and into a room tucked away at the back of the hangar. He waited for her to go in first, then pulled the door closed behind him. He spent only enough time to pull down the blinds and flick the lock before he rounded on her.
Her heart thundered in her chest.
“Lucia” he growled. “What on god’s green earth are ye doin’ here, lass?”
“I needed to see you! I needed to be with you. I’ve missed you so much!”
He stared at her, his chest heaving with effort. He hadn’t moved from the door and Lucia trailed off, wondering nervously why he wasn’t touching her yet. Hadn’t he missed her too? Didn’t he ache for her like she ached for him? He was so close - Lucia tried to bridge the distance between them by taking a step towards him, one hand out stretched. If she didn’t touch him, breathe him in, didn’t feel his heart under her palm right then, she was sure she would die.
But he didn’t let her take another step closer. All at once he straightened and set his powerful thighs in motion. He advanced on her, grabbing her and hauling her into his arms in a crushing hug. She felt her feet lifted from under her as he backed her against the desk leaning against the far the wall. It was messy, littered with paperwork and miscellaneous parts that crashed to the ground as they bumped against it. “Ryan?”
“Lucia. Oh, darlin’. Oh, my fookin’ bonny girl-“
There were tears in both their eyes as his warm hands found her cheeks. She let out a relieved sob, so grateful to be in his orbit again, so happy to have his touch and his body pressed against hers. God, she had missed him so much.
“Ry,” she chanted between hurried, sweeping pecks along his cheeks, hardly daring to believe he was in her arms. She was outwardly sobbing when he pulled her in for a kiss that took her breath away. She sank into it, opening up her mouth to moan and grant him entry and tasted salt from her tears. She welcomed him home even as the song burst under her skin once again.
Home, her heart whispered and she could feel the truth of it. She was home there. She was whole in his arms.
The cap was tugged off her head and flung to the floor before she could think to warn him. She held her breath as he drew back long enough to trace the short mass of curls around her head and study her new look.
A tiny flicker of doubt made her breath catch as she waited for his reaction.
She swallowed, suddenly conscious of so much more. No makeup, hair short, her chest tightly bound and her clothes baggy to hide her limited curves. She had always been slim, too slim for the swell of a full breast or backside that graced most women, a curse she had always lamented until today. Today her lines were a blessing but without the trappings of femininity, she wondered if Ryan would regard her differently.
An unhappy fear filled her heart. “Does… Does it bother you?”
A much shorter curl was looped around his finger as he considered it. His expression was thoughtful as he tugged on it gently.
“Nae,” he said softly. “I think I like it. My bonny lass.” He captured her chin and pulled her in close for a kiss. “Lad,” he corrected himself before their lips met. It made her laugh softly but his eyes were solemn. “I would love you no matter what skin yer wore, Luc. Ye have to know that.”
She laid her palms on either sides of his face and held it as she read the truth in his eyes. “I do. I do now.”
The wide fields behind the hangars were spread with wildflowers where he held her and kissed her neck. He uttered quiet whispers that she was beautiful in her blue floral dress with her curls barely brushing her shoulders and she smiled against his lips because she believed him.
They took all the moments they could find.
She had claimed lodging in town and while Ryan had rattled his superior’s cages until she was allowed onto to base without further pretense. Lucia was all too aware that their time was limited and the war still raged but still they made time to curl together and sink into their bubble.
“I love you,” she said to him as the sun sank low in the sky. Her fingers stroked over his broad shoulders. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.”
His lips were hot against her neck as he punctuated each word of his answer with a kiss. “I love ye so much I think I could die from it. I want you, lass. In my bed, in my life. Lucia.” He paused, as though taking a breath but it was only to find her eyes. “Marry me.”
Sunlight burst in her heart and she swore she could hear the birds singing in a chorus of triumph. She hooked a slim thigh over his hip as she clung to his strong shoulders. The luckenbooth shone proudly on her chest but this was another thing more she wanted more than anything.
“Yes,” she laughed sweetly, giddy with her answer. “Oh, god, yes. Yes!”
“That’s my bonny lass,” he murmured against her smiling mouth. He pulled her closer, sending his free hand to creep up under the skirt of her pretty summer dress. Lucia tilted her head back as his touch caressed her and shivered as his fingers danced along her. She was already slick from his kisses and his fingers slid under the line of her panties to explore only intensified her ache.
“Take me, Alasdair,” she whispered. They were lost in the long grass, hidden amongst the wildflowers as they enjoyed their picnic in the late sunshine. It would be so easy, she thought. All he would have to do would be to push aside her panties and she could ride him until their soft cries filled the empty spaces in the dusk between them. “Ryan, please.”
But he held her back, his eyes stormy dark and solemn. “I won’t take ye until you’re my wife.”
She froze. Blinked, confusion washing over her. “But…“
“But,” and this he punctuated with a smile. “I dinnae say I wouldn’t bring you pleasure.”
His mouth was on hers before she could answer, stealing another kiss as his hands continued their wanderings. He rubbed her, stroked her and kissed away her breathless cries long after the sun had slipped beyond the horizon.
