SAM
“How many times did I tell you not to bring your toys home, Hugh MacLeod?”
He laughed, impenitent, and marched into the living room carrying two ancient-looking swords. Of course, I was familiar with them, had seen swords like those before—they were the props he used on set during fight scenes.
They weren’t dangerous, but they had been made as heavy as real swords to make the fight scenes more realistic. As a result, wielding one of those fuckers could give you some severe arm and shoulder pain if used the wrong way.
“What are you doing with those things? You’re not supposed to steal from the set, you know that. I might have to report you,” I teased.
“Uh-huh, you do that,” he replied, unfazed. He walked to where I was sitting on the couch—relaxing, mind you—and handed me one of the swords.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Humor me, Sam.”
I gave him a quizzical look. “I don’t think I understand. Do you have a scene to rehearse? I don’t think I’m the best person for it.”
“You’re the best person for everything.”
“Well, love, I can’t say I’m not flattered, but you’re mistaken.”
“I disagree.” He started moving the furniture in the living room. First the coffee table, then the two armchairs, and when he still wasn’t satisfied with the space he’d cleared, he pushed the couch back while I was still sitting on it.
I narrowed my eyes at him, and he leaned down and kissed me on the lips.
I didn’t reciprocate the kiss, so naturally he kissed me again and again until I gave in to whatever charade this was.
“I was reading, you know,” I grumbled.
“And I need your help. I need to rehearse this scene and someone distracted me last night and made me forget I had lines to learn.” He winked at me, and I blushed, thinking about the night before. Yes, I might have been guilty of keeping him up too late.
I laughed and shook my head.
“You didn’t seem opposed to my plans last night.”
“How could I have been?” he replied with a wicked, teasing look. “But I do have lots of lines to learn, and I need your help. So, be a good sport and help me out, aye?”
He handed me the sword again—I had refused to grasp it before—and I discovered this one wasn’t as heavy as I remembered.
“Uh, this one isn’t as heavy as the one you normally use,” I said as I swung the sword around, feeling the weight of it.
“That’s because we have different ones depending on the actor’s build. I’m surprised you don’t know this already, Ms. Hollywood,” he teased.
“Har har! I’ve never worked on a historical or fantasy drama before,” I reminded him.
“True,” he agreed. “Up you go. Come on, Sam. Help me out. Besides, didn’t you tell me you took fencing for a while?” He smiled and stretched a hand toward me, and I finally got up.
“I knew I should have never told you that! I took fencing when I was fourteen! Besides, the weight of the fencing bow can hardly be compared to this thing!” I’d told Hugh the story of when, inspired by a summer of watching Valentina Vezzali’s accomplishments in the fencing disciplines during the 2000 Summer Olympics in Sydney, I had decided to take up the sport. I regretted telling him that now.
I was fourteen when I took up fencing, and although I was truly enthusiastic about it for a year, I had become self-conscious as my body started changing and I became curvier. I felt exposed in the white fencing uniform, especially against the rest of my teammates, who were mostly slender California blondes, and I gradually talked myself out of it.
I loved the sport, but I honestly believed I got started too late.
“Okay, so what do you need me to do?”
He handed me a script and told me whose lines he needed me to read.
In this scene, Abarath was facing off with an old frenemy who had been trying to undermine his reputation across the kingdoms.
For the next hour, I read and fed him lines when needed. I jumped on the couch and tried to fight him with all my strength. We dueled, we laughed, and minute by minute, I enjoyed it more and more. I loved the life we were making together.
We were two souls from very different backgrounds, but ultimately, we loved the same things, and loved our jobs so much, even when it was hard, even on the days it reduced us to grumbling, tired shadows of ourselves.
I got caught up in my thoughts and soon he disarmed me, a wicked grin plastered on his face as I knelt down to retrieve my sword.
“You’re going off script!” I protested after taking a better look at the lines just as he managed to pin me down to the floor.
He pointed the fake sword to my neck, albeit gently. He towered over me, breathing heavily, a mischievous look brightening his eyes.
“Now that you’re my prisoner . . .” he started.
“Again, off script,” I mumbled, looking at the stage directions once more.
“Shhhh, Sassenach. Now that I disarmed you, you’ll tell me everything I want to know.”
I frowned. “Meaning? If this is about Fern again, might I remind you I’m in the perfect position to kick you in the groin.”
He huffed. “Nah, this isn’t about Fern. This is about you and me.”
“I don’t understand,” I replied.
HUGH
“I know you’ve been keeping secrets from me. Fine, I was wrong, verra wrong about Fern, but you . . . you have been hiding something. I can feel it, Sam,” I told her, still catching my breath.
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I?”
“Yes,” she replied with a certainty that made me suddenly question my motives, but I had to know. She’d been evasive for weeks. “If there’s anything I’m hiding from you, it’s stuff that you don’t need to know to begin with.”
“Like what?”
“Like my wedding dress, you moron!” she yelled.
My face fell, and it took me a few seconds before I could say anything.
“I didn’t know you’d been looking.” It was all I could muster.
“Of course I have! These things take time, and in case you forgot, we kind of work and live in a place at the edge of society, where things are not exactly accessible.”
I nodded. She was right . . . but there were other questions that came to mind.
“So, you’ve been dress shopping, but what about setting a date? And what about the attorney and the paperwork? Any time I ask you about it, you change the subject.”
“Can I get up yet? Or do we have to keep having this conversation with me at your mercy?” She shot me an angry look.
“Of course. I’m sorry.” I gave her a hand and pulled her up.
“Was this whole scene just a ploy to ask me questions? Could you not just ask me what you needed to know?” Her eyes searched mine, looking worried.
I let out a nervous breath. “Yes . . . no. I really did need your help rehearsing the scene, but I did have a few things to ask, and it feels like we never have time to talk about our plans. I know we want the same things, but I keep worrying that after we wrap season two I will have to travel to promote the show and we won’t be able to make it happen, and I want to. It’s so . . . strange, Sam. It’s strange to want something so badly when just a while ago you didn’t even know if you wanted it to begin with. Ye ken what I mean?”
She studied me for a moment, and then a smile stretched across her face, reaching her eyes, illuminating her pretty face.
“I ken,” she replied, mimicking my accent.
I dropped the prop sword on the floor and took her in my arms. She wrapped her hands around my neck, but when I tried to lean down and kiss her, she pulled back.
“There’s more you want to know, isn’t there?” she asked.
“Yes, there is, but now I feel like too much of a dafty to ask any more questions.”
“Just ask me whatever you want to know,” she reassured me. “If there are things we haven’t talked about, it’s because I know how much stress you’ve been under. I noticed you haven’t been your usual self, especially since Winston made changes to your training schedule. Hugh, the last thing I want is you doubting me. You should always, always be able to tell me what you think and ask me what you want to know.”
“Okay then, what’s going on with our paperwork to get a license? What have you heard?”
She smiled big. “It’s almost ready. The attorney said it was all just a matter of clarifying my immigrant status here. He seems to think it might be just another week or two and then we can apply for a license, which would be great if we actually had the time to get married right now.” Her eyes widened, as if she finally remembered something. “What else? Is there anything else you want to know?”
“Have I not scared you off with my mood swings? Do ye still want to marry me?” I joked, looking at her sheepishly.
She breathed a laugh. “Yes, I still want you, mood swings and all, but I will do anything to corrupt the screenwriters and convince them to give your character a belly next season. Seriously—this thing where you almost have to starve yourself is unacceptable.”
“I’m not starving myself. The only thing I’m always starved for is you.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “Don’t you try to butter me up. I can see it in your eyes. You look tired, worn out. I understand Abarath is going through some shit this season, but I really don’t want to have you go all method. It’s not healthy for your body, either.”
“Since we’re talking about wedding plans, is there anything you want to mention?”
“Well,” she started. “I have been contacting venues around here. You mentioned a church in Stonehaven, and I have been trying to get in touch with a priest and find a nearby place where we can have the reception, but it all depends. I can’t give them a date until we know the show’s plans for next summer. I don’t know when they will fly you out, when you’re going to have time off . . . so it’s all up in the air. Besides, people around here take wedding plans seriously. Some venues are booked up two years in advance.”
“Two years? I had no clue.”
“I know. We might have to get married in a barn, if it comes down to it,” she said in a low tone, almost as if she were talking to herself.
“A barn, a pub, a movie set—I’d marry you anywhere,” I told her, tracing the profile of her nose with my own. I searched for her mouth, and she responded to my kiss, keeping her lips pressed against mine for a few seconds.
“Good to know. Looks like we’ll need to be flexible.”
“Forgive me for being a stubborn arse?”
She laughed, and the beautiful noise filled the room. I cherished the sound of it. I loved her laugh, the way her face lit up, the way she looked at me, the way she could be patient with me even when I didn’t deserve it.
“I forgive you for being a stupid arse. Besides, I don’t think you can help yourself. It’s a natural trait.”
I frowned. She might have been right, but I was taken aback by her words.
“What do you mean?”
“Your mother seems to think stubbornness runs deep in the MacLeod blood. She told me I better get used to it.”
I laughed softly, and she smiled at me.
“Hold fast?” I asked her once more.
“Hold fast,” she replied. She looked at me, eyes full of love and understanding. On her face was the kind of sweet smile that had made me fall for her, the kind I wanted to see for the rest of my life.