She lurked yet upon her side, her back pressed against the stones. When he rounded the cairn and spotted her, she stepped forward with a smile and rewarded him with a peck on the cheek. The estranged courtship reunited at last.

Without thought, he turned his face to meet her lips with his. When her soft mouth pressed to his, he felt her lips part in a gasp of surprise.

He'd gone too far. He was always mucking things up, always getting things wrong.

She reached a hand to grasp his head and pulled his mouth harder to hers. His hat tumbled to the grass. Then he had her pressed against the cairn, his tall form curving over hers, his spread hand behind her head to soften it, the other cupping her jaw, lifting her to meet him even as she pressed upward on her toes. All the trapped intensity of his soul poured from him, into her.

The warmth of her open mouth transformed him. He stepped from the long and terrible night. The light shone warm upon his skin. He hesitated, startled, suddenly unsure of this path he was on.

She wrapped her other hand around the back of his neck, her fingers tight in his hair and slid her soft tongue between his lips.

Then he knew. This was the way home.

THEY LAY UPON THE picnic blanket and watched harmless white clouds roam the sky.

They had parted breathlessly after the kiss. Gemma had been overcome by an unbearable shyness, her mind suddenly full of doubting thoughts. What did he mean by kissing her? What did he think of her kissing him back so enthusiastically?

Mr. Worthington had seemed rather stunned and had not met her gaze as he busied himself spreading out the old blanket from their picnic.

It was less an uncomfortable silence than a considering one. What had it meant? What came next? Gemma enjoyed feeling him close to her, but she was not yet ready to get closer.

Mostly, they kept their thoughts to themselves, as if unwilling to speak of what had transpired for fear that naming it would turn the mystery into something mundane. Only once did Gemma remark upon a cloud shape, pointing out a tall ship sailing the endless blue.

Mr. Worthington peered at it. "Sheep," he responded. "All sheep. Underfoot and overhead."

Gemma giggled and then the curlews' cries were the only conversation needed.