I saw him coming, like a dervish on a racetrack, yelling and cursing, and I cowered behind the kirkyard’s plumes of pampas grass.
When he dropped beside me, panting hard, his sky-blue eyes met mine. He clapped his rough hand over my mouth, and I didn’t understand a word he uttered as he pulled me close. His stubble chafed my cheek as I melted into his intoxicating scent of sweat and aftershave.
He peered beyond the razor-sharp leaves.
“Ye okay lassie?” he asked, “Sorry…” and then he was on his feet and gone.
Weak-kneed, I staggered from the hideaway and leaned against the cold, stone wall. When the Copper, truncheon raised, bowled round the corner, a smile played on my lips and sedition brewed in my heart. “That way!” I pointed, breathless.
Then I ran, the opposite way, after the Scottish rogue who’d woken a wild paroxysm in my soul.