You can blame GranthamGal for this one. She issued a challenge, I took it. WELCOME TO THE HIGHLANDS, FRIENDS. Only a few more days until the Christmas Special. Let's all help each other to hold it the hell together.
Robert is giddy.
There is no other word for his infectious joy, although childlike is also apt. He fidgets in the car the entire drive to Duneagle, his fingers tapping Cora's knee rhythmically as he hums to himself. He is an overgrown schoolboy on summer holiday, ready to take on all the fishing, hunting and hiking he can manage.
Cora is glad to watch him, relieved to see such unbridled joy light his features. Sadness was far too often a visitor in their home of late, and the creases they added to her lover's face were distressing. However, in the brisk breeze of the Scottish Highlands, he appears to have lost years of worry. He fidgets again, continues tapping morse on Cora's knee, and switches to humming a rather bawdy pub song.
Cora stifles a giggle when he leans to her and whispers the dirty refrain against her throat, and she can't decide if it's his words or his proximity that sends a delightful shiver across her skin.
Edith sits across from them and pretends to be engrossed in notes for her next article, but the way she flinches and winces tells Cora she's paying far more attention to them than she should. Cora feels both sorry for, and proud of, her middle child. She has been asked to weather terribly difficult storms in recent years and has emerged stronger and more purposeful than ever. Capable seems like such an unkind word to label a young lady, but it fits their Edith. She is so capable. Violet likes to claim it is the indomitable English will that keeps the young woman going, but Cora knows it's American ingenuity at its best.
When Robert starts his playful groping of her knee, she stills his hand with her palm. If there is anything Cora wishes for Edith, it is that she finds happiness and love. She cannot help but feel guilty as Edith watches wistfully when Matthew is particularly affectionate with Mary, or when she catches sight of Robert holding her mother's hand.
Edith has a great capacity for love and affection, as well as a hunger for it that Cora feels somewhat responsible for. Cora has to believe that her child will find the right one. It is a mother's faith.
The driveway to Duneagle is anchored with imposing stone towers and the heavy iron gates open before them grandly. It is all Robert can do to stay seated as he cranes his neck to look at the house. He never tires of this moment, when his holiday truly begins.
Cora cannot decide if she is amused or offended when she finds Robert already in bed, sleeping soundly. She hadn't been long and already he was curled on his side, the picture of youthful contentment. She slides in beside him and extinguishes her lamp, and as usual rolls to the space directly behind him. She found many years ago that his proximity was not just enjoyable for sleeping, but necessary. His solid warmth is essential to her.
The day of travelling has worn her out as well, not to mention the effort it has taken to be cordial to an obviously quarreling Flintshire family. So, although they have a ritual they usually complete the first night in Duneagle, Cora's last thought as she falls asleep is that it will be just as good in the morning.
Bagpipes. The sound, like quarreling cats, is how the house wakes. It replaces a gong, and Cora finds it a terribly invasive and grating sound. Robert, on the other hand, believes it to be charming. Of course he does, as he can sleep right through it. He is still curled into himself, snuggled beneath the blankets as the piper continues his song. Cora feels like he might be just beneath her window, and she wonders how angry Susan would be if she dumped a pitcher of water over the young man's head. Not entirely fair, he's just doing his job after all, but it is such noise.
When the sound of the pipes finally fades to blessed silence, Cora sits up and glances at Robert's face. She cannot stifle the grin and she rests her cheek on his shoulder and watches him sleep. He is so relaxed and even in slumber she can see he is pleased. The sight of him stirs her heart to a faster rhythm and she knows it's time to wake him. They don't have long before the pipes will begin again to call them to breakfast, so she leans forward and coos to her husband.
"Welcome to the highlands..." For a moment she thinks he is going to pout, as he curls his arms tighter around himself. And then his blue eyes flutter open and already a smile is lighting his face.
"I fell asleep." He says, and there is wonder in his tone. "Before..."
"Before." Cora confirms, and she is tripping her fingers up and down his arm. He slowly unwinds himself from the ball he's in and rolls onto his back.
"That's never happened before." He almost looks abashed, and she considers making light of his age. She thinks better of it, still feeling their detente is rather new and would be damaged if she were to wound his ego on this day of all days.
"It was a long trip." Cora says noncommittally, and she watches Robert watch her fiddle with the top button of her dressing gown. "And you were so excited."
"But it's tradition..." He trails off as the gown slips off her shoulder. He is chewing lightly at his lower lip and his gaze tracks to her lips.
Cora raises an eyebrow at him and pauses in her undressing. When he finally registers her expression, he begins to hurriedly shed his own pajamas.
Cora is not nearly as tied to tradition as her husband. He seems to thrive on the idea of doing the same thing for centuries, whereas Cora loves adventure. After all, she told him once. Wasn't picking up and moving across the Atlantic the ultimate adventure? In this way, she has compromised more than he. The family would function the same as they had always done, and she would keep her counsel.
There was one tradition she did not mind, however, and it is because they began it together.
When they are finally nude, they press together tightly, Cora practically crawling to straddle Robert's hips. Hot mouths seek one another, and their tongues tangle playfully.
With determination, Robert rolls them until she is beneath him and he is settled between her gripping thighs.
When he slides inside her, she feels complete. She guides him, varying the speed of his thrusts, with palms over the swell of his rear. Her nails dig in to goad him faster, and her lips latch to his throat, tracking her tongue over the sweet roughness of his stubble. Laughter, sweet happy laughter, fills the room as they christen it.
She knows he is the only tradition she will ever need.
"You're late." Susan says critically when they show for breakfast. It is only a handful of minutes and both Cora and Robert agreed it was well worth it.
"Just taking care of some last minute details as we settle in." Cora confirmed, seating herself across from Robert. He remembers the days when their lovemaking left her cheeks stained with embarrassment. It is almost better now, her quiet confidence, as she cannot find the will to be ashamed of what they've done.
"I thought you were all unpacked last night?" Edith asks, and completely misses Mary's wince.
"Oh, we were." Robert says, giving Cora a sideways smile. "Just a little tradition to see to."
He pauses, takes a bite of toast, reconsiders. "Well, not little."
Matthew actually snorts aloud. Mary giggles into her napkin. Edith rolls her eyes. Susan looks as though she's lost her appetite. Only Shrimpie seems not to care.
After that, breakfast is a subdued affair.
-fin-