"Mother wore trousers to church. I thought Father was going to have a fit of apoplexy right behind the pulpit."
Her parents had argued long into the night after that fiasco. Her mother declaring loudly and often that she couldn't keep up with what Muggles were currently wearing, having seen a lady wearing a pair in a fashion magazine and thinking it looked quite classy and comfortable.
"One of the church ladies quoted 'A woman shall not wear a man's garment,' right to her face," she told Dougal. They were on one of the many nature walks they taken together in the past few weeks. "I quoted right back to her, 'Judge not, that ye be not judged.'"
"You know what I love about you, Minerva? You're always so honest. You say exactly what you think."
She experienced a twinge of guilt. Certainly she was honest when she could be. The law kept her from revealing the one aspect of herself she hid from him. She told herself that it didn't matter. That he knew what was important about her. But a louder voice sometimes cried that it was important.
"Times are changing," he went on. "What makes it a man's garment if it was made for a woman? By that logic, we men would have to throw away our kilts if trousers are for men and skirts are for women."
She smiled, thinking of what Dougal would look like in a kilt. "There's no doubt they do make the trousers feminine, but there is something to be said for tradition and not making one's self into a spectacle, which was Father's issue. He argued with her back at home that she wouldn't have worn it to meet the queen, but knowing Mother, I rather think she would have."
He laughed loudly and merrily. "I'd like to meet your parents. They sound so amusing."
"That's one way of putting it," she said, purposefully ignoring the first part he'd said.
The lack of invitation didn't go unnoticed by Dougal. "Why won't you let me meet your parents? Is it because I'm Catholic?"
"No, of course not. Don't get me wrong. I don't think my father will be jumping up and down with joy that I'm not dating a good Presbyterian boy, but unlike some close-minded people, he knows we worship the same Lord and Savior."
"Well, why then?"
Why wouldn't she let him? The boys' didn't let their magic run wild like they had when they were younger, and other than the trousers incident, her mother seemed normal enough on the surface. They'd have to meet him sooner or later, but something kept her back from it. "I don't know. I suppose I want to keep you all to myself."
"That's as good a reason as any." He was staring at her with admiring eyes. It made her excited and embarrassed her a little at the same time.
He stopped to pluck a wild rose growing by the path. It was simpler than some roses, plainer, but still very pleasant to look at, and it smelled just as sweet. He stuck the pink blossom in her hair. "A Rosa acicularis. For my Scottish rose."
Her heart thrummed wildly at their close proximity. His soulful eyes pulled her in more than magic ever could, and before she knew it, they were kissing.
It was a quick and respectful kiss, more of a peck really. She wouldn't have tolerated a more passionate kiss before marriage, and Dougal knew her well enough to know that. The kiss communicated that he loved her and not that she was an object for his passions, but that didn't mean there wasn't passion. The light brushing of lips were enough to make her heart more fluttery than a dozen fairy wings.
"I love you, Minerva."
The words were sweet, but she had known it before he said it by his actions. "And I you, but I really must get home." She needed time to think about the kiss and him more than a need to obey a curfew.
"Where have you been?" her father demanded when she walked through the door.
Before she could answer, her mother jumped to her defense. "Robert, she's not a child anymore."
"She's my child," he insisted.
"She's also a good and sensible girl, and it makes it seem like you don't trust her when you grill her like a criminal the moment she walks through. She'll tell us in her own good time."
Did her mother have an inkling of her secret romance and was okay with it? Probably. She should have told her parents about Dougal then, but she didn't.
Behind the closed door of her room, she played every moment of the walk over again in her head, especially the last part of it. She didn't consider herself an overly sentimental person, but there was no denying she couldn't get him off her mind or that she spent an inordinate amount of time dreaming about a future with him. Maybe it was his droll quips or the stimulating conversation they shared over everything from philosophy to theology to science, but they connected somewhere in that realm known as love, and she knew without a doubt that he was the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.
She sat down at her small, oak writing desk, a scratched up hand-me-down from one of the parishioners and began penning a letter to her friend with quill and parchment.
Dear Pomona,
Don't laugh, but I'm in love. I think you'd like him. He knows as much about Muggle plants as you know about wizarding ones. I hope you get a chance to meet him soon.
