Highlander - Donna Lettow [64]
“You know what else I like about that star, Miriam? That no matter what happens, she’ll still be there. The Nazis will be gone a thousand centuries and Polaris’ll still be shining, leading people home.”
Miriam said nothing, lost in her own thoughts, lost in the stars. After a while, MacLeod pulled out his watch, checked the time. Still nearly four hours until the Germans were expected. And if there was one thing he had learned, the Germans would be punctual. He closed the watch and slid it back in his pocket.
“I would have been twenty in June,” Miriam said so quietly he barely heard her. He couldn’t tell if she meant to speak to him or just to the stars.
“Miriam, you can’t think that way,” he protested.
She continued on as if she hadn’t heard him. “I wanted to go to University. Maybe study philosophy. Kant and Buber. Hegel …” She paused for a moment, apparently deep in thought, then asked, “Do you think that’s silly, Duncan? For a woman to study philosophy?”
“No, of course not.” He took her hand in his, rubbing it in encouragement. He knew that listening was the best way he could help her now.
Miriam kept on looking at the sky. “I used to dream that maybe I’d meet someone there, someone sophisticated, an intellectual—maybe even a poet. And he’d love me. We’d travel, we’d go all over the world together, see everything together.” MacLeod could hear the tears coming, although she was trying her best to hide them. “Paris is very beautiful, isn’t it, Duncan?”
“Yes, it is,” he whispered, “very beautiful.”
“I wanted to see Paris. I wanted to raise a family. I wanted to grow old with someone who loved me. Was that so much to ask? And now—” Her voice broke and she swallowed a sob.
MacLeod put his arm around her shaking shoulders. “Miriam, you don’t know that.”
She finally turned from the sky to look at him, her eyes bright with tears. “We die their way or ours, Duncan. That’s the choice. You know what we’re up against. There are no provisions for winning.” She was vehement. “Either we’re led like sheep to the ovens or we go down fighting, but there’s not an option left for living. Not anymore. Not in this lifetime.” MacLeod watched her face as she fought to control the anger and frustration, but it was too much. She hung her head in her hands and finally allowed the strength of her sobs to overwhelm her. “Sometimes … I just wish … I’d never been born…”
“Miriam, no …” MacLeod reached out to her, gathering her in his arms, and she melted into his chest, her tears anointing his shoulder as she wept. He stroked the back of her hair. “You can’t grieve for what hasn’t happened yet—what may never happen. You have to celebrate each moment you have been given, like it’s a gift from God.” His arms around her in a comforting embrace, he rocked her back and forth like a child.
“Some gift,” he heard her say in a small voice, but gradually the tremor of her sobs quieted until she lay still against his chest.
After a time, while he held her close listening to the sound of her breathing, Miriam stirred. She reached up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. She placed a kiss on the base of his throat.
“Miriam?”
Slowly, her lips traced the line of finely articulated muscle connecting shoulder and jaw.
“Miriam, what—” He drew in a sharp breath as her teeth brushed the sensitive area where his head joined his body, the vulnerable place that was his sole defense between life and everlasting death. Embolded by his reaction, Miriam sat up on her knees so she could bathe his face with her kisses. She tangled one hand in his hair and tilted back his head, kissing him hard on the mouth.
MacLeod pulled back—“Miriam, wait”—but her lips urgently sought his again. He grabbed her face with both hands and held her still in front of him. “What are you doing?”
“I want you to make love to me, Duncan.” Her voice was breathless, her eyes pleaded with him. “Please … I don’t want to die without knowing about love.” Her eager hands moved to