As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

- A Red, Red Rose - Robert Burns

John had heard countless stories about the Highland faeries as a boy. They appeared under a full moon, his grandmother said. Dancing in the glens when the dew formed, enticing men to give away their souls.

He never thought he'd end up marrying one.

Anna is flushed from cheek to breastbone and he's sure he's gawping like a bloody fool, but he can't stop. The summit of all joy, he thinks numbly.

"John?"

His reply withers away on his tongue. He's visited by a sudden, consuming desire to press his lips to the nape of her neck, where her hair has started to wisp loose.

Anna tugs him by the elbow into the main hall, her breathless joy shifting into amused concern.

"Why are you being funny?" She says. "You're not angry with me, are you?"

He fights to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

"Angry?" He manages. "Good God, no."

"I hope I haven't upset you, Mr. MacBates." She says. "I thought the sight of me reeling would make you smile."

Smile. She learned to dance while he wasn't looking purely to make him smile. He doesn't deserve her.

Rather than voicing this thought, he takes a deep breath past the lump in his throat.

"It does make me smile," he says finally. "But it also fills me with wonder."

"How so?"

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"That an old peg-leg like me should find himself married to a creature made of quicksilver and light." He says quietly.

She swallows hard, and blinks at him. Her lip wobbles and she dips her head self-consciously, smoothing out a non-existent crease in his jacket. Christ, he couldn't possibly love her any more.

He's only half joking when he suggests sneaking into the maids' quarters. Leaving her tonight may well cleave his soul in two. He wants to hold her and speak of how oppressive he finds the dark silence. He wants to kiss her by candlelight until she melts under him, her body languid in his arms. He wants to worship her, body and soul, with his hands and his tongue until the early hours.

Lady Rose's arrival interrupts his thoughts, but he remembers a conversation with the butler at breakfast, and an idea forms.

"Meet me downstairs when they've gone to bed," he murmurs. She looks confused and he finds it so endearing that he can't resist kissing her quickly on the cheek before he disappears back into the ballroom.

Much to Anna's relief, Lady Mary eventually relents to her husband's pleas and retires early. John is already waiting at the door when she arrives, a blanket over one arm and mischief in his eyes. He's missing his waistcoat and collar and his hair is loose. She loves this side of him, the Mr. Bates only she gets to see. John.

He produces a key from his waistcoat pocket and silences her with a finger to his lips when she opens her mouth. Offers her the arm that carries the blanket once they're outside. Locks the door behind him with a click, and leads her silently down to the little patch under the tree where they picnicked.

Anna leans on the tree as he spreads the blanket out on the grass with a flourish and gestures for her to sit. He shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. The heat is rising in her and she doesn't feel she needs it, but it's warm and it smells of him. Sweat. Boot polish. Lord Grantham's cologne. Something else nameless she's been chasing for years.

John settles himself carefully at her back, legs splaying out on either side of her, arms around her waist. He's rolled his shirtsleeves up. She rests her hands on his forearms and leans back into his embrace, snuggling against his chest.

"I've missed you," he breathes into her ear and lifts her chin with his fingertips. His lips are hot in the chill air and she makes a decidedly unladylike noise when his tongue slips into her mouth, dizzily clutching at his lapels. He rumbles low in his throat in response, almost a growl.

When he eventually releases her with a stuttering breath, it's all she can do not to whimper. He presses soft, unhurried kisses to the skin between her jaw and neck as she shivers, boneless against him.

"Let's just stay here tonight," she says dreamily, and she feels the laughter in his chest before she hears it.

"God, I want to," he says wistfully. His lips trail across the top of her head. "My bonnie lass."

Anna giggles, moving her hand to his knee and massaging it gently through his trousers.

"Tell me about your grandmother," she says. "Where was she from? Near here?"

"She was born in Aberdeen. I think she moved to Ireland when she was about sixteen and met my grandfather. I stayed with her a few times when she was back in Scotland. She came from a farming family. Heaven for a little boy."

"What was her name?"

"Agnes."

"Agnes Keith." An image of an old woman, not unlike his mother, among the heather and hills makes her smile. "It makes me feel very English. I think you suit Scotland much better than I do."

John grins. "Not tonight. You were magnificent."

"Do you really think so?"

He lifts her chin with his finger again and brushes her nose against hers. Her fingers trail up his inner thigh.

"You always are," he whispers, lips against hers.

It's much later when John folds the blanket over his arm, and Anna catches his hand before he can pick his cane up. He raises his eyebrows as she settles her other hand on his shoulder, but settles his open palm against her waist. The warmth of it makes her heart skip.

It's more swaying than dancing, really, but she doesn't care. The look of unabashed wonder and emotion on his face makes her feel like she's the only other person alive in the world.

If she is quicksilver and light, she decides, then he is black onyx and smoke, smouldering embers in the early morning, promising flames to lick at her skin and send heat through her very bones.

And she adores him. Oh, how she adores him.

She sighs into his mouth and wraps her arms around his neck as he kisses her deeply, swaying them gently in the eternal dusk.