Midnight Runner: A Novel

by Marilee Jackson

  Brian’s breathing became erratic as he ran, searching the small village. After slipping in the mud a few times he slowed his pace. He turned in every direction looking for his runaway family. He looked in every tree, bush, or shrub that he came to, determined that she wouldn’t slip through his fingers this time. Finally, on the other side of the village, he found her. She was stooping down and putting something on the ground.

  “This is best for you. I’m giving you the life I could never give you. I’m giving you something I have never had,” Moira whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She knocked on the door, and then she moved stealthily out of the yard and into the woods.

  Bile rose in Brian’s throat as he watched from a distance. He tried to move to get his daughter, but his feet were glued to the ground. He dropped to the ground on his belly as the front door opened a crack. A woman in a white nightgown appeared in the doorway with a candle. She was a gentle-looking woman, with long blonde hair and an average build. She looked down and inhaled sharply as she saw the freezing infant.

  “Hello!” she called, scanning the horizon around the yard. “Is anyone there?” When no one answered, she quickly scooped up the child and closed the door to the cold night air.

  Brian ran to the front window of the house and peered inside. A tall man with red hair had joined the woman in the front room of the house.

  “Where did she come from?” he was asking his wife.

  “No one was out there. She was all alone. The poor thing can’t be more than a day old,” she said as she rocked the small infant in her arms.

  “Mary, she has to belong to somebody.”

  “If she belonged to somebody who wanted her, she wouldn’t have been at my front door. I think she is a gift from God. We have been praying and hoping for a child for so many years, Gerry. Why does it matter how she came to us?”

  “What are we going to do with a baby?” The redheaded man had started to stroke the baby’s head.

  “We are going to love her and provide her with everything she needs. She’s a beautiful little miracle.”

  “I’ll go get some milk from the goat.” Gerry walked away from his wife. The woman wiped away a tear as she hummed softly to the little girl in her arms.

  “Thank you, dear Lord. Thank you!” she whispered to the ceiling.

  Brian turned and walked toward the edge of the village. The baby would be happier here. Here she would have a mother and a father who would love and take care of her. Unsure he would ever find love again, he knew this was God’s will for his daughter. Wiping away his tears, Brian turned and blew a kiss to the daughter who would never know him.

  15

  Alone in the woods, nothing but darkness in every direction, Moira forced herself to move, one foot in front of the other. She turned around to go back for her daughter. Shaking her head, she spun around and took two steps, then stopped.

  Shame filled Moira. She knew firsthand that children needed love and someone to care for them. Images of the Bards flooded her guilty conscience. She shook her head, trying to clear away the nightmare. She had watched the couple for several weeks, and they were nothing like Moira’s foster family. She began walking again, worn out from the events of the day.

  Her fear that Brian would find her had finally come true. He looked so dreadful and it was all her fault. Tears sprang anew at the memory of him passed out in the street. She involuntarily stopped walking and dropped into the underbrush, the damp leaves feeling good against her flaming flesh. She sobbed until she slipped into a restless sleep.

  When she awoke several hours later, the sun poked through the trees on the east. Leaves and dirt clung to her hair and dress. In her sack were meager rations but she had no appetite. An emptiness overwhelmed her and food would not fill the void. Staying in the wilderness was not an option; she needed to make her way to Allail. The sound of running water came from her left. The river Tay led all the way to Allail, and she figured following the river was as good an idea as any.

  Moira followed the river for two days. At night she slept in piles of brush and began walking again when the sun came up. On the third day she walked until the sun began to dip down in the west, only stopping a few times to drink from the cool, crisp water. She drank from fatigue and not from desire; she no longer desired anything.

  As the sun disappeared into a pink twilight, she sat back on her knees and looked around the forest. It was still, no leaves rustling, no birds singing—just the sound of the rushing river lulling her toward unconsciousness. Excitement should have been pulsing within her—she was almost to Allail—but instead she felt numb. She plunged her head into the icy river just to see if she was still alive.

  Gasping and coughing, she flipped her soaked hair behind her. Her stomach growled and she decided she would take this time to eat for the first time since she left. She opened her sack and was removing some bread when her eyes caught movement on the opposite side of the river. She stopped and scanned the other bank. Something in the grass was glistening. She narrowed her eyes and leaned forward to get a better look. They were eyes. Several more pairs of eyes appeared, and Moira began to make out the silhouettes of several bodies. Her eyes widened in fear.

  “Wolves!” Moira gasped, dropping her sack and beginning to run. The river splashed as the wolves began to pursue her. She could hear them growling a few yards behind as they began to close the gap. Outrunning them was not an option. She looked around for anything that could help. It was becoming more difficult to see with the sun going down. Moira jumped at the nearest tree and grabbed a low branch. Pulling herself up, she began to climb as fast as her aching muscles would allow.

  Rushing up the tree, her pace slowed as she neared the middle. The wolves were pacing and circling her. Sucking in a breath, she settled in to wait for them to leave. Sleeping in a tree is probably safer anyway. Sitting down on a branch Moira could hear the wolf growling as it scraped its paws against the lowest branch. In horror she watched as the wolf jumped up onto a branch and put its paws onto the next branch up. Scrambling to her feet, Moira climbed higher in the tree. Nothing could be seen in any direction. It was fully dark. The tree began to sway as she got closer to the top. Breathing became difficult as she wrapped her arms tightly around the truck. Looking around the empty woods, Moira prayed for a miracle.

  “Help! Help me!” Moira screamed. The only answer was howls from the wolves. A deafening boom rang through the forest followed by a thud as the wolf in the tree fell lifeless to the ground. The other wolves froze slightly before disappearing into the night. There was a second shot and Moira held her breath, waiting.

  “Hello?” asked an unfamiliar voice. She covered her mouth with her hands.

  “Moira, is that you?” he asked.

  “Y-y-yes,” she whispered. “Who are you?”

  “I‘m a friend. You can come down. I won’t hurt you.” Certain she had no other choice, she started down the tree. On the ground Moira came face-to-face with the coin purse man.

  “You?” she asked, eyeing the shotgun he held in his hand. “How did you find me?”

  “I’ve been looking for you for quite some time.”

  “I don’t want to go back to the Bards. Please, I’m begging you! Don’t make me go back! They’re awful.” She began to sob.

  “I’m not here to take you back to the Bards. I don’t work for the Bards. I work for your father. I’m here to take you home.” He offered her his hand. Moira took a step back from the proffered hand. Confusion knitted her eyebrows together. She shook her head and took another step back.

  “You’re lying. I don’t have a father.” She didn’t trust anybody that had dealings with the Bards.

  “Everyone has a father, dear.” He put his hand out to her again. “You may not know him, but I assure you, he is real.”

  “My father?” Moira asked. “Who are you?”

  “My apologies, dear. How rude of me. I am Squire Drustan, at your service.” The man put his hand on his heart a
nd offered Moira a bow.

  “What do you mean you work for my father? You’re a squire? But squires work for . . .” Shaking her head, she backed up a little more.

  “My lady, your father is Lord Conell of Allail. I have been searching for you for months. You have been most difficult to find,” he said with a smile.

  “That was kind of the point,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “When people run away, they don’t want to be found.”

  “Fair enough.” Squire Drustan laughed. “But since I have found you, would you like to meet your father?” The squire held open the door of a carriage and offered his hand to assist her into the plush seat.

  “Lord Conell?” she asked, her head reeling. “You must have the wrong girl. My mother was a commoner. I remember my mother. Why wouldn’t she tell me that my father was a lord?”

  “It’s complicated, my lady. But I promise I’ll tell you everything if you come with me.” He motioned toward the open carriage door. Moira looked at the carriage, at the squire, and then back at the carriage. Her head ached and her stomach growled. Turning around she looked in the direction the wolves had gone. Not wanting to see if they would come back, Moira took the squire’s hand and let him help her into the carriage.

  Once they were seated, the carriage lurched forward. “Okay, so tell me. What is my father’s excuse for leaving and why didn’t my mother know he was a lord?” Moira said.

  “He didn’t exactly tell your mother his real identity. First of all,” he said, looking directly into her eyes, “I need you to know, he loved you and your mother dearly.”

  “Then why did he leave us?” Moira interrupted.

  “Well, that is a long and complicated story.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. You have plenty of time to tell me what you know,” Moira said.

  “You see, your father was betrothed to another woman. The match was made by his parents. They thought joining with her family would be lucrative for both of their futures. However, when Lord Conell met his betrothed for the first time, he was . . . um . . . let’s say, less than impressed. So he ran.”

  “Isn’t it normal for royalty to have arranged marriages?”

  “It is, but Lord Conell was, um, a little hardheaded when he was younger. He didn’t want to be told what to do.” The squire smiled.

  The scars on Moira’s back served as proof that that was a family trait. The Bards had tried, and failed, to beat it out of her.

  “Well, your father told no one but me of his plans. He left Allail and went to Trom. He kept in touch with me the whole time he was away.”

  “You didn’t tell his parents?” Moira asked. “You must be very loyal.”

  “I am loyal; your father treats me like family. So I know how he felt about your mother. I truly believe he would have stayed with the two of you if his parents hadn’t found him. He didn’t want his parents to find out about you. He wasn’t sure what they would do to cover his, uh, indiscretion.”

  “If you’re the only one who knew where he was, how did his parents find him?” Moira asked.

  “I kept the letters he sent me. I will regret that for the rest of my life. Lord Conell has forgiven me. He is very gracious, but I will not forgive myself.”

  “So Lord Conell’s parents searched your things?” Moira asked.

  “They knew we were close.” Squire Drustan nodded. “It was a lucky guess.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “Anyway, he was forced to come back and marry Lady Avila. However, he never forgot about the two loves of his life. That is why he sent me once a month with a purse full of money. He never stopped supporting you. I assure you we were unaware, until recently, how awful the Bards treated you. If we had known, we would have moved you long ago.”

  Moira was trying to let this new information sink in. No way could she have ever guessed royal blood flowed in her veins. “How did you find out?”

  “Six months ago, Lady Conell passed away. Your father sent me to bring you home, only you weren’t there. For months when I came to bring your money, they made excuses. You were at the market or out for a walk. Then when I came for you, they couldn’t make any more excuses. Clearly they had no idea where you were. So it has been my sole mission to find and bring you home.”

  “So where are we going?” Moira asked. A dull ache was beginning at the base of her neck. The edges of her eyesight were beginning to sparkle and her vision narrowed. This was so much to take in. In a matter of minutes, her entire life changed. She left Trom a poor orphan and now she was Lady Moira Conell.

  “We are on our way—and almost there, I might add—to Conell Palace in Allail. There is, however, one more thing I must tell you before we get there,” Squire Drustan said. Picking at fuzz on his tunic, he refused to meet Moira’s eyes. Glancing at the curtain over one of the windows, Squire Drustan reached out and straightened it.

  “Oh, only one more thing, that’s all?” Moira snorted and rolled her eyes.

  “My lady, you also have a brother,” he said.

  Moira raised her eyebrows, then closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. Tears welled up in her eyes. Squire Drustan put his hand on Moira’s.

  Moira sniffed. “Go ahead.”

  “Don’t expect a warm welcome from him, or a loving relationship, for that matter. The young Lord Conell is exactly like his mother,” he said.

  “Is that a bad thing?” Moira asked.

  “Well, Lady Conell felt she was better than everyone else. Even though she and Lord Conell were the same social class, she still felt he was beneath her. She hated everyone, except her son. She raised him to be just like her.”

  “Oh, good,” Moira said flatly.

  “Young Lord Conell hates everyone and he will be quite upset when he finds out about you. Your mother was a commoner. Even though Conell blood flows in both of your veins, he will never see you as equal. I’m sorry to put it so bluntly, but there really is no way to put it nicely.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “How do I know that my father won’t feel the same way?” Moira asked.

  “I promise you your father is a good man. He sent me to find you. He is sorry every day that he left you. He didn’t have to support you and your mother after he left; he did that out of love. He tried with his son. He tried to raise him to be better than his mother. It didn’t matter how hard he tried. Young Lord Conell believed his mother was as close to perfection as anyone can be. To him, your father is nothing. He can’t wait to take over his position,” Squire Drustan said.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Moira asked, already scared of this brother she never met.

  “I’m telling you this because your brother is not someone you want to trifle with. He will stop at nothing to get you out of his way.”

  “Then why take me there? He sounds dreadful,” she said, chewing on her fingernails. She was beginning to think she should have stayed in the tree.

  “Young Lord Conell is away from home much of the time. When he was a child, he spent the summers with his mother’s brother, Lord Adair, in Dòmhail. He has, however, been there since her death.”

  “What happens when he comes home?” Moira asked.

  “As far as we know, he has no plan to return anytime soon. It is likely he won’t return until Lord Conell passes away. Your father is getting on in life, and he wants you with him. He wants to make up for the years he has spent away from you. He never gave up on someday bringing you home.”

  Moira was dubious. She had always thought her father was evil. That was what her mother had told her anyway. Until she met Brian, she thought men were all awful. Was it possible she had been wrong all these years? She lifted the curtain and looked out just as the carriage pulled into the beautiful city of Allail.

  “Welcome home, my lady. Welcome home.”

  Moira’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of the sleeping city. The buildings were larger than anything she had ever seen, and the roads were wide enough for tw
o carriages to pass at the same time.

  There were shops, taverns, and inns lining the streets. In the blacksmith shop, the fire was already glowing and Moira could see sparks from the banging hammer. Down the street was a dress shop with beautiful handcrafted gowns in the window. The carriage took them to the heart of the city, past a huge tower with a clock on top, and then up a grass-covered hill on the edge of a small stream.

  As the carriage slowly climbed the hill, a war was waging inside of Moira. She started rocking side to side and bouncing her feet. Her stomach cramped, her hands were sweaty and cold, and her chest was tight, restricting her breathing. Folding and unfolding her arms, she shifted her weight on the seat. She didn’t know what to expect or how to act.

  “My lady,” Squire Drustan said, breaking through her thoughts, “there is nothing to fear. You need never fear your father.” He gently eased her hand from her mouth. Moira was so lost in her head she hadn’t realized she was chewing on her nails. “You’re as beautiful as any lady I have ever met. Now you must learn to act just as beautifully.” He smiled warmly.

  “How will I ever learn? Most ladies have been trained since birth,” Moira said.

  “It will all come to you in time. It is in your blood. Your grandmother, Heaven rest her, was the most graceful lady in all of Talamh Glasosh.” Moira placed her hands in her lap neatly and folded them, one on top of the other. Squire Drustan nodded his approval.

  Moira closed her eyes as the carriage gradually came to a stop. She feared if she opened them that she would wake in the top of the tree still being hunted by wolves. She heard a soft creak as a footman opened the door. Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath and steeled her courage before stepping out of the carriage.

  The sun was rising behind the palace, lighting it as if it were made of fire. Everything was bathed in an unearthly orange glow, adding to Moira’s feeling of being in a dream. She tentatively stepped onto the gravel, taking in her new surroundings. Lush green grass dotted with large leafy trees surrounded her. To the left she could make out a forest border in the distance and to the right was a small stone chapel with a modest family cemetery. The palace towered above her. It was made of stone, three stories tall with large towers on either side of the mahogany double front doors. The right side of the edifice was covered, ground to roof, with a creeping emerald vine.