Stealing Midnight

by Tracy MacNish

  Mira set herself to the task of closing the journals, placing them back into the trunk, and turning the lock with an authoritative click. Keeping the key in her possession, she snapped her fingers and pointed to the leather-bound chest. “Harry, carry this out of here when we’re finished, and I want it borne away from this manor to the place we discussed. You’ll consider this as valuable as your position with my family.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Harry said quickly.

  The room fell quiet as Mira turned her complete attention to Olwyn. The smaller woman folded her hands together and held them just beneath her breastbone. She gazed upon Olwyn, her blue eyes assessing and watchful.

  In Olwyn’s heart she knew what she had to do. It galled her to capitulate, but stubbornness wasn’t worth causing pain to people for whom she cared so very deeply.

  “I’ll go,” she whispered.

  Mira smiled brightly. “Excellent choice, Miss Gawain. Brilliant.” She took another look at the time and her voice became efficiently businesslike. “Let’s get started. We’ve plenty to do for the final preparations.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  As Olwyn walked the corridors back to her rooms, she heard noise from the lower level, loud, deep male voices, the soft murmurs of females speaking, and the rushing footsteps of servants as they attended to their tasks. She heard the baying howls of hounds, and smelled melting beeswax and a freshly extinguished candle.

  The men had finished their search for the night. That meant they’d either captured or killed Rhys Gawain, or would resume their search in the morning.

  Olwyn didn’t know which to hope for.

  Turning around, she gave a final glance back to Mira, who stood at her open door. Mira held up her hand with three fingers raised, and a victorious smile curved her lips.

  Olwyn quickly turned, and rushed away. Mira’s gesture indicated three o’clock in the morning, the time Olwyn was to slip out the eastern door of the manse, through the servants’ exit. There, Harry, Mira’s manservant, would be waiting. Harry had volunteered to be part of the night watch that would patrol the manor. He would take Olwyn to a waiting carriage, and would escort her to the docks.

  Olwyn wiped her damp palms on the skirt of her gown as she approached the top of the large curving staircase. Down below she caught sight of Aidan as he stood speaking with Padraig and Rogan. His hair shone darkly gold in comparison to the other two men, his posture relaxed, and his expression composed.

  He didn’t have the look of a man who’d just taken another’s life, she thought with a sense of relief.

  Aidan stopped talking and turned as if he could feel her gaze upon him. His sapphire eyes traveled up the stairs until he spied her. He grinned at her, and she felt it down to her toes and up to the tips of her ears.

  No murder, his smile said. No worries.

  Olwyn felt ill. Her leaving would hurt him, her staying would hurt him.

  Aidan said a few more words to his father and brother before taking the steps two at a time, his cloak flaring out behind him, exposing his pistol belt and sword. He looked like a black-winged Adonis, his body armed for war, his face as handsome as an angel.

  On the landing, he grabbed both her hands in his. His brow crinkled, and his eyes grew concerned. He brought her hands to his lips, held them palm up, and kissed them both, one at a time. “Cold and damp. Have you been afraid all day?”

  “Aye,” she whispered.

  “All is well, my love.” His deep voice was soft and reassuring, and full of such caring it broke her heart. “We had the hounds sniff the ground where Chase was to gain your father’s scent, and we ran them all over the property. We went through all the fields, the entirety of the woods, and along the shore. If your father were still on the premises, the dogs would have scented him. So rest easy tonight, Olwyn love. You’re safe here, and even though ’tis not likely Rhys is near, we’ll secure the property and will have watchmen and the dogs on patrol.”

  Three a.m., her mind whispered.

  “There wasn’t a trail of his scent in the wood?” Olwyn asked.

  “A bit. The dogs followed it out to the road that leads back to town for a while before they lost it.”

  Uneasiness settled in Olwyn’s belly, cold and fluttering with tetchy nerves. “How could he have disappeared so quickly, and on foot?”

  “We think he isn’t,” Aidan replied simply.

  “He has no money for a horse.”

  “He could have stolen one.”

  “I suppose.”

  He assessed her carefully. “Still afraid.”

  “Aye,” she said shakily. Afraid of leaving, afraid of staying, afraid of never seeing his face again.

  Those sapphire eyes didn’t leave hers. A long moment passed and he said, “I’m sad for Chase, and I’ll miss him forever, but what happened…Olwyn, I don’t blame you in the slightest, and I don’t want you to blame yourself. You suffered at your father’s hands for far too long, and I don’t want you to suffer another day, do you hear me? Not another day, my love. You suffered enough, aye? You’ve suffered enough.”

  “I can’t bear it.” Tears threatened to consume her. “I keep seeing him in my mind, again and again.”

  “I know,” he said gently. “But I rode long and hard today, and I had plenty of time alone with my thoughts.”

  “What did you think of?”

  “You. Me. My life here, my family. Chase. And then I thought of you some more,” he said with a smile. “Chase was a good dog, and he died doing what he was born to do—guarding us all. He died in service like a soldier, in a war he didn’t declare, and in a fight that wasn’t fair. But he was out there in the woods because it was his duty, and while he was with me, I treated him well, I loved him, and that’s all I could have done.

  “At the core of myself, I’m just a man, Olwyn. A Mullen, aye, and possibly a duke someday, but all that doesn’t matter in the end. I’ll live my life as it is, and I’ll do what I was born to do: be a good man, love my family, make a life, take a wife, and love her well. I’ll do those things, and if I live my life that way, I’ll die happy. With you at my side. All those things, with you at my side.”

  How much pain could a heart take and keep on beating? she wondered. He spoke of his future and the happiness she brought him, and pieces of her died, bit by bit, until she was certain she would disintegrate into a pile of dust.

  “Aidan,” she whispered. “Lóchrann.” Knowing how he hated her silences, it was all she could say.

  “Did you eat anything all day?” he asked with concern. She shook her head to the negative and he laughed softly. “’Tis no wonder you look beside yourself. Let me call up a tray for you.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I’ll feed you,” he said, and he pulled her close to the shelter of his body. He felt warm and hard, and he smelled like spice and musk, horses and leather. “I’ll sit you on my lap and give you tiny morsels.”

  “No, truly. I have no appetite.” Except for you, she added silently. For you I have insatiable hunger.

  “Olwyn,” he said gently. One word. Her name. And he filled it with so much emotion that her knees grew weak.

  She knew he wanted to take care of her, to ease her in any way he could, and she didn’t have the strength to deny him anything. It would be their last night together, she realized with another sharp pang of pain. “All right, Lóchrann. Perhaps a bite or two would do me good.”

  He gave her hands a squeeze. “Good. Now let’s get you settled.”

  As he led her toward the direction of his chambers, she resisted. “Your brother already thinks I’m…”

  “The rest of the world be damned. This is my home, and I want you with me.” Aidan sent her a sidelong glance and added, “We’ve both had a hell of a day.”

  That, Olwyn decided, was as true a statement as had ever been uttered.

  She went willingly.

  After all, she thought, the hour had scarcely passed ten. She had only five
hours left with him. She wouldn’t waste a second of them.

  By the time Aidan finished building the fire, a knock at the door heralded a large tray brought up from the kitchens. Cheeses, breads, sweets, and sliced meats had been artfully arranged alongside dried fruit and seasoned oysters, the latter of which made Aidan laugh.

  He pushed the oysters aside, and with a grin he said, “I don’t think I’ll ever eat these again.”

  “Did they make you ill?”

  “Aye, very,” he replied.

  Aidan lit candles, poured them each a small glass of whiskey, and withdrew a blanket from his bed. Taking her hand, he led her over to the fire where he’d placed the tray on a low table. He took a seat in a comfortable armchair, took Olwyn onto his lap, and pulled the warm blanket over her.

  He cradled her like a child, his strong arms around her, his hard thighs surprisingly comfortable. “No one has held me like this since I was a girl,” Olwyn said shyly.

  “Who held you? Your mother?”

  “Aye. Just like this, by the fire, beneath a blanket. Me on one knee, my brother on the other, curled against her in the big rocker. She’d tell us stories.” Olwyn leaned against his wide chest and lay her head in the hollow just below his collarbone. She fit against him as if his body had been made for hers.

  “You’ve missed her deeply.”

  “I have. I do, still. When I’m ill or afraid, I miss her.” Like now, Olwyn thought, when faced with a horrible decision and feeling completely alone. “I wasn’t so bad a child, I don’t think.”

  “Of course you weren’t.”

  “But she left me behind, just the same. One evening she kissed me goodnight, and in the morning she was gone. Just like that.”

  “No note?”

  “Nothing. But I remember that when she came to my bed to say goodnight, she’d looked sad and tired. She spent a lot of time sitting on the side of my bed, smoothing my hair, touching my face. ‘Always know you’re a special girl,’ she’d said.”

  “I have to agree with her there.” Choosing a small piece of cheese from the selection, he held it to her lips. “As promised.”

  Olwyn ate from his fingertips, a strange and wonderful sensation. The subtle flavor had heavy notes of cream and the essence of apricot and salt, and it made her realize that she was, in fact, quite hungry.

  “You’re beautiful,” Aidan said, watching her. “I’ve never seen a woman who could make eating look like an art form. I could get addicted to feeding you.”

  “I’d grow fat.”

  He picked up a fig and fed it to her, and the flavor melted on her tongue, chewy, sticky, sweet.

  “Fat with child, someday,” he said softly. “Would you like that, Olwyn?”

  “I don’t know, actually. I’ve never held a baby, much less cared for one.” She recalled the red-faced, squalling babies riding their mothers’ hips in her village, eyes squeezed shut as they gave loud voice to their displeasure. “They cry a lot, no?”

  “They do, a bit. But they laugh a lot, too. Have you heard a baby laugh, Olwyn?” She shook her head, no, and Aidan chuckled low and deep. “That alone is worth the trouble.”

  Aidan fed her more, bites of cheese and fruit, bread and morsels of meat. When she was finished he handed her the glass of whiskey he’d poured for her, and took up his own. They drank in companionable silence, wrapped in the blanket before the flickering fire, and Olwyn knew that for the rest of her life she would recall that particular moment as truly, completely perfect.

  The whiskey was like Aidan himself, balanced, mellow, complex, and strong. The amber fluid slid down her throat and heated her body and her blood.

  In a few hours she would leave this beautiful man behind, and would never see his face, hear his voice, or feel his warmth again. The injustice of having to give up Aidan so soon after finding him struck Olwyn as fundamentally unfair, for she’d had just enough of a taste of happiness to know she’d crave him for the rest of her life.

  So she’d seize what little she had left of him.

  “Lóchrann,” she whispered. “I am ready to go to bed with you.”

  She heard his breathing stop, felt his muscles tense.

  He’d told her before he would not take her unless they were wed, so she added, “Handfast with me. For a year and a day, in the ancient tradition.”

  She shifted in his lap so she could look up into his eyes. They reflected the firelight, the way they had when they’d been alone in the stone hut. Reaching up, she slid a finger along his jaw, feeling the bristle of his incipient beard. “You are now, and shall always be, the only man I will love. That is my vow, as sacred as any ever made, though it be unsanctified.”

  He regarded her with a strange expression, one she’d never seen before. He looked emotional, caught off guard, and yes, he looked hurt, and deeply. His words betrayed the latter. “A year and a day, Olwyn? Are you looking for something temporary?”

  “It’s the traditional vow,” she said weakly, knowing that he could likely feel and hear the brewing tears in her voice. “I want you,” she continued in a broken voice. She swallowed and added, “Tonight.”

  “Not forever?”

  “I do want you forever,” she said, and the truth of those words, combined with the dishonesty contained within them, made her heart break and her soul sick. But she didn’t stop there. Hating herself for using his words against him, she said, “Did you not tell me that the only time we have is now. The past is gone. The future is unknowable. We have tonight, Lóchrann. It’s the only time there is.”

  He studied her for a long while, his face inscrutable. Olwyn wondered what he thought of her bold proposal and her bawdy admissions, but she didn’t dare ask. Instead, she held silent, mentally cursing Mira Kimball, her petty insecurities, and her cold, calculating heart that had brought Olwyn to this place.

  “The very first day I woke and met you,” Aidan began, “I thought I’d gone through time somehow, and I mistook you for an ancient Celt of some sort, one of the auld folk.” He laughed a bit, a rueful, embarrassed sound. “And there you were, more unearthly beautiful than any woman I’d ever lain eyes upon. I wanted you then, wanted my imagining to be true. I wanted to disappear into that new life with you, handfast with you, and make you mine.”

  “Were you disappointed to find out who I really was?”

  “No,” he said with a mix of tenderness and exasperation. “Olwyn, you’ve been more real to me than anyone I’ve ever met. I had to die to become alive, to come fully awake and see my life for what it was. Most of all, to see myself for what I could be.”

  Her heart was full, and yet it was broken. This was the best part of his loving her, she thought, when he gave her pieces of himself he didn’t show anyone else, little gifts more valuable than gold. “What could you be?”

  “Happy,” he whispered, and his arms grew tighter around her, like a wordless promise that he would keep her in his arms forever.

  She cupped his cheeks in her palms, and spoke her truest feelings. “Cariad, dw iń dy garu di,” she told him softly. Darling, I love you. She knew he wouldn’t understand the words, but needed her own tongue to give her heart its proper voice. “Mi caraf chwi boll galon.” I love you with all my heart.

  Aidan seemed to know what she meant, for he answered her in Gaelic. “A chuisle, tá mé chomh mór sin I ngrá leat.”

  “Take me, Lóchrann. Take me to wife, and then take me to bed.”

  Aidan rose with her still in his arms, carrying her as if she were weightless. His easy strength never failed to amaze her, for it was not so long ago that his strong body succumbed to an illness so great it rendered him nearly lifeless.

  He set her down near the fire’s hearth, and bade her to wait. Crossing the room quickly, he opened his armoire and rummaged for a minute before returning to her side. In his hand he carried a small pouch, a gold chain, a silk cravat, and the cashmere tie from his robe.

  “Give me your left hand,” he said.

  O
lwyn lifted her trembling hand and put it in his wide palm. His skin was warm and calloused, and his hand enveloped hers.

  He took the tie of the robe and began winding it around their clasped hands and wrists, binding them together. His eyes held hers as he said, “This is made of wool, so we will always be warm. ’Tis also elemental, of the earth and the land we live on. Let this be symbolic of our need for each other.”

  He did the same with the silk cravat. “Silk is soft but is quite strong, is difficult to tear but is easily cut. Let us always remember that as strong as our love is, we must be careful with it, and also with each other.”

  He finished with the chain, wrapping it around them in a shimmering bond of gold. “It is rare, this metal, like our love. ’Tis purified and worked and wrought through fire, made into a thing of beauty that is unique. Gold is valuable, but only to those who desire to own it, and the truest measure of its value is assigned by the people who have it, and the people who want it. Let’s forever know that our love has only the value that we assign it, and let us always make certain we count it as the most precious thing between us, something that cannot be bought or traded or sold. Also, we’ll let this gold that binds us symbolize the riches we bring each other, for wealth cannot protect us from loneliness, or bring us love. What we have between us makes us rich, Olwyn.”

  Olwyn studied their clasped, bound hands, and a scalding tear escaped her control, for in a few hours she would rip their vows apart.

  “You look awfully sad for a happy bride.”

  “I love you, Lóchrann. Beyond my own life, I love you.”

  Something flickered in his eyes, like the flame of a lantern’s wick being turned up. “I vow I will love you, Olwyn Gawain, cherish you, hold you, and keep you safe, until death parts us.”

  “A year and a day,” Olwyn breathed. “The handfast vow is a year and a day.”