Stealing Midnight

by Tracy MacNish

  If he did not promise forever, she thought, perhaps he would not hate her for the rest of his life.

  “In the ancient custom, I take you as my wife for a year and a day,” he conceded, but his expression changed.

  Olwyn hurried to make her vow, grateful he couldn’t see into her soul, and read her treachery. “I, too, take you, Aidan Mullen, my Lóchrann of the darkness, as my husband. I vow I will love you and hold you dear, forsaking all others, for a year and day.” Forever, her heart screamed. I will love you forever.

  “Now we kiss,” he whispered.

  Over their clasped, bound hands, Aidan leaned forward and took her lips beneath his. His skin smelled faintly of fresh sea air and fire smoke, and his mouth tasted of whiskey and passion. She leaned into him, and as he pulled her lower lip between his, her legs grew weak. He traced the outline of her mouth with the tip of his tongue, and her breath caught in her throat. And then he deepened the kiss until she became dizzy and hot, damp with desire, overwhelmed with love.

  She clung to him as he pulled back, not wanting the kiss that sealed their vows to end.

  When Olwyn had been alone and lonesome, she’d dreamed of a wedding day she’d been certain she would never have. Imagining the gown, the flowers, the harp music, and her prince had been a fanciful distraction, a fantasy that Olwyn had perfected over years of meticulous, fruitless planning.

  And now, in the candlelit darkness with the fire warming them, their hands bound together with wool and silk and gold, she could not think of a single thing that would make the moment more perfect. She didn’t want a fancy gown, or a castle, or a prince. What she wanted was precisely what she had—a man who loved her for the person of her heart. On this, their wedding night, the music they moved to was their pulse, and the flowers that bloomed were hidden, a fragrant, secret garden that lived in the darkness of their souls.

  Aidan slowly unwound their binds and set them aside. “We’re supposed to exchange gifts, aye?”

  “I have nothing to give you.”

  He grinned and inclined his head toward the bed. “That’s generally what a bride brings, and as gifts go, I’ll admit ’tis my favorite.”

  “And along with that, brides bring a dowry,” she pointed out.

  “I’ve always thought dowries outmoded and a bit ridiculous, to be honest,” Aidan said. “I don’t need to be compensated for taking the woman I love to wife. I’m glad you come with nothing. It allows me to give you all I have.”

  “I don’t want anything but you. All the riches of the world are right here, before me.”

  “That may be so, but would you humor me, Olwyn?” Aidan opened the little pouch he’d taken from his armoire and upended it into his palm. Out slid a ring that caught the light of the candles and turned to sparkling fire.

  In his large, square-tipped fingers, he held the ring up for her inspection. It bore three diamonds in a row, each the size of a large pea. The setting itself was simple platinum with a touch of filigree.

  Olwyn eyed the ring as if it were about to explode. “I don’t have that much humor.”

  He laughed. “Aye, well, they’re maybe a bit on the large side, the diamonds.”

  “If by ‘large,’ you mean the size of hailstones.”

  “Very well, think of them like that. Like bits of ice that won’t melt.”

  Olwyn could scarcely breathe. “Lóchrann, I am a simple girl.”

  “Pardon me the observation, love, but there’s not a simple thing about you.” He held up the ring so it would catch more of the light, and it sparked in sharp flashes of blue and white.

  “These diamonds belonged to my great-great-grandmother, Elizabeth. Tomorrow I’ll take you to see her portrait; it hangs in the gallery. If you look, you’ll see she is wearing a bracelet set with six of these stones. Years ago, my grandmother, Camille, had the bracelet taken apart and the stones put into two rings, one for my future wife, and one for Padraig’s.

  “The day Grandmum gave these to us, I remember she smiled as she touched the stones. She told us that Elizabeth had been a woman of many secrets, and had a great passion for life. She also told us that we were to find a woman whose secrets were like a vault that only required the proper key to open, and who could teach us a few things about how to live life with great passion and no regrets.”

  Aidan lifted Olwyn’s hand, and as if he didn’t notice that she trembled like a child, he slid the ring onto her finger and grinned when he saw it was a perfect fit. “I think Grandmum will agree that I’ve done as she instructed.”

  The gems blazed with fire on her finger, and Olwyn couldn’t help but notice how beautiful her hand looked adorned with the jewels. It could have been the hand of a princess or a lady, and it boggled her mind that such a thing was happening to her at all.

  The clock on the mantel chimed eleven, marking the passage of another hour.

  Unable to keep her composure for another second, Olwyn threw her arms around Aidan’s neck, and buried her face into the hollow where his chest met his shoulder. She breathed deeply his scent, wishing she could pull his essence inside her and keep a part of him forever.

  Tears fell like rain, unbidden and unstoppable. Aidan smoothed her hair and shushed her in her ear, soft, meaningless sounds. When she continued to weep, he held her back a bit so he could see into her eyes.

  “’Tis just a ring. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want.”

  “Lóchrann…”

  He cupped her face in his hands, making her feel so small and delicate against his larger size and greater strength. Kissing her cheeks, he stole her tears, one by one, until she had none left. “I’ll drink your tears and take your pain. You make me happy, Olwyn. I want to do the same for you.”

  She reached up and took his cheeks in her hands and kissed him deeply, tasting her tears in his mouth, along with the traces of his whiskey.

  He pulled her against him and deepened the kiss. She felt his body grow hotter, harder, and felt the urgent press of him against her. She strained into the shelter of him, wanting him on top of her, inside of her.

  “Right here, Lóchrann, by the fire,” Olwyn whispered against his mouth.

  “The bed would be more comfortable for you. ’Tis sometimes painful for a woman, the first time.”

  Olwyn recalled the size of him, and knew it would probably hurt when he entered her. But her desire for him was burning and strong. “I don’t care about pain. I want you inside me, and I want you by the fire, just the way we were in the hut those nights when you held me close. I want to see you like that, my Lóchrann of the darkness, bathed in light.”

  “Very well,” he said softly. “But wait a moment and let me see to your comfort.”

  He went into his sleeping chambers for a bit and soon returned, his arms laden with pillows and thick fluffy quilts. He made a nest by the fire, poured them each a bit more whiskey, then returned to his rooms. When he came back, he wore a sheepish expression on his face as he held out his hand, palm up.

  She saw the small black lump, and laughed. “Stealing from me?”

  “I had Alice and Molly bring me a bit of your incense when they brought up your things from the cottage. But ’twas not stealing, exactly. I thought I’d keep it on hand in case you spent the night with me again.”

  “And here I am.”

  “Aye,” he said with a slow grin. “I’ll light it.”

  Olwyn sank down onto the cushioned floor and watched him. He moved with grace for such a large man, she thought as he found a small dish in which to set the incense. Using a thin piece of burning kindling, he lit the small fragrant lump until it burned. Aidan sat down before her, held up the tiny flame to her, and said, “Make a wish.”

  Olwyn smiled, closed her eyes, and wished fervently to never leave him. Opening her eyes, she blew on the incense softly, coaxing it to a red-tipped smolder. Thin, curling white smoke rose between them like a genie escaping from a bottle, and the room filled with the scents of amber and Tamil mi
nt, sage and sandalwood, cardamom and ginger. It was the smell of shadows and surrender, of lust and Lóchrann.

  His face was wreathed in smoke, his dark sapphire eyes lit with firelight and desire. He was, quite simply, the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.

  “Don’t tell me what you wished for,” he said, “or else it won’t come true.”

  “I wouldn’t risk it.”

  Aidan set the incense on the table and retrieved their whiskey. He held it up and made a toast. “To beautiful brides, handfasting, and wedding nights.”

  Olwyn held up her glass, clinked it to his, and made her own. “To princes who really do come for the girls who dare to dream.”

  They sipped until the last of it was gone, and dizzy from scotch and smoke, Olwyn leaned into him. “Now, Lóchrann. I don’t want to wait another second.”

  He pulled her to him, his skin scented with incense and fire smoke, with whiskey on his tongue and passion in his embrace. The fire cast light and heat in equal measure, the flickering flames bathing them in a glow of gold. His kiss was demanding, his body hard and hot, and Olwyn surrendered completely to him, melting against him like fire-warmed honey.

  Aidan’s clever fingers worked open her lacings, and soon he was pulling the garment from her shoulders. He slid her gown from her, and she laughed as she shimmied from its confines. Displaying a fair amount of knowledge in female garments and underpinnings, he soon had her completely nude and stretched out before him. He made fast work of his own clothes before sinking down to her side.

  His eyes swept over her, taking in her every detail, but she felt no shame. Instead it felt perfectly appropriate, intimate and elemental. She was woman and he was man, naked before the fire.

  “You are art,” he said reverently. “Were I an artist, I would paint you just so.” He ran a hand over her body and shrugged in a way that did not convey indifference. “Alas, I am without a brush. I’ll have to improvise.”

  He leaned over her feet, and starting at her toes, licked her skin lightly. She gasped and laughed a little, nervous laughter that was tight and charged with eroticism all at the same time.

  “Flesh the color of the inside of a seashell, pearly, creamy white, tinted with a kiss of pink,” he said. “Were I an artist, I would gratefully spend hours getting the shade of your skin just right.”

  His tongue slid up to her ankle, then her calf, and up to her knee, just in the crook.

  Olwyn’s breath went shallow, and there was no more laughing, for he licked up higher, mid-thigh, and she well recalled the feel of his tongue between her legs, like liquid flames that burned her to ashes.

  “Were I an artist,” he whispered, his breath hot on her skin, “I would spend an eternity trying for the shade of sable between your legs, the silky black softness of it, the pink of you there. I would spend a lifetime, and not a second would be wasted.”

  His tongue passed over her center, as he’d done before, and she cried out as her blood turned to fire and lightning filled her vision. He moved higher, to her navel, and then further up, stroking her ribcage, and then her breasts. He licked the tips of her nipples, and beyond her control her body arched into him.

  “Pink the color of strawberries submerged in champagne,” he murmured. “Were I able to capture such beauty, I would be immortalized as one of the masters. But I am just a regular man, and despite the beauty of my muse, I have no talent with brushes and oils.”

  His tongue moved to her neck, and he kissed the soft nape behind her hair until her toes curled and her body grew limp. Kissing his way back down the length of her, he stopped at the apex of her thighs. He glanced up to her, grinned in a way that was wicked and darkly male, and said, “I suppose I’ll just have to work with what I have.”

  “To hell with brushes,” Olwyn said softly. Her blood was on fire for his touch and her fingers itched for the feel of his body beneath her hands. She returned his grin with a raise of her brow. “But beware, Lóchrann, for I’m also possessed of artistic mediocrity. I, too, shall have to make due.”

  “That’s a promise,” he said, before dipping his head lower.

  That magical tongue moved over her once more, and with her head full of incense and her body strung like a musical instrument, he made her as weightless as smoke, and her cries were his melody.

  Just before she burst into flame, he lowered himself over her. His blunt flesh probed her, and she opened to him, welcoming him into her body. He felt so heavy and strong, and she clung to him as he slid inside her, fitting deeper and tighter and fuller than she could have ever imagined.

  “You’re inside me,” she breathed.

  “A bit.” His breathing had gone shallow and she felt the tension in his muscles as if he held himself back at great cost.

  “There’s more?”

  “Aye.” Aidan chuckled a little, a deep, breathy sound. “Am I hurting you?”

  Olwyn held him tighter. “I want all of you.”

  Aidan made a throttled noise, and he pushed inside her until she cried out.

  He froze.

  “Is there more?”

  “Sorry, love.”

  She laughed, out of pain and pure happiness combined. “Just finish it.”

  With another thrust he was buried inside her, and Olwyn squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. She’d wanted it to be a beautiful memory she could take with her, but instead it felt as if he were ripping her in half.

  With a muscular flex of his body, he withdrew himself and reached down between her legs, his finger once again finding the spot that felt like fire and lightning. And when she was once again squirming for something she couldn’t name, he moved between her legs again.

  She tensed.

  “This time it’ll be better,” he promised, and he kissed her lips and eyelids and nose and chin as he slid back inside.

  It hurt less than before, and he found a rhythm that made strange licks of heat curl in her body, making her think of incense smoke rising. He moved slowly at first, and soon she began to feel the build of something deeper in her body. Once again it was quickening, a burgeoning and blossoming.

  She cried out again, but not in pain. She moved, not knowing what to do but trying to match his pace. He groaned, and female power surged in her veins. Growing braver, she slid her hands down his back and cupped his round bottom, feeling the flex and strain of him as he rode her.

  And she was like Salome, risen from the smoke to gyrate and entice a man with her hips. Olwyn moved and he groaned again, even as pleasure, deep and visceral, speared her. She clenched her hands, gripping him, and he made another sound of pleasure.

  It was magic, this giving and taking of pleasure while being joined with the man she loved.

  “You feel like heaven must,” he murmured. “So good, love. So, so good.”

  Pressure and pleasure built inside her until she felt as if she would laugh and cry all at once. It became a driving force, swirling like an eddy in which she felt she might drown. “Lóchrann?”

  “Aye, love. Aye.”

  And he moved again, a hard thrust that sent her into the darkness where there was no light or air or sound that was anything more coherent than a cry of complete abandon.

  She felt his muscles bunch, and he groaned and gave way to his own release with a few heavy pulses deep within her.

  He leaned his forehead on hers, filmed with sweat, and his breathing was heavy and harsh. It slowly returned to normal, and with him still inside her, he pressed soft kisses on her face.

  Aidan cuddled her close, put his mouth to her ear, and whispered, “And so for the beautiful, witchy Druid and her Lóchrann of the darkness, love had finally triumphed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The clock on the mantel chimed, signaling the time—half-past two. Reddish light spilled from the glowing cinders on the hearth, all that remained of the blazing fire.

  And as Olwyn looked to Aidan beside her, she knew the time had come to say good-bye.

  She c
urled close to his body, let his heat seep into her one last time. He slept, his breath rising and falling, deep and even. Studying his features, she memorized them as they were, a mental picture she would carry for the rest of her life. Lóchrann of the darkness, the strong bones in his face, his square jaw, and the way his eyelashes lay on his cheek, boyishly long, lighter at the root and darkly fringed at the tips.

  She slid like a wraith from the nest he’d made, pulled her shift over her head, and gathered the rest of her garments in a bundle. Stopping at the table, she reluctantly removed the ring he’d given her. It had been a pleasure to wear it, even temporarily, and for a few hours be marked as Aidan’s wife. Olwyn pressed a kiss to the diamonds, and laid the ring down beside the empty whiskey glasses.

  Aidan’s door opened without a sound, and as she closed it, she listened for one final moment to his breathing. Tears burned at her eyes, but she did not indulge them.

  She hurried through the dark corridors, her bare feet noiselessly skimming along the thick runners. When she reached her rooms, she was breathless. A glance at her timepiece—a quarter ’til three. Rushing, she pulled on her old garments, the long woolen gown with the belled sleeves, topped with a sleeveless outer mantle of smoky plum. She buckled her belt, slid in her dagger and her pistol, and braided her hair so it would keep from her face.

  Olwyn stuffed her meager belongings into a duffel bag, and left the garments Camille had purchased for her. Like the diamond ring, they were not hers.

  She caught a glimpse of herself in the looking glass as she left, the silvery moonlight illuminating her in shades of gray, and saw herself as she used to be—a poor girl in a handsewn gown, moving through the shadows.

  The hour chimed three as she left the rooms behind, and once more she was soundlessly moving through the corridors, this time in the direction of the servants’ stairs. And when she emerged from the manse into the darkness, Harry was there. He took her arm and her satchel without a word, and rushed her away from the safety of the house.