Love by the Stroke of Midnight

by Raven McAllan

Blinked. Pinched herself. It hurt, so she guessed she was awake.

  The place was nigh on immaculate. “Someone’s done a lot of work here,” she said slowly. “The last time I was here it was almost derelict. I’d been about to ask if I could move up and live here. Then—” She broke off, and really had a good look about the room which was eerily light from the falling snow outside. “Then, well, I didn’t.”

  The long room had been split in two. Windows were intact, the walls had been painted and several oil lamps were dotted about. The fireplace had been swept clean and a pile of dry kindling and a box of matches stood to one side of it opposite a curtained alcove with a big bed in it. A bed with blankets and pillows stored on it.

  Through an open door at the far end of the building, Marcail thought she could see something that could be a loo and a shower. A shower? In a lambing bothy that was no longer used? Why?

  “It’s been done up,” she said slowly. “Does someone already live here?”

  That awful thought gave her a lump in her throat.

  “I doubt it.” Paden swiftly set the kindling in the fireplace and lit it. “Have a close look around. I think it’s been made ready for someone though, don’t you?”

  Marcail did as he bade and gave the place a deeper, more thorough scrutiny.

  A press—known as a cupboard south of the border—stood next to a dresser, to one side of a Calor stove. The old, deep sink and wooden drainer she remembered from years before was still halfway down the outside wall, next to a set of shelves with washing-up liquid and soap on them.

  So much the same and so much changed. Why? She walked over to the bed and stopped dead. Next to it was a bookcase. On it were several books.

  “These are mine.” She narrowed her eyes and really took in the bedding, the wardrobe…the mats on the floor. The long, old, comfy settee that she’d dreamed on, sobbed on and yearned for things she didn’t understand while she sat on it. She’d coveted it for years and finally, just before she’d moved south, her parents had promised her she could have it in her room. She’d moved before it had happened, and somehow on her visits home never thought to ask where it was. “Most of this stuff is mine. What’s this all about?”

  “I think it could mean you’re welcome to come home whenever you want, don’t you?”

  “But why?” Marcail asked once the fire was sending out enough heat for them to take off their coats. “What was or is the point?”

  She wandered over to the window and pulled back the shutter to peer out. The snow still fell, and the bottom of the window was coated with white. It was unlikely so early in the year that it would settle and stay, and with luck in a few hours the storm would have blown itself out and a thaw set in. Until then, Marcail accepted they were stuck there, together. She closed the shutter again. It helped to keep the room warm. “Why does anyone think I want to come back? I was going to tell everyone when we’re together tomorrow about my plans. They don’t involve coming here to live.”

  Paden raised one eyebrow as he began to rummage in the press. “You were sending out enough vibes.”

  “I was not.” Why on earth would she? “I’m going to…” She stopped abruptly. She really ought to explain to her mum and dad how soon she was going. All they knew was the ‘one day’ bit, she’d never told them it was actually going to happen in the near future. They probably thought it was just wishful thinking, like people saying they’d write a book or run a marathon twice in one day.

  “New Zealand soon. Yes, you said.”

  “I didn’t, not to you.” All of a sudden she was uncertain. “Did I?”

  “Not out loud, no.”

  “Argh we’re back to that again.” Marcail tapped the top of his head. “Do you hear everything I think?”

  He shook his head. “No, that would be rude. Somehow I only tune in when I need to.”

  Whew.

  He laughed. “I’m a nice person, really.” He peered farther into the cupboard. It gave her a good view of his jean-clad ass.

  Very nice.

  “Thank you.”

  “Enough. Come out of the cupboard and stop looking for whatever you’re looking for.”

  Paden stood up. “Just as well you said out of the cupboard and not the closet. I’m seeing what tins are in there for our dinner. Because I bet you there’s enough nice stuff for us to eat well, and I’d also bet we’re here for the night. That storm didn’t just blow up so hard without a little help.”

  Marcail thought over his words. “Help how?”

  He shrugged. Who knows? There’s enough magic in our heritage for any number of people to have the necessary skills.”

  Here we go again.

  “Marcail Drummond. Open your mind. Who was your ancestor at Culloden?”

  “Rian McKinnon,” she said out loud, and gasped. “Hold on, why…did…you…me… Oh God.” She flopped back on the settee as little black dots danced in front of her eyes and the room spun. “That wasn’t your voice.”

  “Nope.”

  “Who? Why am I now hearing so many voices?”

  “If you truly want to know, I can tell you.”

  Marcail opened her mouth to say, ‘yes of course’, but Paden held his hand up to stop her.

  “Once it is your birthday, and not before. That’s not up to me, but up to those who decreed it thus.”

  There was the old-fashioned speech again. Marcail glanced at the clock. “That’s not for around eight hours then. How shall we pass the time?”

  He winked, and she grinned. “Well, yes, we could.” Her stomach rumbled. “Or maybe we should eat first? I’ve only had about half a mug of soup since my toast at breakfast. I’m famished.”

  “Then let’s see.” Paden turned back to the cupboard again. “I’ll stoke up the fire and then I can rustle up a curry, or…how open-minded do you feel?”

  “Well, as it appears I’ve met my however-times-great-granny, accepted you’re in my mind and something momentous is due to happen tomorrow? To say nothing about Skye cropping up, and you know I’m off to New Zealand? I’d say as open-minded as I’m likely to ever be. Say, eight and a bit out of ten.”

  “What about the other one and a bit?”

  Marcail laughed. “I’m reserving that until I hear what you have to say.”

  “Hmm.” Paden paced from one side of the room to the other, headed to the fireplace and added more dry wood. Within a few minutes there was a cheerful blaze, which began to take the edge off the chill in the room.

  “Where in New Zealand did you intend to go?”

  “Fly into Queenstown and head to Wanaka, then no idea. Why?” Marcail said, puzzled as to what that had to do with anything at that moment. “It’s not for another month.”

  “Would you go now? This minute? There rather than anywhere else. Say, Skye?”

  She laughed. “Definitely rather than Skye. It’s as cold there as here. Yeah, I’d go as I am without my luggage. But as we’re stuck in a bothy, on an island, in a blizzard, it’s not likely, is it?”

  Paden gave her a strange smile, and her tummy flipped over as he put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

  “You think not?”

  Marcail looked at him, puzzled by his tone of voice. “How do you mean?”

  “We could do it,” Paden said. “But it might upset a lot of people. Or we could wait, celebrate your birthday here, then go and…and I can’t tell you what yet. It has to be tomorrow.”

  Marcail thought about it. There was no point in being arsy. She’d been told ad infinitum that it was important to discover what she needed to know at the appropriate time and place, so she would accept it. After all, she didn’t have to agree with whatever it was, once she knew it all, did she?

  “No, but I hope you will.”

  Where had she heard that voice before?

  “We’ll wait and not upset people, then we— Hold on.” Marcail thought over the last words he had vocalised. “You’re coming with me?”

  “I
hope so. It’s—” He broke off. “If I say preordained do not thump me.”

  That gave Marcail another thought. “Did someone influence me about New Zealand? Plant the idea in my mind?” That suspicion made her feel sick.

  “Not as far as I’m aware. But I can’t honestly say not. New Zealand is important, but so is Samhain here. Now though, only you can decide what you want to do how and when.”

  Marcail grinned. “I can?”

  Paden nodded. “It’s now up to you at every stage. We’re stuck here for a while I reckon, so…all your choices now, mo ghaol.”

  Dare she? Marcail gave an elaborate shiver. “Brr, it’s cold. Maybe we should cuddle to keep warm?”

  “Maybe we should. Any idea where?”

  “In bed?”

  Paden grinned. “What a good idea.”

  Marcail did her best to look innocent and was darned sure she didn’t manage it. “I thought so, and maybe we better get out of our damp clothes?”

  “That’s another good idea.”

  Chapter Six

  Bleary-eyed, half-asleep and totally sated, Marcail reached out to find the other side of the bed empty and the sheets still warm. Lazy and content, she surveyed the heap of bedclothes that looked as if a battle had taken place on them.

  “We sort of got carried away, eh?” Paden, naked and magnificent, stood by her side of the bed and stretched. “What a good way to be carried. Snow’s just about gone, though it looks cold and”—he handed her a cup from which steam spiralled out—“no milk, but hot. Happy Birthday, ma ghaol.”

  “Thanks.” Marcail sipped the coffee, winced at the heat and waved her hand over it to cool it down.

  Then she gulped as, dry-mouthed, she took in the sight of Paden in front of her. Tanned almost everywhere—except from his waist to the top of his legs—no man boobs, thank goodness—and after the last however many hours, a body she was very intimate with.

  A shivering body. “Why on earth are you standing there shivering?” she asked. “I mean, it’s not that I’m not enjoying the view, because I am, but you’ve got goosebumps.” And interesting parts of you might shrivel up and hide.

  “True enough.” He moved one hand to cover his groin and grimaced. “Definitely affected.”

  She’d forgotten he’d hear her. Marcail laughed. “We don’t want that. Are you coming back to bed? Then I could, er, warm you up? An extra birthday present to me from us.” She’d decided their beautiful, slow and arousing lovemaking earlier had been the perfect birthday present, but she wouldn’t take it amiss to see if another session could equal it. “After all, you’re in your birthday suit.”

  “If you look at me like you’re doing for much longer, I’ll boil over and be no use to either of us,” Paden said frankly. “Mind you.” He sighed. “I’d get back under the covers with you like a shot and make love to you as many times as I could, but the snow has stopped, it’s almost light and well…as I said it’s now ‘Happy Birthday’, mo ghaol.”

  “Thank you.” Marcail looked at her watch. “Bloody hell.” Somehow they’d spent most of the night in the bothy. And not much of it asleep. “They’ll be waking me at the castle soon, and I won’t be there to be woken, if you get me.”

  “I get you.”

  Strangely, she didn’t feel tired, but invigorated and raring to go. She wasn’t raring to go back to the castle, but she was more than ready, willing and able to make love with Paden again. To experience him deep inside her, relish his lips on hers before he shifted his position so he could caress her nipples, laving them and giving little sucks and nips until those nubs were rock hard.

  She wriggled and tried to press closer. Paden chuckled. “Impatient.”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Then, who am I to disoblige my lady?”

  He moved lower until his fingers and then his tongue was inside her, and she writhed in ecstasy.

  Which, while she was able to speak, was the moment Marcail tried to insist she returned which favours she was able to, She begged they climaxed together. “Please, oh Please.”

  Paden held her hands high above her head.

  “Next time, mo ghaol, this is for you.”

  He was no selfish lover as he held her tight and watched her fly.

  Tears spilled down her cheeks. Tears of rapture.

  And now she’d missed her chance to torment him as he had her. To stroke and caress his hard male body. To lave and suck every inch of him. To take him in her mouth and taste him as he flew over the edge and came as hard and as fast as she had done.

  Not that that was enough. Marcail was sure she had missed something. Something important that had to be said or done. What, she had no idea, but at some point during the previous hours she’d had the impression that she’d agreed to something, and it hadn’t happened.

  “It’s not fair,” she grumbled as he threw her undies to her and she caught them one-handed. “I want…” How could she put into words her emotions when she was hard-pressed to know what they meant herself? “What have I missed?” she asked as she wriggled into her knickers under the bedclothes then winced at the thought of putting yesterday’s clothes on again. “I can tell something has happened.”

  “Sensing stuff?” Paden winked. “Told you.”

  Marcail stuck her tongue out. “Rotter.”

  He leaned over and kissed her nose. “The sooner we get the day started the sooner we can hopefully begin the next stage of our journey.”

  “A strange way to put it,” Marcail observed as she shivered and, also under the covers, shoved her feet into socks by touch. It was too cold to get out and put them on. “I wish we weren’t in a rush.”

  Paden pulled on his jeans, shirt and sweater and sat on the end of the bed to don socks and boots. “So do I, ma ghaol, but as you said, you need to get away home to start your birthday in the proper way. Let’s do all that’s proper.”

  “Then we can be improper?” Marcail opened her eyes as wide as she could. “I like the sound of that. What?” she asked as Paden shook his head in a mock-sorrowful way. “Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”

  “What happened to the wary, not very happy about everything Marcail?” Paden asked as he lifted her out of the bed. He pulled her sweater over her head then passed her jeans to her. “The one who distrusted the world and especially me?”

  Marcail pulled them on and zipped them up. “She met you,” she said simply.

  He stopped dead. “Say that again,” he said hoarsely. “Slowly.”

  Marcail grinned and squeaked as he swung her around in a circle. “Idiot, you’ll get giddy fall over, land on me, squash me and have to look after me here until…”

  Paden slowed and let her down so her feet touched the ground. “And? Are you sensing now?”

  She laughed. “Nope, but on consideration, what a good idea. Do it again and we can just stop here.” Forget about whatever is about to be told to me that everyone thinks I’m not going to like.

  “Not gonna happen, sorry.”

  “Ah well. A woman can dream.”

  “A woman can. So can a man, and I’m dreaming of what I hope will be a happy ever after.”

  Paden patted her bottom and ended with a little squeeze that Marcail decided was sexy, and weirdly erotic. She wriggled her bottom, and he shook his head ruefully.

  “Enough already, ma ghaol, let’s away. The sooner we go and all that.”

  Unfortunately, however she might wish otherwise, that made sense. Marcail nodded and began to layer up, thankful someone had left an assortment of hats, scarves and thick socks in the bothy. They might not make her sartorially elegant but they would keep her warm. Beside her Paden was doing the same. “Someone had a great deal of forethought,” she said. “Can you whistle up snow whenever you want?”

  Paden grinned. “I can’t, but who is to say what can and cannot happen, or be encouraged?”

  He had a point.

  * * * *

  The trudge home was made easier by the fact s
he had Paden to hold on to when she slid on the icy surface, or just because she like to be close to him. The closeness gave her the courage she was darned certain she was going to need, made her feel comfortable…safe…

  “Cherished?”

  “Trust you.”

  “Hey.” He reverted to speaking out loud. “You might not have been saying it, but your mind was experiencing it and it hit me hard.”

  “Well I wish it wouldn’t,” Marcail said in an embarrassed way. “Why does it?”

  “If I knew that, mo ghaol, life would be so much simpler, eh?” Paden held a tree branch out of their way and once they’d moved past let it fall back into place. There was a swoosh as snow fell from it and splattered the track behind them. “I’m hearing you more these days, without actively trying to.” He gave her a swift grin. “Nothing personal, that would go against our creed.”

  “And you hearing me say I felt safe with you isn’t personal?”

  “Not the same sort of personal as some sort of personal could be.”

  There was no answer to that. In spite of the cold, Marcail went hot at the idea some of her more risqué thoughts about him, them and what they could or couldn’t do, being known. “Thank goodness,” she said, heartfelt, and Paden laughed.

  “It works both ways,” he pointed out. “I could hear something detrimental or the opposite to what I wanted. I’d be gutted.”

  “Ohh, now what shall I think?”

  “Nasty. Think about hot coffee, and a warm room.”

  The trouble with that was then they would be with other people, and Marcail really wanted a bit longer to savour the idea that Paden was important to her.

  “What will happen when we get back?” she asked as they skirted the pebbly beach just before they headed up the incline to the castle. The wind ruffled the gloomy waters of the loch and created waves that hissed as they splashed the rocks. Ominous grey clouds scudded across the sky. It was hard to tell whether it was still before dawn or not. Marcail shuddered. “Brr, menacing.” She waved at the water with the hand not tucked into Paden’s arm. “I hate these dank, brooding-weather days.”

  Paden squeezed her arm. “Some say we are the sky, and the clouds are our moods. We need to let them be part of us and understand why. The sky changes from light to dark, as do the clouds. As do…” He glanced at her and smiled.