Читать книгу Stealing Midnight - Tracy MacNish - Страница 15

England

Night drew in around the hut, a thick shroud of black without so much as a single star to break its absoluteness.

Olwyn’s teeth chattered as she tried to keep her back from touching the stone wall. She huddled beneath a fur and a woolen blanket, but they felt thin and inadequate against the damp, frigid wind that blew easily through the cracks.

The fire burned low; they did not want to risk too much of their provisions. Lóchrann sat in front of it, the flickering light sending licks of shadows and burnished gold across his face in equal measure. She saw his frown, the narrow look he sent her way.

“Olwyn, I’m finished with asking you to come share this meager warmth. You’ll come sit beside me, or by God I’ll drag you over by your hair.”

“Try it.”

“You’ll dare me?”

“Aye,” Olwyn said, trying to keep her teeth from rattling together like a child’s toy.

“I wish you wouldn’t. I’ve no wish for things to grow unpleasant between us.”

“I’m fine here,” she managed to say between clenched teeth. “Don’t think to manhandle me or you’ll test my blade.”

Lóchrann changed tactics. He cocked his head to the side, and Olwyn wondered if he knew how handsome he looked with the firelight shifting through his dark, gold hair. “What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re behaving very strangely.”

“We aren’t acquainted well enough for you to make that claim.”

Lóchrann shifted and turned the full weight of his regard to the fire. He poked it with a thin stick, stirring up glowing embers and causing the flames to flare up. Olwyn watched as he clumsily laid another square of dried peat on the top. It smoldered then, banked for the moment in a way that could cause it to burn out.

“You did it wrong,” she said, and she heard the incredulousness in her tone. What sort of man could not lay a proper fire? “You must allow some air to circulate.”

Lóchrann moved to the side, gesturing to the pit. “I’ve never burned peat before. Show me how, Olwyn.”

Unwilling to risk what little warmth they had, she scooted forward and knelt in front of the fire. The warmth touched her like sunshine, like life, and she knew she was daft to stay away from the heat that she needed.

But he was large and male, and his presence unnerved her. She’d seen him naked. She’d nursed his body, fed him drops of honeyed water like an infant. She’d cradled his head in her lap, stroked his hair, and confessed her darkest secrets and fears.

She had not, however, been prepared for him to wake and be so virile, so alive.

“Like this.” Using two long sticks, she adjusted the dried pungent square so that it would not smother the embers beneath it. “Are you so rich, then, that you burn nothing but wood?”

Lóchrann laughed a bit. “Well, I got you by the fire, anyway.”

So he’d played her as a fool. Before she could react, his hand grasped her upper arm and held it in a grip from which she knew she could not break free. So much for sickness. She turned her head away, staring into the darkness so he could not see the effect he had on her.

“Stay by the fire,” he commanded softly. “I will not have you freeze in the corner rather than sit beside me. Look at me,” Lóchrann urged her. “In my eyes. Look at me.”

He shook her a bit, gently enough, but with an urgency that she felt in her bones. Olwyn dragged her gaze to his face, and yes, she met his eyes.

In the dim light, they glistened dark and limpid. The slant of them was compelling, fringed by long lashes beneath slashing brows. He had a sensual languor in his eyes, belied by the strength and insistence of his hand on her arm.

“I see I unsettle you.”

Olwyn hadn’t had a friend since her brother died, hadn’t had a kind heart to trust in since her mother left, hadn’t had a single soul in the world to view her as something other than evil since the villagers found out what went on in her father’s keep. Neither had she had a suitor. Ever.

And so she said nothing, her silence her only protection. If she were to speak, the truth might come pouring out. Unsettled? How about undone, uncertain, and unnerved? He was attractive to her in a way she feared, and she had a painful longing for him to think well of her, to maybe respect her in a way, and yes, perhaps to even grow to like her.

“We’re strangers of a sort, true,” Lóchrann continued. “You have no reason to trust me. But I give you my word, you will not come to harm. I owe you my life, and I’ll repay that debt in full, of that you can be certain. I’d lay mine down before I let anything happen to you.”

His word shouldn’t mean anything to her. It was true. They were strangers. Olwyn had no cause to think him honorable, no reason to trust him. But she saw no threat in those dark blue eyes, felt no violence in the warm, strong hand that held her arm.

In fact, she felt only his heat and vitality.

“Let go of me,” she whispered. He did, with a sudden release. Her arm grew colder again. She glanced back to her chilly, dark corner. Returning to it was insanity. “I suppose it only makes sense that we share the heat.”

Lóchrann lifted the corner of the furs that he had draped over his legs. “Share all of it, Olwyn. Let’s see if we can keep from freezing to death, aye?”

Capitulation didn’t come easily to Olwyn, but neither did stupidity. Giving in, she slid beside him and let him tuck the blankets and furs around them.

“I’ve questions for you, Olwyn.”

The words inspired dread in her. He must have felt her stiffen, because he sighed heavily and decided to relent. “Very well, never mind for tonight. I’ve no wish to chase you back into the corner. Stay here, and I’ll leave the subject alone.”

She relaxed marginally, grateful for the reprieve. With the combined heat of the fire and the furs and the man beside her, she began to slowly thaw. Her feet, once frozen numb, began to prickle with a thousand stings of returning blood flow.

Lóchrann leaned into her a bit, shoulder to shoulder, arm to arm, hip to hip. Warmth that had nothing to do with the fire touched her skin.

“Are you tired?” she asked.

“I’ve slept enough, aye? An eternity.”

“I suppose,” she answered, all too aware of the size of him beside her. He felt so big, so present. It seemed as if the hut was full of him. Lóchrann’s form was so tall and brawny, a man with a handsome face and a tough body. How had she ever managed to move him? she wondered, even as a strange pride filled her. The arm touching hers was hard with muscle, making her very aware of her own thin build and lack of defenses.

She’d saved this man’s life.

He swore she was safe with him because of it. Olwyn relaxed further. Yes, she believed him.

Olwyn cast a sidelong glance his way. Spotting it, he met her eyes for a brief moment before looking away.

“I suppose we could get to know each other a bit,” Lóchrann offered. “I know nothing of you but your name.”

He shifted his blankets and she felt the press of his thigh against her own. She thought of when he’d been unconscious, and how she’d lain with him to warm his body with her own. It had been practical then. Now, however, practicality was the furthest thing from her mind.

“There’s not much to tell, I’m afraid,” Olwyn said, and felt a kick of pride at how calm she sounded, as if she had nothing at all to be embarrassed about, and as if touching a man were the most natural thing in the world. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

The question was more than just a polite invitation for him to make conversation. Lord, she wanted to know everything, she realized. She wanted to know who he was, where he lived, what sort of life he’d made for himself. Was he married, did he have children? What had he been like as a child? Favorite foods, favorite colors, favorite books. She wanted every bit of it, and more.

Mentally she taunted herself. So needy, Olwyn. How desperate. How pathetic.

She had, quite obviously, been lonesome for far too long a time.

There came a long pause. He seemed to be weighing his response.

“Same here. Nothing to tell, really.” Lóchrann laughed a bit, a rueful sound. “Surely we both can’t be this uninteresting.”

He’s hiding something, she thought. Well, wasn’t everyone in some way or another?

“How about you tell me where you’re traveling to,” Lóchrann said.

The rain found tiny slips to filter through, dripping to the floor to form tiny puddles. A small drop plopped on her shoulder, and she scooted slightly over, closer to the fire.

Olwyn deflected Lóchrann’s suggestion with one of her own. “We should choose a neutral topic. Aren’t they usually about the weather and road conditions?” He turned again to meet her eyes. This time, he held her gaze, lambent flames reflected in his lambent eyes, a mesmerizing sight if she’d ever seen one.

“I despise chatter,” he replied mildly.

She laughed nervously. “Well, now I know something about you.”

“Aye, you do. If the conversation’s to be such drivel, let’s just not have it.”

“I have a better idea,” she whispered before she could change her mind. Caught in the thrall of his beautiful eyes and his demand for her to choose between truth or silence, she said, “Plain talk, no secrets, no lies, and no equivocation. And when we go our separate ways, we’ll both remember that for the space of a few days, we spoke our minds and we hid nothing. How many people do you think ever really do that? We’ll tell the truth, no matter how ugly, painful, or humiliating.”

He smiled, a long, slow, heart-stopping spread across his face. His face was like a fairy-tale hero of yore, strongly featured, golden, and sensual. He was masculine and yet beautiful, putting her in mind of an animal that can exude power, and yet invite a soft touch, all at once.

And the idea that she might be privy to the thoughts behind those eyes stole her breath. If all she had to do was bare her own truths in return, it would be worth the cost.

“That’s quite a suggestion, Olwyn.”

“Yes, isn’t it?” Heat stung her cheeks, regardless of the frigid temperature. A ludicrous thought ran through her mind: humiliation, the cure for freezing to death. But she would not show her embarrassment. She would behave as boldly as the words she had spoken. Mimicking the way he smiled at her, she curved her own lips in what she hoped resembled a dare. “Too forward for your taste, Lóchrann? Perhaps chatter is looking better?”

“So much for the girl who cowered in the corner,” he said with a laugh.

Such a resonant voice he had, pleasing to hear, deep, rich, smooth. His laugh filled the hut, and warmed her to the tips of her ears.

“Who will start?” he asked.

“Because it was my idea, I’ll go first.” She took a deep breath and plunged right into the truth as if it were a bottomless, fathomless pool. “I have not been able to forget that you called me beautiful.”

The look in his eyes shifted, turned thoughtful. “Did you like me saying it?”

“I did.” She feigned only her bravery. Everything else was pure truth, in its rawest form. “But it frightened me, too.”

“Why did it?”

“I am not sure,” she whispered. “Perhaps because I wanted it to be true, but also I feared that you said it only to manipulate me.”

“In truth, I find it hard to keep from staring.”

Olwyn dropped her eyes to her lap where her hands were tightly clasped. Lóchrann touched her chin with his forefinger and thumb, gently tilted her face back up.

“Don’t hide.”

“I think it is your turn,” she whispered.

“Very well, I’ll tell you something real. I thought I’d awoken in another time. ’Tis why I asked you the year.” Lóchrann’s expression changed, turned pensive for the barest second. His voice grew very quiet, and never breaking his gaze, he said, “I wasn’t sure what answer I wanted to hear more.”

“Do you not like your life as it is?”

He shrugged, lifted his hand, and then dropped it. “A new life has a certain appeal.”

“So if it had been true, and you’d awoken in another time, what sort of man would you recreate yourself as?”

“A swordsman—I’m good with a blade. Perhaps a soldier, then.” He thought about it further. “No. Not that. Maybe what I’d really want is to live on a mountain somewhere, far from civilization. Build a cottage, have dogs and horses, hunt with hawks. Grow a garden, live simply. Most of all, be free. Completely and totally free.” He smiled at his own fancy, and added, “Of course, I’d have to try to lure a woman into thinking it romantic so she’d stay with me. I’d want to live simply, but not as a monk.”

“You aren’t married, now?”

“No. Not yet. I’m engaged to be. We are set to be married this June.”

“Oh.” Why should that surprise her? she wondered. She tried not to show her disappointment. After all, she mocked herself, did she really think a man like Lóchrann would be unattached? Women must throw themselves at him.

Indeed, there was much to recommend him that he had found a woman with whom to settle down. A man such as he could easily have descended into decadence, pursuing only pleasures as they appealed to him.

The woman who’d captured his heart must be someone quite special, Olwyn thought. So why should that make her feel so sad, so lonesome, and so bitterly let down?

“Do you love her very much?” she whispered.

He frowned and shrugged. “’Tis a difficult thing, that.”

“What could be difficult about love?” Olwyn allowed herself to sound every bit as wistful as she felt. “Someday I hope to have it for myself.”

“’Tis complicated.”

“How so?”

Lóchrann blew out a little breath. “Honesty, aye?”

Olwyn lifted the corner of her mouth and shrugged. “Unless ’tis too much for you.”

Aidan grinned at her dare, warming to Olwyn’s game of honest talk. There were not many people with whom Aidan spoke so truthfully. Even Padraig had become distant of late, perplexed and annoyed with his engagement to Mira Kimball.

“I am nearly thirty years old, about time for a man to marry, aye? Time to find a suitable wife, settle down, have children. I met Mira, and she is…” Aidan shrugged and finished lamely, “suitable.”

“That’s it? No passion, no love?” Olwyn’s brow raised again, formed the sharp, witchy peak that was becoming familiar to him. “That’s pathetic.”

“There are other things to look for in a mate. She is kind and sweet and gentle. She loves her own family the way I love mine, with pride and boundless affection, and she does not ask me…” Aidan stopped.

“Doesn’t ask you what?”

“Doesn’t ask me for anything,” he finished, and reviled himself for not living up to the demand for complete honesty.

But he was so tired of the question of who would be the duke, and yes, he was tired of not knowing the answer himself.

He did not know who was firstborn, he or Padraig. He did not know which of them was their father’s true heir.

And yes, he admitted to himself, he resented his parents for keeping it secret from them.

“Is she beautiful?”

“She is pretty,” Aidan said, and picturing Mira, continued, “As fair as a princess, with golden hair and blue eyes. She is delicate, feminine, and reminds me of a tiny doll that could break with the slightest misuse.”

“Oh.” Olwyn dropped her gaze to her lap again.

“You don’t like that answer?”

“Is it true?”

“Aye.”

“Then how can I find fault with it?”

Aidan touched Olwyn’s hands, tightly clasped on her lap. Had he offended her feminine pride? His uncle Matteo had told him long ago that when speaking to a woman, a man must treat her as if she were the only woman in the room, the only woman in the world. Feeling clumsy, he asked, “You wanted honesty, aye?”

The fire burned low and filled the small, damp room with its fragrant smoke. Icy rain pelted the thatch and stone, and cold wind seeped though every crack. It should have been an uncomfortable and unpleasant way to spend a night, but strangely, it wasn’t.

He heard Olwyn sigh, long and deep. She lifted her head and raised her hands up, displaying them for Aidan’s inspection.

“These hands know real toil. They slaughter chickens, they scrub floors, they haul water, they wash clothing, and they hoe fields. I am more work mule than pretty doll, and I cannot fathom a man fearing he might break me. I am far too hardy, I suppose, to be likened to a princess.” Olwyn smiled, a sad curve of her lips that trembled as if she held back great emotion. She opened her mouth to speak several times before she could manage to get the words out. “That’s not to say that I wouldn’t fancy such a thing.”

Aidan tried to picture Mira doing anything more taxing than reading a book, and he had to suppress a laugh. “Well, I have to say, Olwyn, that if given the choice of whose hands I’d have wanted to place my life in, I’m glad I fell into yours.”

“I am a fool,” she whispered. “I have run away from my home, and I have nowhere to go.”

“I’ll help you. You’ve saved my life, and so I’m in debt to you, aye?”

“You owe me nothing. I did it for my own conscience.”

“Well, that may be, but I’m not a man to neglect my obligations. I’ll do whatever I must to see to it that you’re compensated and well taken care of.” And mentally he jeered at himself. Isn’t that what he always did? The right thing.

Olwyn sighed again. She glanced from the fire to the draft blowing past the oiled tarp over the window, to the dark corner where she’d huddled to keep herself from him. Her voice was small and low as she said, “’Tis a night for spirits, no?”

Before he could say anything, she rose from the nest of blankets and rummaged through the provisions. She returned with a bottle and a cup made of thick earthenware. “As long as we’re being honest, I consort with this spirit far more often than you’d think. It warms me on cold, damp nights such as this. We’ll have to share the cup. I only have one.”

He watched as she uncorked the bottle and poured a healthy draught. The smell rose to fill his sinuses, the woody, malted scent of Scotch whiskey. Olwyn handed it to him, and he gave it a swirl, a sniff, and a full sip.

“Ahhh,” Aidan said, deep in his throat. It was good; balanced, sweet with cherrywood and oak, a touch of peat deep in the finish. “I could kiss you for this.”

Olwyn blushed a little, betraying her uneasiness, and reached to take the cup from him. “Not necessary.”

She, too, sipped long and deep, and Aidan smiled. He couldn’t ever recall seeing a woman drink hard liquor with such easy delight, as if it were watered wine or sugared tea.

“Where did you get this?” Aidan asked. He had a passion for whiskey, and had been making his own for more than ten years. This particular batch was smooth and even, well blended and well aged. “’Tis quite good.”

She cast a narrow look at him. “You’re making judgments against me, aren’t you? Too poor for firewood or fashionable gowns, but in possession of fine whiskey.”

“Were you me, wouldn’t you be curious?”

She pursed her lips as if annoyed. “I didn’t steal it.”

“Did you hear an accusation in my question?”

“I make good trades with a man who comes to our keep,” Olwyn relented without answering his question, a sign of stubbornness and reason combined. It made Aidan smile, reminded him of himself and his brother.

“The man is a traveling trader, and has a large wagon filled with textiles, peat, iron pots, bags of spices, medicines, and the like. Whatever makes for a good trade. And yes, of course, he always has a few bottles of whiskey. He usually comes once each season, and I am ready for him with cheese, baked goods, and chickens.”

Olwyn’s mouth curved up on one side, and he saw she was regretful. “He is a nice man. I will miss him.”

“You’ll never go home again?”

She met his eyes over the rim of the cup as she sipped. She handed him the whiskey and then raised a brow. “Not if I can help it. But if my father finds me, I imagine I’ll be beaten and dragged back.”

“I told you I would protect you.”

“He’s my father. You’d have no right to interfere.”

“I’d make it my concern,” Aidan said flatly. “If things were troublesome enough that you’d run away in winter, carting a half-dead man along with you, I don’t guess you’re making much ado about nothing, aye?”

She shrugged and glanced at the whiskey in his hand. Aidan obliged her, taking his sip and handing it back.

“Will you tell me why you ran away?”

Olwyn drank again before she set the cup down to their side. She fiddled with the fur wrap that covered her, petting it as if it were a live animal.

He watched her long fingers, slim, graceful, buried in the fur, and a pang of lust hit him below his navel, a tight, hot arousal that reminded him that he was very alone with a beautiful woman, and also very engaged to another.

“Is our time for honesty over?” he pressed.

She ceased her petting, met his eyes. She spoke so softly that her voice seemed like nothing more than a sigh, a thin wisp of a confession. “I could tell you of the horrors—there were more than a few. But beneath it all, I left because I was lonely.”