Love by the Stroke of Midnight by Raven McAllan (best historical biographies .txt) 📗

it will be bairns… Oh my love…my…I take you, Morven Murray, as my wife. I w-want…”

The old crone put their hands tight together and covered them with hers. “I pronounce you man and wife. Kiss and seal your marriage.”

Morven bent and put her lips to his bloodless ones. For a second she felt—she thought, she prayed—a slight pressure. And she knew.

She would never know what he’d wanted.

She was a widow.

The sky darkened and thunder cracked.

Morven looked to see what he had given her.

A pearl, a black pearl on a chain. She slipped it around her neck, held it tight for a second then took it off and put it around his. “To keep us together, forever, my love.”

Lightning hit the ground not two feet away from her. Somewhere she heard…two…two to be born…

How did she know she’d angered their gods? Morven couldn’t care. She was Rian’s for ever more.

Chapter One

Loch Lomond and the Trossachs, Scotland

Present Day

Marcail Drummond staggered out of bed, tired and sated, and wished she could sleep for a few hours more. As it wasn’t going to happen, she turned to speak to the man who had shared her night to…to what?

To see no second indent in the pillows. No crumpled sheets except where she’d slept—or not slept, as the case may be.

In fact no sign of any occupant—except herself.

She surely hadn’t imagined the night she’d just had? The sinfully sexy, hot, male, aroused body next to hers. The way his hands had caressed her so skilfully and held her close when she flew over the edge and into one of the best climaxes ever. How he’d gradually inched inside her, almost reverently, until she’d tightened herself around him and begged… “Please fill me now…please.” And he’d obliged so they could move together.

Then another climax, this time as he also came hard and fast, and the long gradual coming down to earth, held close and cherished.

The soft words in her ear… “Mo ghaol, it’s been oh so long…”

Marcail blinked. Had she dreamed it all, or…or what?

There couldn’t be any other explanation—could there?

Somewhat disgruntled, she stood up and stretched.

Boy she ached. Ached in places she hadn’t known it was possible. If that was what happened after an erotic dream, she wasn’t sure she’d have another one in a hurry.

“I’m here when you need me.”

That was the last thing she wanted. She had enough to worry about, without him niggling her. It was bad enough to know his voice was in her head—whoever he was—but surely he wasn’t in her dreams as well?

“You know I’m yours, however, wherever and…”

“Enough.” She put her hands to her hot cheeks. “Go away and let me get on in peace.”

“As ever, I’ll do your bidding.”

That’ll be the day. Marcail muttered under her breath, stripped the bed, got washed and dressed and headed out. She hadn’t the time to argue with herself, voices, or the man in the moon. Dammit, she hadn’t even seen his face.

“You’ll know me.”

“Ha, as if I’m bothered.” She ignored the laughter that appeared to surround her at that mental comment. The long drive ahead was her priority.

The journey north wasn’t easy. Especially after that night of very explicit, erotic dreams, where she woke up hot and bothered, every nerve in her body throbbing, and dozed off again before she welcomed ‘him’ into her bed. The man who, she understood, was important, but whose face she couldn’t see.

Why? What was she missing?

“Me.”

“Go to hell.”

The laugh in her mind echoed around the room. “Naughty.”

“Look, head voice, go away.” She was used to it, but at times she could see it far enough. “You were annoying when I was two, albeit I thought it was normal to talk to myself and a mysterious other. You never knew when to butt out in the past and it seems you still don’t. Why? What does it all mean? I thought everyone must have a head friend.”

“Only people like us.”

She didn’t bother to say ‘define us’, as she’d tried before and been met with an uncompromising ‘you’ll know when the time is right’. Instead she carried on with her list. “An embarrassment when I was ten and my teacher told my parents they might need to take me to see a doctor as I was talking to myself a lot. She suggested a psychiatrist might be able to discover what my troubles were. Luckily Mum and Dad told her they were sorting it and told me to ignore her. That she was close-minded and would never open it to what we believed and understood. If that wasn’t enough, whenever I met a bloke I really liked you…” She gritted her teeth. “Grr.” Was that why nothing happened with her ex-fiancé? He hadn’t been as important as she assumed he was?

“Had to get him out of your system. He was no threat.”

That was as maybe, but, her fledgling kisses and fumbles had never got past the peck on the cheek and hands removed as if by osmosis, and the would-be suitor was never seen again, or if he was, he turned and nigh on ran in the other direction. “Then a sodding intruder at twenty, when…” Marcail shut up, conscious her voice was rising. If she wasn’t careful she’d be screaming like a termagant.

Take a deep breath, and count to ten.

She wasn’t going to add, have sex or get intimate with someone. It had been bad enough at the time when the voice went on about condoms, safe sex and how the bloke in question had a shifty look about him.

The fact the said bloke stated, somewhat belligerently, that he hated condoms and the withdrawal method worked for him, was enough for her to tell him nothing doing and to sling his hook. The head voice adding he told her so had done nothing to help her temper then and, remembering her humiliation, did nothing for it now.

“Bless you, always grumpy when you don’t get your eight hours, aren’t you?”

“Too right, now shut up.”