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

so formal. Marcail’s heart missed a beat. She nodded and walked into…her what?

“Your future, whatever you chose. This is the beginning.”

“Just keep out of my mind for now, eh?” Marcail spoke out loud and fixed Paden with what she hoped was a gimlet stare. “If whatever this is, is so important, I want to hear it all vocalised, not internally. Then I want time to absorb it and come to a considered and informed decision on the information imparted.” She paused and thought over what she’d said. “Blimey, what do I sound like? Up myself or what?”

Paden followed her inside and shut the door behind him. “You sound like my lady,” he said quietly. “My love, the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. The gorgeous person I want to be my wife.”

“So soon?” she asked. She was definitely interested, attracted and open to suggestions of how they proceeded, but that was a lot to assimilate.

“More likely so late,” he said cryptically. “Nevertheless, when you’re ready. If you ever are.” Paden took hold of Marcail’s hand and pressed her palm to his heart. “Do you trust me, ma ghaol?”

“Of course I do,” Marcail responded promptly and honestly. She had no need to think about her answer. “With my life.”

She was certain she felt his heartbeat speed up under her hand.

“I mean it, Paden. With my life.”

“Then will you sit with me? Hold me as I hold you and let me show you what could be?”

She nodded. “Of course, but how?”

“Like this. In our minds.” He settled her onto a long comfy settee and sat beside her, his hand over her heart as hers was still over his. “I’m going to hold you close to my heart, and ask you to close your eyes, open your mind and see what I’m going to show you.”

“Thought transference?”

“A wee peep into what the future could be.”

“As long as my future is with you, I’m on,” Marcail said.

“Then I pray what you see doesn’t change your mind.”

Chapter Eight

The room was different, that was for sure. The body next to hers, whose arm was flung over her, felt strangely familiar. Marcail turned onto her side and ignored the grunt and muttered, “Give over, woman, stop wriggling and stay still.”

She was hungry, curious, and wondered why she was so warm, to say nothing of needing to go to the loo. There was no way she could comply with his diktat. “Bathroom.” She poked the nearest bit of body. A flat stomach. “Please, move.”

Paden rolled over and opened one eye. “Door on the left.” He lifted his arm, stretched towards her as she got out of bed and patted her bum. “Nice ass.”

Marcail grinned and wiggled it. “Thank you, kind sir, yours isn’t so bad either. I’d love to see it as you head for the kitchen and make me coffee and something to eat.”

“Your word, mo ghaol, is my command and all that.”

“Ha, I wish. Only if you choose, eh?”

He shook his head in mock sorrow. “Harsh, very harsh. Let’s say if it is in our best interests. You’ll find clothes in the wardrobe.” He flung back the covers and as he disappeared into the kitchen, she got the view she’d asked for.

“Very nice.”

He laughed and waggled his fingers in the air. She’d have preferred him to waggle his bum, but she guessed she couldn’t have everything.

Humming happily to herself, Marcail headed for the bathroom.

Once she’d been to the loo, found toothpaste and a new toothbrush with a note on it saying, ‘Mo Ghaol’, stuck to it, used them and had the speediest shower ever, Marcail decided she was ready to find out where she was, and the all-important, why.

She headed back into the bedroom and stopped mid-stride.

The view.

She hadn’t paid any attention before, but now…

Paden must have opened the blinds enough for light to filter in—and the view to be seen. Wherever they were, it wasn’t the island—or Skye. In fact, she’d bet her new sunnies it wasn’t even Scotland.

It was sunny. Blue skies and…she lifted one of the slats of the blind to get a better view. Almost enough to blind you with brightness. Maybe she better not bet her sunglasses, it looked as if she might need them. She could feel the heat through the glass. Hopefully they both had packed some cool clothes.

She craned forward. A glimpse of water. A lake? She doubted it was a loch, not with the heat of the sun as it streamed into the room. However the water wasn’t blue, but a deep mysterious grey.

“Lake Wanaka, just like you wished for.”

Marcail whirled around to see Paden, naked as the day he was born, standing in the doorway. She looked him up and down.

“Someone’s pleased to see me.”

He struck a pose. “Always, mo ghaol, but I’ll not take advantage.”

Why was he being so noble? “You didn’t say that last night,” she pointed out.

“You were the one who did the advantaging…” He grinned. “Or whatever it’s called.”

“I could do it again?” Marcail suggested hopefully. “You know, being noble and all that. Just to check I got it all right.”

Paden shook his head as he walked to the wardrobe and pulled out underwear, a pair of cut-offs and a T-shirt for himself and threw her a long multicoloured dress, a pair of frilly knickers and a bra she’d never seen before. “Sadly not, though hold the thought until later. We need to get dressed and head out for a while.”

Marcail caught hold of the dress, drew it over her head and pulled on the pants, which to her relief were mainly cotton. She’d not bother with the bra. “Where are we going? Can I get away with no bra? It’s not that it isn’t beautiful, “she said apologetically. “It’s gorgeous. However, hot weather, silk and lace, and it might itch.”

Paden stroked an imaginary moustache. “You can always go braless or anything else less as far as I’m concerned.” He sobered and took the few steps