Midnight Runner: A Novel

by Marilee Jackson

Every day for the next week, Moira tried to leave Oidean. Every time she made up her mind to go, Brian would come by Dolidh’s Inn to take her for another stroll through the small village. As much as Moira hated to admit it, she actually got to a point when she was looking forward to it. On Friday evening Brian joined her at the inn for dinner and a shot of whisky before they walked around the village.

  “Are you sure you want a second shot?” Moira asked when he motioned Barra for another.

  “I think I can handle it,” Brian answered.

  “It’s just that I have heard you are one-shot Brian.” Moira laughed, nervous of what would happen if he became drunk. Visions of Artair Bard’s jeering face danced maniacally through her head.

  “Yes, that’s what I have been told too,” he said after he swallowed the harsh liquid. “Shall we go then?” He offered her his arm.

  “Yes.” Moira put her arm in his and they left for their walk.

  At the end of their nightly walk they were once again standing in front of the inn.

  “Well, here we are again,” Brian said.

  “Yes, here we are again,” Moira echoed as she turned toward the door. “Well, good night then.”

  “Unless . . .”

  At his word, Moira spun on her heel, too excited.

  “Yes, unless what?”

  Brian’s face broke into a huge toothy grin and he cleared his throat. “Unless you wanted to see my farm. We’ve been all around the village several times and I’ve never showed you my farm. I could show you around before I walk you back to the inn,” he offered.

  “That would be lovely,” Moira lied with a warm smile. She had no desire to see his farm. She had never been interested in animals, but she wanted to be with him, so if that meant pretending to care about his ridiculous little farm, then she would do it. Brian offered her his arm again, and she took hold.

  * * *

  The touch of her hand made Brian’s heart skip a few beats. He led her through the short, whitewashed picket fence that separated his lush green grass from the road. The fence and its matching curved gate with the arch over it looked a little too feminine for this masculine farmer. Brian turned and noticed Moira’s furrowed brow as she stared at the fence.

  “My mother had it put up a few months before she died,” he answered her silent question. “And out of respect for her, I make sure it stays freshly painted.”

  Brian was instantly transported back to when his parents got sick. He had just turned sixteen and his father was teaching him to run the farm by himself. One night, he had taken care of everything without his father’s help. He ran into the house to boast to his parents about how quickly he had gotten everything done. Instead, he was greeted by the doctor, who patted his father sadly on the back and walked out the front door.

  Mrs. MacDonald had been coughing for a few weeks, so they had sent for the doctor to find out the cause. Then the coughing got worse, and his father started coughing as well. Neither one got better; it got to where they coughed almost all day. It would rattle in the chest and then it became a racking cough. Later, the blood came. By the time the doctor came back, it was too late. They died within a week of each other. Consumption, the doctor said. Brian had never heard of it. It was just some disease that had stolen his entire world from him.

  Brian jumped, pulled back to reality by the gate slamming shut. “Oh, I’m so sorry. You probably don’t want to hear about my past.” Brian flushed crimson. He had never talked to anybody about his feelings before, but for some reason he wanted to share everything with this beauty in a green dress. “Shall we?”

  He stepped to the left side of the house and opened another gate. This one was taller than Moira and made of plain wood planks. Through the gate the farm was precisely laid out. There was a large barn, a small chicken hutch with a fence around it, and a large empty plot of land that was used as a garden in the warmer months. He walked her around the well-organized property and took her to the barn to show her the various animals sleeping inside. There were four sheep, a few cattle, and two horses, one for plowing the fields and one for riding.

  “Do you like it?” Brian asked.

  “Yes, it’s quite impressive,” Moira said.

  “Would you like to see the house?” Brian ducked his head to avoid her eyes.

  Moira smiled at his sudden blush. “Yes, I would like very much to see your house,” she answered.

  Brian slowly raised his dark head to look and make sure she wasn’t teasing him. Her hands were folded in front of her green dress and her emerald eyes sparkled in the dim light of the barn, but they were wide with innocent honesty. He smiled shyly at her and motioned for her to lead him out of the barn.

  He led her through the plain back door into his small kitchen. The warmth from the nearly dead fire burned his frozen skin. Moira shivered as Brian lit a lantern.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, concerned.

  “I’m fine. I just didn’t realize how cold it was outside.” Moira rubbed her arms, trying to get her blood flowing again.

  Brian turned and put more wood on the glowing embers, coaxing the fire back to life.

  “Stand by the fire as long as you like.” He pulled her over to the fireplace. “We’ll wait ’til you’re warm to take a tour.”

  * * *

  While she waited for the warmth to relax her shivering limbs, Moira took in the small kitchen. Though it was small, it was still quite a bit larger than the Bards’ kitchen. The curtains on the windows were blue with flowers on them; they were clean but faded. The walls were plain with a few frilly decorations. There was a small round wooden table in the corner with two matching chairs; the room was spotless.

  “Everything is very clean.” She felt a little stupid stating the obvious.

  “I like things to be orderly. I don’t like dirt or clutter. My parents were the same way. I think mine got worse after they died though,” he explained.

  “I’m warm now if you would like to show me the rest of the house.” She put her arm in his proffered one and her pulse quickened.

  “Right this way, lassie.” He led her into the parlor. Again, flowered blue curtains hung over the two large front windows. A beautifully handcrafted rocking chair was in the corner. By the fireplace was a large homemade bookshelf full of books.

  “Do you read?” she asked excitedly.

  “I do. Both of my parents were well read, and they taught me. I love to sit and read in the evenings,” he said with pride.

  Moira was impressed. There’s more to this farm boy than I first thought. She continued her appraisal of the large farmhouse. The room was cozy and the floor looked freshly swept. He took her through the door to the right of the front door. It was a small bedroom sparsely decorated with a tiny bed, a dressing table with a washbasin on it, and one small window covered with a thick red curtain. This room was evidently not used much. She wondered if this was his childhood room.

  “This was my room before my parents died. I thought I should move into their room because I was suddenly the man of the house,” he said, as if he could read her mind. She silently pulled him from the room and shut the door.

  “Okay, last room,” he said brightly, obviously trying to make up for the gloom that had been with them in the last room. He took her back to the kitchen and turned to the left through a door. It was a slightly larger bedroom and had a large bed with hand-carved posts and a light-blue blanket. A large window covered with a butter-yellow curtain overlooked the backyard, and on the opposite wall was a dressing table with a washbasin. Moira gasped as she saw this room. She had never seen such a beautiful room in her whole life.

  “Do you like it?” Brian asked skeptically.

  “Oh, Brian, it’s beautiful.” Overcome with the room’s charm, she forgot her manners by using his first name. Not only was this farmhouse bigger than any cottage she had seen in Trom, but she had also never seen one so clean and orderly.

  “Thank you. I wasn’t sure it would look right
when I put it all in here together. I’m not much of a decorator. That was my mother’s job.” He scratched the back of his head. “Well, that’s my house. Tour over.” He looked around the room. The silence surrounded them like a blanket.

  Moira chewed on her lower lip. “I guess I should get back to the inn now. It’s getting pretty late.” She turned to walk out the door.

  “You could stay here tonight if you want,” Brian said quietly, almost inaudible.

  Moira turned around and found Brian looking at the floor. He sucked air into his lungs and held his breath while he waited for her answer. He looked uncertain, and she felt pity for him.

  “Brian, I can’t,” she whispered. “I would like to, but I’m leaving and I don’t want to start a relationship just to leave you. I am already supposed to be in Allail.”

  “Why do you have to go to Allail? We could write to your aunt and let her know you’re staying here,” Brian suggested.

  “What would I do if I stayed here?” Moira asked. I have to get away and change my life. I have to make my life my own, she thought. I have to leave before the Bards find me. I am only in the next village. They’ll find me eventually. “I have nothing here.”

  “You have me. I would take care of you, if you would let me,” Brian offered.

  Moira was touched by his offer. “No one has ever wanted to take care of me.”

  “Well, I do. I would love to take care of you.”

  Moira stared at him for a long time, unsure what to do. She had grown fond of the small village and everyone there seemed to like her—except Mollie, who wasn’t even trying to hide her hatred for Moira. Every time Mollie saw Moira, she glared at her, and Moira was pretty sure she had actually tried to trip her the other day. But as much as she liked it here, she wasn’t far from home, and Artair would be looking for her.

  Then again, she thought, if I changed my name, they wouldn’t find me. Brian could do more than just take care of me. He could hide me as well.

  “How about it, Moira? Will you be my wife?” Brian asked.

  Before Moira could think she blurted out, “I would like that very much.” She started to shake with anticipation of the unknown. Brian released a breath with a long whoosh.

  “Tomorrow we can go talk to the preacher and set up a time,” Brian started.

  “Let’s just do it tomorrow. Why wait? The sooner the better,” Moira said.

  “I have chores to do in the morning, but we can get married in the afternoon,” Brian said.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  9

  The next day, Brian and Moira met in the early afternoon and made their way across the village to the tiny house next to the quaint church. They knocked on the door and waited. Moira held her breath, hoping the preacher would be home. She wanted to have her name changed as quickly as possible. She was still unsure about marrying Brian. All she knew for sure is that she didn’t want Artair to find her.

  The door creaked open and a short man dressed in a black tunic invited them into the house. Brian explained what they wanted. The preacher took his Bible in his hands. He cleared his throat and began.

  “Now we read 1 John 4:7. ‘Beloved, let us love one another: for love is of God; and every one that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God.’ Brian, do you love this young woman and promise to love her and care for her as long as you live?”

  “I do.” Brian smiled and looked down at Moira.

  “And do you, Moira, take Brian to be your husband to love and care for him for as long as you live?”

  Fear cramped Moira’s stomach, but when she raised her eyes and met Brian’s, they were the only ones in the room. Nothing else mattered but him and her.

  “I do.”

  The preacher took Moira’s right hand and Brian’s left hand and tied them together with a cord.

  “It is done. You are now wed. May you have many, many years of happiness together.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Brian said, shaking hands with the preacher on their way out the door. “We would like to keep the marriage quiet for now, if you don’t mind.”

  “You’re welcome, son. Whatever you like; I’m just so happy to see you finally settle down. Your parents would be so proud of you.” The old preacher patted Brian on the back and smiled warmly at Moira.

  They walked back to Brian’s farm, and he led the way around the back of the house to the barn. “Sorry, I have a few things to do for the evening, and then we can go in for dinner, Mrs. MacDonald.” His face broke out in a huge smile at the mention of Moira’s new name, and she found her face mirroring his.

  When he was finished with the evening chores, Moira followed him into the kitchen. They ate a small supper of cold meats, cheeses, and bread. They washed it all down with a shot of whisky because “they were celebrating,” Brian said. When they were finished cleaning up from their meal, Brian picked her up and carried her across the threshold into the master bedroom.

  Having never known any kind men, Moira was unsure what to expect. Brian set her down beside the bed and walked past her to shut the bedroom door. As he walked by, their arms brushed against each other and her stomach did flips. Oh no, she thought. Maybe the meat and cheese was bad. That’s just what I need right now—to be sick.

  She wasn’t entirely convinced this was sickness though; she had never felt stirrings in her stomach like these before. Brian slowly walked back to the bed. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap. Her pulse accelerated, and she began to shake.

  “Are you cold?” he asked, his voice so soft that if she hadn’t been sitting on his lap she never would have heard. She caught the faint smell of whisky as his warm breath washed over her face.

  “No, I’m warm enough,” she answered, unsure why she was continuing to shake when there was heat rushing through her body.

  Brian put his work-hardened hands on either side of her delicate face and gently pulled her lips to his. His kiss was tender and strong at the same time. He kissed her lips and then each of her flushed cheeks. His lips moved down to her jaw and then to her soft neck. He gently pushed aside the neckline of her dress and moved his lips back and forth over her snow-white shoulder.

  Moira, powerless to stop it, felt her body responding to his touch. Brian gently turned and set her on the bed beside him. He stood, unbuttoned his shirt, and threw it on the floor. Moira watched with a combination of anticipation and fear racing through her. Her trembling began anew at the sight of his broad bare chest. He turned and blew out the lamp sitting on the bedside table.

  Shortly after midnight, Moira heard Brian’s breathing change. It turned slow, deep, and rhythmic. She knew he was asleep. He was on his stomach with his right arm resting across her waist. Trying not to wake him, Moira carefully slid out from under him. He snorted and rolled over, releasing her from his grip. She let out a breath and silently slipped off the bed. She groped around in the dark searching for her dress. She was fairly positive it had been thrown on the floor, but she couldn’t be certain. Panic struck her at the thought of returning to the inn wearing nothing but a blanket from Brian’s bed.

  Finally, she found it lying in the corner in a ball. She grabbed her shoes from the side of the bed where she left them and hurried out the bedroom door. In the kitchen, she put her wrinkled dress on, and once again she escaped out the back door into the cold, dark night.

  * * *

  Brian opened his eyes, groaned, and quickly shut them again. Why was the sun so insensitively bright? His head felt like a horse had kicked him. After the blur of sleep cleared, the previous night came back in a rush of sweet memories.

  “Moira,” he whispered with a smile. He turned toward the empty bed beside him. The only trace that his wife had been there was her blanket lying over the footboard.

  Slowly, Brian tried to pull himself upright only to have his head spin and fall back down. After a few more tries, he finally managed to sit up in bed. Replaying the events of the night before, confusion spread through him and he tried to
figure out why he was sitting in bed alone. He was sure Moira had been happy with their decision. Either that or she was an awfully good actress. She was, after all, the one who insisted on getting married that day. Gently he stood on shaky legs; he needed to find Moira and figure out what had gone wrong.

  He heard the animals in the barn growing impatient for their breakfast. Pulling on his pants, he decided his farm wasn’t going to take care of itself. He couldn’t go find her right now.

  * * *

  Moira sat on the edge of the bed in the tiny room at Dolidh’s Inn and Tavern. She had been sitting upright and fully clothed since midnight, when she tiptoed barefoot into her room. As the sun burst through the filthy window, she finally unfolded her stiff legs. She had been trying to determine what to do. I left my previous life of poverty to find wealth and social distinction. Do I really want to be the wife of a poor farmer?

  Standing to stretch her stiff muscles, a desire for food rumbled through her. She decided she needed a full stomach before she could come to any conclusions. She left her room and followed the aroma of breakfast down the stairs.

  At quarter to noon, Moira was still sitting at the same table where she had eaten breakfast. She had the same distant look in her eyes, lost somewhere else.

  “Oy, lassie, what are you doing?”

  Moira jumped, startled from her thoughts.

  “You haven’t moved since you finished your kippers and eggs this morning.”

  “Uh, I’m just . . . thinking some things over,” Moira stated.

  “Oh, and these things wouldn’t be a handsome farmer that lives next door, would they?”

  Surprised, Moira looked at the older woman.

  “Don’t look so shocked, lass. I was young once too. I remember what it’s like to fall in love,” Dolidh said with a chuckle.

  “F-f-f-alling in love,” Moira stammered. “What are you talking about? I’m not falling in love with anybody.”

  “I’ve already told you, I remember what it’s like and I say you’re falling in love with Brian MacDonald! I’ve seen that look a thousand times. That’s why you didn’t get back from your walk ’til after midnight. I remember those walks all too well, my dear.”