by Marie Harte
“No. I only saw the whirl of ribbons, and a girl dancing in front of me, and then—suddenly—I was in flight. When I blinked away the sun I saw a flash of crimson and tasted something sweet and wonderfully warm. Before I knew it, I was staring after you, wondering if it had all really happened.” She paused, remembering the feel of the sun on her shoulders and the lingering tingle on her lips. “I tripped the girl behind me, you know, standing there frozen like that.”
Aaron frowned, looking mildly abashed. “I didn’t see that,” he said. “I wouldn’t let myself look back at you, for fear I’d run back and do it all over again.”
“Why didn’t you? If you enjoyed it so, why did you leave me to bide these months in melancholy solitude, wondering if you even remembered?”
“Ah, well,” he said, staring down at the sopping ground, his cheeks colouring slightly, “I figured I’d made quite the fool of myself at the maypole. I didn’t think you’d be pleased with a repeat performance, so I avoided you, hoping that in time you might forget, and a chance to win you over more appropriately might present itself.” He smiled wryly. “I thought that was what had happened today, until you mentioned Beltane just moments ago.”
Caitlin laughed softly.
“So,” he said, “we’ve got a long walk ahead of ourselves, with no horse. If I were to maybe stop along the way to kiss you again…” He leant forward as he spoke, his breath warm against her lips, teasing.
“I would like that very much.”
Chapter Two
The O’Brien manse was a monolith that loomed tall and red against the stormy sky. It had stood just as impressively in Ireland once, and each brick had journeyed across the Atlantic from the Emerald Isle to be meticulously relaid, settling the massive family heirloom into New World soil. Stately Ionic columns framed the front door, and steel spires reached bravely towards the lightning-streaked sky from the roof’s tallest peaks. Two stone gargoyles peered down from the third storey, dripping with rainwater as they observed the two approaching figures with their usual grotesque indifference. Soaked to the bone as she was, Caitlin still couldn’t help but admire the structure as she and Aaron neared the front steps.
“Aaron!”
Caitlin recognised the tall, auburn-haired woman who flung the door open as Mrs O’Brien, Aaron’s mother. Her face, paler than usual, was a mask of fright that had just begun to soften in relief.
“I thought you’d never show up!” she cried. “Your horse came back half mad with a terrible bite on his leg and we thought… Well, thank God you’re back!” She snatched up one of his hands and held it in hers, her skin going taut over her long, slender bones as she squeezed. “What on God’s earth happened?” Her eyes—blue, much like her son’s—darted between him and Caitlin, desperately inquisitive.
“I’ll be glad to explain, mother,” Aaron said. “Only, d’ye think we could come in first?”
The roof that hung out over the front door and a small porch at the top of the steps protected him and Caitlin from the rain, but not the chill. Caitlin was fighting the urge to shiver, and, though Aaron showed no such signs, she was sure he must be cold as well.
“Ah,” Mrs O’Brien said, stepping aside and looking mildly flustered, “of course! Come in, both of you.” She ushered them inside, the edges of her shawl flapping.
Aaron and Caitlin were so soaked that the water dripping from their hair and clothes sounded like rainfall against the parlour floor. The house’s roaring fires warded off the chill of the stormy outdoors, but their warmth couldn’t penetrate their sopping layers of clothing. Caitlin was acutely aware of the fact that she’d fallen hard onto the muddy, rain-glazed ground as Mrs O’Brien’s eyes swept over her.
“Will this be one of the McCarthy girls, then?” Mrs O’Brien asked.
Aaron nodded. “Aye, this is Caitlin McCarthy. I met her near our property border today as it began to rain. I tried to take her home, but the rain was so sudden that the bridge was flooded by the time we reached it.”
“Well, I’m glad Aaron found you, dear,” Mrs O’Brien said, “for I hate to think of what trouble might have befallen you left on your own, if my own son brings you back in this condition.” She raised a red eyebrow at Caitlin’s filthy dress. “You’re not harmed, are ye?”
Caitlin shook her head. “No, Mrs O’Brien. I’m fine. We encountered some trouble with lightning. Aaron couldn’t have helped it.”
After several tsks and exclamations of distress over Caitlin’s dripping state, Caitlin was swept upstairs by Mrs O’Brien herself, who proceeded to see her dried and clothed in a borrowed dress, with the help of a maid she called Molly. The gown—a pretty thing of lilac cotton—belonged to Aaron’s younger sister. The bust was a trifle tight for Caitlin, but not so much that she minded, especially when she remembered how cold and clammy her own dress had been. She abandoned it gratefully, leaving it to dry by the fire as Mrs O’Brien urged her downstairs to dinner.
Aaron, along with nearly a dozen other O’Briens, his younger sister and brothers among them, was already seated at the table when Caitlin entered the dining room. There was an empty seat across from him and she took it happily, stealing a glance at his freshly tended appearance. His hair looked to have been quickly dried and combed with haste, and it gleamed an appealing shade of golden red in most places, pleasantly back-lit by the fire that roared in the hearth behind him. Rebellious tufts of ginger and wayward strands of cinnamon stuck up here and there, lending him a slightly dishevelled air that made Caitlin want to run her fingers through it, to feel it thick and glossy beneath her palms. It was soft, she knew, but nothing so soft as his lips… She blushed, looking down at the potatoes that had appeared on her plate, just as a small smile appeared on his face. He caught her eye, and she fervently hoped she could keep from making a fool of herself.
* * * *
“It hasn’t been used in a while,” Aaron said, opening one of the many doors that lined the third floor hallway, “but Molly always keeps it clean, in case of unexpected guests.”
He cast a flirtatious smile in Caitlin’s direction as he said this, his full lips curving so they really did resemble the Cupid’s bow—the shape an upper lip was so often compared to. She felt as if his smile had released some invisible arrow, poisoning her veins with a potent substance that made her grin in what she might have ordinarily thought an idiotic manner.
“It’s a beautiful room,” she said, stepping over the threshold to survey her temporary quarters. The bedroom was sizeable, especially in comparison to the modest living space in her own family’s home, which was little more than a cabin, really, but solidly built by McCarthy hands. Directly across from the entrance was a bed, the mattress of which Aaron assured Caitlin was filled with feathers, with a small table beside it, and a wardrobe in one corner. There was a window that normally would have looked out over sprawling O’Brien land and to the scenic Blue Ridge Mountains in the distance, but currently afforded a view of only a few feet, and those filled with rain and fog.
“It hasn’t let up a bit, has it?” Caitlin asked, staring out at the driving rain and listening to it fall against the roof.
“No, but it’s a wonderful sound to fall asleep to,” Aaron replied, following her gaze.
“I’ve always thought so, too,” she agreed, turning from the view to share a small smile with Aaron.
“I’ll be listening to it, too, just at the other end of the hall in my own room. Should anything trouble ye during the night, don’t be afraid to fetch me.”
“I’m sure I’ll sleep well,” she assured him, striding across the floorboards to press a hand against the mattress, which proved to be wonderfully soft.
“Aye, well, I guess this is goodnight then.”
Caitlin turned to find him closer than she had expected, watching her from only a few feet away with a mysterious expression on his face. Feeling caught in his orbit, she began to drift slowly towards him. Before she quite realised what she was doing, she was standing w
ith less than a foot of space between them, tilting her head back so as to better meet his blue eyes…and perhaps his lips.
“Fresh sheets!” Molly—the same maid who had helped Caitlin to dry and dress when she’d first arrived—burst into the room, calling out over her arm full of linens with rather more cheeriness than Caitlin thought the situation merited.
Caitlin jumped.
Aaron, on the other hand, managed to maintain his composure quite well, though his eyes did widen slightly with surprise as he stepped away from her, putting a decidedly casual distance between their bodies.
“Thank you, Molly,” Caitlin said, smoothing her skirts and stealing a sideways glance at Aaron as she blushed. He gazed back at her, and she thought his blue eyes seemed regretful.
Molly bustled busily over to the bed, a slight smile on her face as she hummed industriously, apparently oblivious to the tension.
“Goodnight, Caitlin,” Aaron said, stealing out of the room with one last, long look at her—one Caitlin knew she would remember as she lay in bed, and maybe for the rest of her life.
Molly didn’t leave the room until the sound of Aaron’s footsteps had faded away, and the echo of his closing bedroom door had sounded softly throughout the hall.
Caitlin stripped off her borrowed dress and slipped into bed, uneasy despite the accommodations, which were nothing short of luxurious as far as she was concerned. She drew the quilt and sheet tight beneath her chin, trying to focus on the sound of the rain, as if it could make her forget how strangely empty and large the room was—not at all like the modest one-room home she, her sister and parents shared. She missed the comforting sounds of shifting bodies, and even snores, but eventually the rain lulled her to sleep.
* * * *
Caitlin awoke not to the faint light of dawn and chirping birds, but to a cold wetness and a sudden, heart-pounding sensation of shock. She sat bolt upright in her feather bed, looking frantically from side to side in the darkness as memories of the previous day and evening flooded back to her. Unfortunately, knowing she was in a guest bedroom on the third floor of the O’Brien manse did nothing to explain why something extremely cold was splashing on her head and pouring over her neck, causing her to shake as it slid down her spine. Bewildered and blind in the darkness, she screamed.
The creak of opening doors was followed in quick succession by the sounds of rushing feet and even a muffled curse. Caitlin swung her legs over the side of the bed, trembling as she sought escape from the mysterious, icy deluge. She sighed as the sensation of being caught beneath an upturned, half-frozen bucket of water left her, and shivered as her bedroom door creaked and swung open.
“Caitlin!” Aaron’s voice was wonderfully familiar and was almost enough to keep Caitlin’s knees from wobbling as she stood, eager to escape the frightful trap her bed had become.
“Aaron!” she cried, her voice left weak in the wake of her scream.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice taut with urgency. “Are ye hurt?”
“S—something fell on my head,” she explained, her teeth chattering as she wrapped her arms around herself. “Something c—cold!”
Aaron made a perplexed sound from somewhere in the darkness. “Fell on your head? Are ye sure you’re not hurt?”
“Aye, I’m sure.”
“Hold on—I’ll go get a candle,” said a second voice, obviously female. The sound of hurried footsteps filled the room, faded, and was back within a moment. The soft glow of candlelight illuminated the way of its bearer, revealing her to be Katrina, the same younger sister of Aaron’s from whom Caitlin had borrowed clothing, and who had apparently been sleeping in the room next door. She wore a thick robe, an inch or two of her long nightdress showing beneath its hem. Her pretty face still bore the traces of the shock Caitlin’s shriek must have given her.
Aaron’s face—pale with worry—emerged from the darkness as his sister moved to his side, and Caitlin’s heart slowed a little, calmed by his presence. He wore the same shirt he’d had on at dinner, the hem stopping at mid-thigh. The muscles in his legs stood out, tense as he was. His hair, thoroughly tousled, was the colour of flames in the candlelight.
Caitlin’s heart promptly sped up again when the circle of yellow light reached her, revealing her to her small audience, standing drenched in nothing but a borrowed shift. The shift, like the borrowed dress, was tight across her bust, and the thin, pale fabric halfway soaked besides. She backed hastily away from the brightness, her cheeks burning as she nearly tripped, adjusting her arms to cover her nipples, which had gone quite hard beneath the chilled fabric and were hardly disguised by their thin cover. Katrina let out a small gasp of surprise, while Aaron made a sound somewhere in his throat that could only be described as a significantly shocked moan.
“The bed,” Caitlin cried, “it happened in the bed!” She scurried in the opposite direction, moving with deliberate intent towards the wardrobe as Katrina hastily swung her candle in the other direction.
While Aaron and Katrina were distracted with their inspection of the bed, Caitlin flung open the wardrobe doors and began rifling desperately through it, searching for anything she might be able to throw over herself. Her hands closed upon something that felt promising, and with a sigh of relief she pulled out a robe, hardly pausing to determine the front from the back before she wiggled into it, pulling the belt tight and tying it in a crude but effective knot.
“Looks like the roof is leaking,” Aaron announced, leaning over the bed and staring up at the ceiling as his sister held the candle helpfully aloft. “And it’s a damn big hole, too.”
Katrina tsked, sounding remarkably like her mother, and Aaron bowed his head a little. “Sorry, Katrina…Caitlin.” He bowed his head even further as he spoke Caitlin’s name, and the tip of an ear that peeked from his waves was pink, the flush visible even in the semi-darkness. “I shouldn’t have spoken so.” He resorted to a few moments of indiscernible, yet plainly uncomplimentary, mumbling instead as he stared up at the leaking ceiling, his arms crossed and the hair on his bare legs gleaming a vivid red in the candlelight.
“Katrina, why don’t you take Caitlin down to the kitchen and make her a cup of tea?” he asked. “She’s sopping wet.” Here his visible ear went pink again, and his voice crept upwards half an octave. “She must be chilled to the bone. I’ll fetch ye both when I’ve taken care of this.”
Caitlin followed Katrina to the kitchen two floors below, the candle a small bastion of brightness in the manse’s darkness, which seemed thick and vast to Caitlin, who had never been inside such a large place at night. She felt very small as she descended the second flight of stairs, and was grateful for the presence of the slender, blonde girl of sixteen or so, despite the fact that each moment spent in her company embarrassed Caitlin down to her very toes as she recalled her moment in the candlelight upstairs. She wouldn’t have minded Aaron seeing her in such a state of undress half so much if there hadn’t been another witness.
“Here,” Katrina said as they pattered into the kitchen, “have a seat. I’ll make us tea.”
Caitlin cautiously pulled out a chair from beneath a round table of plain, simple wood. It was small compared with the rectangular table they’d eaten at in the dining room, but in all respects, including size, much like the one Caitlin ate from daily in her own home. Caitlin sat and Katrina busied herself with tins and pots, holding one carefully over the low night-time fire that burnt in the kitchen hearth.
“Here you go,” Katrina said a short while later, pouring water into two cups she’d pulled from one of the cupboards.
“Thank you,” Caitlin murmured, wrapping her hands around her teacup and relishing the warmth that started in her hands, then seemed to seep all the way into her bones.
Katrina nodded, placing the candle she’d carried from upstairs in a holder that sat in the centre of the table top. She and Caitlin sipped their tea, their faces glowing softly in the sphere of candlelight that enveloped them, casting their shadows
long and black across the kitchen floor. “So I hear ye had a frightful encounter with a coyote,” Katrina said, her voice quiet but interested.
“Quite frightening…” Caitlin said, beginning to pass the minutes with a retelling of her and Aaron’s adventures.
Katrina exclaimed softly and nodded in all the right places. Her hair, which she wore in a loose plait down her back for sleeping, glowed golden in the candlelight. It was some time before Caitlin concluded her tale, the sound of soft footfalls overlapping her last words.
She turned to peer over her shoulder, knowing it was Aaron even before she saw him. Still, she smiled when she did, hoping the expression would distract from the sudden heat that rushed into her cheeks. He hadn’t laid eyes upon her since her candlelight faux pas, and, now that he did, she detected a hint of colour in his cheeks as well. He wore a robe now, too, his shirt peeking white from beneath the collar.
“Is there any tea left?” he asked, his voice steady and composed.
“Plenty,” Katrina said, stifling a yawn. “I made a whole pot. You’re welcome to it—I’m going back to bed.” She rose slowly, pushing her chair quietly back beneath the table as she cast a questioning glance at Caitlin. “Shall I show ye back to your room? Or will you stay and have another cup?”
Caitlin blushed a little, drawing her teacup and its comforting warmth close against her chest. “I think I’ll have another.”
Katrina pulled out a drawer and took a fresh candle from it, holding its wick against the flame of the other that burnt in the centre of the table. “Goodnight,” she said when she’d lit it, slipping out of the kitchen with it held aloft, lighting her journey back to bed a few steps at a time.
Silence reigned for a few long moments after Katrina’s exit, during which Caitlin sipped her tea, as much to hide her pink cheeks as for something to do.
