Men of Midnight Complete Collection

by Emilie Richards

  A barrel-chested piper had led them along the snow-dusted path to the chapel, and now he began to play again. Duncan and Mara started down the aisle, each holding one of April’s hands. Duncan had surprised them—Mara most of all—by wearing a kilt. He swore it was the first and only time he ever would, but Billie thought he wore it proudly, as required. Iain and Andrew had stood beside him at the ceremony, and the three men of midnight, each in full Highland regalia, were a powerful presence, almost as if they had been spirited to the chapel from a day long ago.

  Billie had listened carefully to the words of the ceremony; she had rejoiced in the glow of Duncan and Mara’s love for each other; she had blinked back tears as seven-year-old April stepped forward to accept Mara as her second mother—Mara’s choice of title. But she had also watched Iain throughout the wedding. The flickering candlelight had added mysterious dimensions to his profile. Tonight he was more the warrior, less the disenchanted poet. There was a fierceness that he often hid, but that couldn’t be denied. He was a man of strong emotions, and standing among the people he cared most about, those emotions were almost visible.

  He moved toward her now and held out his arm. Andrew had been closer. She had expected him to escort her back down the aisle, but she took Iain’s arm and walked beside him to the stunning drone of the piper.

  “It’s done,” he said when they were outside.

  She shivered, despite the coat someone had handed her for the trip back. The chapel had been cold enough, but now the winter wind tore at her bare wrists and throat. None of the native Scots seemed even to notice. “Are you glad?”

  “Without question.”

  “I’ve never seen two happier people. Three, counting April.”

  “April’s own mother is trying to give April what she can. But Mara will be her first and most important mother, no matter what she chooses to call herself.”

  There was a flash of bright blue in front of them, and the little girl in question came back to launch herself into Iain’s arms. “Did I do okay?” April wrapped her arms around Iain’s neck and held on for dear life.

  “You were the absolute hit of the show.”

  She peeked over his shoulder. Her face was a small, female version of her father’s, complete with his serious gray eyes. “What do you think?” she asked Billie.

  “I think your Uncle Iain’s right. You were terrific.”

  “Are you going to get married next? Mara says you are.”

  “Really? Does she say to whom?”

  April looked puzzled.

  “Never mind,” Billie assured her. “I don’t think I want to know. It’ll spoil the fun.”

  “Somebody named Ruaridh.” April scrambled down to run to Andrew.

  “Ruaridh.” Billie breathed the name.

  Iain didn’t look at her. “Obviously she’s mistaken.”

  “Unless we’re about to be catapulted back in time. I felt like that had already happened when I was standing in your chapel.”

  “Did you?”

  “I’m sure you’ll think I’m crazy…crazier, but that’s a very holy place, Iain. I could almost feel the spirits of all the people who’ve celebrated and mourned there.” She flashed her dimples, even though he wasn’t looking at her. “Even if they were Rosses.”

  “Not all of them were Rosses.”

  “But not MacFarlanes, I’m sure. I’ve got a feeling that my relatives were never allowed through that door, unless they were delivered there in coffins.”

  “The Rosses never wasted good wood on MacFarlanes. We weighted them with stones and threw them in the loch.”

  “Then I’m related to the monster, I suppose. In a roundabout way.”

  He laughed. “I’m convinced you’re related to the devil himself. Is there anything you take seriously?”

  “Sure. My quest to discover why my family cursed yours. I’m beginning to think it was for withholding information. If all the Rosses were as secretive as you are, it’s no wonder the MacFarlanes went on the warpath. Our curse is a need to know everything.”

  “Then I’ll tell you something you don’t know.”

  “Really?” She wasn’t holding her breath.

  “Aye.”

  They were nearing the house, and the many guests who had just come for the reception were a mass of humanity sweeping forward to congratulate the bride and groom. “Tell me quickly,” she urged, “before we’re trampled.”

  “No need to worry. It will only take a moment.”

  “Tell me!”

  “Ruaridh and Christina were married in that chapel, too.”

  * * *

  There were a hundred candles burning in Fearnshader’s rooms and hallways. Iain had hired a man to do nothing but replace them as the evening wore on. Candlelight mellowed the gray stone, and Christmas greenery softened even the most forbidding nooks and crannies. A Scottish country band filled the air with music, and laughter drifted from one room to another. The party threatened to go on all night.

  “So, how does it feel to be a married man again?” Iain asked Duncan. He and Andrew had managed to drag Duncan away from his well-wishers. And now that the three men of midnight were standing in a corner together, they were given a wide berth.

  “Right,” Duncan said.

  “Mara’s the bonniest bride I’ve had the fortune to see,” Andrew said.

  Iain had to agree. Mara, in a dress of cream-colored lace with garlands of freesia and pale yellow roses woven through her hair, could take a man’s breath away. His gaze flicked to Billie, who was laughing with Alasdair Melville on the other side of the crowded room. The two women couldn’t possibly have been more different. He had always found being with Mara relaxing, almost meditative. They could sit quietly together, and his mind could wander comfortably, safely, to other places.

  But there was nothing comfortable about Billie. Where Mara was peace and tranquility, Billie was a plunge into Loch Ceo. She could take a man under so quickly he hardly knew he was in the water.

  “Iain?”

  Iain realized that Andrew had asked a question. “I’m sorry. My mind’s wandered. What did you say?”

  “She’s quite bonny, is she no’?”

  “Aye. Mara is particularly bonny tonight.”

  “No’ Mara. We finished discussing Mara moments ago. I’m talking about Billie.”

  “Bonny’s not the right word.”

  “What is, then?” Andrew struggled to hide a smile.

  “Vivid. Lively.” Enchanting.

  “Have you danced with her?”

  Iain hadn’t danced with anyone except some of the village’s oldest residents. He had escorted Flora Daniels through some of the dances, and his own housekeeper, Gertie Beggs. Skillfully he had avoided any woman young enough to think of him as something other than a son. “Have you?”

  “I’m about to, unless someone stops me.”

  Iain knew that Andrew was prodding him. More than one dewy-eyed village lass sighed over Andrew, but despite his warmth and wit, Andrew avoided serious relationships.

  “Would you like me to dance with her?” Iain asked. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

  “No’ necessarily. I know she confuses you. I would hate to see you confused in your own home, Iain.”

  “You’ve not a drop of subtlety anywhere in your blood.”

  “Of course no’. You’ve enough for us both.”

  “Dance with her, Iain,” Duncan said. “Everyone will make note of it, and it will give Mara and me a chance to slip away while they’re watching you.”

  “And why will they be watching us?”

  “Because it’s known far and wide that Billie’s a MacFarlane,” Andrew said. “It’s been whispered about all evening.”

  “What do they think will happen? That I’ll take her in my arms and drop dead of a heart attack?”

  “Does that worry you? Alasdair’s here, after all. He should be able to prevent the worst damage.”

  Iain raised a brow.
“Friend or not, Andrew, you should watch what you say.”

  Andrew clapped him on the back. “Should I? Are you no’ glad that someone has the courage to prod you, Iain? Or should we all bow and scrape?”

  “No one in Scotland bows and scrapes, you idiot.”

  “Go bow to the lady, Iain,” Duncan said. “And do it now, before someone else grabs her. I want to take Mara home.”

  Iain watched the flickering candlelight deepen the rich glow of Billie’s hair. She was still talking to Alasdair, who had been her partner more than once. Beside Alasdair’s bland good looks she was a fountain of vibrant color and movement. He couldn’t look at her without wanting to experience her with his other senses. He was afraid, terribly afraid, that she was everything that had been missing in his life.

  He left his friends and crossed the room toward her. He was stopped again and again, and he murmured polite responses, but he was aware of Billie each time, and of a growing distress within him that he was going to miss the chance to dance with her. And suddenly he wanted that very badly.

  Alasdair had disappeared when he reached her at last, but she was talking to another man. Iain wondered who had introduced her to Martin Carlton-Jones.

  “Are you enjoying yourself, Billie?” he asked. He nodded politely to Martin.

  “Yes. It’s been lovely.” She smiled up at him, and, as always, he felt a sharp tug of attraction.

  He turned to Martin Carlton-Jones, whose middle-aged cheeks were heavily flushed from too much whiskey and more exercise than he was obviously used to. “And you, Martin?”

  “Yes. It’s quite a colorful experience for a Sassenach like myself.”

  “You’re from England?” Billie asked.

  “Yes. From just outside London. I enjoy these jaunts to the Highlands. I’ve been trying to convince Iain, here, to help me make them more permanent.”

  Billie cocked her head in question.

  Iain didn’t smile. “Martin and his partner, Nigel Surrey, would like to own Druidheachd, lock, stock and barrel. I’ve tried to explain there are already people living here, but I’m afraid that neither he nor Nigel is willing to give up easily.”

  “Own Druidheachd?” Billie turned to Martin. “And where would you put all the villagers?”

  “Iain exaggerates immensely. I’d just like to own enough of the village to make it a bit of a holiday spot. But I’m afraid Iain is far too old-fashioned and aristocratic to approve of tourism.”

  “Iain aristocratic?” Billie smiled again. “How can that be? He’s invited us to this party, hasn’t he? Quite obviously he’s enchanted by the common folk.”

  Martin Carlton-Jones looked as if he had been struck. Iain wanted to laugh, but he was too aristocratic to be that rude. “Martin, will you excuse us? I haven’t had the opportunity to dance with Billie yet. And there’s one coming up she’ll enjoy.”

  As if on cue, the band, who had been taking a short break, reassembled to begin again. Martin moved away, and Iain held out his hand. She seemed surprised, and her eyes widened. They were a thousand shades of brown, eyes he could gaze into forever without noting every detail.

  She gave him her hand. “Well, I wondered if you’d dare be alone with me after dropping that little bombshell on the way back from the chapel.”

  “You can speak of bombshells after the way you put Carlton-Jones in his place?”

  “I rarely dislike anyone on sight. But who is this man to think he can buy Druidheachd?”

  “A businessman with a one-track mind.”

  “I think we should reroute his track.”

  Iain smiled. “Have you danced The Dashing White Sergeant before?”

  “Is that like the Texas Two Step?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  “You’ll have to. Being a Scot by descent didn’t descend to my feet. I’ve hopelessly snarled every set I’ve joined. Poor Dr. Melville will have to see an orthopedic colleague.”

  “That’s not true. I’ve watched you.”

  “Have you?”

  “What you lack in experience you make up for in creativity.”

  She grinned, and her dimples were a mile deep. “Do they teach you to say those things in lord school, Iain? Could anyone be that charming without years of instruction?”

  “I’m absolutely sincere.”

  “You are absolutely nuts, but I’d love to dance with you, as long as you know what you’re getting into.”

  They formed a circle with the others, a wide circle that threaded all the way around the room. Iain faced Billie and gave a slight bow.

  “Is this one of those dances where you leave me immediately and go on to another partner?” she asked. “Is that why you asked me for this one?”

  “No. You’re mine for the duration.”

  “That very nearly sounds like a wedding vow. One of those do-it-yourself types penned by a real cynic.”

  He laughed, and the music started before he could respond. “Just follow along and watch the other women.”

  “I’d much rather watch you.”

  Something stirred inside him. It was not a dance where he could hold her close, and suddenly he regretted that. He executed the opening steps, all Highland flourish and style. She made a reasonable stab at holding up her end of the bargain, and he nodded. They circled each other, and he pulled her arm high into position as he put his other arm around her waist.

  He understood for the first time the purpose of a dance like this one. It was not good clean fun. It was nothing more than a mating ritual. They circled each other, but the rules were strictly enforced. When he was allowed to hold her, it was only for a brief moment, and then the embrace was proscribed and controlled. But their eyes never left each other. And as the pace grew more frenzied, they found ways to be more intimate. His arm tightened around her waist; her hip brushed his. She taunted him with her eyes and with the sinuous sway of her body. When he turned her gracefully under his arm, her breast grazed his chest.

  By the time the music finished with a flourish, desire had claimed him as an old friend. Billie’s cheeks were flushed with exertion and excitement, and her eyes smoldered with something much more elemental. The room seemed to dim. The candlelight flickered, sending spiraling shadows against the old stone walls. As Iain blinked to focus, she was transformed. She was Billie, and not Billie. Her hair cascaded down her back, although it was nearly covered by a linen headdress, and her gown was longer and of a softer rose. She lifted her eyes to his, the same warm brown eyes fringed by dark lashes, and he could see the greatest part of a millennium in their depths.

  He was swept with a wave of dizziness. He leaned toward her. She leaned toward him.

  A hand gripped his shoulder.

  Iain whirled. In that moment he felt danger all around him. He was surrounded by people who wanted vengeance. He could not protect Christina from what awaited them. They were doomed by their love.

  “Iain.”

  He was ready to strike. He lifted his hand.

  “Iain, have you lost your mind?” Andrew asked softly.

  He stared at Andrew. His friend. He muttered an oath.

  “Excuse us, Billie,” Andrew said. “But I’ve got to consult your dance partner about rooms for the night.” Andrew turned and walked away from the dancers and Billie.

  Iain faced her. She looked winded but unaware of what had just transpired. He knew that something was expected of him. He floundered for the right thing to say, but his voice was perfectly normal. “Will I see you later tonight?”

  “Sure. I’ll still be catching my breath.”

  He found Andrew in a corner. He stopped just in front of him, but he couldn’t speak.

  “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.” Andrew rested his hand on Iain’s shoulder.

  The dizziness had already receded, but now it had been replaced by fear. “A ghost?”

  “Aye. Iain, for a moment back there you looked at me as if you thought I was someone else.”

  “Aye, I
have seen a ghost, Andrew.”

  Andrew frowned. He gripped Iain’s shoulder, as if in comfort.

  “I’ve seen a ghost,” Iain said. “The ghost of my father and all the Rosses. I’ve seen the ghost of what awaits me.”

  * * *

  Duncan and Mara had not slipped out of Fearnshader. Mara had decided to change first, then leave by a secluded door in the west wing. Billie found her just as Mara unzipped the small case in which she’d brought her traveling clothes.

  “I thought you might need some help.” Billie crossed the room and held out her arms. “It was a beautiful wedding and the best party I’ve ever been to.”

  Mara hugged her. “The party’s still going on, Billie. Are you certain you’d rather no’ be dancing than helping me dress?”

  “Lord, no. I need a breather, and so do all the poor men who offered me a dance. And I wanted a chance to say goodbye and wish you well on your honeymoon.”

  “Duncan’s quite spoiling me, but I can no’ wait to see New York and California.”

  Billie knew that Duncan and Mara had chosen the United States for their honeymoon because Duncan wanted Mara to meet the family and friends who had not been able to come for the wedding, particularly his sister Fiona, who had been badly injured as a child and was still frightened of travel. “And April’s going to England to be with her mother?”

  “Aye, for a fortnight. Then Lisa’s taking her back to America to join us, so April will no’ feel left out of the honeymoon fun. It will give them a chance to strengthen their relationship. And Iain and Andrew will be standing by, in case they’re needed.”

  “Mara, April said the strangest thing after the wedding. She told me that you’d said I was to be married next, and my intended’s name was Ruaridh.”

  Mara turned away. “Will you unfasten this, please?”

  Billie obliged. Mara crossed the room and slipped out of the dress. She hung it carefully on a padded hanger, then took the garland of flowers out of her hair before she turned back to Billie. “I dinna know when April heard me say that.”