Come Midnight (24 page)

***

They spent a far longer time than usual putting Andrew to bed. Because they both knew this was more than likely the last time Caitlin would be there for the ritual, they'd tacitly agreed to make it memorable ... and special. But what made this all so very hard was that the child must be shielded from their painful foreknowledge. For one thing, Andrew couldn't hope to understand the things they knew, or how they'd come to know them; and for another, there was always the hope, albeit a slim one, that what they feared wouldn't come to pass. Thus, they'd resolved to tuck him in with cheerful smiles, as if all were right with the world.

Adam's presence, while he was there, helped center Caitlin and gave her support in moments when she weakened. As when she wondered how the child would fare when there was no one to listen to his prayers, Adam's difficulty being what it was. Will the lad continue in his simple child's faith, despite the absence of a loving parent beside him? Or will he, because he is alone, begin to doubt? God protect him from the loss of faith that's blinded his father to the Light!

Another difficult moment arose when Andrew asked for the tale of the "Sleeping Beauty" as a bedtime story—Jeremy had recommended it—and they came to the place in which the princess falls into a deathlike slumber, through the enchantment of an evil witch. My clever young Druid witch! All at once plunged into the ugly recollection, Caitlin shivered. Andrew, of course, could know nothing of that, but he was given to comparing her to the heroines of the various fairy tales she'd read him ... You look like Cinderella at the ball! Would he draw another, and much less benign, comparison when she was no longer among the living?

She envisioned the sleeping princess, lying on her bed, still as death. Is that how he'll think of me when I'm gone? Will he imagine me in a tower room, all twined about with thorns, waiting for my hundred years to end? Will he grieve anew when he realizes he'll have died himself long before that magical awakening could ever come to pass?

Still, with Adam in the room, Caitlin managed to carry on without faltering. Then came the moment when the child would say his prayers. When his father had slipped away—this time with a sweetly understanding nod from Andrew—she had all she could do to get through it without breaking down:

"God bless Caitlin—I mean, Mama—and thank you, God, for giving her to me ..."

Holy Mother of God, help me find the strength to leave this child. . .

"God bless Papa ..."

Help him to lead his father to the Light, to succeed where I could not. . .

"God bless Jeremy . .. God bless Jepson and Mrs. Hodgkins ... God bless Townsend ..."

Guide them as they fill his days with friendship and love....

When the last prayer left his lips, when Caitlin had added hers and crossed herself, she had to believe her own had been heard. "G'night, Mama," Andrew murmured with a smile, and before she could respond, she saw he was asleep.

"Good-bye, wee son," she whispered, her eyes blurring with tears. Tears that had blessedly been held in abeyance till now. Sparing the child from asking why she cried, sparing her from answering him with a lie. And that, too, like so much else, had to be enough.

***

This time Adam had waited for her. He stood in the hallway, mere steps from Andrew's door. "Come," was all he said when he saw her face, and he opened his arms to her. Caitlin felt them close around her like a benediction. If this was the only kind of prayer he could manage, she might sorely lament what that limitation cost him, but she was passing glad of the human solace he offered tonight. To deny her need of it would require another lie she was loath to own. She craved those arms about her. Adam's solid presence was a comfort past telling. She needed it like all things green and growing needed the sun and the rain. She would savor what she could. 'Twas too late for regrets.

***

They made love for the last time in Adam's chamber. In the marriage bed of Catherine and Thomas Lightfoot, that was now theirs. As it happened, when he'd thought about their wedding night throughout the day, Adam hadn't intended to fall into bed at once. He'd wanted, above all, to delve through every corner of his mind, in the hours before midnight, to somehow find a way to save his wife. In his heart, however, he knew it would take a miracle to reverse the dark tide that swept them inexorably toward the abyss.

And Adam had long ago stopped believing in miracles.

In the end, the delving mind lacked conviction and surrendered to the passions of the heart. And of the flesh. He defied the fast-ticking minutes and swiftly fleeting hours by making love to his bride with slow, deliberate hands; with long and languidly arousing kisses; with whispered words of praise and adoration. It was much like the first time he'd made love to her ... achingly slow and sensual... intoxicating and delicious in its anticipation... wildly fulfilling in its hectic, shattering climax. And yet it was not like the first at all, for never was joining so bittersweet.

And in those dwindling, bittersweet hours, Caitlin understood Adam's brave defiance. For years he'd been a military man, a fighter. And what was a fighter but a man of action? Yet now he found himself frustrated, unable to act And so, true to his nature, he fought where he could. Caught in the net of helplessness that held him in thrall, he would recklessly—defiantly— thumb his nose at it. Caitlin knew exactly what he was doing. And in this, she became his willing accomplice.

"Ach,
macushla
!" she cried breathlessly, writhing on the bed as he covered her naked body with slow, burning kisses. "I've a need t' know the taste o' ye, as well." With this, she turned on her side to face him. It was a balmy night, and they'd opened the windows and pulled aside the draperies. A full moon rode high above the trees, bathing the chamber in silvery light; she could easily read the mild surprise on Adam's chiseled features. He said nothing, but the quirk of a brow pulled at the thin scar that slashed across his face.

Saving nothing more, Caitlin ran her tongue experimentally along his neck, and then across the muscular curve of his shoulder. "Ye taste salty," she whispered, moving slowly downward. And smiled to herself as she felt Adam suddenly go very still beneath the cat-like laving of her tongue.

Proceeding to his pectorals, where the flat disc of a male nipple beckoned like an oasis amid the crisp whorls of chest hair, she encircled it with her lips. Sucking gently, she felt him shiver. And when she flicked the tightening center with her tongue, she heard him groan her name.

"D'ye like this,
a stor
?" she whispered, sending a breath of cooling air across the tiny, moist protrusion, causing it to pucker into a hard knot.

"Minx!" Adam accused—his turn to writhe now—as she grazed the turgid crest with her teeth. "You know I do."

"And this.. . ?" she questioned. Sheathing her teeth with her lips—as she'd often felt him do with her—she pinched the taut bud between them, then worried the captive flesh with her tongue. At the same instant, her hand slid across his flat abdomen. She grasped, at its base, the rigid length that had sprung against her belly. Gently, then more firmly, she squeezed the throbbing shaft and, with it thus in hand, began a slow, upward stroke toward the tip.

"Caitlin!'' Adam rasped, stilling her hand by covering it with his. "Do you want this spent too soon—and upon the sheets?"

"Ach, niver! But, Adam, I—"

"Hush," he murmured, and pressed her gently back into the mattress. Now it was his turn again. And he played upon her quivering flesh like the master he was. First, he turned the tables on her, teasing her responsive nipples in exactly the same fashion she'd employed with him. He was not content with just one breast, however, but played upon each in turn. While his mouth worked its magical mischief, his deft fingers did wickedly arousing things to the one abandoned by tongue and teeth, for he was most reluctant to leave either unattended when he played upon its twin.

Next, his relentless mouth moved lower. Now gently nipping the soft, silken skin of her belly, now soothing each inch of sweetly abraded flesh with his lips and tongue. At length, cupping her buttocks with his hands, he lifted her toward him, and his questing mouth moved lower still.

Without thinking, Caitlin tangled her fingers in his dark curls as his head descended to her navel, and then below. Lower still, and her thighs were open to him. Ah, she couldn't think for the pleasure! Then, all at once, she knew his intent. Patrick and all the saints preserve her! He was after loving her on—

"Adam!" she gasped as his head moved unerringly between her thighs. And then words failed, and she sucked in a quavering breath. He'd found the sweet, body pulsing center of her longing. Pausing there, he dipped and delved with his tongue till she moaned in ecstasy and sobbed his name. Now he nuzzled the tight auburn curls above that slick, wet opening. Found, with clever lips and wicked tongue, the sensitive, pert little nub nestled within those curls. Teased it without mercy. And sent her spiraling over the edge.

***

"Sure and ye're the shameless man o' the world,
a stor
" she whispered breathlessly. When power of speech at length returned. When she lay sprawled beneath him, on tangled sheets that bore the heady scent of passion.

"Quite," Adam agreed with a lazy, unrepentant grin.

A teasing light entered Caitlin's eyes, and a slow grin spread across her flushed face. "Yet turnabout's fair play, I'm thinkin'." Before he could respond, she slid from beneath him, turned, and quickly straddled his hips. Placing her hands on his chest, she pushed him firmly into the bed.

"Caitlin, what—?"

"Shh," she replied, stilling his lips with her fingers. And then it began. Murmuring words of wondering approval, she resumed that earlier exploration of his sleek, powerful body. "Ye've an uncommon strong and muscular neck,
a stor
," she told him, trailing kisses along its corded length. "And a fine, broad pair o' shoulders, sure." Clasping those shoulders with both hands, she sank her teeth lightly into the curve where neck and shoulder joined, and grinned when she felt him shudder.

His chest, with those intriguing male nipples, lured her downward. Although Adam twisted restlessly beneath her touch, she nonetheless took her time. He'd taught her well, and she was unrelenting, as thorough as he'd been with her. But all the while, her ultimate objective stayed firmly fixed in her mind. Nibbling and laving, mercilessly teasing, she made her way steadily toward it. It was only when she nuzzled his navel, her breasts pressed wantonly against his thighs, that Adam realized what that objective was.

He was no stranger to such pleasuring, of course.

Over the years, a string of mistresses and other clever women in the dozens had sought to please him so. But ... Caitlin? She was his wife now, the sweet, pure forever love of his heart. She was still an innocent, for all their recent sport. Never, would he have presumed to ask— "Caitlin!" His voice sounded preternaturally loud in the quiet moonlit chamber, her name wrung from his throat like a prayer. Had Adam been able to think clearly, he'd have stopped to ponder: How was it her name on his lips resembled the very thing he found impossible to utter in any circumstance? But he was far from thinking clearly. His hands clenched the rumpled sheets as Caitlin took him into her mouth. Sweat beaded his brow as she kissed and tasted and sucked and pleasured his engorged flesh. Driven to the brink with unbridled pleasure, he arched off the bed with a helpless cry.

And still, he managed to hold back. He was determined now to give her free rein, sensing how greatly she relished the pleasure she gave him. Until he felt her small hand cup him. With a desperate clenching of teeth, he resisted—barely, just—the urge to spill himself inside that eager mouth. Twisting aside, he caught Caitlin's lithe body and rolled with her, until she lay beneath.

Green eyes wide and luminous, she smiled up at him with unabashed delight: the cat that had got the cream.

"I love you more than life," he murmured thickly. "And more, a thousand times more, than all that lies beyond!"

"Aye, and so do. I love ye, Adam, a star." Caitlin's eyes darkened as the import of the words came home to her. I love you more than life. The real and imminent proof of it was not far off. To keep him from guessing her thoughts, she closed her eyes and pulled his head down for a scorching, soul-searing kiss.

With a helpless groan, Adam buried himself inside her.

Chapter 18

Caitlin lay beside her husband in the bed, still as stone, listening carefully to his breathing. Steady and deep, thank the dear God. Adam appeared deep in slumber, yet she waited, for she had to be certain. While he was a soldier on campaign, she'd learned, he acquired the necessary habit of making do with catnaps; he'd trained himself to come awake from these on the instant, alert for danger. It had saved his life and those of his men, he'd told her, on countless occasions.

Tonight, however, Caitlin could ill afford such alertness on his part. Indeed, by encouraging him to make love repeatedly—not that it took any sort of persuading, for Adam had been all but insatiable this night—she'd done all she could to ensure he'd be too exhausted to awaken before she met Appleby—and her imminent fate. An encounter that must not take place here, but in her own chamber. Not that I'm meant to have a chamber of my own any longer.

She smiled sadly, recalling Mrs. Needham's kindly face when the housekeeper had asked if they might remove Caitlin's belongings to the marquis's chambers while she was at the church. "Her ladyship, Lord Andrew's mother," she had hastened to explain, "kept to the tradition of separate chambers, do you see, like most of the gentry. But his lordship's parents never held with that. They shared the rooms his lordship occupies now, Miss Caitlin. And ... well, as nothing's been said of separate ... er, chambers, upon your own marriage ..." Her plain face had flushed a rosy red at that point. She'd looked so uncomfortable, Caitlin had rushed to assure her she'd never think of sleeping apart from her husband.

The smile turned wry as Caitlin was struck by the irony of it. How much easier it would be to steal away tonight if they had separate quarters. If Adam awoke, she stood a better chance of coaxing him back to sleep unaware by pretending she was merely going to fetch a night rail or some such trifle from her chambers. Implying she'd be right back.

A glance at the clock told her that was more than likely a foolish notion. Eleven minutes before twelve, and Adam knew what midnight would bring. Knew it in the marrow of his bones. If, in leaving, she chanced to wake him, she'd no doubt he'd immediately apprise himself of the hour. She'd be forced to meet the fiend in his presence, and that must not happen. No telling what recklessness Adam might attempt at the last minute, in his desperation to save her.

Indeed, she counted herself fortunate he'd fallen asleep at all. After all, despite the wild passion she herself had spent in their marriage bed, wasn't she lying here now, entirely awake? Not that she didn't ache with exhaustion. And feel sore in several new places, she mused with a rueful smile: Adam had been rather ... inventive in their lovemaking tonight. She'd only kept herself awake out of her desperate need—and thank the good God she'd succeeded.

Another glance at the clock revealed a full minute had passed while she lay there ruminating. Best get on with it, then.

Taking a long, lingering look at her husband's beloved face, she fought an urge to drop a soft kiss on his brow.
Holy Virgin, this is a good man, despite his unfortunate—and, aye, tragic—loss of faith. Pray for him, Mother of God. In the name of your Son, have mercy on him, and help him to find it again.

Not daring to move her hand to cross herself, Caitlin inched toward the edge of the bed. Now came the most difficult part. If Adam slept but lightly, he might well awaken when he sensed her weight leaving the mattress. Like all grand tester beds, this was a high one, its frame made to hold the mattress a good two feet from the floor. She glanced with regret at the portable stairs resting on their side several feet from the bed. Adam had kicked them aside when he carried her here in that first storm of passion. No help there.

Holding her breath, she maneuvered onto her belly and slowly ... ever so slowly ... began to slide over the side. It seemed forever till her feet would meet the carpet. At last she felt the fine Axminster wool beneath her toes. Now, if she could just—

At that moment, the mattress shifted. Adam had stirred, thrusting an arm across the pillow where her head had rested. Caitlin froze. On the other nights they shared this bed, they'd nearly always fallen asleep in each other's arms. In truth, she'd been fortunate in being able to prevent it happening tonight. Only twice, could she recall them lying apart after loving. And then not for apart, by any means. And on both occasions, hadn't he sought her out, even in his sleep? Turned and drawn her back into his arms? What if, upon finding her place empty now, he suddenly sprang awake?

Muscles tensed, Caitlin waited, the ticking of the clock matching the thudding of her heart. She clung to the edge of the bed without breathing. And was finally rewarded when his body relaxed again in slumber. Another glance at the clock told her she had nine minutes left. With one more silent prayer to the Virgin, she slid her weight to the floor. Success.

Yet she was still not ready to leave the chamber. Moving like a wraith, she went to gather up her bed gown, a fine, lovely thing Ashleigh and Megan had sent that morning. Plucking it from the carpet, where Adam had hastily discarded it in the heat of passion, she donned it quickly.

Next, she went to the clock on the mantel. Opening the case, she quickly moved the hands back until they read half-ten; if Adam should awaken, she thought perhaps he'd not panic if he believed they'd more time. She carefully closed the glass, winced at the snick of the tiny latch. A swift glance at the bed told her Adam hadn't moved, thank the dear God, and she made her way stealthily across the room.

Clouds had moved in, obscuring the moon, but she could still make out her bag of herbs and simples lying in the corner, beside Adam's huge armoire. She'd particularly asked Mrs. Needham to remove it here With the rest of her things, and for one important reason. The bag contained the letters she'd written Adam and the child. Bending down, she quietly withdrew them and carried them back to the mantel. The clock said another minute had passed. She forced herself not to panic while she propped the letters beside it, thought better of this, and placed them flat: Were Adam to awaken and spy them from the bed when he sought the time, he'd know something was afoot, sure.

Sparing precious seconds for a last glance at the bed, Caitlin swallowed hard. Good-bye, my darling. Forgive me,
a stor
, for leaving you this way. Know, in your heart of hearts,
macushla
, that I'll always be with you. Know it, my love, and that I'll love you till the end of days. With a swipe at the tears that had started, Caitlin turned and fled the room.