Love by the Stroke of Midnight

kelpies then.”
Paden stood in front of her. “Mermaids, monsters, selkies, imps, elves and banshees?”
Marcail jumped, startled by his sudden appearance, and punched him lightly on the arm. “Don’t push your luck. What are you doing here?”
He rubbed his arm. “Cruel woman. You called for me, I came.”
“I what?” She’d not mentioned him, or, she realised, thought of him for a while. “I did not.”
“Well, you wanted to,” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. “And I wanted you to. I kept away like I was told, but hell, Marcail, you’ve been gone all day, it’s almost dark, going to snow, and you need to get back before you freeze. I need to get back before I freeze. I’m not used to crap weather these days. Not Scottish crap weather anyway. I’m not equipped for it.”
Marcail shoved all her belongings into the backpack she’d brought out with her and passed it to Paden when he held his hand out for it. “No?” she queried. “What are you used to then?”
He waggled one finger at her before in single file they began to retrace Marcail’s steps from earlier that day. She had intended to circumnavigate the island, but the western coastline was not the place to be as it got dark.
“You’ll find out, tomorrow. If you want to.”
“Why would I not want to?” Marcail asked as a few snowflakes began to swirl and lazily fall to the ground. “You seem to have invaded my life and mind and… Bloody hell.” She stopped walking and swung around to face Paden. “What do you know?” What have we supposed to have done?
Paden closed his eyes for a second. “What do you mean?” he asked warily.
“Don’t give me that.” Marcail wiped snow from her lashes and poked him angrily. “You know damned well what I mean. You are that sodding voice, we agreed on that. But why and for how long?”
“I told you I was,” he said in an injured tone. “I can’t say any more, you’ve got to wait.”
“Why, it’s not fair,” Marcail almost shouted, then calmed down. “Shit, I sound like a three-year-old. Bloody-minded and obstreperous and I hate it. Can you answer me one thing?”
“I can try,” Paden said slowly. “I can’t promise though.”
Marcail supposed that was fair enough. “Was the decision not to let my dad tell me whatever he wanted yours? And why is Bonnie so suspicious of you?”
“That’s two things,” Paden pointed out.
She stamped her cold feet and shook her head. “Bollocks.” Grief, her language had deteriorated at a rate of knots. Had he been part of her erotic night? “Never mind. I’m sick of it all,” she said wearily as she willed herself not to cry. “Just let me go back to the castle. I’ll leave tomorrow.”
“You can’t leave, you need to discover your destiny.”
Who the hell was that? It wasn’t her own voice and it certainly wasn’t Paden’s.
Paden gripped her arm. “At this rate we’ll be lucky to find the castle,” he said as he indicated the now thick and settling snow. “Let alone you leave it. This is serious stuff. Come on, let’s hurry.”
Marcail blinked. Somehow as they’d argued the weather had taken a sudden, worrying turn for the worse. That was all they needed. She looked about as best she could. “Can’t hurry down here, not unless you want to risk one or both of us breaking a leg. The path twists and goes near the edge of a cliff a couple of times. Did you not notice on your way here?”
He shook his head. “I was concentrating on other things.”
“That’s sheer stupidity,” she exploded. “Men. Of all the… Argh. Words fail me. Come on and follow me. We’re not going to make it home straight away. We’ll need to wait the worst out.” Even as she spoke, the snow strengthened into a full-on blizzard and the increasing wind was creating deep flurries and drifts. She’d never known the weather to get so bad so fast. “There’s an old lambing bothy not far away.” Or there had been the last time she’d checked. That had been a couple of years previously when she’d toyed with the idea of moving home and setting up a creative business of some sort. However, she’d met Roddy and the idea had been shelved. “If it’s still standing. If not, get ready to crawl. How are you at digging snow holes?”
“Wouldn’t know where to start these days. Lead on.” Paden didn’t waste time querying her words. “I’m on your heels.”
She nodded, narrowed her eyes as she visualised the way they needed to go, and headed down the rough track once more. Several times she looked behind to check Paden was with her. With snow on his eyebrows and hair he was beginning to look like Jack Frost—or Old Father Time.
“Gee thanks.”
She didn’t waste her breath or her concentration answering.
A hundred yards or so farther on they turned off into the trees, where once out of the wind the snow was neither so deep, nor seemed to fall so fast.
“Whew.” Marcail blew her hair from her forehead and turned to Paden. “Okay? The bothy is only a few hundred yards away from here if I’ve remembered my way around the island as well as I hope I have, and a lot easier to get to than anywhere else. Home would take us too long, and, I’m not sure how confident I’d feel in places. The bothy might be rough and ready, hell it might not even have a roof, but it should give us some shelter until the worst passes. You’ll hopefully see it in a minute.”
Paden grinned. “Lead on again, Sherpa Marcail. I’m freezing my extremities off and it’s not a nice sensation. I’d be no good living in Iceland. If I’m not at home, Skye is far enough for me.”
There was Skye mentioned again. Marcail didn’t bother to answer, as she began plodding through the snow. She’d think about everything, including him, Skye and where his home was,