Love by the Stroke of Midnight

person, really.” He peered farther into the cupboard. It gave her a good view of his jean-clad ass.
Very nice.
“Thank you.”
“Enough. Come out of the cupboard and stop looking for whatever you’re looking for.”
Paden stood up. “Just as well you said out of the cupboard and not the closet. I’m seeing what tins are in there for our dinner. Because I bet you there’s enough nice stuff for us to eat well, and I’d also bet we’re here for the night. That storm didn’t just blow up so hard without a little help.”
Marcail thought over his words. “Help how?”
He shrugged. Who knows? There’s enough magic in our heritage for any number of people to have the necessary skills.”
Here we go again.
“Marcail Drummond. Open your mind. Who was your ancestor at Culloden?”
“Rian McKinnon,” she said out loud, and gasped. “Hold on, why…did…you…me… Oh God.” She flopped back on the settee as little black dots danced in front of her eyes and the room spun. “That wasn’t your voice.”
“Nope.”
“Who? Why am I now hearing so many voices?”
“If you truly want to know, I can tell you.”
Marcail opened her mouth to say, ‘yes of course’, but Paden held his hand up to stop her.
“Once it is your birthday, and not before. That’s not up to me, but up to those who decreed it thus.”
There was the old-fashioned speech again. Marcail glanced at the clock. “That’s not for around eight hours then. How shall we pass the time?”
He winked, and she grinned. “Well, yes, we could.” Her stomach rumbled. “Or maybe we should eat first? I’ve only had about half a mug of soup since my toast at breakfast. I’m famished.”
“Then let’s see.” Paden turned back to the cupboard again. “I’ll stoke up the fire and then I can rustle up a curry, or…how open-minded do you feel?”
“Well, as it appears I’ve met my however-times-great-granny, accepted you’re in my mind and something momentous is due to happen tomorrow? To say nothing about Skye cropping up, and you know I’m off to New Zealand? I’d say as open-minded as I’m likely to ever be. Say, eight and a bit out of ten.”
“What about the other one and a bit?”
Marcail laughed. “I’m reserving that until I hear what you have to say.”
“Hmm.” Paden paced from one side of the room to the other, headed to the fireplace and added more dry wood. Within a few minutes there was a cheerful blaze, which began to take the edge off the chill in the room.
“Where in New Zealand did you intend to go?”
“Fly into Queenstown and head to Wanaka, then no idea. Why?” Marcail said, puzzled as to what that had to do with anything at that moment. “It’s not for another month.”
“Would you go now? This minute? There rather than anywhere else. Say, Skye?”
She laughed. “Definitely rather than Skye. It’s as cold there as here. Yeah, I’d go as I am without my luggage. But as we’re stuck in a bothy, on an island, in a blizzard, it’s not likely, is it?”
Paden gave her a strange smile, and her tummy flipped over as he put his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.
“You think not?”
Marcail looked at him, puzzled by his tone of voice. “How do you mean?”
“We could do it,” Paden said. “But it might upset a lot of people. Or we could wait, celebrate your birthday here, then go and…and I can’t tell you what yet. It has to be tomorrow.”
Marcail thought about it. There was no point in being arsy. She’d been told ad infinitum that it was important to discover what she needed to know at the appropriate time and place, so she would accept it. After all, she didn’t have to agree with whatever it was, once she knew it all, did she?
“No, but I hope you will.”
Where had she heard that voice before?
“We’ll wait and not upset people, then we— Hold on.” Marcail thought over the last words he had vocalised. “You’re coming with me?”
“I hope so. It’s—” He broke off. “If I say preordained do not thump me.”
That gave Marcail another thought. “Did someone influence me about New Zealand? Plant the idea in my mind?” That suspicion made her feel sick.
“Not as far as I’m aware. But I can’t honestly say not. New Zealand is important, but so is Samhain here. Now though, only you can decide what you want to do how and when.”
Marcail grinned. “I can?”
Paden nodded. “It’s now up to you at every stage. We’re stuck here for a while I reckon, so…all your choices now, mo ghaol.”
Dare she? Marcail gave an elaborate shiver. “Brr, it’s cold. Maybe we should cuddle to keep warm?”
“Maybe we should. Any idea where?”
“In bed?”
Paden grinned. “What a good idea.”
Marcail did her best to look innocent and was darned sure she didn’t manage it. “I thought so, and maybe we better get out of our damp clothes?”
“That’s another good idea.”
 

Chapter Six
Bleary-eyed, half-asleep and totally sated, Marcail reached out to find the other side of the bed empty and the sheets still warm. Lazy and content, she surveyed the heap of bedclothes that looked as if a battle had taken place on them.
“We sort of got carried away, eh?” Paden, naked and magnificent, stood by her side of the bed and stretched. “What a good way to be carried. Snow’s just about gone, though it looks cold and”—he handed her a cup from which steam spiralled out—“no milk, but hot. Happy Birthday, ma ghaol.”
“Thanks.” Marcail sipped the coffee, winced at the heat and waved her hand over it to cool it down.
Then she gulped as, dry-mouthed, she took in the sight of Paden in front of her. Tanned almost everywhere—except from his waist to the top of his legs—no man boobs, thank goodness—and after the last however many hours, a body she was very intimate with.
A shivering body. “Why on earth are you standing there shivering?” she asked. “I mean, it’s not that I’m not enjoying the view, because I