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 with 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.

“The leak was too severe to patch from the inside,” Aaron finally said, raising his mouth a sparse inch from the rim of his cup. A drop of tea glimmered on his lower lip, amber in the candlelight. “I’ve set up a basin beneath it to catch the water, though, and moved your bed to the other side of the room.”

“Thank you,” she said, barely removing her own lips from her cup.

She dared a glance at Aaron and he looked up from his own cup suddenly, his eyes locking with hers before she could look away. “It was nothing,” he replied. “I only hope you’ll find your bed comfortable when you return to it. The mattress was a wee bit damp, though ye seem to have absorbed the worst of it.” Here he smiled wryly as his cheeks reddened slightly. “So I laid a few extra blankets down over it.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

A particularly fierce gust of wind howled outside, driving the rain sideways against the house, rattling the windows. Caitlin shivered automatically, remembering the feel of icy water down her neck and back. Her hair and shift were still damp beneath her robe.

Aaron hadn’t taken his eyes off her. “Are ye cold?”

“A little,” she admitted.

“Come sit by the fire with me, then.”

He rose and strode a few paces to the fireplace, settling in front of the hearth. She followed him, lowering herself to her knees on the warm stone as he grasped a brass poker and stirred the fire, feeding it one of the small split logs that rested in a neat stack beside it. The yellow flames enveloped the fresh wood, causing it to glow faintly orange as it surrendered itself to them, smouldering. A warmth that had little to do with the fire enveloped Caitlin when Aaron reached out, placing a solid arm around her shoulders and drawing her close to his side. She laid her damp head against his shoulder, tilting her face so her dark eyes could seek his.

She found his lips instead, and he pressed them against hers, soft and light. She moved a little closer to him so that their thighs touched. Her hair and shift begin to dry as she was warmed, by his arm at her back and the now crackling fire at her front.

“Someone’s coming,” Caitlin said after a while spent at Aaron’s side, staring dreamily into the flames. “Should we…”

Aaron turned his head to peer out of the kitchen, in the direction of the stairs, from where the sound of footsteps was coming. “No, don’t worry,” he said, drawing his arm a little more tightly around her. “It’s probably only my great-great-grandfather.”

Caitlin looked up at him, perplexed. “Your-great-great-grandfather?” She was ready to smile, even to laugh softly, but his countenance bore no evidence that he was joking.

“Aye,” he said, still staring at the staircase, “it’s him, and he shan’t bother us.”

Caitlin turned her head, following Aaron’s gaze, as a cold weight dropped into her stomach, causing each and every hair on her body, from the back of her neck to her wrists and ankles, to stand on end. Someone had appeared at the foot of the stairs and, suddenly, Caitlin could think of no reason why the figure couldn’t be Aaron’s great-great-grandfather. Pale against the thick darkness, the shape of a man had emerged, his features blurred yet decidedly masculine. He gave the distinct impression of being evanescent, yet he remained transparently whole as he turned, striding out of sight into what Caitlin thought was a sitting room. She was speechless for several moments, and, when she finally worked up the courage to speak, she found she could only manage a single word. “Aaron…”

He drew his arm a little more tightly around her once more, returning his gaze to the fire. “Don’t worry, you’re not daft—there isn’t a soul who’s lived here who hasn’t seen him at least once.”

“Really?” she asked, amazed and feeling as chilled as she had when she’d weathered the storm with Aaron hours before.

“Aye. He built this place, Cormac O’Brien, and he’s never left it. They say he was a stubborn man.” The corners of his mouth turned up into an amused smile. “I imagine he might be the only ghost that’s ever crossed the Atlantic.”

Caitlin shuddered. Aaron might find his grandfather’s stubborn spectre amusing, but she felt as shaken as a sapling during a tempest. “All the same,” she said, “I wish we hadn’t seen him.” She dared a glance towards the stairs, her heart racing for a moment, then slowing when she saw nothing. “I want to climb those stairs about as much as I want to go back out into the storm.”

Aaron chuckled, drawing her so close that she found herself nearly in his lap. “If that’s the case,” he said, “I’ll stay here with ye until dawn, if ye wish me to.”

* * * *

The next morning dawned bright, washing the countryside with light as it had been washed with rain the night before, the sun’s golden rays warming the manse’s windowpanes and illuminating the rooms within. Caitlin finally braved the stairs, following in Aaron’s footsteps, intending to slip back into her room before the rest of the house’s residents rose.

Already, she could hear an industrious clanking in the kitchen they’d so recently abandoned, an announcement that the cook, who rose before anyone else, had begun preparing breakfast. The resonating notes struck by steel against iron, tin against glass, helped to dispel any last remnants of eeriness from the staircase that the sun hadn’t already driven away. In its light, she imagined a spectre would be reduced to vapour, finally evaporating as the one they’d seen last night had seemed to be on the verge of doing, each step he managed to take without dissolving a small miracle.

Where did Cormac O’Brien go during the day? And, for that matter, where did he spend the night, when not in the sitting room? The thought sent a shiver down her spine and made her doubly glad Aaron had waited for dawn with her, letting her bide the rest of the night with the heat of his body and the fire to warm her against the chill of the long dead. She missed his now-familiar touch when she pulled the guest bedroom door shut behind her, finally leaving his side.

Their separation was brief. When Caitlin came out of her bedroom, dressed for the day, Aaron appeared in the hall, emerging from his room. He smiled at her, raising one eyebrow slightly. “Shall I escort you to the dining room for breakfast?” He hurried to her side, proffering an arm.

“That would be kind of you,” Caitlin said, linking her arm with his.

“Back in your own dress, I see,” he said as they started towards the staircase.

“Aye, it’s dry enough.” It was still somewhat dirty—Molly had brushed the worst of the mud from it, but stains only a thorough washing could remove remained—but she would be leaving for home after breakfast, and had nothing else of her own to wear.

“That’s good. Although I have to say the purple dress looked bonny on ye.”

Caitlin blushed. “I borrowed it from Katrina—I laid it out across the bed, where I thought she or Molly would find it. Do ye think I should go back and take it to her myself?”

Aaron shook his head, sending his ruddy locks, which he’d obviously taken the time to comb, swinging around his shoulders. “No, she won’t miss it—she’s got more dresses than she can count.” He bent to speak into Caitlin’s ear, his eyebrows arching mischievously as he did so. “The dress looked better on ye than it does on Katrina, anyway—only don’t tell her I said so.”

“Ahem.” Someone cleared their throat from an alarmingly close distance behind the couple, and they both whirled to see Katrina, dressed and preened for the day, a knowing smile curving one corner of her mouth. She eyed Aaron’s flaming cheeks with grim amusement.

“Dark circles beneath your eyes, tired expressions… It doesn’t look as if either of you got any sleep last night.”

Aaron straightened and spoke with as much dignity as he could muster. “Aye, well, you wouldn’t have either, if you’d had a roof break over your head during a storm, and then had an encounter with old Cormac O’Brien while ye were still chilled with the rain.”

“I shouldn’t think so,” Katrina replied, arching a fair eyebrow in apparent surprise, “but you’ve been perfectly dry all night, and we both know you’ve seen our great-great-grandfather more times than ye can count.”

She had turned the corner and was descending the stairs before Aaron could reply, leaving him to glower after her.