Come Midnight by Veronica Sattler Page B

his set would deign to explain such to a hired servant. But there was something about this fresh-faced lass that urged him to set the usual class distinctions aside, though he was hard put to say what. She was bright and competent, of course, but so was Jepson. Then again, she was far lovelier to look at than his dour-faced butler ... .
    Uncomfortable with the thought, he sought a change of subject, grasping at the first thing that came to mind. "Would you care to join me in a game of chess?"
    Caitlin sucked in her breath. The net was drawing tighter. And she was helpless as ever to prevent it. Learning the game for the child's sake was one thing; pursuing it with the man in her dark dream was quite another.
    Yet hadn't she committed herself to helping this troubled lord? This man she knew, knew with a power beyond reason, was meant for the Light?
    Taking her discomfort for a natural reluctance to mingle socially with her betters, Adam sought to allay her misgivings. "It's early yet," he said with a casual shrug, "and I find myself disinclined to seek amusement abroad tonight. Thought I might pass the evening by leaching you some finer points of the game. A more challenging opponent can only sharpen Andrew's skills."
    This was true enough, as far as it went. No doubt Vanessa would receive him eagerly this evening. Yet he suddenly found himself loath to seek her bed. Blood and ashes, but two months my mistress, and the creature's already begun to pall! How Appleby must be laughing! Forty more years so hopelessly jaded? That's living with one foot already in hell!
    Caitlin tried to tell herself it was the bitter, haunted look in his eyes that convinced her. That she could hardly help him if she avoided his company. But she knew, even as she tried to rationalize, there were other reasons as well. Adam Lightfoot was a fine figure of a man. Darkly beautiful, in a way that made her intensely aware of him ... as a man.
    She frowned. This had never happened to her before. She'd spent time among the lads at home while growing up, but Father O'Malley discouraged such mingling once the village children reached adolescence. Indeed, only a few—the brightest lads, those meant for the priesthood—continued their schooling at all; their female counterparts, never. In the last years before Crionna's death, Caitlin had spent almost no time in the company of males. Her life with the wise woman allowed for none, save in healing the sick, and such encounters were brief and impersonal.
    No, she'd little experience of men. But the plain fact was, this man could make her pulse race, as it had tonight, when he entered Andrew's room unannounced. Made it race even now, when she thought of spending time exclusively in his company. Appalling that she could have such thoughts, but there it was. If he knew, Father O'Malley would berate her good and proper. Tis shameless you are, Caitlin O'Brien, and that's a fact!
    "And where shall we play, milord?" she asked. Despite all her misgivings, only hoping he didn't catch the breathlessness in her voice.
    "The library, I should think." Adam reached for the chamberstick she'd carried from Andrew's room. He threw her an arch grin as they walked toward the library. "No doubt you recollect I've a board set up there?"
    "Aye," she replied, swallowing thickly as she recalled that strange encounter in the library. Sure and he'd been a dark and brooding soul that night. And hadn't she been three times a fool, to be roaming the lord's library at such an hour? "His lordship's sanctus sanctum," she later heard Jepson call it. She counted herself lucky she'd not been turned off on the spot.
    Reaching the library, Adam lighted a branch and set it upon a shelf above the table where his favorite chess set rested. An old one, with men of carved ivory and ebony worn to a fine patina. Inherited from his father, who'd taught him how to play. Not the set he'd employed with a certain midnight visitor, no. That bitter reminder had