Again the Magic (Wallflowers 0.5)(53)

The musicians gazed at Aline with exaggerated soulful gazes, and she shook her head with a grin as they began to play, accompanied by at least two hundred voices. Even some of the shopkeepers and traveling merchants gathered near to join in, substituting her name for that of the heroine in the song:

The pale moon was rising

above the green mountain;

the sun was declining

beneath the blue sea

when I strayed with my love

to the pure crystal fountain

that stands in the beautiful

vale of Tralee.

She was

lovely and fair

as the rose of the summer

yet ’twas not her beauty

alone the won me

Oh, no! ’twas the truth

in her eye ever dawning

that made me love Aline,

the Rose of Tralee

The cool shades of evening

their mantle was spreading,

and Aline, all smiling,

was listening to me,

The moon through the valley,

her pale rays was shedding

when I won the heart

of the rose of Tra-leeeeee!

At the conclusion of the song, Aline curtsied deeply in acknowledgment. She gave the lead fiddle player her hand, and after bending to kiss it, he pretended to fall backward in a swoon, eliciting a round of applause and friendly laughter from the gathering.

Returning to McKenna, Aline regarded him with a mock glare. “You’re going to pay for this,” she warned.

He grinned. “You wanted a serenade.”

Laughter rustled up from her chest. “From you,” she exclaimed, taking his arm once again. “Not from the entire population of Stony Cross!”

“Trust me—that was far better than hearing me sing alone.”

“As I recall, you had a very nice voice.”

“I’m out of practice.”

They stared at each other, smiling, while delight hummed through Aline’s veins. “I also asked for a poem,” she said.

The flirtatious sparkle of her eyes seemed to affect McKenna, causing his voice to deepen as he replied. “And I told you I needed more inspiration.”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more precise. What kind of inspiration are you referring to?”

His wide mouth curled up at the corners. “Use your imagination.”

Aline was struck by the words. Unknowingly, McKenna had used the same phrase that Adam had once spoken, when they had discussed the scars on her legs.

The feeling of impatience returned, and she could hardly draw breath around the billowing excitement and confusion in her chest. If she was clever, if she was bold, she might be able to have what she wanted most in the world. One night with McKenna…no, just a few minutes stolen from the grasp of an uncharitable Fate…Dear God, was that too much to ask for?

No.

No matter what it cost her, she would have a few precious moments of intimacy with the man she had never stopped loving. And she would find a way to do it without letting him know her secrets. Tonight, she thought in passionate rebellion, and damn anyone or anything that tried to stop her. Damn Fate itself…she and McKenna were finally going to have their reckoning.

Twelve

It was long past midnight, and the torches were burning down. Villagers and visitors swarmed through the darkened streets, many of them intoxicated. Some sang, some scuffled and disputed, while others took advantage of the shadows to indulge in brazen kisses. Those of more genteel sensibilities had prudently left for home, while those who remained could not help but be aware that the crowd’s inhibitions were fading as fast as the torchlight. Musicians played near the bonfire, while dancers perspired freely as they moved in and out of the pool of flickering light.

Staring into the glow of the bonfire, Aline leaned back against McKenna. He supported her automatically, one hand settling at the nipped-in curve of her waist, the other cupping gently around her elbow. On any other night, in any other circumstances, the way they stood would have caused a scandal. However, the usual standards of propriety were relaxed, if not outright ignored, at fair time. And in the milling crowd, no one seemed to notice or care that Aline and McKenna had materialized like a pair of shades from a time long past.

Aline’s eyes half closed as the heat of the firelight limned her face. “You’re taller,” she murmured absently, thinking of how he used to stand with his chin resting on the top of her head. Now he couldn’t do the same without hunching over.

He bent his head, his voice warm and soft in her ear. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” Wine had loosened her tongue. “We don’t fit the way we used to.”

His chest, so solid behind her, moved in a huff of amusement. “The fit may be better than before. Let’s try it, and see.”

Aline smiled and almost let herself melt back against him…oh, how she wanted, needed, to lean her head on his shoulder and feel his mouth brush over the fragile arch of her neck. Instead she stood in absolute stillness, staring blindly at the bonfire. McKenna’s skin and clothes carried the scents of midnight air and summer meadows and smoke…and the far subtler aura of a healthy, aroused male. Desire was thick between them, intoxicating them, blurring the edges of reality. The sounds of the bonfire, the crackling and smoldering and breaking wood, seemed a perfect expression of her own inner dismantling. She was not the heedless girl of the past, nor was she the resigned Aline with so many empty places inside, but some other, temporary self…an eager insurgent, rebellious with love.