In the Lord’s Embrace:

A missing moment from

A  Love by Any Measure

Killian McRae

Copyright ©2012 by Killian McRae

All Rights Reserved. Except as specified by U.S. Copyright Law, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or media or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without prior written permission of the author.

This work represents a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.

The following short story is a missing moment from Killian McRae’s historical romance, A Love by Any Measure, and represents a transition of plot that would occur between the last chapter and the epilogue. A Love by Any Measure is available from Tulipe Noire Press, via Amazon, BN.com, AllRomanceEbooks.com, and Smashwords.

This story and the book upon which it is based are intended only for mature audiences and include scenes inappropriate for young readers.

Four hundred dollars. Three hundred pounds. A diamond-pendent necklace that had once been his mother’s. A broach inlaid with mother-of-pearl. A silk sachet with a trinket contained of conflicted recollections, and a pair of gold cufflinks.

The last item surprised August a little, and he eyed Jefferson curiously as he rolled the stemmed, auric stubs around in his hand.

“Every bit helps, I suppose,” Jefferson said with a shrug. “I only wish we had more, but it was all we could—”

“It’s more than enough,” August interrupted, realizing his voice was a bit gruff.

It was more than he, Maeve and Augusta needed to make an escape, and by no measure a small amount of money and wealth by common standards—but how long could it last? If they were humble with acquisitions, perhaps a year or two? But again, they would be starting from scratch, leaving Boston and heading west for a fate unknown with nothing but the clothes on their backs, Maeve’s still the ones given to her by Owen before the fire had consumed him, and the love in their hearts.

The love August hoped was in their hearts. The events of the last few days had flown by in a dizzying array of recollected intentions and unfulfilled obligations. August loved Maeve still—he knew this with all his heart—but since they had made way through the haze hovering over a flame-gripped Boston and to the countryside, he couldn’t help but notice her fluctuating physiognomy. Her eyes had always been the looking glass to her soul; the years apart had not changed that fact. But her soul… Therein lie the change. She carried with her now a shame, the origins of which she would not belay herself but in the quickest of moments. One instant, they would catch each other’s gazes, and a love nearly tangible from its strength would flow between them. The next, August beheld her grimace, overcome with guilt or reprieve, he guessed, as Maeve glanced back to the slumbering form of their daughter with a worrisome observation.

Maeve was still uncertain; she had carried over her habit of keeping bound the confusion of her own soul rather than burden him with frailty of her commitment to their uncertain future. August firmly resolved himself in dedication to relieving her anxieties and assuring her of his commitment to perfecting whatever measure of harmony and bliss this world would allow them. They had sacrificed too much and gotten in return from life too little to accept anything less.

“August, are you certain there is no other way?”

Caroline Schand’s fretful expression nearly broke her brother. August could not help his concern, though had no doubt that Jefferson, being an honorable and upright man, would never let Caroline suffer or bear unnecessary hardship, but he worried nonetheless.   Would he never see his darling baby sister again? Was Caroline strong enough to play the role now required of her? Could she be the head of the Grayson family, estate and holdings, and still be the sweet, compassionate sibling for whom he had sacrificed so much?

August steadied himself to reassure her and, in the process, Maeve of the necessity of their escape. “We are too well known in England and in Ireland. Maeve and I will find no refuge in any land under the crown. Perhaps, if we are fortunate, they will presume we were both lost in the fire. But are you certain, Caroline, that you can commit this falsehood?”

She nodded solemnly. “How can I do less, when the alternative is Maeve’s execution, and perhaps my brother’s as well?”

Jefferson added, “We shall use the scandal to our advantage. They believe Maeve mistreated Goosie; we will simply present it as long-lingering illness brought on by neglect and abuse, and say that in the sea journey, she was overtaken by fever. Time will forget, August. People are fickle with scandal, and the end of one only begets the beginnings of another. Now, best be off with you two. Sun is getting high. They’ll be people about the roads soon.”

Maeve came from the wagon after settling Augusta into her place and fashioning a palette for herself from what they had been able to collect from the house in the rush to leave Boston.

“Thank you, for everything,” she told Caroline and Jefferson.

No more time could be wasted. Dawn dissolved into day, and they had to put much more land behind by sunset. With tearful embraces, all said their goodbyes, leaving Jefferson, Caroline and little Charles behind, perhaps never to be seen again.

Crowded roads and muddled thoughts turned to lonely paths and empty silence. So long had August hungered for his beloved, and now that he had her, he was at a loss. The fire of their reunion was dimming as they pressed westward, though there was much between them that still needed to be said. Maeve, when not tending to Augusta, passed the days in languid reserve, her head leaned against his shoulder mocking the relative ease of the connection they once had shared. Nights were passed in clutching each other, but only to keep warm while under the stack of blankets purchased en route, huddled in the back of the cart. Though August held her closely, and though she professed her love for him with words, Maeve’s embrace and countenance had grown sullen.

He wanted nothing more than to cheer her. Still, August reminded himself that she mourned Owen. Owen Murphy, who had laid down his life to allow her a chance at happiness. August could not dismiss the depth of her kinship and extent of her sadness over the unfortunate fate that brave Irishman met.

Finally, two weeks into their aimless sojourn west, August spoke.

“Maeve-dear, we have to decide where we’re going,” he said off-handedly as he slapped the reins gently, coaxing the horses. “We’re almost to Illinois now. The way I see it, we have three options: west, south or north. Given the current state of the south, I’m reluctant to head that way, but if you want…”

“We go west,” she declared without delay. Her certainty in the decision was so fervent that he cocked his eyebrow at her in surprise. “From what Patty wrote me, it sounds like a different country, August. The life sounds tough, but the benefits are great. Every man is a master of his own fate, she says.”

It was good a plan as any. “All right, then, west it is. But we’ll need to wait until the winter passes. Heading out west in this rickety contraption with already exhausted horses and limited funds for provisions would be suicidal. We should find a place to settle, at least until spring.”

“Are you sure we’ll be safe?” she anxiously asked. He reminded her that the newspapers had confirmed their hopes; both were assumed dead. It would be unlikely they would be recognized this far from Boston. “All right, then. Let’s find a place to stay.”

Four months passed in the blink of eye.  August and Maeve had come to a small town some twenty miles south of Chicago a few days after the decision to wait out the winter had been made. For a modest fee, they had rented out a furnished flat. Maeve had written to Patty, asking if they might take a temporary stay with them. The horses and cart were sold, as they chose to keep a hold of what funds were available for later.

With a secure, though be it temporary home, August took advantage of the comforts the transient settling afforded by sending Augusta to school, and tutoring on further subjects privately.

“How an education in these so-called schools here in America will ever suffice is beyond me,” he grumbled to Maeve one night after the poppet had fallen asleep.

“With you as a father, she’ll be worthy of a Harvard degree before she’s ten,” Maeve assured as she dried the dinner dishes. “Do you know she was able to read and write by her fifth birthday? And I wouldn’t put it past… her… to…”

Maeve’s voice trailed off as she took in August’s pained expression. No, he had not known that. He had not been with Augusta when she turned five, or even four. He had been denied.

“Did I know…?” Gnashing his teeth, he arose and kicked the chair. August refused to take out his frustration on Maeve, and yet, an outlet was needed.

Though frightened, she rushed to his side, her apologies preceding her.

“August, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up the… I just… If I could undo it, August, I swear I would.”

Her hands wound around his arms, an attempt to keep his attention locked to her. August met her pleading stare with a huff, and found himself instantly entranced by the nearness of her lips. How quickly passions of rage could be alleviated by passions of the flesh.

Despite their reunion and the joy it had brought to be again in each other’s company, he and Maeve found the physical expression of that love no longer as easy to come by as once it had been. When lived they together in England, a simple accidental brush of her hand against his could escalate in mere minutes to naked bodies writhing, be it in their bed or in the pantry. Now, August could barely more than kiss her, and Maeve would seize against his lips.  She repeatedly assured him it was not because she did not want to make love, but simply that she couldn’t yet take comfort, weighed down by the guilt for all her short-sighted actions.

August gave her the time she needed. It did not, however, dampen his desire. Each night he lay beside her sleeping form, yearning to touch her, but always holding back. On occasion in her slumber, she would roll over to hold him, her leg unconsciously hitching over the manifestation of his longing. Still, he withheld, but each night his hunger grew.

August reminded himself, this was the surrender. He would give himself completely to her, in whatever way she desired, even if it was merely this.

But at this moment, feeling so powerless, he needed to taste her. August’s hands flew to her shoulders as he closed the distance and pressed his lips hard to hers.  The shift in focus left Maeve bewildered, but after a few moments of his mouth moving over hers, August felt her ease, her lips gently working back under his, mirroring of his yearning. Pleased with the reception, his hands gently circled around, attempting to unbutton her blouse and make accessible that which had been denied for too long.

“August, stop.” Maeve pulled away, her tone breathy and wanton.

August grimaced despite lecturing himself to heed her wishes. “Maeve, please. I want you so badly. It’s been months, darling. Why can’t we… Why can’t we get over this?”

Her body turned completely from his. “It needs to be real, August. I need it to be complete.”

She walked away as August sat perplexed at what he had but still had not given her.

“Do you suppose the moon ever gets lonely?” Augusta asked as they sat outside on an unseasonably warm night early in April.

Winter withdrew, but only from the air. And each day, August feared the cold that would not leave.

Having received an encouraging letter from Patty and Patrick to come set up house near them in Oregon, Maeve and August had decided it was time to move along. But tonight- there was just some sort of buzz in the air that had drawn them together atop the roof. Stars shone above like diamonds, and yet their daughter’s beauty put them all the shame.

“The moon doesn’t feel anything, Goosie,” the ever-pragmatic August returned. “It’s a big ball of rock.”

Maeve, however, clicked her tongue. “Now, August, don’t lie to the girl. Haven’t I ever told you about the moon, Goosie? It once felt forlorn. You see, the moon looks only to Earth, and so he felt alone, always with the same view in sight. But one day, Earth said to the moon, ‘How lucky I am to have you.’ The moon didn’t understand, and asked, ‘Where else would I go? There is only you and me.’ Earth laughed and answered, ‘Behind you there are thousands of stars, each of them winks at me something scandalous, but none of them is so precious to me as you. You bring light to my darkness, and never leave my side.’ And after that, the moon wasn’t lonely, because he realized that, even though it was just he and Earth, it was where he needed to be. With all the heavens to his back, his life revolved around her, and she was all he needed. Have you ever noticed, Goosie, how the shape of the moon changes through the month?”

Augusta gave a little nod as she stretched and yawned. She would be asleep soon.

“That’s the moon laughing, Poppet,” Maeve continued. “When you see but a part, that’s its smile. And when you see half, that’s his grin. And when you see the whole moon…”

“…that’s his kiss.” Augusta smiled and sighed as her eyes fluttered close.

August starred at Maeve in disbelief, wrapped up entirely in her tale just as much as the child. It was then he understood what was holding her back. At least, he hoped it was as he believed. August picked up Augusta’s sleeping form and carried her inside, setting her silently into her bed and kissing her forehead. As he closed the door behind, he saw Maeve coming in to the sitting room, Goosie’s coat over her arm.

“Maeve, do you have any thing you must do tomorrow?” he casually asked, trying to keep his grin in check.

She looked at him confusedly. “Of course not, August. You know as much. Why?”

Leaning against the frame of the door, August played coy. “I was just thinking, perhaps we would be married tomorrow?”

Maeve’s head whipped up, a smile across her face that would make even the moon seem small.

“Married?”  She repeated the word as though it was of a foreign tongue. “Tomorrow?”

August crossed the room to where she stayed, unmoving. “Yes, married. Tomorrow. Why should we wait anymore? Why have we waited at all? Unless… you’ve changed your mind?”

“By heavens, August, no!”

“No, you don’t want to marry me, or no, you haven’t changed your mind?”

Her face reddened and she sputtered. “Yes, no! I mean…” The fold of fabric over her arm dropped to the floor as she flung herself at him, practically boxing his ears. “Oh, August! Let’s! Yes, yes!”

Struggling to keep upright against a clinging Maeve, August circled his arms around her, picking her up off the floor and spinning her about. When he sat her down again, he was greeted by her lips pressing to his.

Her kiss dissolved into a smile under his own. August felt the waves of the triumph wash over him.  In its ebb, he could not help but to grin as he opened his eyes to find Maeve’s cinnamon gaze eyeing him… curiously.

Her mouth returned with a tender, slow kiss, in the echo of which her lips pulled ever so gently on his. Maeve’s heavy-lidded eyes traced to his mouth before returning to their labor again.  This occasion gave way to her tongue running delicately over August’s bottom lip.

“Maeve… are we…”

“Don’t speak, August,” she begged, her hand cupping his cheek and softening his inquisitive expression. “Just, kiss me. Again. And then, again.”

Lord Grayson was all too happy to oblige. Pulling her body to his, he poured the desire of every wanton moment, of every unfilled sense of unfulfilled longing into their kiss. His greatest hope was only to be met in kind, but instead, Maeve’s reaction was twofold. She practically crawled up his body. He felt her leg attempt to hitch over his hip, and his arm hooked under her knee to help in her aim. Already, the burgeoning of his desire for her was more than noticeable as she pressed against him and gasped when the hardness pressed against her.

“August!”

He only smirked in return.

“It has been too long since I’ve been inside you, Maeve.”

August leaned over and whispered it into her ear, as though teasing her with a fact. He let her leg fall to the ground, and in one fell swoop, bent over, threw his arm behind her knees, and took her up into his arms. Maeve weaved her hands behind his neck for support as he walked her back to their bedroom.

August could feel her body tremble with anticipation as he tenderly placed her on the quilt.

“These arms, Maeve, have missed holding you.”

He slid them out from under her and began unbuttoning the little ivory discs on her blouse, kissing every inch of flesh as it was revealed.

“These lips,” August hummed against her breast, “have been without purpose not being able to kiss you.”

The blouse parted to either side, revealing Maeve’s still youthful frame covered over in a single layer of cotton undergarments. August did so love America, if for no other reason than the simplicity of its women’s lingerie.

He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling his own shirt over his head and letting it fall somewhere on the floor. Maeve in the meantime pitched herself up on her elbows as she manipulated the blouse down her arms before wadding it a ball and throwing it across the room. Her eyes focused on August’s muscled, bare chest. He heard her breath catch in her throat.

Leaning over, August placed his arms on either side of hers, slowly covering her body as he brought himself down on her.

“These eyes…” He pulled a lingering kiss from her lips. “These eyes have missed seeing you gasp in pleasure and and my ears long to hear you scream my name while you writhe beneath me.”

That made her moan, and the earthy yet feminine timbre of her siren’s call beckoned him further. He shifted his hips, once again letting her feel just how much he long and elonged for her.

“And this body.” Again, he pushed his erection against her. Maeve’s legs still covered in the material of skirt, spread to align their centers. Her face, arms, chest… everything flushed over in her inflamed state, her breath shallow and racing. “This body has missed the feel of your wetness and your heat pulsing against it and wrapping around it.”

“Holy hell, August. We have entirely too many clothes on.”

Indeed. The flush of her skin had spread down further, and even through the cotton undershirt August could see red burning.

She was growing impatient. After so long, he couldn’t hold it against her. But he refused to rush. Too long had he dreamed, yearned, hungered for her to show her any less attention than paying homage to each spot of flesh, each hue of color his body would paint over the canvas of her pleasure as he made love to his Maeve… his wife, for the first time since fate had brought them back to the other.

Sitting back on the balls of his feet, August hooked his fingers under her skirt and pulled it down over her hips and past her ankles, adding to the pile of discarded garments on the floor. He reached out his hands to her and pulled her to a sitting position. She took the hint of his intent and pulled her undershirt over her head of her own volition.

This time, it was August’s breath that hitched as his eyes took in the sight of her breast, milky white and speckled with the heat of her arousal. Her nipples were hard, begging for attention. Before August could fully grasp his own actions, however, Maeve was pushed flat against the mattress as he fell atop her, his lips sucking at the right nipple while his hand cupped the other, rolling the hardened peak between his finger and thumb, pulling, teasing.

Fearing that he may have forsaken his gentlemanly intentions, August was relieved when he felt Maeve’s hands run through his hair, pulling him down harder on her peak. She was positively unhinged now; little gasps mixed with girlish moans as he suckled her, pulling as much of her into his mouth as his thought possible. Pulling away, August trailed wet kisses as the oral manifestation of his love mirrored its evidence on the opposite side, his other hand rising to rub the moistened, pebbled perk.

Suddenly, August realized that his hips were thrusting against her leg, seeking friction through the thick cotton weave of his slacks. Maeve must have come to understand his need as well, as she pulled out from under him and coaxed him unto his back.

“August,” she breathed as a devilish grin came over her face, “these hands have missed pulling the clothes off you, piece by piece.”

Help me heavens, she’s reflecting my own words back, he thought. August felt himself harden further at her game. This time, it was Maeve who hooked her fingers under the hem of his pants and pulled them down past his hips. He sprang free of the garment’s entrapment as Maeve’s hungry eyes narrowed with determination.

“My tongue…” she began, and he felt his insides tighten in anticipation. Oh, sweet mother of mercy, please. “…has missed feeling the tip of your …”

She paused, confused. Maeve had rarely engaged in such free-spirited talk before, but oh, how he longed to hear her give further into the temptation. Yet, August could tell she was finding it difficult to select a word she felt comfortable saying.

“My staff, Maeve, if that suits you.”

Impishly, she nodded, lowering her lips to his tip and speaking, her mouth so close he could feel the vibration of her voice tease his erection.

“Yes, it has missed your… staff,” she repeated before her tongue darted out and swirled around tauntingly.

It served only as an enticement, but August was not long denied as moments later, her lips closed around his erection, taking him in her mouth completely. Working over his whole length in steady lappings, he felt the swirl of a climax too long denied quickly building.

“Maeve…” August moaned. “I’m going to… Oh, May… I want to be… Ungh… inside you. Please…”

Her eyes turned up, though her mouth and her movements paused otherwise. Slowly, she withdrew, her tongue dragging along the hardness before gently flicking over the tip once more.

One piece of clothing remained as barrier; Maeve’s white-cotton pantaloons bore the burden of August’s unleashed lust as he sat up and tore at the thin fabric, rendering it in shreds about the quilted bed cover in seconds. Bared to him, August could gather from Maeve’s heaving breaths that made her breast rise and fall before his eyes likes some magician’s trance-inducing trinket that her desire to be saddled upon him was as strong as his need to be sheathed inside her.

He backed against the headboard, beckoning forward his love, his bride, his…

“A stor mo chroi ….”

Maeve stopped short, her arms on either side of him, her center poised precariously over his yearning cock.

“What did you say?” she asked in disbelieving tones.

“A stor mo chroi?” August repeated, this time as a question. “I think I said it right. Do you know it?”

She nearly laughed. “Of course, August. It means ‘my treasured one.’ It’s not the phrase that took me by surprise. It’s that…” She licked her lips as a playful smile overtook her. “You sounded so … Irish. Say more, August, please! Gaeilge a labhairt le mo.”

At her request to speak Irish, she positioned her wet, waiting center over him and sank own slowly upon him. She wanted him to speak Irish, when he could barely utter even a word in his own tongue, so enraptured was he with the feel of her around him?

They both moaned in the pleasure of their union, August’s hands finding harbor on her hips, inducing an undulation of steady back-forth, up-down motions, each embrace of her core over his cock another prayer answered and another promise fulfilled.

“August, speak to me.”

He gasped as he kissed her bouncing breasts with some difficulty. “Mmm, Maeve, mo shíorghrá.”

My eternal love…

“Tá tú go h-álainn,” he continued as the motion of her hips began to outpace his own push and pull.

You are beautiful…

“August, don’t stop. I’m…” Swallowing hard, she threw her head back as her wetness increased tenfold. “I’m… ungh…. August, I’m so close.”

“Mo anamchara…”

My soul mate…

“A chuisle...”

My heartbeat…

“Oh, Maeve… Sweetheart, you’re burning me whole. There shall be nothing left of me. You feel so good.”

“Ahhhh…. gust…”  Her moans were coming fully now as she worked herself up and down his cock in dizzying movements, moving with a rage that could only be propelled by both love and need.

“Maeve!” August cried out, feeling the pent up fullness of his own climax coming upon him. “Maeve, an bpósfaidh tú mé?”

“Yes!” She crested, screaming her reply to his passionate, Irish proposal.  “Yes, August I will marry you. I’ve only ever wanted to marry you. Oh, Oh… Aug… Aug….”

They collapsed on the bed, panting and sated. Three years apart had not dampened their ability to find pleasure. All Maeve needed to know was that he was hers that he would take her as his wife.

As long ago he should have.

Maeve scooted alongside him, laying her head on his shoulder and cuddling against him. Her arms loosely wrapped over chest and embraced him.

“My heart…” she said, tapping her fingers. “My heart has missed this heart.”

“Where are we going?”

Augusta was always full of questions, and why should today be any different?

“The justice of the peace,” Maeve answered. “Your father and I are getting married.”

If she was surprised by the announcement, the child made no show of it. Blindly accepting this was as expected as running to get eggs from the market or logs for the fire from downstairs, August continued on merrily, her hand embraced in Maeve’s.

“Ma, did you sleep well?” the child suddenly questioned.

August caught a quick look of worry flit across Maeve’s face. “Well enough, darling. Why?”

Augusta shrugged. “Thought I heard you yell last night. Thought you might have had a nightmare, is all.”

Red as the sun, Maeve blushed, and August felt as though he might have suffered the same.

Without warning, Maeve stopped dead in her tracks, her face going white. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Oh, August. August, we can’t get married. “

Dumbfounded, he spluttered. “Wha… Why ever not, Maeve?”

She looked at him as though he were slow. “A ring, August! We haven’t a ring.”

With gallant revelry, August pulled the silk sachet from his coat pocket and pulled the diamond and sapphire studded piece from its safe keeping.

Smug as a Prussian, he grinned. “Is this not a ring, Maeve?”

“How did you…?”

Placing a finger on her lips, August stopped her. “I purchased it on an errand to London years ago, Maeve. I have kept it safely at my side. You see, I bought it for a certain Irish lass whom captured my heart with a single kiss by a waterfall as a lad, and I have waited far too long to slip it on her finger.”

“Oh, August…”

In a backroom of the town hall, without pomp, without circumstance, but with devolution and enraptured by her smile, she became his forever, his wife, his love.

The boy who had kissed this lass at the age fourteen in the woods above Killarney never could have understood his happiness and his life would lie only her arms. This man, however, looked to his ladies, his wife and his daughter, and knew that at long last, his heart—and theirs—were right where they needed to be. It wasn’t a question of Ireland , or England, or even America.

It was wherever they were. It was here.

Together.