A/N: I swear I don't know where the time goes. I was going to upload this chapter a while back, then I decided I wasn't happy with it and, well, the rest is history I guess. Still not entirely satisfied, truth be told, but at a certain point you've got to let go, ya know, and just let the thing sink and swim.

1915

It was not the first time Mary had snuck out of Misselthwaite. It was not even the first time she had snuck out to meet Dickon, having gone with him on several midnight excursions to visit badger's lairs or search for night owls, both with and without Colin. But there was something different about this time – something new and exciting and dangerous, that made her heart flutter and her fingertips tingle in a way she had never experienced before in any of her other secret expeditions.

She needn't have bothered asking for directions to the dance – it was as plain as day where it was the instant Thwaite came into view across the moor. The town square was illuminated from the light of a massive bonfire, and the sound of several pipes, fiddles and drums filtered through the night, mingling with the laughter and singing of the villagers. Mary urged her horse on quietly, her eyes straining to make sure no one was keeping a look out in her direction.

True to her word, she dismounted from Maisy well before she was in sight and tethered her to a fence post before continuing the rest of the way on foot. She crept forward, scarcely daring to breathe, until she reached a dry stone wall only a few yards from the dancers. There she paused, her eyes wide as she drank in the sight before her.

It was indeed a merry old time – the music was loud, and the fire shone a cheerful light across the whole square. Mary watched the other young people with a pang of envy, the bright skirts of the girls as they spun and circled and their happy, laughing faces. She could see several of the Sowerby children dancing in amongst the throng, and her heart longed to join them. She could almost imagine running out and slipping in beside them, unnoticed; after all, she knew the steps as well as they, though she wasn't sure she could move as quickly as they did on their feet.

It took her a moment to locate Dickon. He was on the other side of the fire, playing his pipe alongside the other musicians. His feet tapped in time with the music, and his laughing eyes darted around the crowd as though trying to take in everything at once. The firelight turned his hair a deep bronze and gave his face a golden touch, and Mary was suddenly struck by how grown up he looked. She wasn't sure when exactly Dickon had turned from boy to man, but looking at him now there was no denying that such a transformation had taken place.

As she watched, a pretty redheaded girl approached Dickon from behind and tapped him shyly on the shoulder. He turned to look at her and she made a clear gesture for him to come and dance. Mary stiffened, her eyes narrowing of their own accord. She wished she was close enough to hear what was being said. Dickon gave a shake of his head, indicating his pipe, but the boy next to him nudged him playfully and nodded for him to go with the girl. After a brief hesitation Dickon shrugged and pocketed his instrument, allowing the girl to lead him into the crowd of dancers.

Mary felt her insides squeeze uncomfortably, and she edged forwards despite herself. Her eyes fixed on Dickon as he moved fluidly to the music, noting how his hands rested on the girl's waist and the way he laughed as he spun her around. She wanted to call out to him, to run forward and dance with him so that all the other girls knew he was hers. The intensity of her own possessiveness surprised her, and she felt a little abashed.

Dickon was definitely keeping an eye out for her. Mary watched him peer about as he danced, his eyes skimming over the heads of those around him and out into the darkness beyond the fire's reach. He soon left the redheaded girl, and moved to dance with one of his sisters, before another lass came to claim him. Mary fidgeted impatiently, wanting to move closer so that he would see her but afraid of getting caught at the same time. Lord only knew what Mrs Medlock would say if she could see her now.

Finally, when Dickon had made his way around the edge close to where she stood, she took a risk and stepped out from behind the wall, shifting to a spot where she would be just visible in the dimness to someone who was looking. He spotted her almost immediately, his eyes widening with shock before he quickly shuttered his expression. Moments later, as the song changed, she saw him excuse himself and slip quietly out of the crowd in her direction. She ducked back into the shadows, her heart racing.

He was at her side within a minute. The sounds of the night seemed to die away as he regarded her, and Mary found herself feeling curiously abashed. In the dark, in such an unfamiliar setting, Dickon seemed different somehow, almost like a stranger. But that was silly. Mary blinked and shook her head – it was only Dickon, she chided herself. There was no reason to be shy.

"I knew tha'd come," he said, his voice low and holding a distinct note of disapproval. "Tha' shouldn' have, Mary."

She glared at him, wishing he could be more pleased to see her. "There's an awful lot of people here," she said instead. "It seems almost as if the whole village has come."

He grinned. "Aye, an' then some."

"Are you having fun?"

A shrug. "Fun enow."

"Is your mother here? I couldn't spot her."

Dickon's smile slipped a little. "Eh, she had t' stay home t'night. Pa's still got th' cough, an' she didn' wan' t' leave him."

Without thinking Mary put a hand on his arm, and felt him tense. She quickly let it drop. "I'm sorry Dickon."

He shrugged again, reaching up a hand to ruffle his hair. Then he seemed to take stock of her appearance for the first time. "Didst tha' walk all th' way here?" he asked, frowning at her muddy boots and the wet hem of her dress. "Alone?"

She laughed and shook her head. "Maisy's just a way back. I didn't want anybody to see her."

He shot her a look that seemed torn between admiration and disapproval. "What am I goin' t' do wi' thee, eh? Tha's as wild as any animal, tha' is."

"I do so want to dance," she said wistfully, looking over toward the fire. "It looks like such fun."

Dickon followed her gaze. "Aye," he agreed in a soft voice. "An' what a shock it'd give th' folk t' see thee stride up an' join 'em."

"Do you think they would laugh at me?"

His eyes crinkled a little in amusement, but he shook his head. "Laugh? Eh, no. It'd confuse 'em somethin', though." His brow furrowed. "An' I s'pect ev'ry lad'd be wantin' a dance wi' thee, after a bit."

She felt oddly irritated by his words. "But it wouldn't matter," she insisted. "Because I only want to dance with you."

He regarded her with his head tilted to one side. Then, abruptly, he held out his arms. She stared at him in confusion.

"What are you doing?"

"If tha' only wants t' dance wi' me, then we can dance righ' here, can we no'?" He took one of her hands in his, and pulled her a little closer. "S'all th' same, wi' th' music."

She beamed at him and hurried to place her hands on his shoulders. He huffed a laugh in bemusement at her enthusiasm, but guided her forward all the same. They couldn't dance properly, not as the townsfolk were doing at any rate, for it would attract too much attention and they had no partners with which to interchange as the dance required. But Mary found herself perfectly content, twirling occasionally and moving in a slow circle through the dark with him. She had rarely been this close to Dickon for such a long time, and she found that the proximity was doing strange things to her body. The song began to pick up tempo and they danced a kind of half-jig along the dark side of the wall, one of his hands resting on her waist and the other holding firmly to her own. Despite the restrictions on their movements, Mary could feel that she was flushed, her cheeks hot with the exercise and something else she couldn't identify, and her breath coming much quicker than normal. Dickon spun her once and tilted her downwards, one hand placed on the small of her back to anchor her. Mary felt her hair come loose in the movement, pouring heavily down over her shoulders.

She found herself staring straight up into his eyes, which in the darkness resembled dark wells of water, rather than the bright blue of daytime. Dickon's face was very close to hers, his mouth only a few inches from her own. A sudden, urgent desire to close the gap between them swept over her, and she wet her lips unconsciously as she fought down her desire. Dickon's eyes darted to her mouth and he swallowed convulsively, the easy smile he had been wearing slipping away to be replaced by an odd look that made Mary's body tingle deliciously. The music faded into the background as she hung there, supported only by the strength of his arms, and she knew in that moment just how badly she wanted him to kiss her.

"Dickon I – "

But before she could speak, the song ended on a flourish and a loud cheer went up around the campfire, breaking the spell between them. Dickon blinked rapidly, as though coming back to himself, then cleared his throat and brought her upright again in a fluid motion.

Mary's stomach was still flipping itself into a strange pile of knots, and she found herself incredibly unwilling to step out of Dickon's arms. But looking back towards the bonfire, she saw the redheaded girl from earlier approach the boy playing pipes in Dickon's absence and wave her hands around as though questioning him about something. The boy shrugged once and shook his head, and the girl stomped off in obvious annoyance.

Dickon had followed her gaze, and he stopped moving with a rueful expression. "I'd best be gettin' back," he told her, and his voice sounded different, constrained almost, as though he was keeping a tight hold on it. "'Fore they start lookin' for me. An' tha'll be missed too, if tha's no' careful."

She nodded and let go of him reluctantly. The night air seemed to rush between them, freezing the magic that had sparked there, turning it to something else, something Mary didn't know what to do with. Her hands smoothed her skirts nervously, and her eyes darted to his face and away again.

"Will I see thee tomorrow?" she asked, finding it easier to ask the question in Yorkshire than in plain English. "I know tha' doesn' have work, of a Sunday."

"I'll be there," he whispered, so softly it was like a breath of wind that she almost didn't catch. He reached up and touched her cheek gently with one finger, then slipped away and back into the crowd. She saw him ease his way around to where the musicians were playing, taking out his pipe once more and picking up the tune again where he had left off. The boy beside him gave him a curious glance, but nothing more than that. For a few minutes Mary watched them, before turning slowly and picking her way back out into the darkness to where Maisy was waiting patiently. The night was over – it was time to go home.

A/N: Feedback is always cherished and appreciated :)