Highland Vampire

by Deborah Raleigh

  "Robert Bruce longs to unite us and be our king, yet I doubt he will ever tame us completely. A true Scot follows his clan leaders, fighting when and where they chose, accepting orders from no one else."

  "There's nothing wrong with a little spirit and courage," Maev insisted.

  "Aye, it keeps the blood pumping."

  "And flowing freely." Maev laughed, but her joy faded as her eyes lingered on the wall of stone. "How do we get to the other side?"

  "'Tis easy to scale." Callum led their horses to a cluster of trees and secured the reins to a low branch. With a fleeting glance at the stone structure, Maev lifted her chin and dismounted.

  As she drew closer to the unusual wall, butterflies began fluttering in her stomach. The dark cloud of uncertainty that had shadowed her entire life loomed largely before her. Was she at last about to learn the truth of her origins?

  Maev felt a wave of apprehension as she held her hand out to Callum. He must have sensed it, for he gave her a smile of encouragement as he helped her climb over the wall. The moment she dropped to the other side, Maev felt a rush of energy enter her body.

  She doubled over, hugging her waist. The shock hit her full force, the truth pounding in her brain.

  "What's wrong, lass? Are ye in pain?"

  Callum's strong arms wrapped around her, and Maev leaned into his strength. She began to shake. "I'm English…" The words melted into tears. She turned her head and sobbed against his neck, her body shivering with emotion.

  Callum's brows shot up. "For shame, Maev McGinnis. After all the trials we have survived, and the obstacles we have struggled to overcome, ye fall to pieces over learning that ye were born an Englishwoman? "

  Maev let out a final sob, then wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. "Well, when ye put it like that, it does seem rather ridiculous," she sniffed. "Though I'd be lying if I said I wasna disappointed."

  Callum lifted her hand and kissed each fingertip. "If ye can love what I have become, then I can surely find it in my heart to overlook the taint of yer heritage."

  Maev sniffed. Callum continued to speak, but Maev was no longer paying close attention. Even though she agreed with him, it stung to have Callum cast aspersions on her character. One could hardly fault a baby for the circumstances of its birth. And she had, in truth, been raised a Scot, learning and loving the heritage of her adopted land.

  The longer she thought about Callum's words, the more her indignation grew, until finally she sputtered, "I'm as much a Scot as ye are, Callum McGinnis, despite where I was born."

  Her words silenced Callum. He narrowed his gaze and stared at her for so long Maev felt her cheeks growing warm. Yet she lifted her chin stubbornly, arched a brow, and practically dared him to disagree.

  "It seems as though the English soil has helped ye find yer tongue as well as yer strength," Callum teased. "'Tis good to hear ye finally speaking some sense, lass. Ye know, I've never knowingly kissed an English wench before." His smile grew seductive. "It has an air of the forbidden about it that I find very exciting."

  His lighthearted attitude soothed Maev's jagged emotions. She stepped closer and lifted her mouth to his. "Ye always were one to enjoy the forbidden," she agreed as her mouth met his. "And never have I been more thankful for that than at this moment."

  They shared a long, deep, satisfying kiss, skimming their hands over each other's bodies, savoring the joy of being together. It seemed as though they were the only two creatures in the universe, and there was nothing that could separate what they were sharing.

  Dizzy and on fire for each other, they made love on a lush bed of heath grass, surrounded by heather, with Hadrian's Wall stretching out behind them. They gave themselves over to their feelings and dreams, glorying in how the reality was far better than anything they could have imagined.

  Maev let out a cry of joy as Callum's hard body slowly filled her, all silky heat and strength. He rode her hard and fast, and it was natural and erotic, endless pleasure, endless sensation.

  They moved as one, anticipating each other's touch, their bodies rising to meet and then demanding more. It was sharp and sweet, molten and primal. They climaxed together, their cries of ecstasy echoing through the stillness of the dark night.

  Sated and exhausted, Maev stretched out on Callum's chest, loving the feel of his comforting arms around her as his breath stirred her hair. She touched her fingertips to the springy chest hair peaking through his open shirt. It felt wonderful. He felt wonderful. Everything felt wonderful.

  Callum cracked open one eye. "We need to find shelter. Twill be dawn soon."

  "In a minute," Maev muttered, feeling too relaxed to move.

  She snuggled closer, trying to will herself into alertness. Within moments, however, Maev knew she was losing the battle. Yet just before her eyes began to close, she saw the shadow of a female form fall across Callum's face.

  The sight startled all traces of exhaustion from her body. She rolled to her side and scrambled to her feet, standing upright at the exact moment the woman struck Callum. His lack of reaction told Maev he never saw the blow coming.

  Maev felt her legs go weak with fear. She rushed forward, but the mysterious woman blocked her path.

  "What have ye done to him?" Maev cried.

  "He is only stunned," the female replied. "I would never harm something so precious to me, yet I will not tolerate his interference in this matter."

  Maev's worried eyes met her adversary's smoldering ones. There was something disturbingly familiar about the beautiful woman who held herself as regally as a queen. Her flowing dark hair complemented her pale skin, and her strange eyes glowered with a fierceness that could terrify a demon.

  "Ye're Anaxandra," Maev whispered as recognition dawned.

  "I am." The woman turned a hostile eye to Maev. "And you are a great annoyance. I thought I had killed you the night Callum became my mate. It seems the job was left unfinished and must now be completed."

  Maev's hands began to tremble uncontrollably. Ever since she had learned the truth, she had longed to confront this temptress, but now that the moment was at hand, she found herself lacking in courage. How could she possibly hope to defeat this evil creature?

  Yet how could she not? Her future with Callum, and her very existence, depended upon it. "Be gone from here. Callum is not a piece of goods to be bought or sold or owned on a whim. He is a man of free will, and though ye have repeatedly thrown yerself at him, he has clearly chosen me to be his woman."

  The mocking smile faded from Anaxandra's lips, and her face flushed with color. "You are not worthy of him," she said accusingly as rage descended into her eyes.

  "I have earned his love," Maev insisted. "While ye have gained his scorn."

  Every muscle in Anaxandra's body stood taut with anger at the insult. "He does not love you."

  "Aye, he does." Maev squeezed her eyes shut as a surge of confidence and courage rose like a wave inside her. She and Callum had suffered years of agony because of this woman, and now she threatened their newly found contentment. It was simply not to be tolerated. "Callum loves me as I love him. 'Tis a love born of goodness, of recognition of his nobility. 'Tis a love ye will never understand and could never achieve even if ye tried for a million years."

  "Goodness and nobility," Anaxandra said in a mocking tone. "What a sickening notion."

  Her upper lip curled in a murderous sneer as Anaxandra unsheathed an elegant sword. Fearful, Maev backed away, searching frantically for a weapon to defend herself. She glanced fleetingly at Callum's still body, yet worried that even if she could reach him, it would be nearly impossible to wield his heavy claymore.

  Anaxandra raised the sword in both hands and swung towards Maev's chest. She jumped back just in time, putting her opponent off balance. Anaxandra stumbled forward, but she turned quickly and aimed again.

  Maev managed to deflect the next few blows, but then the side of Anaxandra's sword struck her in the temple. Maev saw an explosion of lig
hts and heard a dull roaring in her head as she staggered to one side and fell. Anaxandra instantly pressed her advantage and attacked. Maev managed to avoid being hurt by rolling away from the wild swings. It was then she realized that Anaxandra had little skill with the weapon.

  When she made her next charge, Maev struck back, kicking the sword and knocking it from Anaxandra's hands. With a roar of astonished outrage, Anaxandra fell upon Maev, her fingers curled liked talons as she sought to scratch and wound.

  Using both hands, Maev held off her opponent, but she soon felt her arms begin to tremble with fatigue. Maev knew her strength was failing, yet she was determined to fight to the bitter end. Gathering the last of her reserves, she heaved her attacker forward, thrusting Anaxandra into the open meadow.

  At the very instant Anaxandra's body landed in the rolling expanse of grass, the dark fog that had shrouded them all lifted. The sky turned to a smoky blue, and strong yellow rays of sunlight streaked through the fading darkness.

  Dawn had broken. And the sun was beginning to shine. The exposed meadow was quickly bathed in a golden light, and it echoed with Anaxandra's screams of agony as a bright ray struck her full force. She fell to her knees, flailing her arms and writhing in pain, trying, and failing, to protect herself from the light. The air sizzled as her flesh burned, the foul stench permeating the very earth itself.

  Maev pulled herself into the protective shade of Hadrian's Wall, curling herself into a tight ball as she lay over Callum's prone form. Her heart pounded with emotion as she waited for it to finally end. Though it felt like hours, within minutes all grew quiet and still.

  Turning her attention to her beloved, Maev was finally able to rouse Callum from his stupor. After she told him what had happened, he wrapped his arms around her so tightly she feared he would break her ribs.

  "Thank the heavens," Callum murmured repeatedly in her ear as he held her close. "I couldna bear to have lost ye again, my love."

  Tears gathered in Maev's eyes as she wound her arms around his waist. She felt like shouting with joy, and yet she worried over the repercussions of what she had done. Now that Anaxandra had been destroyed, would her brethren seek retribution?

  "The immortals do not live together like a clan and seem to care little about each other," Callum explained when Maev expressed this fear to him.

  "Will there be no one who will question Anaxandra's disappearance?" Maev asked.

  Callum's face contorted into a frown. "Randulf was often her companion, though she scorned him mercilessly once she made me one of their kind. Still, it would probably be wise to leave no trace of her remains. Without any clues, Randulf will be hard pressed to solve the mystery of her disappearance, if he is so inclined to investigate."

  It was difficult to wait until darkness, but they had no choice. Fortunately, while daylight remained, no one appeared in the meadow and discovered the odd rumpled pile of clothing.

  Maev and Callum retrieved the garments by the light of the full moon and burned them. Then they buried the ashes, along with the ash of Anaxandra's bones, in a deep hole in the thickest section of the forest.

  When they were done, all that remained was the gold talisman studded with precious stones that had hung about Anaxandra's neck.

  "What should we do with it?" Maev asked as she lifted the unusual piece of jewelry toward the moonlight. It sparkled with luminous glory. "It must be worth a king's ransom."

  "The jewels are rare and valuable, but we have no need of coin. I dinna believe the piece holds any special power, but if it does, the power could be released if we try to destroy it." Callum paused a moment "We will bury it also, but in a different location, far away from Anaxandra's remains."

  Intent on completing their mission while the cover of darkness continued, they wrapped their cloaks about themselves and untethered their horses. With Callum in the lead, they rode south for several hours. Maev felt her strength increasing with each mile, further proof that she was in truth an English-born woman.

  When they found an appropriate spot, Callum dug a very deep hole, dropped the talisman inside, then covered it completely with dark, rich soil, tamping down the earth with his booted foot until it was packed tight. Then he scooped up a fresh section of soil and filled the two leather bags that hung from his saddle.

  When he was done, he looked over and smiled, and a great calm settled over Maev. The fear she had felt at the possibility of losing Callum would always be branded in her memory. Yet it made the joy they shared all the more sweet.

  Maev coiled her arms around his neck and felt the heat of his passion as she tightened her grip on the solid muscles of his shoulders. But more than anything else, she felt his love.

  "Take me home, Callum McGinnis. I might have been born on English soil, but I'm a Scottish lass through and through."

  He pulled away, and a delighted smile spread over his handsome face. Everything he felt for her was clearly reflected in his eyes.

  "Aye, and I'm proud to say ye are my lass. Mine and no other's."

  Callum boosted Maev onto her horse, then swung himself up onto his own mount. They made an odd sight, traveling through the moonlit land, a lone warrior and his lady. Although they were bound to a destiny they had not chosen, they had learned to embrace it, because it was the only way they could be together.

  Forever.

  TO TAME THE BEAST

  Deborah Raleigh

  Chapter One

  The shadows near the castle darkened as a chill settled in the air. Within the thick walls the boisterous celebrations continued unabated, but those servants scurrying about the courtyard abruptly halted with a sense of dread.

  "The Beast walks…" muttered a grizzled guard, gripping his broadsword in fear.

  The Beast walks, echoed on whispers in the still night air.

  With a rush of fear, servants hurried toward safety, crossing themselves and mouthing prayers of protection. All knew that to catch sight of the scourge of MacDonnell was certain death.

  Standing just outside the open gate, Bane watched the frantic chaos with a cold amusement.

  He rarely allowed his presence to be felt. He took scant pleasure in leaving the isolation of his lair and preferred to hunt with stealth.

  On this night, however, he desired all to feel his dark force.

  ‘Twas, after all, a most special evening.

  Within the great hall the Foster laird was celebrating the saint's day for his eldest daughter. The clan was gathered as the maid was toasted and led to the dais as an honored guest.

  And a proper sacrifice for the Beast of MacDonnell.

  Tonight the lassie turned one and twenty. A thin smile touched his lips. The age he would mark her as his own and lead her to his mist-shrouded lair.

  She would come eagerly, of course. The curse would hold her in ruthless enchantment, and she would overcome any obstacle or kill any in her path to make her way to Bane's side.

  Not that any would stand in her path, he acknowledged wryly. All knew the ancient legend. And the price demanded to keep the Foster clan from certain death.

  Aye. For all their lavish displays of sympathy for the poor lassie, they would truss her up like a fatted pig and toss her into the glen if need be.

  He well knew such cowardice. Although two centuries had passed, he could recall with perfect clarity the clansmen who had led him to his own doom. Nary one had been willing to risk the wrath of the chief to offer a warning or lift a sword in his defense.

  Honor and loyalty had been sold for no more than a bid to gain favor.

  The pale, elegant features hardened. That, of course, had only been the beginning of the treachery.

  In the distance Bane could hear the heavy thud of tankards banging against the wooden tables, and he thrust aside his brooding. The celebration would soon be coming to an end. ‘Twas time to claim his sacrifice.

  Indifferent to the warriors who lined the battlements, he moved silently toward the gate. What need he fear? His death at the
swing of a broadsword now ensured that he was impervious to mortal threat.

  An ironic twist of fate that the ancient laird who had commanded his death would ensure his future heirs would be incapable of halting Bane's revenge.

  Almost upon the gate Bane stilled as the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention. With ease he melted into the shadows, sharply curious to discover who would be daring enough to ignore the thick menace surrounding the castle. Surely they must be daft.

  Or desperate…

  The cold smile once again touched his lips as he tilted back his head to sniff the air. Aye. A Foster lassie. The stench of her blood was unmistakable.

  ‘Twas not surprising. This would not be the first occasion his sacrifice attempted to flee, he acknowledged with a flare of disdain. There was little courage or dignity flowing through the veins of his enemy. More than one of the maids would have condemned their entire clan to death if they could slip away and save their own skin.

  Content to wait for the lassie to walk toward her doom, Bane absently stroked the delicate golden tore hung about his neck. It would be a simple matter to enchant her as she passed, although not quite so satisfying as luring her away in view of her father and kin.

  As the footsteps neared, however, a faint frown marred his smooth countenance.

  He once again sniffed the air. There were two females approaching. One an elderly servant. And the other…

  A Foster lassie, without doubt. But not the one he was seeking.

  Stepping deeper into the shadows, he watched them pass through the gate with a narrowed gaze. What would lead the wench out at such an hour? Any woman of sense would be locked in her quarters on such an eve.

  Intrigued in spite of himself, Bane studied the slender waif shrouded in silver moonlight.

  Although she was wrapped in a heavy cloak, he could tell she was constructed on delicate lines. Far more delicate than most of the raw-boned Foster clan, with a restless spirit that smoldered in the odd, gold-flecked hazel eyes. And unlike the rest of her kin, her hair was not the golden red of a sunrise, but rather a deep simmering fire that tumbled about her ivory skin like licks of flame.