Highland Vampire

by Deborah Raleigh

  There was little to remind him of the deceitful lassie who had betrayed him near two hundred years before.

  Nothing but the smell of her blood.

  Lingering despite his urge to complete his revenge and return to his lair, Bane watched as the heavyset servant with a square countenance and braid of coarse gray hair reached out to grasp the female's cloak.

  "Isobella, this is daft. Ye must return to the castle."

  With obvious impatience the lassie twitched the cloak from the clinging fingers. "Och, let me be."

  "Nay. I cannae let ye," the servant moaned. "There be something terrible foul in the air tonight."

  Isobella gave a loud sniff, but Bane did not miss the faint shiver that raced through the slender form.

  "Ye would have me cower behind these walls? To await the Beast to come steal my sister as do those pathetic wretches who claim to be noblemen and warriors?"

  Her tone was fierce, and Bane lifted a raven brow in surprise. So, 'twas not only her appearance that was at odds with her clan.

  "'Tis naught that can be done, mistress. The curse cannae be broken. If Katherine doesnae offer herself to the Beast, every man, woman, and child will be slain. Is that what ye would have?"

  "Of course not. But neither do I intend to do no more than wail and bemoan Katherine's fate. There must be some means to halt the curse." The lassie wrapped her cloak even tighter about herself as she glanced toward the nearby trees. “There must be."

  "There is none. All who have tried are in their graves," the servant retorted. "If nay worse."

  "So we have been told. For too long we have been held in the clutches of fear to even attempt an end to the plague that besieges us."

  "Nay, mistress." The older woman hastily crossed herself, perhaps sensing the danger that lurked in the shadows. "Many have entered the cursed glen never to return."

  Isobella gave a toss of her head. "Foolish lads and drunken warriors out to seek glory. They blunder forward where stealth is needed. None have attempted to discover the weakness of the Beast so that it might be slain."

  "That is what ye intend to do?"

  "What else can I do?" The delicate features hardened in the moonlight. "I cannae hide here and do nothing."

  Bane stilled, caught in an odd sense of fascination.

  "'Tis sorely hard, but consider, lassie, there is nay saying the Beast will come for Katherine on this night. It is said in the past he has ofttimes waited days and even weeks afore he claimed his prize."

  "But he will come," she said in flat tones.

  The servant sighed. "Aye, he will come."

  "I will put off my duty no longer. I had hoped that Father would gather his courage and do what is necessary… och." Isobella squared her shoulders. "I hoped in vain. Now 'tis upon my shoulders."

  "Nay."

  "Aye. Go back to the great hall. Stay with Katherine."

  Although the command was said in a gentle manner, there was no mistaking the authority in the wench's voice. This was a maid who was accustomed to having her orders obeyed.

  Lifting her shawl to dab at her eyes, the servant scurried back through the gate. Left on her own, Isobella paused for a moment, glancing about the darkness with obvious unease. Then, with a tilt of her chin, she briskly moved toward the nearby trees.

  Bane found himself hesitating. He had one purpose when he had approached the castle. To capture his prize and return to his lair. Simple and uncomplicated. Just as he preferred his existence to be.

  Now, however, he could not deny a strange compulsion gathering within him. The lassie had done something to him that no one had managed in near two centuries.

  She had stirred his interest.

  Flowing through the darkness behind the slender form, Bane did not bother to ponder his distraction. Aye, what did it matter? ‘Twas enough he must discover more of the wench.

  With unnatural ease, he managed to pass through the thickening woods. Not so much as a leaf rustled or twig snapped. His presence, however, remained thick in the air, quickening the maid's step as she glanced over her shoulder with mounting apprehension. She could feel him closing in. Still she continued forward, perhaps attempting to convince herself that the prickles on her skin were mere fancy.

  They traveled ever closer to the misty glen that protected his lair. Bane faintly smiled at her courage. Or perhaps madness. Few had ever conjured the nerve to wander so close.

  Altering her path, the lassie stepped into a small opening. Then, spinning about, she pressed her back to a tree and pulled a small dirk from beneath her cloak.

  "Who is there?" she demanded. "Show yerself."

  Bane studied the frantic pulse beating at the base of her throat. God's teeth but she stirred his instincts. Bloodlust. But… more. Some sensation that seemed a distant echo of a forgotten memory.

  Remaining in the gloom of the circling trees, Bane folded his arms over his chest.

  "Do ye think to command me, lassie?"

  The pulse fluttered with even more force, but astonishingly she remained poised to fight rather than flee.

  "As is my right." Her voice rang through the clearing. "This is Foster land, and I am the laird's daughter."

  His lips curled. "How proudly spoken."

  "Not proudly, 'tis merely the truth."

  "I know who ye are," he said with a cool disdain. "I can smell the taint of yer father's blood in the air."

  The hazel eyes widened with startled anger. "Ye seek to insult me while hiding behind the trees? Why do ye lurk in the shadows? Are ye shamed to show yer face?"

  "I have no need for shame, my honor is above reproach." He allowed a faint pause. "Can ye say the same, daughter of Foster?"

  A dull blush marred her ivory skin. Bane narrowed his gaze. So, the wench felt the sting of her family disgrace. A far cry more than her father suffered.

  "Ye waste my time," she gritted. "I nay desire foolish games."

  "Ah. Then what is it ye do desire alone in the darkness?" he drawled.

  "Merely to be on my way."

  Silently Bane shifted through the trees, coming ever closer. "On yer way to where?"

  She frowned, sensing his movement but unable to see him through the darkness.

  "That is my business and my business alone."

  "Should ye not be safely tucked in yer virginal blankets at such an hour? The dark is a dangerous place for such a beautiful lassie."

  "I have no fear." With a determined motion she lifted the dirk to brandish it at the shadows.

  Bane offered a rasping laugh. "Ye believe that ye are protected by that slender blade? Or is it that shrill tongue ye depend upon to keep the demons at bay?"

  Her lips thinned. "I am protected by my father and his men. Should any harm befall me, there would be nowhere safe enough for ye to hide."

  Bane stilled, his age-old fury flowing through his body. ‘Twas in this very spot that he had been surrounded by Foster warriors and brutally attacked.

  And all for the love of a woman.

  "Ah, the same father who drinks in his hall and waits to toss his daughter to the Beast of MacDonnell?" he mocked. "I tremble in terror."

  Her color deepened. As much in anger as in shame.

  "Saints above, I will not talk to shadows," she gritted. "Show yerself or be on yer way."

  Bane hesitated. He should be on his way. To return either to the castle and his waiting sacrifice, or to the comfort of his lair. To linger implied more than a passing curiosity.

  Oddly, as the thought brushed through his mind, he already had made his decision. He would be lingering. It had been near two centuries since he had considered a lassie more than a source of revenge.

  Or dinner.

  He was not as anxious as he should be to return to his solitary brooding.

  Ignoring the prickle of warning in the back of his mind, Bane stepped forward, allowing the moonlight to reveal his cloaked form.

  "As ye wish."

  Isobella was not daft. Indeed, mos
t claimed she was cursed to have been born with wits more suited to a man than a maid.

  From the moment she had left the castle, she had known she was on a fool's errand.

  For centuries the Beast had plagued her family, claiming the eldest Foster daughter in each generation without mercy. And for centuries not one laird or warrior had managed to do more than mutter beneath his breath and shake his fists in futile frustration.

  None could enter the mist where the Beast lay in wait. Not without certain death. And not even the most fearsome warrior was willing to brave the dark when a chill settled in the air and whispers of the Beast echoed through the garrison.

  What could a lassie with no more than a small dirk do?

  ‘Twas a question that she had no answer for. Not even as she had commanded her nurse back to the castle and she had forced her reluctant feet toward the distant glen.

  All she knew for certain was that watching her father and his warriors drink themselves into a stupor while poor Katherine awaited death was more than she could bear.

  God's teeth, she was no coward. Let the others hide away and blame Katherine's loss on destiny.

  She would at least make an effort to save her.

  With only a vague hope of stumbling over the Beast and somehow halting it, she had ignored the thick chill in the air that had made her skin prickle in fear. The lair was not far from the castle. Surely she could maintain her courage for such a short span of time?

  Intent upon recalling how to breathe, Isobella did not note the foreboding sense she was being watched. Not until she had entered the dark forest.

  ‘Twas not that she actually heard the intruder. Or caught sight of a lurking form. ‘Twas more the menacing awareness that lodged deep in her heart.

  Too far from the castle to call out, Isobella was forced to settle for the small clearing, where she could attempt to bluster the stranger away.

  It had been a reasonable plan.

  Until the intruder had stepped from the trees.

  The fear clawing at her belly had suddenly been replaced with sharp disbelief.

  By all saints, he was…

  Beautiful.

  Taller even than her father, who was considered a brawny man, he was lean and hard muscled beneath the silk cloak. In the moonlight his long hair was as dark and glossy as a raven wing and flowed well past his shoulders. His countenance was angular with flawless alabaster skin and features that made her breath catch in her throat. Perhaps his brow was a bit too broad and his mouth too sensually full, but such tedious flaws did not alter the impression of unearthly male beauty.

  Swallowing the odd lump in her throat, Isobella at last forced herself to meet his watchful gaze. Her heart gave yet another leap.

  Och. Never in all her years had she seen such eyes.

  Silver in color, they shimmered with a cold fire, like the flash of hardened steel. And just as lethal.

  A beautiful man, a voice whispered in the back of her mind, but dangerous.

  Perhaps as dangerous as the Beast itself.

  Holding the dirk high in an obvious threat, Isobella forced herself to take a breath.

  "Who are ye?"

  "A passing traveler," he murmured, his voice silky and edged with a peculiar lilt.

  He was not of her father's clan. Nor any other clan they warred against. Not with that dark hair and strange silver eyes. Still, he had known too much of her to be a simple traveler.

  "I dinnae believe ye."

  "Nay?"

  "A traveler would not pass through Foster land without halting at the castle to seek my father's favor."

  "Favor?" His eyes glittered with a dangerous fire. "I seek no man's favor. I walk where I desire and none stand in my way."

  "Ye are very sure of yer courage before a mere maid. I doubt ye would be so brave if my father's warriors were to appear."

  A raven brow arched as he stepped toward her with a fluid grace. "Should yer father's warriors appear, they will die."

  She clutched the dirk until her knuckles whitened. "Stand back or I swear I shall make ye bleed."

  He offered a passing glance toward the sharpened blade before he casually reached out to knock it from her hand.

  "Dinnae seek to threaten me, wench." He was standing so close Isobella was forced to tilt back her head to look at him. In the moonlight he appeared breathtakingly handsome as he reached out to capture a stray curl that lay against her cheek. Isobella's mouth went dry and her heart missed several beats. She told herself it was fear. What maid of sense would not be terrified? But there was a warm, magical tingle feathering down her spine that she suspected had nothing to do with terror. "Ye have not the look of a Foster. I have not seen hair such as this. Nor eyes that have been kissed by gold. 'Tis peculiar."

  She swallowed heavily. "If ye imply I am a bastard…"

  "Did I not tell ye that I smell the stench of yer father's blood? Nay, ye are a Foster, more's the pity." His fingers drifted down her cheek to linger upon the pulse racing at the base of her throat. "But beautiful for all yer sins."

  For an embarrassing moment Isobella feared her knees might give way. His flesh was chilled as ice, but there was nothing cold in the searing heat that flared at his light touch. It was like being struck by lightning, and Isobella savagely bit her bottom lip to keep from moaning.

  Bones of Saint Mark, dinnae be a dolt, Isobella Foster, she sternly chided herself. The man was obviously an enemy of her father.

  He could be there to take her captive and hold her for ransom. Or dishonor her. Or even kill her.

  And all she could think to do was flutter over his male countenance.

  Some warrior she was proving to be.

  "And ye are overly bold, traveler," she gritted.

  A slow smile curved his lips. "I feel yer heart quicken. Are ye frightened?"

  "Nay."

  "Tell me what ye seek in the dark."

  His silky voice was weaving a spell about Isobella. With a frown she sought to shake off the strange lethargy seeping through her.

  "Leave me be."

  "Tell me."

  She had no intention of telling the stranger anything of her business. What she sought in the dark was no one's concern but her own. Besides which, she was the laird's daughter. She answered only to her father.

  So why were her lips opening and her gaze helplessly locked with the piercing silver eyes?

  "I seek… the Beast."

  "The Beast?"

  "Aye, a fierce creature who has cursed my clan for generations."

  "Ah." There was a faint pause as his lips seemed to twitch. "Ye have seen this Beast?"

  "Och, of course not. He skulks in the fog nay showing himself, although 'tis rumored that he hunts during the light of the moon. And soon he intends to come for my sister. I shall be waiting for him to reveal himself."

  The slender fingers abruptly shifted to grasp her chin, tilting her face upward so that he could study her features in the silver light.

  "Ye, my sweeting, are most daring, or most foolish," he muttered in rather odd tones. "Surely ye cannae believe to kill a creature of legend?" His gaze slowly drifted down to her parted lips. "Or perhaps ye hope to seduce him to yer will?"

  She sucked in a rasping breath. This man. He was befuddling her in a manner she could not explain.

  "If he lives, he can be killed. I will find the means to do so."

  His grip loosened, allowing his fingers to gently stroke the line of her lips. In the dim shadows of Isobella's mind she knew she should protest, but the bewitching spell held her captive. Her hands lifted to rest against his chest. Beneath her palms she could feel the cool silk of his cloak and hard steel of his muscles. A dark fire sparked deep within her.

  "Should it not be yer father and brave warriors who hunt for the curse to his clan?" he murmured.

  "'Tis my choice."

  The silver eyes darkened to a smoky gray. The austere features seemed to soften as his head began to lower.

 
"Nay, my beauty. 'Tis mine," he whispered against her lips.

  A fierce shock of pleasure kicked through Isobella as he offered a featherlight kiss. Och, but she had dreamed of this moment. Longed for it, if truth be told. What maid did not dwell upon her first kiss?

  And yet it still caught her off guard.

  The men in her clan did not softly seduce women with their lips. They did not allow their fingers to tenderly sweep over a maid's countenance as if she were a rare and delicate object or murmur tantalizing words that made a woman shiver with longing. They were as likely to grab a woman and take their pleasure without once considering the lady in their arms.

  Isobella leaned into his hard form, lost in his scent of mist and smoke. This was the magic she had dreamed of. The searing heat that flared through her blood. The sharp, aching excitement that settled in the cradle of her thighs.

  His lips molded to her own, gently tasting of her before pulling back. Over and over he teased her with his tender touch until Isobella was ready to howl with frustration.

  With a low growl deep in her throat she thrust her fingers into the thick satin of his hair, arching her body until there was not a breath between them. She possessed a craving she could not explain. A craving only he could fulfill.

  As if he had been awaiting that precise moment, his kiss abruptly deepened, his tongue stroking over her lips. Isobella gasped, uncertain what he desired.

  "Open for me, Isobella," he muttered, his hands grasping her hips and pressing them urgently into his hardening thighs.

  Tentatively she parted her lips and moaned as his tongue invaded her mouth. Her old nurse had never said anything of such doings when explaining what occurred between men and maids in the darkness of night. Nor just how pleasurable such… intimacy could be.

  Her fingers tightened in his hair, her body shivering. She was as close to the man as was possible, but it was still not close enough. She was yearning for something. Something just out of reach.

  With a faint hiss the man was scattering fierce kisses over her upturned countenance then down the length of her arched neck. There was a pause, almost as if he were inwardly battling with himself, and then Isobella felt a sharp fire at the base of her throat.