Highland Vampire

by Deborah Raleigh

  Against her will the image of a young, innocent man joyfully playing upon his harp rose to her mind. When he had left this cottage, he could have no notion that he was heading into a villainous trap devised by her ancestors. Or that his beloved was already plotting to betray him.

  Her heart grew heavy. Such terrible sadness. Such grief.

  She could feel it in every part of her.

  "Lady Isobella."

  The soft, rasping voice had Isobella abruptly turning about, her hand pressed to her leaping heart.

  Thankfully she swiftly discovered the intruder was no frightening monster come to devour her. Or even a ghost she had unwittingly stirred into existence.

  Instead an elderly woman with a deeply lined countenance and stooped form regarded her with glittering black eyes.

  "Forgive me," Isobella murmured with a shaky smile. "I thought this cottage deserted."

  The woman waved a gnarled hand. "I tend to it on occasion. Twould be a shame to watch it crumble to dust."

  "Ah, I did wonder how it remained so tidy," Isobella confessed.

  "Most would tell ye 'tis because of the curse." The black gaze peered at Isobella with discomforting intensity. "This was once the home of the bard."

  "Yes, I ken as much."

  "What is it ye seek?"

  Caught off guard by the abrupt question, Isobella discovered herself unable to conjure a suitable story to explain her presence. Although she was uncertain that she would even attempt a lie. Not with that unnerving gaze seeming to pierce to her very heart.

  "The truth, I suppose."

  The tiny head tilted to one side, her expression one of curiosity.

  "Of the bard?"

  Isobella briefly glanced toward the forgotten harp before attempting to harden her heart By all that was holy, she did not want to pity the man who had once called this cottage home. Not at the cost of losing Katherine.

  "Of the monster who will take my sister," she corrected in stern tones.

  "He wasnae always a monster, ye ken," the woman said gently. "Once he was a simple man who loved a maid and was betrayed."

  She clenched her hands at her side. "He possesses my sympathy, but those that betrayed him are long dead."

  "There are some wounds more difficult to heal than others."

  Isobella gave a restless shake of her head. "I dinnae have the time for his wounds to heal."

  There was a long pause as the woman regarded Isobella with a strange expression. "So ye will kill the Beast?"

  "Can he be killed?"

  "Aye." The woman stepped closer, bringing with her the faint scent of roses. "Sunlight or a wooden stake to the heart would be the end of him."

  Isobella's heart gave a sudden jerk. For her entire life she had been warned that the Beast could not be killed. At least not by a mere mortal being. It was a creature of magic, her father had blustered, and would slay any who would dare to hunt it.

  Even when Isobella had at last given in to her inner urgings and sought out the Beast, she had not truly believed she could best it. She had simply come to a place where she could no longer bear to stand aside and await fate.

  Now she was not at all certain what she felt. Elation? Dread? Utter terror?

  "A wooden stake?" she breathed. "And he would… stay dead?"

  "For all eternity." The woman reached out to lightly touch Isobella's cheek. Her fingers were cold, but oddly comforting. "Tell me, Lady Isobella, what would ye do for love?"

  Isobella blinked in confusion. "What do ye mean?"

  "Would ye kill for love?"

  An icy sensation clutched at her heart. A few days ago she would not have hesitated with her answer. She would have sworn to do anything to keep her sister alive. Including killing whatever threatened her.

  Suddenly she was not nearly so certain.

  The Foster laird had slain the bard without mercy and without conscience, cursing his clan for all eternity.

  Could further death truly bring an end to the suffering?

  She gave a slow shake of her head. "I thought I could, but now I dinnae know."

  "Would ye offer sacrifice?" the old woman rasped.

  "Sacrifice? Sacrifice what?"

  "Whatever ye must, even yer own life."

  Isobella met the glittering gaze squarely. "Aye, that I would do," she said without hesitation.

  The old woman smiled. "Such love has the power to alter destiny. That is the only weapon ye shall need."

  Clasping Isobella's hands with her own, the woman whispered beneath her breath, and Isobella felt something pressing into her palm. Glancing down, she realized that she now held two miniature portraits. One of a pretty maiden with golden red hair and the other a handsome, dark-haired man with silver eyes.

  Her breath caught in shock as she realized she was looking at the images of the bard and his treacherous lover.

  An image of Bane…

  The Beast of MacDonnell.

  Lifting her head, she was not at all surprised to discover the old woman had disappeared from the cottage.

  She had given Isobella the answers she had sought.

  It was now up to her to decide if she possessed the courage to do what must be done.

  Indifferent to the fear he was spreading throughout the countryside, Bane charged his way through the darkness. It had been agony awaiting the sun to set so he could leave the protection of the mist and search out the woman who refused to leave him in peace.

  He had sensed the precise moment she had entered his cottage. He had been curious but not overly concerned by her intrusion into his long-lost home. There was nothing there to harm her, and at least she was not torturing him by seeking him out once again.

  But then the mysterious witch had appeared at her side and his curiosity had altered to wary unease.

  Throughout the centuries he had been visited by the witch who had taken him from his grave.

  She had never offered her reasons for snatching him from death. Nothing beyond her hatred for the laird that had cast her out of his clan. Nor had she ever spoken of the curse that he had placed upon the Fosters.

  Instead she had remained enigmatic and inclined to speak in riddles that held no sense.

  He did not trust her. Not at least with Isobella.

  Reaching the cottage that had once held his youthful dreams, Bane slipped through the door and prepared himself for battle.

  It took only a moment to realize the witch had already disappeared and that Isobella was alone. She was seated on the edge of his bed, her head bent and her face hidden by the thick fall of her fiery curls.

  He should leave, he told himself. It was obvious she was in no danger.

  But even as he commanded himself to return to the mist, his feet were carrying him forward and his hand was reaching out to lightly stroke her hair.

  He could physically feel the pain in her heart. The witch had clearly troubled her. How could he leave without attempting to offer her comfort?

  "Isobella?" he murmured softly.

  Her head abruptly lifted, but there was no surprise upon her countenance. She had obviously sensed his presence the moment he had arrived.

  "Bane."

  He felt a jolt of pain at the shadows in her eyes. "Are ye harmed?"

  "Nay, I am fine."

  "Ye are certain?"

  "Of course." A frown tugged at her brows. "What is it?"

  "I sensed…" Bane abruptly broke off his words. Perhaps the witch had not made her presence known to Isobella. There was no need to frighten the poor lassie if she had not been bothered. "I thought ye might be in danger."

  "There is nothing here to harm me." She met his gaze squarely. "Or at least there was not until now."

  Bane flinched at the truth in her words. Despite every part of him that rebelled in horror at ever harming this woman, there was no denying the curse that would take her sister.

  There was no means to halt it.

  He would hurt her, no matter how it might destroy him to
do so.

  Bane bit back a low curse. "What are ye doing here?"

  A humorless smile twisted her lips. "I was seeking answers."

  He glanced about the familiar surroundings, easily able to summon up the memory of his mother stirring a pot over the fire, and his father carving the elegant lutes that the bards came from all over the land to purchase.

  "Answers to what?"

  "The Beast."

  "Ye think he is hidden in this cottage?"

  "Nay, but this was once the home of the bard."

  Bane's lips twisted at the unexpected flare of pain. "He has been dead and forgotten a long time."

  Slowly rising to her feet, Isobella held out her hands to reveal the miniatures that Bane had commissioned to be painted two centuries before.

  "Not so very forgotten," she rasped.

  Bane stilled as he met her glittering gaze.

  She knew the truth.

  There was no longer any doubt that he was the Beast of MacDonnell.

  Her most hated enemy.

  Chapter Five

  Bane barely controlled the urge to snatch the portraits from her hands and crush them beneath his heels. They were reminders of a past he now wanted only to forget.

  "I thought those lost," he at last gritted.

  She remained silent a long moment before she lifted her head to regard him with a somber expression.

  "This was the maid ye intended to wed?"

  He grimaced. "Aye."

  "She looks very much like Katherine."

  "As do all Foster women." Unable to halt the movement, he reached out to touch a fiery curl. "All but ye."

  "She was very beautiful."

  "Very beautiful," he agreed in flat tones. "And she possessed the voice of an angel when she would sing. She entranced me."

  The hazel eyes narrowed. "Ye loved her."

  "Nay, I loved only the woman I imagined her to be." Taking the miniatures from her hands, Bane tossed them onto the bed. The faces in the portraits were strangers to him. "She was never that woman."

  Her gaze swept over his countenance, as if seeking some hidden truth.

  "What did ye imagine her to be?"

  Bane trailed his fingers down the firm line of her jaw.

  "Bold, courageous, and above all, loyal." His nose flared with ancient fury. "Instead she was quite eager to betray me for a soft bed and glittering jewels. I was a fool nay to have sensed the truth of her."

  Her eyes darkened, as if sensing his suppressed emotions. "I suppose that hurts more than her betrayal."

  Bane blinked in confusion. "What?"

  "Ye allowed yerself to be deceived by a pretty countenance and sweet voice. It must be difficult to forgive."

  "Forgive?" he growled. "I will never forgive the wench."

  "Nay," she said softly. "I meant it must be difficult to forgive yerself."

  Bane snapped his brows together in disbelief. "Ye dinnae know what ye speak of."

  Her gaze was far too knowing. "Ye dinnae blame yerself for having been so mistaken in yer heart?"

  "I have no heart," he rasped, reaching to grasp her hand and place it against his chest, which did not move. "It died the night I was murdered by the Foster laird."

  Her fingers curled into the silk of his cloak. "I dinnae believe that. Ye would not have rushed to protect me from my father if yer heart was dead. Ye feel."

  Bane held himself motionless, willing himself to master the surge of emotions that battered through him. An impossible task, of course. For centuries he had lived with an aching, hollow emptiness. Now he could no more halt the tide of sensations than he could halt the moon from rising.

  He shuddered at the unfamiliar force. Lust, tenderness, and above all, an overwhelming need to take this woman in his arms and hold her for all eternity.

  She was what he had always desired, his heart whispered. She was the woman he had dreamed of when he had been a young, romantic bard. Her purity, her courage, and her generous heart called to him. This woman would never betray those she loved. She would walk through the fires of hell before she would trade her soul for riches.

  "By the blood of the saints… aye, I feel," he rasped, cupping her face in his hands. "Ye have made me feel again."

  The very air thickened with the hunger he could not hide, but she did not pull away in horror. Instead her hand slowly lifted to gently stroke his cheek.

  "Just as ye have made me feel," she whispered. "I tried to convince myself that it was a spell ye had put upon me, but I ken it isnae. 'Tis ye. Just ye."

  Bane's gaze warily narrowed even as her gentle touch roused the predator in him. "Ye know who I am. What I am."

  "Aye."

  "Then why do ye not fight me?" he demanded. "Ye wish me dead."

  Her eyes darkened with sadness. "'Tis what I thought I wished, but no longer."

  "Why?"

  "The curse was made in betrayal and violence. How could it be broken by the same means?"

  Bane flinched at her stark question. In truth, he had no answer. The curse had been created out of his vicious need for revenge. He possessed no knowledge of how to bring it to an end. He could not even be certain his death would lift the enchantment.

  His muscles tightened as he realized the direction of his thoughts. Fires of hell. Did he desire to break the curse? Was his thirst for justice truly sated?

  His gaze seared over Isobella's countenance. Despite the darkness, he could see every feature with heartrending clarity. The wide brow, the delicately carved features, the sensuous lips that made him shiver with longing. And above all, the hazel eyes that revealed a soul that was untarnished by greed or hatred.

  Aye, for this woman he would give up all, including his very life.

  Lowering his head, he pressed his lips to her temple. "Isobella, I cannae alter the past."

  She leaned into him, cloaking him in the heat he craved.

  "Neither can I, and in truth, at the moment it does not matter. I dinnae want to think of the past or the future."

  Bane shuddered as the dark hunger flared through him. To have her so near, so intimately pressed against him, was the sweetest torture.

  "What is it that ye do want, Isobella?"

  Isobella wavered.

  It was not that she doubted the choice she had made sitting here in the dark. The old woman had offered her a means to save Katherine and she would take it. No matter what the cost.

  Nor did she regret the selfish need that had kept her at the cottage as dusk had fallen.

  She had known Bane would come to her. She had known it in the very depths of her heart.

  And she wanted to be here for him. Just for this night she wanted to grasp the happiness offered. Tomorrow she would do what had to be done.

  Still, she could not deny a measure of uncertainty as Bane's fierce presence surrounded her. It was one thing to imagine the pleasure of offering herself to the man who had stolen her heart. It was quite another to have her body shuddering with excitement and her blood racing so swiftly it made her head dizzy.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Isobella thrust aside her bout of nerves. She would never have this opportunity again. She would not allow maidenly fears to halt her.

  "I want to know what it is to be held in yer arms," she at last admitted with a boldness she was far from feeling. "I want to feel ye close to me."

  His gaze narrowed even as she sensed his body harden in response.

  "Isobella…"

  She lifted her hand to stroke his cheek. His skin was smooth and cool to the touch.

  "Do ye desire me, Bane?"

  His hands abruptly clutched her shoulders as his eyes flared with a stark need.

  "Desire? I wish it were so simple. Then perhaps I could fight against this," he growled. "I hunger for ye, Isobella. I ache for ye until I fear I might go mad."

  Isobella struggled to breathe. Hunger. Aye. She did hunger. And ache.

  She twined her arms around his neck and pressed herself fiercely to his ha
rd body.

  "Then make me yers, Bane."

  His arms lashed around her, but the silver gaze remained wary. As if he feared to trust in her eager response.

  "Ye know that cannae be, my love," he rasped in a pained voice. "I am the monster ye have hated all yer life. I am the Beast of MacDonnell."

  "Not tonight." She caught and held his smoldering gaze. "Tonight ye are a bard and I am a simple maid."

  He groaned low in his throat as his eyes squeezed shut in frustration.

  "A maid who is innocent. Ye must give yerself to yer husband."

  "Nay, I shall never wed," she swore. "Besides which, my innocence is mine to give… and I have chosen ye. 'Tis my right."

  "Isobella."

  She could sense his struggle as passion warred with his deeply held honor. For a moment she feared he might thrust her away. His arms tightened about her, and his muscles hardened until he shuddered with the strain.

  Then with a harsh moan, his head swooped downward and he claimed her lips with a searing possession.

  "Sweeting… my love," he muttered against her swollen mouth. "For so long I have been alone. Alone and cold beyond bearing. Ye have awakened me."

  Her heart squeezed at his words. Her clan had not been alone in their suffering over the years. For as long as the curse held, Bane's wounds would never heal.

  Lifting herself onto her toes, Isobella gently placed a kiss upon his lips.

  For a moment he held perfectly still, as if savoring her soft caress. Then with one swift motion he swept her off her feet and carried her to the narrow bed.

  Isobella nestled into the softness of the feather mattress as he hovered over her, her lips curving into a smile as he reached to slowly remove the ivory combs from her hair.

  With meticulous care he fanned her curls across the pillow, the heat in his gaze sending a chill of excitement through her.

  Beneath that gaze she felt beautiful in a manner she had never before experienced.

  Suddenly she was not the shrill-tongued daughter of the laird. She was not an object of fear or pity.

  She was a desirable woman.

  A woman with the power to bewitch a man.