by Suz deMello
Angel Laird, Vampire Wife
A Kilburn Vampires story
Suz deMello
The Legal Stuff
Copyright © 2012 by Sue Swift/Suz deMello
All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by an electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
Dedication and Acknowledgments
For Laura Mills, lover of all things Scottish. Thanks to Diane Farr, the best critique partner ever.
Angel Laird, Vampire Wife
Chapter One
Kilburn Castle, Scotland
1766
Some said that Edgar, Laird MacReiver, had made a deal with the devil. And not just an ordinary deal, for he’d agreed to marry the devil’s daughter.
Lacking a superstitious cast of mind, he’d never regretted his decision to ally with Clan Kilburn until this moment. Atop the battlements, he disregarded the noontime sun glittering over the sea, the fresh spring breeze off the water and the white clouds scudding through the sky. Instead, he watched the scene below him.
Down in the castle courtyard, a young woman struggled with a horse. Not just any young woman. She’d been betrothed to him before her birth. And not just any horse. Isobel, now eighteen, grasped the bridle of Ranger, a buckskin stallion, the pride and joy of Edgar’s heart.
She wrestled with a reluctant Ranger before swinging long legs clad in trews over the steed’s back. Clinging to his mane, she somehow kept her seat while the stallion curvetted and spun. Her hat flew off and her braid loosened, the black hair whipping ‘round as Ranger sought to dislodge her.
Another neigh and a leap before the horse dashed out of the open gate. His hooves clattered on the drawbridge as he galloped over the moat. Isobel clung to his back like a flea unwilling to give up its perch on a dog.
“I ordered her not to ride Ranger,” Edgar said with some disbelief and more resentment. “He’s too big for her. And he’s young, not quite broken. The only rider he tolerates is me.”
“Our Isobel is a bold horsewoman.” Kieran Kilburn cocked a dark brow at Edgar. “She doesna like to admit that there’s a steed on this earth that she canna master.”
Though nearing his fiftieth year, the Kilburn chieftain hadn’t sprouted even one gray hair. No wrinkles marred his smooth, unusually white skin, save those that were the product of his constant smile. All the Kilburns shared the same traits: tall and strong, with midnight black hair and eyes. In comparison Edgar often had felt like a little white mouse, at least until he grew and the lassies started to take an interest in his fair hair and blue eyes. Then he’d realized that his different looks were an advantage.
An advantage, that is, with everyone but Isobel.
“She obeys you.” The wind loosened the leather thong tying Edgar’s hair at the nape. He tightened it. “Why not me?”
Kier’s eyes twinkled. “She obeys me, laddie, because I punish her when she does not.”
“May I borrow your Dash?” Frowning, Edgar turned to descend into the courtyard with Kieran following.
“Aye, but don’t count on Dash to catch his son.”
“We’ll do our best. Thank you, sir.” He handed his blue jacket to a guard and mounted the buckskin. “I go now to find my bride. I hope she’ll return suitably chastened.”
With a shrug, Kier folded his arms over his chest. “Ye ken what ye have to do.”
* * * * *
Edgar caught up with Isobel and Ranger in the forest. The horse now ambled rather than raced, the trees bordering the meadow surrounding the castle having slowed his flight. Edgar eased Dash into a walk and splashed through a brook while watching Ranger manage Isobel.
The stallion apparently decided that he no longer would tolerate even Isobel’s light weight and proceeded to use a low-hanging branch to scrape her off. She landed flat on her back with a grunt. Ranger headed toward the stream and the new green grass beside it, thank the gods, instead of trampling the silly wench under his hooves.
Her laughter could be heard even from several yards away. “La! What a ride! I’ll tame that mount yet.” She sat up and rubbed her back.
Still on horseback, Edgar towered over her. “The only mount who needs taming is you. No harm done, milady?” He was pleased that he kept a mild tone of voice, because inside he was seething.
“None.” She smiled up at him, her black eyes twinkling through the curtain of her lashes.
Bewitching, but he hardened his heart, determined that he’d not be led by the nose. He didn’t like managing females, and if he allowed her to rule him now, she’d rule him forever. “Whatever possessed you to steal Ranger?”
“I didn’t steal Ranger. I borrowed him.”
“Against my express wishes. If your clumsiness has harmed him, Isobel—”
“My clumsiness?” She leapt to her feet.
He gave her a long, cool stare before turning away. He chirruped to Ranger, who raised his head from the sweet grass by the stream. Still chewing, he walked sedately to Edgar.
He dismounted to caress his horse’s forehead before running his hands along the neck and body. Something hot and red billowed in Isobel’s chest. What was it? ‘Twas the same uncomfortable feeling she got when her younger brothers or sisters claimed too much of their parents’ attention. The same horrible emotion that overcame her when other lassies dared to flirt with Edgar…which happened more frequently than she liked.
Jealousy.
She was jealous of the attention Edgar was giving to a horse. A horse.
Bloody hell.
Removing his gloves, Edgar slid expert fingers up and down each of Ranger’s legs, paying particular attention to the delicate fetlocks.
She wondered how those long, tanned, strong fingers would feel if he touched her. When he finally touched her. So far he’d kept his distance even though they were affianced, a fact which she both liked and resented.
He straightened with a sigh. “No harm done. You were lucky this time, my girl.”
“Your girl? Since when am I your girl?”
He led the horse back to the stream and dropped the reins. Ranger drank placidly. Standing in the water with tail a’swish, he seemed completely unlike the wild beast she’d sought to tame. Dash joined him.
Edgar eyed the horses, then eyed her. “You’ve been mine since before you were born.”
“I mislike your manner, sir. I am yet unmarried. I belong to no man.”
“You belong to me.” He returned, looming over her, tall and blond and impossibly beautiful. The Angel Laird, the lassies called him. Well, they could have him.
“I willna be ordered. I willna be treated as though I’m a possession.”
He took her by the shoulders. “But you are.”
His mouth descended on hers while one hand seized the back of her head, holding her fast. She couldna resist, and didna want to, for she’d yearned for this moment.
She’d long been told of her betrothal to Laird Edgar but when she was wee, she hadn’t known what that meant. Hadn’t realized that her childhood playfellow and protector was her affianced husband. Hadn’t understood what that really meant until one day in her thirteenth year.
He’d gone away for several weeks. To faraway France, on business of some kind that she hadn’t understood. Trade, she believed. After he’d returned
, she’d spied him one morn as he rode through Kilburn Castle’s main gate. The rare sun struck sparks from his blond hair, and when he saw her waiting, his face had glowed with a smile.
Flame had lit her from head to toe, threatening to consume her with a fire she couldna control.
Did she wish to be consumed?
Suddenly shy, she hadna run into his arms the way she’d always done. Instead, she’d sidled up to him after he’d dismounted and offered him her hand.
He’d knelt. Knelt to her.
He’d taken her hand, turned it over and kissed her palm, looking up at her with those impossibly blue eyes. She’d never forgotten the stroke of his lips, dreaming of how they’d feel on her mouth.
That moment had changed everything between them. She’d become aware of herself as a woman, and knew him to be hers. And she his.
But would she meekly accept her fate? What right had others to predestine her life?
Edgar’s lips caressed hers and her mind emptied of everything except this new experience. She wanted to remember everything about her first kiss: the strength of his arms, the warmth of his lips followed by the wetness of his tongue as it slid slyly into her mouth.
His flavor was distinctive, a spice like nothing she’d tasted before, a toothsome relish composed of spring water, mint and honey. The scent of the forest mingled with his aroma, a fragrance that melded good male sweat with an underlying freshness that reminded her of the summer sun glittering on the sea.
His hand trailed down her back to curve over her bottom. He squeezed, and the tingling heat of passion spread from his broad warm palm to encompass all of her. A purr rose in her throat. She slid her arms beneath his and held onto his shoulders from behind.
She pulled him in tight, wanting nothing but this kiss to go on and on forever. Life had become so simple. Their mouths touching, their hands exploring, their bodies pressed against each other were everything. Nothing else mattered.
She sucked on his tongue but still wanted more. She nipped and then, tasting a new flavor, licked the tip. Was it his blood? She didna care. He was delicious.
She sucked harder. Yes, that was his blood seeping over her tongue from the tiny bite, and it was intoxicating… He was intoxicating. He groaned and his grip tightened. She became aware that his muscular body had hardened against hers.
That she’d taken his blood had stirred him, she realized with a bolt of pure lust snapping through her. He was aroused by her need and that, in turn, inflamed her. His maleness thrust blindly, seeking her warmth and heat. She pressed herself against him not only with desire but also with a sense of wonderment. She had not known how good he’d feel pressed against her.
His hands shifted, roamed, explored…he took her wrists and drew them down to the small of her back.
He pulled away but she couldn’t reach for him to bring him back. He gripped her shoulders and looked into her eyes with a peculiar intensity. His blond hair swung loose, and she realized what he’d done.
He’d bound her hands behind her back with his leather hair tie.
“What…why did ye do that?” She tried to tug her wrists apart, but he’d tethered them firmly.
“To stop you from running away from me.” His panting breaths stilled, became controlled. He was always so controlled. She hated that.
He wanted to control her, and she hated that even more. “I don’t run from ye. I’m not afeard of ye!”
“Isobel, you’ve been running from me for five years.” He began to unbutton her blouse.
“What are ye doin? Me da will kill ye!”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” He slipped a hand into her blouse. Her corset pressed her tightly, supporting her breasts, and he pushed his fingers down into the valley between the mounds. Withdrawing his hand, he released one, cupping it, flicking the nipple, watching it tighten.
He’d never touched her breast before. No man had. It felt good, but it was wrong. She raised a knee and tried to jam it into his cods. He twisted, and she struck air instead. Off balance, she teetered.
One hand still tugged on her nipple, an intolerable state of affairs. His hand didna belong there. No one’s did, but why did his fingers twisting the tip feel so good? He clamped his other hand on her bottom, keeping her upright but holding her close, too close for her to kick him.
She stomped, missing his booted foot. “I’ll bite ye!”
“You already have.” He flicked his tongue out, licking her lips. “Why did you do that, lassie?”
Her face was on fire, like the rest of her. She dropped her head to his shoulder so she wouldna have to look him in the eyes, those bright blue, searching eyes. The eyes that always seemed to gaze into her heart and learn all her secrets. “I doona ken. It just…seemed right. Ye’re tasty, Edgar. Like the sips of sherry that me mam allows me from her glass.”
He huffed.
“Others bite. I’ve seen the marks.”
“I’m sure they do, but they don’t concern me. You do. You’re out of control.” Edgar grabbed the front of her trews, unlacing the ties.
For the first time she was truly frightened. “What…what are ye going to do?”
“Teach you.”
The trews dropped. She’d tucked a short chemise into them but lacked other underclothing. A slight breeze ruffled her hair, tickled her bare calves above the trousers bunched at her ankles.
“Teach me by stripping me naked?”
“Oh, no. That wouldn’t be enough, would it?”
“Nay.” She glared at him.
Grinning, he turned her around and pulled her back against him, with one hand on her bare breast and the other between her legs.
She stiffened. No one had ever handled her so. It infuriated her but at the same time…she pushed her hips forward against his hand. He held her breast and her female flesh with sureness and began to massage, circling his palms over her nipple and her core.
He paid special attention to the part of her that her mam had called the quim when teaching Isobel to wash properly in her bath. What was it about that special place that he liked?
He nuzzled her neck. It tickled and yet…Her body lifted, lightened, exploded, with flames emanating from three spots: her throat, her breast and her quim. “It’s all right, Isobel,” he murmured. “Let yourself enjoy this. It’s all right.”
She gasped, and the heel of his palm pressed harder. She wrenched against him, but she wasn’t trying to escape. Uncontrollable spasms twisted her, wracking her body as her eyes, squeezed shut, saw glowing rainbows and shards of brilliant color glittering against her closed lids.
When her breaths stilled, she sagged against Edgar. He turned her around and dotted her face with kisses. She opened her eyes and stared into his, letting herself swim in the blueness.
He released her and began to button her blouse. “So you’ll be a good girl now?”
Rage flashed through her. “So that’s what kissing me, and…and the other was about? Controlling me? Persuading me to obey?”
“I was making love to you, and ‘tis better than the alternative.”
“What alternative?” she snapped. If her hands had been free she would have slapped his smug, pretty face.
He sighed. “I didn’t want to do this, but it seems that you’ll leave me no choice.”
The world became a bright blur as he grabbed her and flipped her over. As he sat on the ground, she flopped onto his lap. She landed face down, sprawled over his thighs, naked buttocks thrust into the air as though they were presented to him.
She squirmed. “This is…very unbecoming.”
“Then ‘tis suitable, for you have behaved in an unbecoming way. You must stop.” He swatted her rump.
It didn’t hurt, but shocked her. “Edgar!”
“What?” He spanked her again a few inches below her bound hands.
“Ye-ye’re hitting me.”
“I’m spanking your lovely arse, darling.” He separated her thighs and caressed her quim, pressing a finger
inside. She gasped and twisted. He probed deeper, his way slicked by her moisture. “Don’t pretend that it hurts. Your cunny is telling me differently.”
“My cunny?”
“Yes, your sweet cunny. My cunny.”
“Your cunny?”
“Yes. This is mine.” He curved his finger and stroked someplace inside that shot sparks through her body. She wrenched, crying out.
“This is mine.” His finger left her to part the curls on her mound. He rubbed the sensitive flesh within.
Her hips bucked in time with his caress. She moaned. “Och…aye…”
He palmed all of her femininity and squeezed. Heat spread, and her body, again under his control, undulated in his lap as she climaxed a second time.
“This is mine. You are mine, always. And don’t forget it.” He slapped her bottom. The spank reverberated through her.
She howled with pleasure and pain and resentment because she knew it to be true.
* * * * *
Edgar walked Isobel back to the castle, with the both of them leading the horses through forest and field. As they approached the open gate, he glanced down at the top of her shining dark head. She’d straightened her clothes and, with his help, rebraided her hair. He didn’t know why, but he’d enjoyed the task.
Was she or wasn’t she? He didn’t dare ask.
Black hair, black eyes, skin whiter than the sheep peacefully cropping the meadow’s grass. Skin cool to the touch but not cold. But he’d wager that her blood ran hot and her climaxes were real. Human. Legends said that vampires, the baobhan-sith, were unnatural female fae who drank the blood of unwary travelers. However, they weren’t really women and didn’t make love as did human women, instead glorying only in the deaths they caused.
Edgar knew that all of the myths and rumors were just that—myths and rumors. A laird couldn’t rely on them.
Still, he’d always known that there was something different about the Kilburns, but even given the many years he’d known them, he hadn’t been able to define that difference. Not baobhan-sith, but they showed some traits, some tendencies, that weren’t quite normal.
