Gift of the Nightflyer

by Sultry Summers

  Leslie carefully opened the secret door a fraction of an inch to listen. She could hear Margaret Stuart and she was in distress. Possibly the baby was about to be born too soon. In a blur of speed, Leslie moved to observe what had happened in the Count’s study. She watched as Ignatio gently pierced the Scot’s woman’s neck to drink but a sip of her blood. Only enough to provide the effect that could tranquilize a victim, if the vampire wished to be kind. Instant jealousy flooded Leslie’s heart and she quickly slipped back into the safety of the dark, secret passageway.

  “My Lady, where did you go?” Carloff asked alarmed, fearing for her safety.

  “Where I should not have gone,” Leslie replied. “We must leave here.”

  “Yes, milady, I will go first. When darkness falls, go up and change yourself into that cute little bat, then you will find our carriage deep in the forest,” Carloff explained.

  “Carloff, you have always cared for me” she smiled and touched his handsome face.

  “Yes, my Lady.” Carloff turned and left through the secret door, careful not to be seen.

  Lady Leslie waited and she came to a decision. “If it takes me eternity,” she said to herself, “I will have vengeance on you Count Ignatio Magonoff, for the humiliation you have fostered on me and your treachery.” Leslie knew eternity was a long time, but to a vampire eternity was only tomorrow. She smelled the night, climbed the stairs, and changed into her little winged creature to fly away and find her carriage where Carloff said it would be.

  Chapter Eight

  Count Ignatio left for a time and followed his drive to feed for the night. That necessity satisfied he returned home. He sequestered himself in the library and began reading and drawing on all the knowledge, he could about human physiology, anatomy, pathology, and any medical condition that seemed similar to his “condition.” He kept a journal of the things he felt pertinent to his situation. During the day, he slept, as he was accustomed. Jamie and Margaret stayed, Jamie fearing Margaret would go into labor early and wanted to give her a few days to rest.

  After three days had passed and Margaret had no further problems, Jamie explained to the Count they would take their leave the next day.

  “We certainly appreciate your hospitality, Your Lordship,” Jamie said in a gentlemanly manner. “We will not forget it.”

  “It has been my pleasure Jamie,” Ignatio said. “You know you could stay until after the baby comes. It might be safer that way.”

  “Oh we’ve talked of that, but we can be home in a week to ten days and our family is there,” Jamie explained.

  “I definitely understand,” Ignatio smiled. He did understand but would miss the couple, specifically Margaret the most. He knew he had come to love the gentle, beautiful woman, but would not take Jamie’s life to keep her. I must not have lost all my humanity, he thought.

  Ignatio returned early that night from his nightly repast, to find Margaret sitting by the fire in his salon. Her beautiful face pale and her hands shook while Jamie talked quietly to her, trying to calm her.

  “What is wrong?” Ignatio asked concern in his voice.

  “Tis the babe,” Jamie said, “its acting up again.”

  “Mrs. Stuart is there anything I can do to assist you?” the Count asked.

  “I don’t know,” Margaret’s voice was shaky, the strain evident.

  “Jamie,” the Count said, “go and awaken my housekeeper, she was a midwife at one time and may know of something that could help.”

  Without questioning why the Count would send him instead of going himself, Jamie went to find the woman.

  As soon as Ignatio was sure Jamie had left, he again quieted Margaret in the same manner he had before. When Jamie returned with the housekeeper, Margaret was asleep and the baby had quieted.

  “What did ye do Count?” Jamie asked.

  “Nothing, Mrs. Stuart just took a deep breath and fell asleep,” Ignatio lied. “Perhaps you should take her to bed now.”

  Jamie carried her up the long staircase and Margaret stayed in bed the next day. True to his word, the Count’s housekeeper had, at one time been a midwife, and had watched Margaret closely since her arrival.

  When asked to, she examined Margaret. “You are to stay in bed,” the wise woman told her. “Your baby is fine, but you are not. You do too much, too late in your time. It will bring your baby soon.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And keep your husband close,” she advised her and left.

  Jamie returned, “What did the woman say Maggie?”

  Margaret repeated what the woman had said to Jamie. “What do you think she meant by that?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, “but I won’t be far.”

  Ignatio was spending much of his time in the library, trying hard to research a solution to his enigma and to keep his distance from Margaret. One more episode and she would become what he was and to do this to a pregnant woman would be the worst sacrilege he could think of. What would the child become, when and if, it were born alive? He could not begin to consider such a thing. He pushed the thought from his mind and again buried his thoughts in the vast books of his library. Soon he would exhaust what he had and he planned to travel to a larger city where he could find more information.

  It was late into the night and a scream broke the silence. Ignatio flew from his library to find Jamie unconscious at the foot of the staircase. Margaret stood on the third step from the bottom in her nightgown.

  “What happened?” Ignatio demanded.

  “Jamie was helping me down the stairs, on the third one from the bottom he tripped.” Margaret sobbed tears flowed down her face. Jamie groaned.

  The Count bent down over Jamie as he came to and eased him into a sitting position. “Margaret!” he called.

  “Oh Jamie!” She was standing beside him, too big to kneel. “You scared me half to death.”

  “I’m fine, Maggie,” Jamie assured her.

  “Let me get you both back to bed. Why were you up, Mrs. Stuart?” Ignatio asked.

  “I was having leg cramps and needed to walk, I thought some fresh air might help” she stifled her sobs.

  Ignatio picked her up and carried her back to her room, where he gently set her down. He feared that to take her further into the room would be catastrophic. He assisted Jamie who had regained himself and was just a little shaken. Several hours later Margaret went into full labor.

  The housekeeper assisted her but the labor was long and Margaret was weak. Jamie paced downstairs throughout the day. Evening approached and the Count joined him as early as his nature would permit. Finally, Margaret gave birth to a healthy son. Jamie was thrilled until the housekeeper drew him aside. “Your wife is bleeding badly, Mr. Stuart. If I cannot stop it, or it does not stop on its own,” the woman paused, “she’ll not make it, sir.”

  He held his newborn son, tears of joy in his eyes one minute, only to have his life so horribly dashed the next. The Count watched and remembered. He knew that feeling, but at least Jamie had his son. Had the Count not killed Leslie, Jamie might not have had that. Ignatio watched as Jamie handed his son to the housekeeper and went to see his wife.

  “Hello, my love,” Jamie said sitting on a chair next to her, taking her white hand into his own and kissing her pale lips. “You’ve given us a beautiful son, my bonnie lass.”

  “I know, Jamie, but,” she sniffed, “Oh Jamie, I don’t want to…go!”

  “There now, you’re not going anywhere. Not until you’re better,” Jamie told her.

  “No, my Jamie, you know what I’m a saying,” Maggie said. “You’ll take care of our son, call him Jamie after you.”

  “Oh Maggie, Maggie, don’t talk like this,” Jamie begged.

  “I know what I know, Jamie,” Maggie sighed and fell asleep weakened from the loss of blood.

  Jamie came back downstairs. The man’s face looked ten years older. With sadness on his face, he took his son from the housekeeper. Margaret had fed the baby and possibly would be able to agai
n. Jamie sat and stared at his perfect son who nursed his little fist and stared back at him with trusting eyes.

  “Little Jamie,” his father said softly, “how will we manage without the woman we both need and love?”

  Count Ignatio stood by the fireplace, a glass of brandy in one hand as he stared into the flames of the fire. He heard the soft words Jamie had spoken. A deep sadness fell upon him, old memories burdened him, a similar fate had befallen him, but Jamie had a healthy son to console his grief. His housekeeper entered the room and beckoned him away from the fire.

  “Milord,” she said respectfully, “Lady Stuart hasn’t long; I have tried everything I know of to stop her bleeding. She knows. It would be best if she would nurse her son again.”

  “I will tell him.” Ignatio turned back to the man and his son.

  “Jamie,” he said softly.

  “Yes?” Jamie looked up.

  “My housekeeper says you should allow your wife to nurse your son again, she, ah, Jamie, she is worse and the child would be better off to have his mother’s milk at least one more time.” Ignatio could not explain it any easier.

  Tears appeared in Jamie’s eyes as he rose with the infant in his arms, he went up the stairs. Margaret was awake, her face pale, her hands shook when she took the baby and put him to her breast. Jamie sat down in the chair next to the bed.

  “Jamie,” Margaret said weakly, “promise me you will remarry.”

  “Oh, Maggie, let us not talk of this now,” Jamie sobbed.

  “No, little Jamie will need a mother and you, my Jamie, are a young man and need a wife. I love you and wish you to be happy. Now promise me,” Maggie insisted.

  “I will promise ye anything, Maggie.” he kissed her as the baby finished and he took his son from her for the last time.

  “Take him down to the housekeeper, she has promised to care for him until you are ready to go back home, there are goats here for his milk,” Margaret said and Jamie did as she asked.

  While the housekeeper explained to Jamie how he would need to care for the child until he could get home to Scotland, as a way of distracting him, Count Magonoff slipped up the stairs.

  Margaret dozed but when he entered, she awoke, though he made no sound she was aware of his presence. Margaret looked around the room and saw nothing. She lay back among the pillows too weak to keep up her vigilance. She closed her eyes with a sigh.

  Ignatio stood in the shadows; pale as she was, Margaret was beautiful though she was dying. Only he could give her some hope of a life. Would she accept a life with him? He wondered? She could not go with her husband and son if he changed her, but Ignatio would be happy to have her with him. He loved her and would love her–gently–not like it had been with Leslie, but would she love him? Now he would find out. Ignatio stepped from the shadows.

  “Margaret,” Ignatio said her name.

  “Who is there?” Margaret asked opening her eyes slowly.

  “Margaret it is I, Ignatio.” He came to stand and look down at her.

  “Count? What is it you want?” Margaret asked perplexed at why he was in her room.

  “Margaret you know that you are dying?” Ignatio said rather than asked.

  “Aye, I know,” she replied with a stifled sob.

  “I have a way to give you life, of a sort,” Ignatio said hesitantly, unsure of how to explain to her what he was and could do. Unable to explain what the limitations would be for her if he did change her and the sacrifices she would have to make.

  She looked at him for a long moment, “I know what you are,” Margaret said.

  “How would you know?” Ignatio asked, surprised.

  “I know,” was all she would say. Their eyes locked together.

  “Then you must realize I can save your life, in a manner of speaking. But if I do you will live, however, you will not be able to go with your husband and son.”

  Margaret watched him through half-closed eyes. “You give me a choice between life as a vampire or no life at all. But this life is as one damned. How do you propose to explain this to Jamie?”

  “I don’t, he cannot know. Margaret, you will stay here with me. It will not be easy for you at first. I know it will be hard to give up your husband and child. I know you love your husband and of course your son. But Margaret you will be alive, there is no other way,” Ignatio said gently, he sat in the chair next to the bed. “And I am sorry but you have little time to make the decision.” He could see the pain of indecision in her eyes. Ignatio knew he would have to tell her, “Margaret, I love you.” It was important to him that she did not doubt his sincerity.

  “Count, you may be a vampire but you are a married vampire,” she exclaimed. Her expression suddenly changed. “You killed her!” she accused.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “I caught her being unfaithful and she would have killed an innocent. I could not live with either sin. And, in truth, we were not married. I had known Lady Leslie for only a short time.”

  Margaret looked at him and she could feel her life slipping away. It would do no one any good for her to die, she didn’t want to die. If she were alive she could occasionally check on her son and her husband, but he would no longer be her husband, because in a way she would die. Tears streaked her face and she sobbed.

  “Margaret, you must decide, not only does your body limit your time, but your husband will return soon,” Ignatio told her.

  “I know,” she replied. “Do it,” Margaret exclaimed! “Quickly before I change my mind,” and she pulled her long hair away from her lovely neck.

  Ignatio looked deeply into her spring green eyes thinking how beautiful they were and he would be able to look into them for eternity. He allowed his full hypnotic effect to flow from his mind into hers. He wanted her to feel no discomfort but only the pleasure his bite could bring. When he had her mind under his full command, he leaned over her and kissed her pale lips cradling her in his arms. He kissed her closed eyes, her face, and then her neck. He could feel her weak pulse and knew he must be quick. Ignatio kissed the spot he would pierce. Gently, he drove his fangs deep into her jugular vein, knowing he was almost too late, as there was little blood. He drew her blood until she was so close to death that her breath was ragged and shallow. Ignatio cradled her in his arms and slit his wrist with his own fangs to put his wrist to her white lips.

  “Drink, Margaret, and live.” he told her, at first she would not. “Margaret you must, or you will die, it is the way of it. I command you, drink!” A few drops fell into her mouth and she swallowed. Slowly she began to suck until some color returned to her face and the change took place. Because she was so weak when the change took place, it would be a few days until she could leave the bed and she still looked on the verge of death. “Now, Margaret,” Ignatio explained, “Jamie will come again. You are so weak that he will know you will not live, and it is most important that he must believe you have gone. This is for his sake and that of your son. Can you do this?”

  “I can, but I do not wish too,” Margaret said sadly.

  “I must go, I shall return shortly.” Ignatio left and as he had said, Jamie came soon after.

  “Maggie?” Jamie’s voice sounded like an angle’s voice.

  “Jamie, I am glad you’ve come, my time is near, my love,” Margaret told him.

  “Maggie, please!”

  “Jamie, I cannot fight nature,” she told him. “Sit with me.”

  Jamie took her hand and sat in the chair, after a time Margaret closed her eyes as if she slept but Jamie knew she had left him. He sat and wept, until the Count found him and helped him from the room.

  “Jamie, you must think of your son now,” Ignatio told him. “The little lad needs you.”

  “I cannot even take her home to bury her.” Jamie said and shook his head.

  “You can bury her in our family crypt, I would deem it a honor.” the Count said.

  “Thank you, your lordship.” Jamie’s voice was that of a broken man, the same way the count’s
voice had sounded a little more than a year before.

  Chapter Nine

  It had rained most of the next day and Margaret had slept the sleep of one dead. She had been aware of Jamie’s presence once or twice when he had visited her lying in bed her white hands crossed over her breasts, her hair arranged on the pillow. He had cried and it had torn at her heart to know he was so grieved. She yearned to comfort him and knew she could not. When he had left, she had heard her baby cry and could not contain her own grief and cried too. Ignatio rose at dusk to appear from the shadows and comforted her as best he could.

  “Margaret,” he told her, “had I not done what I did, you would not have lived to hear the simple cry of your son for his dinner. I will see that he is brought up in a while, so that you may have some time with him before the services.”

  “When is Jamie leaving?” she asked between sobs.

  “He is leaving at dawn.” Ignatio said in a toneless voice.

  “It is good, should he stay any longer I don’t think I could bear it.” Margaret shook her head, her rust-colored hair swinging across her shoulders.

  “You are to stay in bed,” Ignatio said. “I must go downstairs now and you are too weak to learn how to hunt and feed on your own. I will return later and see to it that you are well fed.” He smiled down into her summer green eyes he loved. “At dusk the minister will come to perform the services your Jamie requested, normally an Orthodox Priest would do this, at least for my family, but the Bishop and I had a falling out shortly after Lady Leslie’s arrival.” Ignatio smiled ruefully.

  By dusk the rain had stopped long enough for a short service by the Protestant minister, who served several of the small towns in the surrounding communities. Most of the people were Orthodox in the area, so the minister was rarely called to preside over such events. Now that Ignatio was no longer a member of any church, and Jamie and Margaret Stuart were Protestants, his services were welcome. It was a solemn occasion, made more so by the wails of little Jamie and nothing would quiet him. Margaret was laid to rest in the aboveground crypt of the Magonoff family. The housekeeper took little Jamie back to the manor, escorted by Ignatio and the minister, leaving Jamie to a few minutes of privacy to say his goodbyes. Ignatio watched anxiously until he saw Jamie walk up to the manor from the family’s graveyard. Then a pang of sympathy assaulted him. The man looked broken, his face was haggard, his shoulders slumped, and it had begun to rain again. Whether it was tears of grief or rain that streaked Jamie’s face, Ignatio would not wager.