"And how is that, good Gilroy?"
The peasant waved his arm expansively around the room. “To see if these fine and expensive trappings hide a sinister secret."
McGill frowned. “What secret might that be?"
"That ye, my lord, are sooder folley."
He held his face firmly rigid and expressionless, but his mind raced. Who had this fool told of his suspicions? McGill couldn't look into the man's mind without revealing himself. “And what if I am? Would I not simply kill and eat you now?"
"Oh, Lord McGill, ye wouldn't do that. Many people know I hae come here to see ye. And ye would only drink my blood, not eat my body."
He considered killing the man, but if he told the truth, others would miss him quickly. “Ye should go before I lose my good humor."
"So ye deny being sooder folley?"
"I make no comments to those I rule over."
"And ye hae not, my lord.” The scrawny man bowed. “I take my leave."
After McBarens had left, McGill sat and wondered how much longer he could stay here.
He looked back to the taxes. Some farmer had underpaid and needed a good talking to. The name looked familiar, and he wondered where he'd seen it before.
Then it came to him. McGill pulled the list of known followers of Robert Bruce from the drawer. There, twelve notches down the list, was the name of Duncan Campbell.
* * * *
Melissa decided to go to the market in the village and, in partial deference to McGill, she allowed soldiers to escort her.
She wanted to see Duncan Campbell again, but she knew better than to push things that far. While he wouldn't actually kill her, McGill could hurt her.
That was something never mentioned in the mortal legends of vampires. Perhaps the mortals didn't know that vampires felt the pain, even if the wounds didn't kill them.
Inside the coach, she shivered as she recalled the time six hundred years ago when some half-crazed priest stabbed her through the heart with a wooden pole. Standing there impaled on a small tree, all she could do was scream with the pain.
She'd been with McGill, but he called himself Leonardo then. The priest had hacked off McGill's right arm with a sword. That had to have hurt, too, but McGill controlled the pain and acted, ripping the frightened man to shreds with his claws.
Even now, she wondered if they ever found all the pieces for burial.
The carriage rumbled to a stop, and the footmen opened the door for her. She looked out on the market and felt a certain sense of home.
Grain, bread, vegetables, meat, and a score of other goods lay spread across tables that were the full length of the street. The smells, even to her carnivorous predator nose, were delectable and brought back images of her childhood in the temples and gardens when the priests would bring offerings for the gods.
She stepped out, and the people nearest the carriage bowed slightly. Melissa waved her hand for them to rise and go about their business.
As she walked down the long line of tables, peasants frequently offered her goods—bread or ale, once a carrot, and even a lovely shawl that seemed to glitter in the sunlight. She refused all of the offers, though. These people worked hard in the rocky dirt for their livelihood. She should not take gifts from them. She did purchase a small loaf of bread from a vendor, and it was delicious and still warm.
She came to a cross street, and the market branched off into all four directions. She smiled, wondering where to go next. Laughter from the pub on the corner caught her attention, and she casually wondered what joke had caused the excitement. Perhaps someone had just won a wager.
Melissa turned to move down the street again and ran into a wall of a man.
Duncan Campbell held her shoulders to keep her from falling, and he laughed a little. “Steady, my lady."
The soldiers reacted a little slowly, but they did react. She heard the scraping of steel against leather as swords were drawn.
Melissa realized this could turn into a bloodbath. “Hold, Captain!” The soldier stopped withdrawing his sword, but he didn't sheath it. “The man offers no harm. I was not looking where I was going."
She glanced back at Duncan, and he didn't even seem to notice the soldiers at all, let alone that eight men were prepared to dice him up like the onions sold in the stalls nearby.
His eyes saw only her.
Warmth flooded across her cheeks, and her breasts, as she watched him watching her. A gentle smile graced his lips, and his big hands, rough with hard work, gently massaged her shoulders.
The captain of the guard spoke, stopping the spell before fully woven. “My lady, we should move along."
She didn't want to move along, though. She turned to the captain and reached into his mind. While nowhere near as good as McGill, she could control mortals, especially men. “Everything is fine, Captain. Take your men and go back to the carriage. I will be along soon."
The man's face went slack for a moment, as if his flesh would melt from his bones and spill to the stone street. He seemed to shake himself a little. “Yes, my lady.” He turned to his men. “Come along, lads.” The soldiers moved toward the waiting coach.
For the first time, Duncan seemed to notice the rest of the world around him. He watched the retreating soldiers for a moment. “Why did ye do that?"
"I'd like to talk to you some more."
He smiled. “Not very seemly for the lady of the keep."
"I will decide that."
Duncan looked to his two companions. “Go on, lads. I'll find ye later.” The men went into the pub alone.
She wondered what she was doing—other than endangering both herself and Duncan. The guards would tell McGill, or he would just pull it from their brains like lint from a corner. And McGill would be angry. Experience taught her that he was dangerous when angered.
All thoughts of McGill faded when Duncan took her hand in his. “Come, then.” He led her down the cross street.
His hand felt warm against her skin, and its coarseness didn't bother her. This was a man who worked, and worked hard, for his living. His needs were simple, and he placed honesty above all. Duncan was completely trustworthy, though she didn't really know how she knew these things. Only, she did.
They came to a small square where a few trees, surrounded by several benches, poked through the grass. He led her to one of the benches and waited until she sat before taking the place next to her.
His smile never faltered. “And so, what did ye want to talk to me about?"
"I don't really know."
He laughed. “Well, then!"
Her mind suddenly saw McGill in a killing rage, the change on him fully. “I should go. My husband will wonder about me."
The smile dissolved from his lips. “Ye dinna hae to leave on my account, my lady."
"Please, call me Melissa."
Like day breaking over the hills, the smile flashed back to his face. “Melissa.” He seemed to taste the name, and like the flavor. “What a bonny name."
"Thank you.” She thought hard and fast. She was effectively setting herself up for pain and signing Duncan's death warrant. But she couldn't seem to stop herself. She liked this man, his simple openness and casual manner, but nothing could ever be between them. She knew that full well, but she wanted to be close to him.
"No thanks are needed.” He stared into her eyes for a moment. “Come with me, lassie.” He stood and took her hand again, walking across the square and down an alley.
He stopped and turned to face her, only inches away.
Duncan seemed to debate with himself for a moment. His eyes sparkled with decision. “If ye say no, I'll walk away now, but I want to kiss ye."
She blinked, feeling off balance. “What?"
"I'll take that as a yes."
He put his hands gently on her shoulders and pulled her to him. As he leaned over to reach her lips, Melissa again caught the scent of clean, work gleaned sweat on his body. His lips touched hers, and she twitched from the s
hockwaves roaring through her.
Melissa knew she should pull away and run, run back to the carriage and return to the castle, never to leave again. Instead, she put her arms around Duncan's neck, pulling his face tighter to hers as her tongue darted into his mouth.
The flavor of the warm, fresh bread earlier had been delicious, but the taste of his lips was some order of magnitude better, driving her desires to heights she had never known before. Very different from the feelings of the past with McGill and other vampires, and different from the other mortals she kissed, Duncan felt somehow right in her arms. And his arms felt delightful around her.
His hands moved slowly up and down her back as they kissed. It was a tender embrace instead of the frightful clawing of the vampire and the horny clutching of mortals. The gentleness of his touch told her that all she needed to do was say one word, and he would stop, even if he would need to impale himself on a sword to do so.
Duncan lifted her and walked slowly down the alley, her feet dangling in the air as their kiss continued. At the end of the buildings was a small area of scrabbled grass straining to survive in the rough ground. He lowered her slowly to the dirt, and then lay down beside her.
He was silent, but his eyes spoke volumes. In their hazel depths, she saw something new and different, something she once thought she saw in the eyes of a monster who stalked the temples of Karnac. She'd been mistaken all those centuries ago. She'd seen only bloodlust in the eyes of a vampire.
In Duncan's eyes, she saw love.
He deftly undid the ties of her blouse and exposed her breasts to the warm air. Even though warm, the excitement hardened her nipples to jutting buds and caused a spreading heat through her body.
Kneeling beside her, Duncan pulled down his pants, and his cock, long and hard, poked out at her, waiting to enter her. Spreading her legs, he moved to hover above her.
He lowered himself and eased his cock into her cunt, wet and dripping with desire for him. His thrusts were long and slow, first filling and then emptying her. With each stroke, she trembled and a sigh passed her lips. Perhaps it was the risk of being caught in the act by the townspeople, or even her guards, but she felt excitement she'd never known before building in her. Maybe, she thought, it wasn't the situation at all that excited, but Duncan himself.
She'd never had sex like this before. In the mortal world, women were not much more than property and were treated as a receptacle for the man's seed. In the dark world of the vampire, it was pure animal lust and reactions.
Duncan's gaze never left hers as he rocked slowly back and forth, his cock sliding in time with the motion. His thrusting came firm and sure, but not rough or abusive. He touched her with warmth and caring. Like dawn breaking through the darkness of the nightmare of her reality, she knew Duncan was not having sex with her. He was making love to her, and she was making love to him.
With other mortal men, she'd had to control the change to avoid killing the man atop her. Now, she felt no such need. The change didn't come to her, and she reveled that enough of the humanity remained inside to let her enjoy the contact with Duncan as a woman.
Unexpectedly, her body tensed in climax. Knowing people shopped nearby, she clenched her teeth on the scream that tried to escape when the fitful tremors hit her. Melissa flexed her hips against his, arching her back high in the air to gain just a little more penetration of his hardness into her.
His thrusts took on a renewed intensity, and she saw the lovely hazel eyes glaze. He suddenly gave a mighty shove that nearly knocked the breath from her, and his hot seed exploded deep inside of her cunt as Duncan grunted nonsense. His body jerked and twitched as he pushed for just a fraction of an inch deeper entry into her. Duncan's arms squeezed her tightly, maybe even tight enough to hurt a mortal woman, but she felt no pain in his passionate embrace, only love and desire.
He quickly rolled from atop her and, leaning over her, kissed her lips softly, almost like the touch of the wings of a butterfly.
In an instant, the moment was gone, replaced by the terror that was reality for her and all other vampires. She brushed her hand across his chin, the fine stubble of beard tickling her fingertips. “Duncan, I have to go."
"No, lassie, ye dinna hae to."
"You don't understand.” She pulled her clothing about her and climbed to her knees. He kneeled before her. “I'm sorry, but I have to go.” She touched her lips to his and ran for the carriage as she fastened her blouse.
* * * *
Brother Bryce looked like he'd swallowed a frog. Duncan thought that, from the way the priest kept swilling down more ale, the frog might be trying to climb back out again. Then again, after listening to Gilroy's tale, the priest's reaction was understandable.
Bryce swallowed a gulp of ale and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his robe. “Gilroy, ye actually asked the man if he's sooder folley?” It was amusing to Duncan that every time the words sooder folley hit the air, the priest crossed himself.
"Aye, and he dinna deny it."
Duncan sighed. “But he dinna admit it, either."
"Nay, but that's as good as an admission.” Gilroy smiled, his eyes twinkling.
Duncan wondered if his friend thought he'd managed a major coup for the village. “Nay, ‘tis not. Ye're lucky he dinna hae the guards string ye up from the beams or toss ye from the ramparts."
"Sooder folley are naught to play with.” Bryce crossed himself again. “This is a serious matter."
"Aye, it is.” Duncan couldn't resist poking the priest's nerves just a little. “And one for the Church, too."
"What?” Brother Bryce's frog must have kicked him, because his eyes bugged out, and he looked like he couldn't breathe.
Gilroy nodded enthusiastically and seriously. “Duncan's right! This nest of sooder folley is far too much for simple men like us to deal with. We need the power of Christ on our side!"
The reverend grabbed Duncan's mug and swallowed the contents in one lift. Beer spattered from his mouth when he gasped. “What?"
Duncan managed to keep the laugh crawling up his throat in check. Not smiling was harder. “Gilroy's right, Brother. We need God's own help."
"What?"
Duncan was about to let the priest off the hook when four soldiers came into the pub. He watched them as they spoke to the barman for a moment. The barman pointed toward the table where he, Gilroy, and Brother Bryce sat. One of the soldiers tossed the barman a coin, and the group headed to the table.
"Which of ye is Duncan Campbell?” The soldier's hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword.
"I'm called that."
"Lord McGill has sent for ye. Come now."
Duncan glanced quickly around the pub. He had friends among the patrons, men who would stand with him, but a bunch of unarmed farmers had little chance against four trained soldiers with swords. “Very well.” He stood.
One of the soldiers studied Gilroy. “Are ye not the peasant who saw Lord McGill earlier today?"
Gilroy drew on some inner strength Duncan never even suspected lived within him. “Aye, I am."
The soldiers conversed for a moment. “Ye'd best come along, too. The lord will be keen to know ye associate with the likes of Campbell."
It seemed courage was in good supply this evening. Brother Bryce suddenly stood up. “And I'll be coming along, too."
The captain frowned. “Who are ye?"
"I'm their confessor."
The soldier chuckled. “Very well, then. All of ye can come!"
The soldiers didn't actually draw their swords as the group left the pub, but they were close to doing so. Duncan knew this had nothing to do with taxes or his fringe association with Wallace and Bruce. It was clearly about Melissa.
* * * *
McGill sat beside her on the low dais in the Great Hall. Melissa really didn't want to be here, but she had learned that McGill didn't kill as many people if she attended the audiences.
She wanted to be back in Duncan's arms, and in his bed
. Just thinking about him made her cunt wet and her heart thrill.
Instead, she was here listening to someone who needed to pay their taxes late because someone was sick, or who had to buy a new cow because the last one had gone missing, or who needed money from McGill to buy the new cow.
A few of the peasants were behind in their taxes, and she felt McGill reach out to their minds. Most of these people left the room babbling with terror.
One of the guards came to McGill and whispered something she couldn't hear. McGill smiled and nodded. Melissa didn't like the smile. It seemed to curl up his lips all the way to his ears, and his ears seemed to come to evil points.
The captain strode to the center of the hall. “Clear the room!” Soon, only McGill, she, and the captain remained.
McGill turned slightly toward her in his chair. “I understand you defied me today."
She swallowed. “I don't know what you mean."
"Yes, you do. You left your escort and saw that man again.” The smile returned. “This farmer, Duncan Campbell."
He knew all, and she saw no need to deny anything now. “Yes, that's right."
"And you fucked him."
"If you must know, I didn't. We made love."
Like lightning striking the tower, the change came on him. His claws closed tight around her throat, and she gasped for air. “I could inflict wounds so painful you would beg me to kill you."
She struggled and found enough air to speak. “Then do it, bastard."
The change tried to come, her instincts screaming for her to defend herself, but she fought it. Duncan showed her today that the mortal woman she once was still lived. Every time she allowed the vampire to leap forth, she knew she would lose a little more of her humanity.
McGill growled deep in his chest. “You are an ungrateful bitch! I should rend your head from your body. That hurts and takes a long time to heal."
The captain stood calmly by, either enchanted or indifferent. He showed no surprise, shock, or terror at the scene before him.
The lack of air painted black spots in her vision, but Melissa didn't struggle. She wouldn't give McGill that satisfaction. She managed a dry, half choked laugh. “Do what you will, but you will never own me."
Ruins of a Past Day: Bloodlust 1 Page 5
