Why had he let her go?
Chapter Two
Kate wasn’t sure what to make of Ross Malloch. Uninformative and dismissive as he had been, there was something intriguing about the guy. Not to mention how hot he had turned out to be. She could picture him on the cover of one of her favorite Scottish romance novels, shirtless, in a kilt with a huge claymore strapped to his back.
He was beautiful. That was the only word, really, that would do justice to the tall, dark-haired man with the vivid blue eyes who had swept her off his bloody island with such casual, born-to-command authority.
He was not handsome—that was too mild a word. Laird Malloch had worn a warrior’s face, austere and stern. His hair was unfashionably long, tied back from his honed face with a twist of leather. His mouth had been set at the start of their encounter in a rigid line that gave no hint of a smile. Slowly, as they’d bantered, that mouth had relaxed a bit, and those eyes had warmed and sparkled. She thought she’d sensed the flare of sexual attraction. Briefly, anyway. Before he’d started swearing at her.
Too bad he was so hostile toward outsiders. People in the village were the same. There was none of the friendliness she had encountered elsewhere in Scotland. Here in this weird place out of time she was the stranger, the interloper, the foreigner. They all seethed to be rid of her as quickly as possible.
Especially Ross Malloch. He wanted her gone. She wondered why. And why had he denied that there were legends about dragons associated with this area? There was a dragon carved into the stones of Mallochbirn—did he think she couldn’t see it above the battlements?
Even getting something as simple as a cup of tea or coffee in the village seemed impossible. She tried a place that billed itself as an inn, but she was stiffly told they weren’t serving. When would they be serving? At lunch time? No, they didn’t do lunch. How about supper? Supper was only offered to paying guests who took a room for the night.
Partly because she was restless after her encounter with Malloch, Kate decided to push it. She needed another chance at the superhot Scot. “I’d like to book a room for tonight. What time is supper? I’ll be sure to be back.”
The innkeeper, a dour middle age woman, replied with a straight face, “We have no rooms available.”
Kate cast an ironic glance around the empty common room. “That’s odd. I don’t see any other guests.”
The woman remained stonily silent.
“I am going to try to locate the graves of my great-grandparents and other members of my family today, so I’ll be out and about. But I’ll return this evening. I would love to be able to count on having accommodations here.”
As she had hoped, the mention of her family thawed the woman the tiniest bit. “Your family came from our village?”
“Yes, I think so. I’m trying to trace them. I’m not sure where they are buried.”
“Have you tried up at the churchyard? The new vicar is said to be interested in local genealogy. Rev. Lambeth is his name. Rev. John Lambeth.”
This was an unexpected piece of luck. “That’s wonderful! Will I find him in the church? I’ll go speak with him immediately.”
“Aye, you should find him there.”
“Thank you. And may I count on that room for the night?”
The brief friendliness shut down again. “No, you may not. As I said, we have nothing available tonight. I suggest you speak to the vicar and then be out of town as quickly as possible. Certainly well before sunset.”
“Why? What happens at sunset? Do the vampires come out?”
The innkeeper was not amused. “Of course not. But ‘tis Midsummer’s Eve.”
“Is there a village festival of some sort this evening, then?”
The innkeeper looked furtive. She busied herself wiping an invisible bit of dirt off the counter.
Kate cleared her throat. “Whatever the celebration is, I’ll be going over to the castle tonight. I have an appointment with the laird.”
She watched the innkeeper closely for her reaction to this lie, and she wasn’t disappointed. The woman looked horrified. “That’s impossible. No one is ever allowed to go there on sacrifice ni— I mean, festival night.”
Sacrifice night? Had she just struck folklore gold?
“I know this is a Christian village,” she said, “since you’ve already referred me to Rev. Lambeth. But the summer solstice is still celebrated in lots of cultures. What are the customs here?”
The innkeeper looked relieved, as if a wonderful idea had just occurred to her. “Old customs, yes, that’s the way of it. There’s a sort of play, you see, like the old mummers’ plays. Rev. Lambeth can explain it to you. He’s the right man for the job.”
That was all she could be persuaded to say about the matter.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later Kate was seated in front of a comfortable hearth with Rev. John Lambeth, who was sipping coffee. He had offered her some, but she’d declined. Lambeth was courteous, but not genial. He gave the impression of a busy man who was beneficently making time for her.
A big orange tabby leapt into the room through an open window and brushed against its master’s leg. Lambeth patted him fleetingly, but he also gave his trousers leg a twitch. The cat looked offended. Perhaps the Reverend didn’t want cat hair on his clothing.
Kate stretched out a hand, uncertain if the kitty would come to a stranger. She was good with animals, though, and few could resist when she appealed to them. She projected warmth and welcome to the cat, who studied her. She decided to try a careful mental probe. It was something she had learned from Gramma Molly.
She envisioned a shimmering golden thread extending from her to the kitty, letting soothing thoughts flow along it. The cat cocked his head as the mental link was formed. Reassured and compliant, he strolled toward her and leapt up into her lap.
“You can push him down,” Rev. Lambeth said. “I do apologize. He’s a fine cat, but he sheds dreadfully.”
“No need,” she said, stroking the silky fur. “I love cats. What’s his name?”
“Scrounge.”
Indignation flowed through the thread between her and the cat. Prince, the animal corrected.
Kate grinned, and rubbed him under his chin. “You’re beautiful, Prince,” she told him silently.
He flopped down across her lap and began to purr.
Kate’s initial approach to Lambeth had been the family history angle. It turned out that he was relatively new to his appointment, so he wasn’t helpful in that respect, although he did conduct her on a tour of the churchyard where the old graves were. Many of the stones were worn down with wind and weather, making it difficult to read the names. But she did find several MacFarlanes and a couple of Buchanans. The names were common enough, though, that she couldn’t be sure they were her forebears. Rev. Lambeth offered to pull out the old baptismal records, which he believed went back for several generations. Would they be helpful to her?
She thought they might be, and he brought her several dusty volumes and installed her in his living room with a cup of tea. His cat continued to follow her around. Soon she and Prince were good friends, and he was once again sprawled in her lap.
As the day wore on, she noticed that Rev. Lambeth seemed to be getting nervous. He came in to check on her progress every ten minutes or so, and although he was polite, she sensed that he, too, wanted to be rid of her. She decided to find out why.
“I understand there’s to be a festival of some sort in the village this evening?”
“Yes, so they say. I don’t know all the details.”
“But you will be attending?”
“Well, to tell you the truth, I haven’t exactly been invited, but yes, since I live here and since most of the villagers are part of my flock, I think it is my duty to attend.”
“I get the feeling that the villagers are mistrustful of outsiders,” she said in what she hoped was a neutral tone.
“Indeed they are. I was born here, but my parents m
oved away when I was an infant. Even so, I felt quite unwelcome when I returned,” he confided. “Of course, it’s better now that I’ve come to know my parishioners.”
“What sort of festival is it?”
“A lot of pagan nonsense, but a very old tradition, if I understand correctly. I hold the laird responsible. The villagers, many of them, don’t know any better. But he’s an educated man.”
The Ross Malloch she had met had been rough around the edges, but yes, he’d had the manner and address of a well-educated man. “So I’m to understand that Mr. Malloch is participating in this pagan ritual?”
“Well, he controls the sea dragon, you see. So he must be.”
Ah hah! Was she about to get lucky at last? “The sea dragon?” She tried to keep her delight limited to a note of mild inquiry.
“Yes, well, I know what you’re thinking. And you’re correct, of course—whatever the creature is, it can’t be a sea dragon. Perhaps it’s a whale. Or a dolphin. I’ve never actually seen it myself. I haven’t had the opportunity to witness this event previously.” His voice dropped. “Some people say that Ross Malloch is a sorcerer, and that he conjures this demon up from hell every year, to celebrate the pagan holidays.”
Kate felt a laugh bubbling up inside her, and had to struggle to keep her expression severe. The cat seemed to find the conversation amusing, too.
“I’ve met Mr. Malloch, and he did not strike me as the sorcerer type,” she said mischievously.
Lambeth’s eyes went round. “Have you indeed? Well, perhaps you know better than I, but it’s difficult to imagine a laird who practices human sacrifice would be regarded as an ordinary chap.”
“Human sacrifice? Really, Reverend. Are you seriously accusing the Mallochs, who have held this land for nearly nine hundred years, of human sacrifice?”
“Well,” He looked flustered. “It might not be human sacrifice, but ‘twould be improper for me to say exactly what it does involve.”
Kate leaned forward, putting on her best intimidating stare. “Although everyone in this village seems to be living in an earlier century, may I remind you that this is not the Victorian Age. If there is some sort of orgy going on at the castle, I’d like to hear about it. I might even join in.”
Rev. Lambeth drew himself up straight in his chair. “Very well, Miss Beaton, but I did warn you.”
She could have sworn there was a hint of glee in his eyes as he intoned: “Once a year, by ancient tradition, on Midsummer’s Eve, the villagers select a young woman to satisfy the bestial lusts of the Mallochbirn sea dragon. The chosen girl is bound to a rock at moonrise and abandoned to her fate.”
Kate could feel her eyes widen as she listened. Rev. Lambeth nodded as if quite proud of himself and continued,
“As I said, I haven’t been back long enough to witness this, but I’ve been told what happens next. There is a harsh hissing sound, the seas part, and the creature comes out of the deep. Everybody screams and carries on, including the sacrificial victim. The sea dragon comes ashore, seizes the girl, and has his way with her.
“Some say he turns into a man for this part of the ritual, while others insist he remains in dragon form. The girl is never injured. Or at least not seriously. In the morning, she is found safe and sound, in a deep sleep. Although she is hazy about what happened to her, there is universal agreement among the women who have served the sea dragon’s pleasure that he is surprisingly, er, skilled. Some even volunteer to be sacrificed a second time, but that is not permitted.”
Kate endeavored to beat down the slight flush that had risen over her skin at his description. Fucked by a sea dragon? There was something deliciously kinky about that. She tried to envision what a sea dragon looked like, but she couldn’t quite picture it.
“You say, Rev. Lambeth, that you have never witnessed this spectacle?”
“Tonight will be the first time,” he said, with obvious relish.
“Is there any chance the villagers have united to make you the victim of a jest?”
“Think what you like, but it will be time soon, and you’ll be able to see for yourself that I’m telling you the truth.”
Indeed I will, she thought, clenching her fingers. “Why did you accuse Mr. Malloch of being responsible for this sea monster?”
“If you know the history of Mallochbirn, you know that in their more warlike years, the family members were known as the Dragons from the Sea. It is said that the Malloch clan and some of their kin have a mysterious ability to enter the minds of various animals and control them. The ritual is known as ‘Malloch’s lust.’ Perhaps it’s a remnant of the old droit de seigneur from feudal times?
“No one seems to know whether the lords of Mallochbirn conjure the beast or simply control it, but even the laird himself doesn’t deny that he is involved.”
“I see.” This all fit nicely with the stories she’d heard from Gramma Molly. Although her grandmother hadn’t mentioned the sacrificial maiden.
“So, Miss Beaton, what do you think now?”
“I think I need to check it out.” With reluctance, Kate informed Prince that her lap would no longer be available. The big cat gracefully leapt down. As he did, he sent her a message:
The sea creature likes you.
She often didn’t understand the thoughts of animals, which weren’t verbal in the usual sense. They sent her images, sounds and smells, many of which she couldn’t clearly perceive. She was probably misinterpreting what the kitty meant. How did it even know any sea creatures? Cats rarely went swimming.
Chapter Three
The villagers were celebrating. Whiskey was being passed around, and there was a good deal of boisterous chatter. Someone played a fiddle and someone else banged on a drum as the villagers performed Scottish dances. People seemed surprised to see Kate among them, but to anyone who asked, she mentioned her grandparents. That seemed to make her acceptable to them. She suspected, though, that the amount of whiskey being consumed was contributing to her warm welcome. In the morning, they might feel differently about her.
She met the young woman who had been chosen in this year’s lottery. Effie was her name, and she was about the same age as Kate. She was quite a flirt, and the young men were hanging around her, urging her to share her kisses before the sea monster assailed her with its big slobbery tongue.
Effie, who was liberally downing the local brew, retorted, “Legend claims he has a far more talented tongue than any of you lot!”
Kate sipped at the whiskey every time it came around. It was strong. She soon began to feel lightheaded.
As it grew darker, the mood on the beach changed. The lighthearted banter turned raucous and there was a violent edge to it that made her uneasy. The laughter of the women was shrill, and the shouts of the men back and forth to each other were harsh and rough.
“The moon is up,” someone yelled. “It’s time. Effie! Enough with the drink now, lass, off you go.”
Effie squealed, still excited about all the attention she was receiving. “Let’s go, lads. Row me out to the island and let me see if this monster’s really as good a lover as the other girls claim.”
The women pushed her forward, and Effie was surrounded by a pack of men, who all grabbed at her. She struggled playfully and yelled, “Get yer fat hands off me. I’m not that drunk. I can walk to the boat.”
Kate noticed that although they stopped manhandling her, they still crowded close. Some of them touched Effie in inappropriate places, which only made the girl laugh harder. She was bundled into the rowboat and rowed out a short distance to a tiny island. It was little more than a large rock sticking out of the surf a few yards from shore. The rock had a spit of sand facing seaward, with waves breaking fiercely over some submerged rocks. The men had brought ropes, and they looped them around rocky outcroppings to secure Effie against the rock.
Watching along with the others on the beach, Kate was struck by the weird drama of the scene unfolding before her. When Effie was well and truly t
ied, her arms raised over her head and her hips and legs tightly bound to the rock, she seemed to realize that she was in a predicament. She began to struggle in earnest against the ropes. She started asking the men to untie her, then begging them to do so.
They laughed at her. The mood grew even darker, and Kate began to feel queasy. Maybe she shouldn’t have joined in the festivities tonight. She was a stranger here, and this was all a bit over the top. Several of the men around Effie were touching her hair, her mouth, her breasts, her thighs. They began pulling at her clothing—a pretty dress that the girl had obviously chosen for the occasion. Were they going to strip it off her? This might be difficult, given all the rope they had wound around her.
Kate felt indignation for Effie, but that wasn’t all she felt. Unaccountably, as she watched, an insidious heat built in the deep recesses of her belly. It moved lower, between her legs. Jeez, she was getting wet. In a crazy way, she envied Effie. How would it feel, she wondered, if they were doing that to her?
The taboo, the forbidden had always excited her.
Before the men could strip Effie completely, there arose a sibilant hum. The strange vibration crept in from the sea, rising in volume and intensity. In the distance, the waters seemed to glow. Something was speeding toward them. Kate felt the force of a jumble of powerful emotions—lust, rage, and fury—barreling toward them out of the night.
She stared out to sea with everybody else. Holy shit. What the hell was that? The waters were parting for it, and, as it moved, it left a wake of phosphorescence glimmering on the surface.
There was a stirring in the crowd, a low murmur of sound, and finally shouts and screams.
“He comes! The sea dragon!”
“The monster!”
“The Zrakon is rising from the sea!”
The men pawing Effie leapt away and flung themselves into the boat. They rowed frantically back to shore. As for Effie, she started screaming, her voice rising high and shrill.
Shifters, Beasts, and Monsters Page 6
