“Nay, I have done my grieving. I kenned he was gone and I want no more of ours lost in avenging him. I felt it in my heart and soul when he died.” She looked at Osgar. “But he is not completely gone, is he? He left a part of himself behind. A fine lad with much the look of Arailt about him.”
“He is a Blooded Son, Nan.” Lachann nodded at the shock Nan and others could not hide. “Arailt kenned that he was in danger, that his woman had betrayed him, and that the journey here to get help would be a treacherous one. He thought to protect the boy and give him skills to protect himself.”
Nan knelt down and touched Osgar’s cheek. “And it worked.” She looked at Adeline. “Those skills and this young woman have kept the last of my bloodline alive to return to Cambrun.” She stood up and kissed Adeline on the forehead. “I thank ye, Adeline Dunbar. I but ask that ye let me help in the raising of him.”
Adeline was speechless and could do no more than nod. Lachann had said nothing about keeping her with him at Cambrun, but this woman clearly believed that she would remain with Osgar. It was what Adeline wanted but she feared that if Lachann tired of her and set her aside, even Osgar’s presence in her life could not make Cambrun a home to her.
“If it pleases ye, Nan, I would claim the boy as mine and raise him to make ye proud,” said Lachann.
“That would please me weel, Lachann, but what does young Osgar say?” Nan smiled at the boy.
“I would like that,” Osgar said and grinned up at Lachann. “A lot.”
Adeline was still reeling from Lachann’s announcement as she was taken away to a room where a hot bath awaited her. She sank into the water with a sigh of pleasure, but her thoughts would not be still so that she could fully enjoy such luxury. Resting her head against the edge of the large bathing tub, she stared into the fire it was set in front of. Lachann had claimed Osgar as his own before all the MacNachtons gathered in the bailey. But he had not claimed her.
“Why didnae ye claim my mither, too?”
Lachann shook aside his concerns over how pale Adeline had been when she was led away and looked at Osgar. The boy, as freshly washed and clothed as he himself, sat beside him at a table in the great hall enjoying a hearty meal. Perhaps Adeline just needed to hurry and join them, he thought, and then wondered why she was taking so long at her bath.
“What do ye mean, Osgar?” he asked.
“Ye claimed me but ye didnae claim my mither.”
“Of course he did, child,” said Nan as she placed some fat blackberries on Osgar’s plate and covered them in thick, sweet cream. “Every MacNachton who saw her saw that. The mark was clear to see.”
“What mark?” asked Osgar.
Lachann felt the heat of an unaccustomed blush upon his cheeks as everyone stared at him. The men looked amused and sympathetic, the women cross and obviously disgusted with him. Poor little Osgar just looked confused.
“Oh, Lachann.” Bridget, the laird’s wife, shook her head. “Ye will have some groveling to do now.”
“I ken I should have told her ere now but it isnae an easy thing to tell an Outsider. ’Tis nay something they can understand and I wished her to become more accustomed to what I am.” It was a weak defense and he really did not need Bridget’s or Nan’s looks of feminine disgust to tell him so. He had been a coward but he would rather be tied to stakes under a noonday sun than admit to that.
“She has raised and protected a Blooded Son for two years, took him into her home and heart. And, Osgar, did ye not say that ye fed from her at your verra first meeting?”
Osgar nodded. “Anne had cut me, so I bled a lot. It was so the beasties could find me quick. It was healing but I hurt. I ken now that I should ask first. She fed Lachann, too, when he was hurt.”
Lachann rolled his eyes when the women scowled at him. “I didnae ask. She gave willingly. I had lost too much blood due to the gentle persuasion of my captors and was dangerously weak. I couldnae e’en help in my own rescue.” He reluctantly told the whole tale and had to join in the laughter it caused, for, looking back, humiliating or not, it was funny. He did not think he would ever forget the sight of Adeline charging into that camp.
“Lachann, tell her now,” said Bridget. “She needs to ken it and the more I hear of how she cared for Osgar and you, the less I think she will be shocked by how ye marked her. Or by any of the other things she will need to ken as your mate. S’truth, I think she will be most pleased. After she recovers from her anger over your silence, of course.”
“Did ye nay see her face when ye claimed Osgar before us all?” asked Nan, shaking her head when Lachann just looked at her in confusion. “Ye claimed her boy and that shocked her, but I am thinking it was far more than that which had her looking but one breath from collapsing at your feet. Ye claimed Osgar but ye didnae claim her. That is how she sees it since ye havenae told her what the mark means. Ye have left her wondering what her place is now that ye have openly taken the boy she loves as her own son.”
Lachann looked at his laird, hoping the man would scoff at such thoughts and ease the increasingly tight knot in his gut. Cathal looked much as he had when he had first wed Bridget about thirty-five years ago. Miraculously, so did Bridget, even though she had no MacNachton blood at all. Mating with a MacNachton appeared to give the mate the same incredible longevity MacNachtons enjoyed. It was something they were still researching and yet another thing he had to tell Adeline about. When Cathal just smiled and nodded his agreement with all the women had just said, Lachann cursed.
“Dinnae ye want my mither?” asked Osgar and then started to look alarmed. “Ye willnae send her away, will ye?”
“Nay, never,” vowed Lachann and he leapt to his feet. “I will speak to her now.” He stopped at the doorway and turned to look back at the members of his clan gathered in the great hall. “One last thing, something that has begun to disturb me greatly and preys on my mind. We have all heard this laird spoken of by the Hunters before and most of us think he may be the leader of the fools, aye?” A rumble of agreement went through the hall. “Mayhap ye can all put your minds to the puzzle of why the mon was trying so hard to get his hands on Osgar, offering a big bounty for the boy.” He nodded at the silent, grim-faced clan members staring at him. “Was it just Osgar or is it a MacNachton child he seeks?”
“We will definitely discuss it,” said Cathal, his voice hard, almost a full-throated growl. “Now, go and soothe your woman. She might try to flee. Outsider women can have some verra strange turns to them.” He grunted and then grinned when his wife hit him in the belly.
“She willnae be going anywhere,” said Lachann. “I will tie her down if I have to.”
“I have some verra fine, verra soft, silken bonds I can lend ye,” called out Jankyn. “They work verra weel on a mate, e’en if she isnae mad at ye.”
Jankyn’s wife Efrica’s outraged response to that could be heard clearly over the laughter as Lachann left the hall. He knew his kinsmen would soon return to the problem he had just presented to them. There could be a growing threat to the one thing all MacNachtons prized above anything else, the precious gift that had been denied them for too long—their children. He wondered if the Hunters would soon become the Hunted.
He stepped into his bedchamber and looked at the tub set before the fire. Adeline was still in it, her head resting against the rim and her glorious hair hanging over the edge. Lachann quietly shut the door behind him and walked over to the bath. His heart clenched with guilt and regret when he saw the tears on her face, for he knew it was his fault that she was so unhappy, perhaps even hurt.
“Adeline,” he said quietly as he crouched by the tub and lightly stroked her hair.
Adeline nearly cursed and hurriedly wiped away her tears. It was just her bad luck to be caught while still deep in her misery. She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around her breasts, suddenly embarrassed by her nudity.
“Ye shouldnae be here,” she said. “I am in my bath.”
“Which has gro
wn cool.” He grabbed one of the large drying cloths, stood up, and held it open. “Come out of there. We need to talk.”
Not wanting to have a serious discussion while naked, Adeline quickly stepped out of the tub. Instead of wrapping her in the drying cloth, however, Lachann slowly and meticulously dried her off. By the time he was done and grasped another large drying cloth to wrap her in, Adeline was not sure she had the wits left to have any discussion at all. Even the self-disgust she felt over how easily she melted beneath his touch did not cool her ardor by much.
Lachann walked over to his bed and sat down, settling Adeline on his lap. He badly wanted to make love to her but knew he had to talk first. If she was going to be angry with him, she would be even more so if he took his pleasure of her first, for she would rightly see that as a trick of some kind to lull her into accepting what might not be acceptable to her.
“Adeline, why were ye crying?” he asked.
“I got some soap in my eye, is all,” she muttered, refusing to look at him.
He grasped her by the chin and forced her to face him. “Such a poor liar ye are. Ye think I have taken the lad but nay ye, dinnae ye?”
“Osgar belongs here. These are his people. Nan was kind to suggest that I could stay and raise Osgar but—”
“Nay, no buts. That is what ye will do. Why do ye think I so openly claimed Osgar? It was so that there would be no question of ye having a place in his life. Nan is too old, has been too much alone, to suddenly take on the care of a small boy. He would have been fostered within the clan and I made my claim, got her approval, before anyone else could step in and do so. Since ye are nay his blood kin, ye would have no power to change that. Now ye do.”
“Because ye say it is so?”
“Aye, and nay. It is so because ye are mine.” He kissed the mark on her neck when she frowned. “Have ye nay wondered why this mark hasnae faded away?”
Adeline looked at the wrist he had fed from and saw no hint that he had ever sunk his teeth in there. Then she touched the mark on her neck. It should have faded. There should be no mark at all, if all her experience with Osgar and now Lachann told her right.
“Why hasnae it faded away?”
“Because it is the mark a mon gives to his mate. Everyone who saw ye today saw that mark and kenned that ye were my mate. I had already claimed ye in their eyes.” He nodded when she stared at him in open-mouthed shock. “Best close that bonnie mouth, lass, or I will be kissing ye and we will ne’er finish this talk. ’Tis past time we had it and I need to get it all said.”
“A mating mark? Ye gave me a mark that says we are mated?”
She did not sound angry, just confused, and Lachann breathed an inner sigh of relief. “That first time I kissed ye I ached to give ye that mark. ’Tis why I backed away so quickly. I still distrusted Outsiders and I didnae want to mark one. But I couldnae stay away long, could I? And, yet, I kenned that ’tis difficult for someone outside the clan to ken what the mark means and I hadnae warned ye, either. That was wrong of me.”
Adeline touched the mark, knowing she should be angry at him for claiming her without even letting her know she had been claimed, but too happy to care. She was his. She, Lachann, and Osgar could be a family and live in this huge, safe castle together. It was far more than she had hoped for. Then she frowned. He had not said he loved her. Mate did not equal love.
“Does this mean ye care for me, Lachann?” she asked with a timidity that made her cross.
“Ah, lass, I more than care although I will admit that I didnae see it at the time.” He kissed her. “I saw it while I was trussed to that tree thinking I might ne’er see ye again. Aye, I love ye.” He laughed softly when she flung her arms around his neck and held him tightly. “It would be nice if ye loved me too but I am prepared to work to make ye give me your heart.”
“Oh, Lachann, ye have had it almost from the start,” she whispered against his neck as she began to unlace his shirt.
“Love, I would like nothing more than to make love to ye right now but there is more ye must ken, things about being one of us that ye need to learn.”
She leaned back to look at him. “We are married in the eyes of your clan?” He nodded. “Osgar is our son?” He smiled and nodded again. “We can have bairns of our own?”
“I pray so and it has certainly been shown that a MacNachton and an Outsider can breed weel,” he said as he pushed her down onto the bed and then began to throw off his clothes.
“Then I dinnae really need to ken any more.”
“Weel, ye do, but I think we will wait a wee bit before we finish this talk.”
Lachann made love to her so tenderly and thoroughly, Adeline thought she would happily drown in his love if that were possible. They exchanged caresses and kisses until they were both mad with need for each other. When he joined their bodies, the knowledge that he was hers only added to her pleasure. The release they shared was so strong and sweet that she was not surprised when it made her cry.
“Ah, love, dinnae cry,” Lachann said after he had cleaned them both off and rejoined her in their bed, holding her close.
“Just happy tears, Lachann. I am just verra, verra happy.” She sighed. “I now have a home and a mon I love who loves me, and Osgar has a family. This is just that my happiness is so great it overflows my heart.” She kissed his cheek and teased, “And I will love ye even when ye are old and gray.”
“Ah, that is something we need to talk about. It may weel be a verra long time before either of us is old and gray.” He proceeded to explain all about the longevity of the MacNachtons and how that longevity appeared to pass to their mates. The way her eyes rounded as he spoke began to make him nervous. “Does that frighten ye?”
“That I may have a lot more than fifty years with ye?” She laughed and hugged him. “Oh, Lachann, ’tis wondrous. I shall have years and years and years to love ye. Could anything be more wonderful!”
He smiled down at her. “Nay, love, nothing could be more wonderful than years of loving ye and being loved by ye. I look forward to every one of them.”
Taken by Darkness
ALEXANDRA IVY
Chapter One
The townhouse situated in the heart of Mayfair was predictably beautiful.
Located close to Hyde Park, it boasted a columned portico, as well as a large terrace that overlooked a tidy garden with a gazebo. The windows were high and arched, spilling light onto the cobbled street that was clogged with expensive carriages. Along the roof a row of marble statues peered down at the arriving guests, impervious to the chill in the late April breeze.
The interior was equally elegant.
There were acres of marble with gilt molding and crimson wall panels. And the furnishings offered a hint of the Egyptian influence (an unfortunate fashion introduced by the Prince Regent). There was also a profusion of artwork chosen more to impress society than with any genuine appreciation.
Upstairs the ballroom was a blaze of color as the guests twirled beneath the glowing chandeliers, the room so crowded that it seemed as if all of England was in attendance.
In truth, Lord Treadwell’s spring ball was the unofficial beginning to the London Season, and one of the most sought-after invitations of the entire year. Mothers threatened to toss themselves into the Thames if their daughters were not among the fortunate debutantes on the guest list, and politically ambitious gentlemen had been known to offer discreet bribes just to step over the threshold.
It was a collection of the most stylish and powerful bluebloods in all England, but as one they came to a breathless halt as the latest guest swept through the double doors and regarded the crowd with a bored gaze.
Victor, Marquis DeRosa, was worthy of their attention.
Although not a large gentleman, he possessed the sort of sleek, chiseled muscles that were shown to perfection in his tailored black coat and white satin knee breeches.
His countenance was carved along noble lines with a wide brow, an aquiline no
se, and a full mouth that could harden with cruelty or soften with a sensuous promise. His hair was as dark and glossy as a raven’s wing, and allowed to fall to his shoulders rather than being cut à la Titus as many of the young bucks, contrasting sharply with his pale skin.
But it was his eyes that caught and held the attention of most.
Pure silver in color, they were rimmed with a circle of black and so piercing that few would dare to meet his gaze. They were the eyes of a predator. A ruthless hunter that considered humans prey. And a mere glance was enough to make poor mortals tremble.
Some in fear.
Some in desire.
All in respect.
They might not have comprehended why they reacted so strongly to the sophisticated Marquis DeRosa, but they instinctively bowed to his will.
A small, mocking smile curved Victor’s lips as he prowled toward his host and hostess, who were fluttering with a panicked delight at his unexpected arrival.
After all, Victor had been in Venice for the past six months, returning to London only the evening before. No one was aware of his presence in the city. Besides, he rarely condescended to attend such tedious human parties even before leaving London.
Why would he?
As the clan chief of the London vampires, he was the most powerful demon in England. He had only to lift his finger to have an entire harem of beautiful females, human or demon, to sate his hungers. For blood or sex.
And as for entertainment…
After six centuries of indulging in the most exotic and rare pleasure to be discovered throughout the world (from being the only male on an island filled with female wood sprites, to pitting his strength against the lethal Yegni demon), a mundane society ball was laughably dull.
Or at least it should be.
He disguised his rueful grimace as his gaze covertly skimmed the crowd until he discovered the one female in London, perhaps in all the world, who could have lured him to the stuffy, overcrowded townhouse.
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