Five
Heming grabbed his sword at the sound of someone approaching. He calmed a little when he noticed that the dog did no more than briefly cock his head before returning to his nap and the cat did no more than twitch one ear. Even so he remained tensed for battle until Colin, Fergus, and Peter strolled into the chamber. They looked very pleased and, as Heming set his sword aside, he felt the thrill of anticipation go through him. It appeared that they were returning from their sortie outside the walls with good news. He hoped that after five days of hiding in the ground beneath Rosscurrach, they would finally be able to leave the cursed place. By the look upon Brona’s face, he could tell that she felt the same.
It had been almost a fortnight since he and Tearlach had been taken from the inn and he did not know his cousin’s fate. Despite knowing he had had no choice, had been a prisoner, had then needed to heal from days of torture, and had had to wait for the right moment to escape the keep, Heming could not fully dismiss a sense of guilt. He dared not think what his cousin had suffered or was still suffering. That way lay madness. He could only hope that Tearlach had also found someone with too kind a heart to allow such abuse.
“They have ridden away at last, mistress,” Colin told Brona.
Brona stood up from the pallet she had been sitting on. “For but a short hunt or a long one?” she asked as she began to put away the chess pieces she and Heming had been playing with.
“Long one,” replied Peter as he moved to his pallet and sat down. “A large force left, but they split apart soon after they were out of the gates. Some ride to your aunt’s, mistress, to be sure she didnae lie when she said ye werenae there, or to see if ye have arrived there since last they went. Some go to a place just o’er the border into England. Although what possesses the fools to do that, I dinnae ken.”
“They probably return to the place I was taken from,” said Heming. “Was Hervey with that group?”
“Aye, him and that swine Angus,” replied Peter.
“I suspicion they ride to the village where I and my cousin were taken prisoner. My cousin is being held near there by a mon called Carbonnel.”
“Weel, ye will need help rescuing him from that Carbonnel fellow for the mon will soon have some hard fighters added to whate’er men he already had guarding his lands.”
“Then I had best go to Cambrun first and tell my kinsmen what has happened.”
Colin frowned. “Are they all like ye are?”
Heming sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. He had hesitated to tell his companions much about himself or his kinsmen and they had asked few questions. Yet, after spending five days with Brona Kerr, he was beginning to think she was his mate. He ached for her and the heady taste of her was still a strong, sweet memory. Everything about her held his interest, even when she argued with him. He knew that if they had not been sharing their quarters with these men, he would have been doing his utmost to make sure she was not sleeping alone. He would have been heartily feeding that hunger she stirred within him.
These three men were her men, loyal unto death. They had also accepted his having that taste of Brona. Since he had a growing hope of keeping his little savior by his side, it was probably time that he ceased to hold so tightly to all of his secrets.
“Aye and nay,” he replied. “I am what is referred to as a Halfling. Nay a kind term as ye may be able to guess. Full-blooded MacNachtons are called Purebloods and can be a little arrogant about it. My father is nearly a Pureblood, having only a wee drop or two of Outsider blood, and my mother is an Outsider, a woman of the Callan clan. Ere I was born our laird decided that we needed to marry Outsiders for we were finding it difficult to remain hidden from the world and we had ceased to breed. My father was the first child born to them in forty years and he had but one child with an Outsider. We were slowly dying, like some mythical creatures.”
“We are what ye are calling Outsiders, arenae we?” asked Brona, getting the distinct feeling that with at least some of his clan that was a grave insult.
“Aye, and up until our laird made that decision we had as little to do with ye as possible,” Heming said. “My mother’s clan has its own secrets. They are descended from a druid shape-shifter, a woman who could become a cat. If ye met her and her clan ye wouldnae finds that so hard to believe e’en though they dinnae change anymore. Those qualities havenae all been bred out. We now think that there will always be a bit of both in a Callan and MacNachton child, and that all of what makes us MacNachtons willnae e’er disappear completely.”
“And do ye really live forever?”
“Nay, but we do live a verra, verra long time. We are nay sure just how long for too many of our Elders eventually grow weary of life and make an end to it. The laird’s father courted death at every turning after his Outsider mate died and it finally embraced him. We can be killed, as ye have seen, for I was verra close to that fate. I had lost too much blood and ‘tis near impossible for a MacNachton to recover from that. Unlike Outsiders, though, we can count the ways we can be killed. The grave loss of blood, as weel as beheading, fire, and the sun.”
“Ye cannae go out into the day?” Fergus asked.
Heming could see that Fergus was thinking of demons again. “A Pureblood cannae. We Halflings are nay so troubled as they are, or most of us arenae. I cannae go out in the full of the day when the sun is at its strongest, shining brightly. ‘Tis as if it sucks all the life right out of me. Long enough beneath its light and a MacNachton will die, the more pure of blood they are, the faster it happens. We dinnae ken why God made us so, but it isnae such a bad thing. What we are not are creatures who take souls or devour bairns or any of that. Aye, in the olden times we werenae so verra weel behaved but it was a brutal time for all, aye? All I can do is swear that we dinnae take souls and we dinnae treat all who live about Cambrun as cattle for the slaughter.” He shrugged. “We are different. That is all.”
“As Mistress Brona is different,” said Fergus.
Brona tensed and stared at Fergus. “What do ye mean?”
“That gift that ye have with animals. ‘Tis as if ye speak to them and them to ye. As Old Annie is different, aye? She can see things the rest of us cannae, such as what will happen.”
Deciding the safest thing to do was to simply not argue with that and change the subject, Brona turned to Colin and asked, “So ye think we can get out of Rosscurrach tonight?”
“Aye,” replied Colin. “The laird has left the keep verra lightly guarded, the fool. And, I promise ye, now that the laird’s gone, the guard upon the walls willnae be so vigilant.”
“Then we go tonight. Do ye take your family away from here?”
“Nay. We have seen our mother and she says they are all safe enough. Fergus and I will go with ye, mistress. Ye shouldnae travel alone.”
“I shall go with ye as weel,” said Peter. “Exactly where do ye mean to go?”
“Weel, I had thought to go to my aunt’s,” Brona said quietly, a little alarmed that she had not yet made a clear plan for what to do once she left Rosscurrach.
It was foolish not to have a clear plan for her own escape, but Brona knew that was not completely her fault. She had lived a very secluded life. Her parents had kept her close out of fear of losing their only surviving child and Hervey simply had no interest in taking her anywhere. Brona now wondered if that was because her cousin had always planned to have her marry Angus. The result of all that seclusion meant she had very few people she could turn to for help and she also had very little idea of how to travel to them.
“Weel, ye cannae do that now as they have gone searching for ye there. So, where else can ye go?”
Brona frantically searched her mind for an answer but she could not find one. She could not even think of a clever lie that would soothe their obvious concern for her. All four men stared at her, waiting for an answer that would not come. It did not surprise her when they all slowly began to scowl at her.
“Ye dinnae have another plan
, do ye, Brona,” said Heming.
She sighed, seeing no hope in making him believe some lie even if she could think of one. “Nay, I fear not. If naught else, I simply dinnae ken verra many people outside of Rosscurrach. I am sure I can find some place to hide, however.”
“Ye will come to Cambrun with me.”
“Och, nay, I couldnae do that.”
“Afraid ye will become a meal, are ye?”
“Nay, of course not. ‘Tis just that ye and your clan have enough trouble to deal with. Ye dinnae need to have to worry about me as weel. And I might weel bring Hervey kicking at your door.”
“Let him. ‘Twill save me the trouble of hunting him down. Ye will come to Cambrun.”
She opened her mouth to argue with him and quickly closed it again. There really was no argument to be made. She could go with him or she could wander about the countryside trying to find some place safe to hide until Hervey was no longer murderously angry at her and Angus had left Rosscurrach or died so that he was no longer a threat. She did not think the men frowning at her right now would see the latter as a very sound plan. The tone of command in Heming’s voice, however, made her feel compelled to disagree and she knew she was scowling at him.
“Mayhap we best give ye two a minute or so to discuss this,” murmured Colin. “We will just take the dog for a wee walk. Come along, Thor,” he said to the dog as Peter and Fergus stepped out of the room. As he started to follow them, Thor at his side, Colin looked down to see the cat walking at his other side. “Weel, I see that we will be taking Havoc for a walk as weel.”
Brona had to smile as she watched her pets march off with Colin. Then Heming grasped her by the hand, sat down on his pallet, and pulled her down beside him. She felt the hint of a blush touch her cheeks and was not sure why. They had been sharing the chamber for five days so a moment or two alone should not make her feel so uncertain.
“Ye dinnae have anyone ye can go to, do ye, lass?” Heming asked quietly.
She sighed, hating to admit the sad truth. “Nay, save for my aunt, and I cannae go there now, can I? Aye, I have a few other kin, though we arenae close, but I cannae be sure how to get to their homes. I fear I have been kept verra secluded, verra sheltered. First by my parents and then by the fact that Hervey seems to prefer it if I stay out of sight most of the time.”
Although Heming wanted to keep her at his side, he knew it was only fair to discuss any other choices she might have. Not doing so was the kind of subterfuge that could come back round and bite him in the end. He would give her what few choices she had and then try to talk her out of taking any except coming to Cambrun with him.
“Mayhap the easiest thing ye could do is stay right here until ye are certain your cousin is no longer so angry.”
“I dinnae think there is much chance of avoiding punishment for what I have done if I stay near Hervey. He may nay remain so furious he would wish to kill me, but he willnae forgive either. He will also do something to make sure that I ne’er want to go against him again. ‘Tis his way. But, I might weel try that if nay for one thing—Angus wishes to wed with me.”
Heming actually saw red and felt his fangs slide into place. Angus had the same hard, cold cruelty in him that Hervey did. The man had also been very creative in his methods of torture, as if he spent many long hours finding or thinking of ways to make people scream in pain. The thought of any man touching Brona was enough to make him grit his teeth in jealous fury, which surprised him. The thought of Angus touching Brona, of laying claim to her as his wife, was enough to make Heming want to howl with rage and go after the man, hunt Angus down, and rip him apart.
“Ye are the daughter of a laird. I would have thought your cousin would seek a more fitting husband for one of your birth.” Heming almost winced at his own hypocrisy, for if Angus was too lowborn for Brona then so was he.
“I was the daughter of a laird. I am now just a cousin of the laird. And, in truth, what I overheard implies that there was some dowry left for me. If I wed Angus then Hervey gets to keep the dowry and he is in need of some coin. They planned on seeing to that matter as soon as they were done with you.”
“Then ye must come with me to Cambrun. Ye will be safe there until I have killed Hervey and Angus.” Heming realized stating his plans for her cousin so bluntly may not have been the wisest thing to do, for she grew a little pale.
Brona knew Hervey and Angus deserved whatever punishment this man wished to give them considering all they had done to the man. She had just not been prepared to hear his plans spoken so bluntly or with such a cold resolution. Yet, it was not just Heming that men like her cousin were threatening, it was the entire MacNachton clan. Knowing her cousin and Angus, they had undoubtedly made their distaste for MacNachtons brutally clear, insulting and humiliating Heming at every turn. Brona supposed it was Heming’s right to feel as angry as he did. A man as proud as she sensed Heming was would have found his time as Hervey’s prisoner a source of great rage.
“I apologize,” Heming said. “The mon is your cousin—“
“Aye, but he has courted such a fate as ye promise him for years. I kenned what ye must feel, e’en what ye may have to do to save your clan, ere I unlocked your cage. I just winced a bit at hearing it said so clearly. ‘Tis as if I unsheathed the knife that is now being held to my kinsmon and laird’s throat. In truth, it would do the people of Rosscurrach only good if those two men were gone. My cousin isnae a verra good laird.”
Heming gently grasped her by the chin and turned her face up to his. “Come with me to Cambrun. I can keep ye safe until ye can return here or anywhere else ye may wish to go.” He felt sure that he would be doing his best every step of the way to convince her to stay with him for a great deal longer than that, but it was not the time to even hint at such a plan.
Brona stared up into his golden eyes and felt something inside of her melt. He was such a beautiful man, his face cut of pure clean lines, and his lips full enough to be incredibly tempting. If she went with him she could remain at his side for a little while longer and she knew that was just where she wanted to be. The way he stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers had her trembling slightly and she had to face the fact that she would probably be willing to follow him anywhere.
Just one little kiss, she thought as she stared at his mouth. That did not seem too much to ask. Brona knew she was not the sort of woman a man as fine as Heming MacNachton would choose, but he could weaken enough for just a moment to give her a kiss. When she realized that his mouth was actually slowly moving toward hers, Brona had to fight hard to keep from throwing herself into his arms and hurrying things along. She had been dreaming of kissing this man for days and she did not want to do anything to stop him from giving her what she craved.
He knew it was a mistake, but Heming could not resist the temptation. Brona’s full lips were so close and he felt a deep urge to try to do something to take the look of sadness from her eyes. The moment he brushed his lips over hers, however, all thought of gently comforting her fled. He felt a wildness seize him. Even as a voice in his head whispered that he should be cautious and gentle, he quickly deepened the kiss. He needed to taste her, needed to hold her close. Slipping one hand into her hair and wrapping an arm around her small waist, he pulled her close to him and nipped gently at her bottom lip. As a soft gasp escaped her Heming swiftly took advantage of it, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. The taste of her was almost as intoxicating as the rich taste of her blood.
Brona clung to his broad shoulders and tried not to do anything that might let Heming know that she was almost completely innocent of this sort of thing, even kisses. When he thrust his tongue into her mouth, she almost squeaked out a protest, but it died as he stroked the inside of her mouth. The same heat that had flooded her body as he had taken her blood rushed back so quickly she felt faint from the power of it. This time the hand stroking her back did not do so in a gentle soothing manner, but in a way that had her pressing her body close to his.
It was the sound of a dog’s claws on stone that stopped Heming’s fall into mindless passion and need. The men were coming back and he knew they would not like to see their mistress being mauled by a man they were still not sure they trusted. He also realized that he was already starting to push Brona down onto the pallet, desperate to feel her body beneath him. Heming was sure that Brona was a virgin and such rough play would not be right, nor would taking her virginity in haste, in a cold, damp chamber beneath Rosscurrach with three men about to interrupt them. A woman like Brona deserved wooing, not grabbing. Heming ended the kiss, and had to fight to ignore the soft sound of protest she made, one that tempted him to return to her arms.
“Brona,” he said, lightly cupping her face in his hands, “the men are returning.” For a moment he feared she had not understood but then she blushed and pulled out of his arms.
When she kept right on blushing, nervously patting a hand over her hair as if trying to tidy it, and refused to look at him, Heming inwardly sighed. She was embarrassed. It was his fault for throwing himself upon her like some untried boy, but Heming was not sure how to ease that embarrassment. What women he had been with in his life had not required gentle words and fine manners.
“I am sorry if I have upset ye,” he said quietly, keeping one eye on the doorway.
“Och, nay, ‘tis probably I who should apologize to ye for behaving so shamelessly,” Brona said and took a deep breath to calm herself enough to look him in the eye.
“If I hadnae heard the men returning, I would still be acting verra shamelessly myself. Ye certainly have naught to apologize for.”
Brona was about to argue that when she realized she had not heard anything and listened closely for the sound of the men and her pets returning to the chamber. She was just about to tell him he must have misheard when she heard the low murmur of voices. Brona looked at Heming in astonishment.
Highland Thirst Page 6
