Highland Thirst

by Hannah Howell

  Heming frowned, trying to guess what she was feeling about what he had done. She just looked a little puzzled and sometimes, when she glanced at her wound, a soft look of amazement crossed her face. Heming began to feel that there might not be any objection made about what he had done. That made him wonder if she would also accept drinking from him. The mere thought of that made him hard as a rock and he quickly pushed it from his mind.

  “Hervey is dead, isnae he?” Brona asked.

  “Aye, we think Angus killed him. Both men have already been buried. I didnae think ye would care but I can show ye where Hervey is buried.”

  “Aye, ye can do that at some time. I feel nothing and that makes me a little sad for he was a kinsmon and I have verra, verra few of those. Yet, I asked about his death because he had guessed the secret of your blood and ‘tis a verra, verra dangerous secret, isnae it.”

  Pulling her into his arms, he kissed her cheek and rested his cheek on her hair. “Aye, verra dangerous. As my mother says, we wouldnae just have the hunters after us, we would have the whole world. I dinnae think it would just be for the fact that it can heal such dire wounds as yours. Nay, I think most would be after it because it makes ye live longer.”

  Brona lifted her head off his shoulder and stared at him in shock. “It can?”

  “Once ye see my mother ye will ken the truth of that. I feel a fool for nay kenning that she is over two score and ten years yet looks thirty. I simply didnae pay any heed, thought naught unusual about it. My aunt is the same.”

  She suddenly hugged him very tightly. “None of ye would e’er be safe.”

  Heming idly combed his fingers through her long pale blond hair. “‘Tis a reason for us to rejoice, though. It means that, if ye can stomach drinking a wee bit of my blood on occasion, ye would live as long as I do.”

  Brona tensed but did not lift her face from where she had it pressed against his broad smooth chest. “And why would ye wish to do that for me?” she asked softly, hearing her heart beat in her head, it was pounding so hard and fast.

  He gently grasped her chin in his hand and turned her face up to his. “Because I want to keep ye. I dinnae want to wake one more morning without ye at my side.”

  “Are ye asking me to be your wife?” she whispered.

  “Aye, I am. My wife, my mate, the mother of my children.”

  “Why?”

  A large part of Brona just wanted to shout “aye” and do a little dance around the room in unbridled joy. Another part of her, however, needed more, needed him to love her. She inwardly grimaced as she admitted to herself that she would accept just a few words about caring for her. Considering what Heming was, and she was sure she did not know the whole of it yet, they would be facing some large challenges in the future and Brona felt that his feelings needed to have some depth to them if they were to survive them.

  Heming smiled and brushed his lips over hers. “Because ye are the other half of me. Because ye are my love.” He frowned when the plump bottom lip he had been licking began to wobble. “That isnae supposed to make ye cry.”

  She kissed him and then hugged him as tightly as she could. “Tears of joy. I love ye, too, Heming. I think I have since the start. Think on it—I set free a mon all called a demon, a mon who drank Peter’s blood. I e’en let ye drink my blood and ye must ken how most, er, Outsiders feel about such a thing. Aye, I believe I loved ye from the first moment I looked at ye. It just took a wee while for it to settle into my heart and mind.”

  Feeling tears stinging his own eyes, Heming kissed her. He was just about to rid her of the night shift that prevented him from feeling all her soft skin when he heard someone clear her throat. Opening one eye, he saw his mother standing at the side of the bed. Feeling a little too much like a chastised child, he realized a blushing Brona and slid out of bed, heartily glad that he had kept his clothes on when he had gotten into bed beside her. He hurriedly introduced Brona to his mother, grinning slightly at the bemused look Brona wore as she studied the young, pretty Efrica.

  Heming took Brona’s hand in his and smiled at his mother. “Ye shall be pleased to hear that she has agreed to marry me.”

  After hugging Brona and kissing her cheek, Efrica looked at her son. “And I suspicion ye want that marriage to be soon.”

  “As soon as possible.”

  “Heming, there is something ye need to ken,” Brona said. “I think that, if ye marry me, ye may be able to be the laird of Rosscurrach. Angus felt that was how it would be if Hervey was dead. ‘Tis one reason he killed my cousin.”

  “Ah, aye,” Heming said as he tugged one of the chairs closer to the bed, sat down, and took Brona’s hand in his. “We heard that mentioned several times and, as ye slept, my father went through the ledger room. He found what your father had written, the instructions he had left about what was to be done about Rosscurrach and its heirs. It does say that if Hervey dies then ye are the heir, but only if ye marry, so that ye have a husband at your side.” He grimaced. “From the moment I told Colin that I intended to marry ye, he has treated me as the laird of Rosscurrach and I couldnae get him to stop.”

  For a moment, Brona felt a touch of fear. Angus had wanted to marry her because it would have given him a chance to be the laird of Rosscurrach. Her fear that Heming might be doing the same passed quickly, however. Heming was not like that. She knew that for a fact deep inside her heart.

  When she glanced at Heming’s mother, the woman smiled in complete understanding and then winked at her. Having such a young, beautiful mother by law would be something she would have to get used to, Brona decided. Brona fixed her gaze on the man who would soon become her husband, a thought that had her trembling with pleasure on the inside.

  “Then we can rest assured that Colin is more than ready to accept ye as laird and he isnae without some power amongst the men,” she said.

  Heming smiled and nodded. “I have seen that. He, Peter, and even Fergus and I have to wonder if that was one of the reasons your cousin had set them in the dungeon.”

  She sighed and nodded. “I suspicion that was verra much why. Hervey didnae like anyone to have any power except him.”

  “Weel, ‘tis time for ye to have a bath,” Efrica said to Brona, “and we must make plans for this wedding in, oh, three days?” She just smiled when Heming sighed. “Most of the ones who came to fight are still here as they waited to see how ye fared, Brona. They will remain for the wedding. Peter showed them where ye hid our Heming and they have settled in down there verra nicely. There are a lot of chambers and hollows down there.” She turned to her son. “Ye can go and help your father sort through all those papers in the ledger room. Since ye are to be the laird here, ‘tis important that ye ken all about Rosscurrach.”

  “Brona might wish me to wait as this is her home,” said Heming after giving Brona a brief kiss and then standing up. “I may be laird in name, but ‘tis only because of her.”

  “Weel, her,” Brona said and smiled, “would be verra happy if ye searched through all of that and just told me what ye found. And, Heming, be sure to look for anything Hervey might have had concerning the hunters. He didnae come up with the plan to capture ye all on his own and I doubt that mon Carbonnel did either.”

  “Jankyn is already hard at work on that,” said Efrica. “We ken that these men are becoming more and more organized and more and more of a threat. Go, now, Heming. I suspicion Brona is eager to have a bath.”

  Her bath was prepared so quickly that Brona knew Efrica had arrived much earlier because she had already done most of the preparations. Brona sighed with pleasure as she stepped into the hot, softly scented water. When Efrica began to wash her hair, Brona studied her wound again and lightly touched it.

  “‘Tis wondrous,” she murmured. “I am nay sure I will e’en have a scar. Did Heming give me more than one drink?”

  “Nay, just one. But, ye may consider getting used to it. What has happened with ye, the way ye healed, has told me that I am right. The magi
c is in the blood. And, if ye have a wee drink once a week, ye will age as Heming will and nay be prey to so many of the fevers and poxes that steal the life from so many Outsiders.”

  Brona nodded. “I think I can do that. The need to stay with Heming for as long as I can will make it verra easy to do. And any children we may have as weel, I suppose.”

  “Aye. For all I ken, it may take nay more than one drink to pass along the magic but I havenae figured out a way to test that. Now, we must plan a bonnie gown for ye to wear and a feast. Many of the MacNachtons dinnae eat food as we do but they do like music and wine.”

  “That is something I am certain Rosscurrach can give them.”

  “Ye do love my son, dinnae ye, Brona Kerr?”

  “Oh, aye,” she answered softly. “Verra, verra much.”

  “Then all will be weel. Welcome to the family.”

  Brona laughed as Heming carried her into their bedchamber, running all the way. He set her down on the bed and barred the door. She stopped laughing, however, when he started to walk back to her, for the hunger in his eyes was enough to set the bed linen on fire.

  Her husband, she thought, and sighed like some love-struck girl. She felt a bit like one. Never in her wildest dreams had she thought she would be married to a man like this, to a man she could love and who loved her back. For the first time she felt part of a family again. The MacNachtons could be a little strange, like Heming’s cousin Berawald, but they had all welcomed her into the clan. From what she could tell by the way everyone acted at the wedding feast, the Kerrs were accepting the MacNachtons far more easily than she had anticipated.

  “I think it may be wise if ye remove that bonnie gown yourself, Brona love,” said Heming.

  Standing up, she began to unlace the soft blue gown she wore. Before she had gone down to the great hall to be joined in marriage with Heming by the same cowardly priest who had married her to Angus, Brona had had a good long look at herself and been astonished. With ribbons in her hair and the pretty gown, she had felt beautiful. Heming’s look when she had entered the great hall had made her feel even more so. She did not want the gown ruined for she knew she would remember her wedding day every time she looked at it.

  Keeping a close eye on Heming, she slowly undressed. With each item of clothing she removed he looked even hungrier and she felt compelled to do more, to try to drive him mad with desire. Placing one foot upon a stool, she lifted her shift up over her knee and untied the garter holding up her stocking. Brona then very carefully rolled it down her leg and set it aside. She was almost through doing the same to the other leg when a very naked Heming grabbed her in his arms and took her to their bed. She was not sure how he did it, but even as he settled her on top of the bedcovers he removed her shift and tossed it aside. When he sprawled in her arms, the feel of his flesh touching hers was enough to set her blood on fire.

  “Brona love, ye shouldnae tease a mon so,” he growled as he spread soft, warm kisses over her face. “I have been aching for another taste of ye since the day at the inn.”

  “Aye, I confess, I did think a lot about that myself,” she said as she trailed her fingers up and down his spine.

  “There is one thing I must tell ye ere we get too witless.”

  When he hesitated, she smiled and kissed his chin. “Just tell me, Heming, as I am verra eager to get witless.”

  “I am nay sure ye understand what I mean when I say ye are my mate. ‘Tis more than a wife. ‘Tis a bonding, a deep one, and it makes me want to mark ye. Not every Halfling feels the urge, but more do, and I have felt it.”

  “Mark me? How?”

  “A bite right here,” he replied and kissed the pulse point in her neck.

  “But ye have already bitten me there and drank my blood. Why would ye still feel the urge?”

  “The mating mark is given whilst the two mates make love. At the point where I give ye my seed I bite ye and take some of your blood. A blending, if ye will.”

  “Ah, weel, I dinnae see anything wrong with that if that is what ye wish to do. It didnae hurt when ye did it the last time and I fear ‘tis the thought of pain I would shy away from. Am I supposed to drink your blood as weel? I dinnae see how I can as I dinnae have the teeth for it.”

  “Ye dinnae have to, but I think that, if ye could stomach it, I would like ye to try. My mother had done so with my father and she said it was verra nice. Blushed when she said it, too, which was verra telling. It would also be a way for ye to have a wee bit of my blood now and again so that we can be together for as long as possible.” He nodded toward the little table near the bed. “All I need to do is give myself a wee cut on the wrist and ye could take a wee sip from there.”

  “Will it hurt ye?”

  “Nay much and, remember, I but need to lick the wound and it closes.”

  Brona wrapped her hands around his neck and rubbed her body against his, delighting in his soft groan. “Weel, then, let us get about the business of consummating this marriage. I am most eager to get witless and bitten.”

  Heming laughed and kissed her. His need for her swiftly filled him and he knew he would have to fight for control. The fact that she was going to let him give her his mark and even try to drink from him herself only added to the strength of his need. He kissed every part of her sweetly curved body, reveling in her murmurs and sighs, in the taste and the heat of her. The feel of her small hands stroking his skin stole his wits. They were both trembling with the force of their passion by the time he knew they would have to be joined or he would be spilling his seed on the sheets.

  Panting as if she had just run for her life over miles of countryside, Brona watched Heming reach for the small dagger on the table. She felt no doubt or hesitation about what they were about to do. Instead something strong and primitive swelled up inside of her and only added to her desire for Heming. She could feel a spot on her neck, the place where he had taken some of her blood before, grow warm and that warmth spread through her body adding to the heat passion had already stirred inside.

  When Heming held his cut wrist to her mouth, she wrapped her fingers around it and pressed her mouth to the cut. His blood seeped into her mouth at first and her eyes widened. It was sweet and rich and it sent fire flying straight to her groin. She closed her eyes and sucked gently and felt a strong tremor go through Heming’s body. A moment later she felt him bite her and begin to drink of her. Something inside of her burst and she screamed against his wrist and her release tore through her, followed by another and another as Heming thrust into her with a ferocity that had her sliding up the bed until her head was pressed against the bank of pillows.

  Heming felt her soft lips on his wrist and his whole body clenched with the need to be inside of her. He felt his fangs fill his mouth as he reentered her. Every light pull of her mouth upon his wrist sent fire racing through him and he felt himself grow even harder. Without conscious thought he again sunk his fangs into her neck and closed his eyes in ecstasy as the heady warmth of her blood filled his mouth. A small part of his mind whispered that he could hurt her, but nothing could stop him from slamming into her heat again and again. He heard her cry out against his wrist, felt her body clench around his like a fist, and heard himself growl. Feeling his release at hand he thrust as deep inside of her as he could and nearly roared at the force of it. His last clear thought was that he hoped he remembered to close the wounds before he passed out from the pleasure that was tearing through him.

  “Oh my,” Brona whispered, rousing enough from her stupor to find herself flat on her back, Heming sprawled in the same boneless way at her side.

  “Oh my, indeed,” he said, forcing his limp body to move enough to wrap an arm around her slim shoulders and pull her close to his side. “I cannae believe my mother said that was verra nice,” he muttered.

  “Verra nice?” Brona shook her head. “I am verra surprised that we are still alive.” She reached a hand up to touch the spot he had bitten and, although there was no blood there, she
could feel that there would be a mark. “This one willnae fade, will it.”

  “Nay. ‘Tis why it is called the mating mark. Anytime I bite ye after this, those marks will fade away as the other did. I am nay sure why this one doesnae. Just one of those mysteries.” He took a slow deep breath to quell a sudden attack of nervousness. “Weel, do ye think ye can drink from me every now and then?”

  “It had best be only every now and then or e’en your magical blood willnae keep us from dying, our poor wee hearts stopped by the strength of the pleasure we just survived.”

  Heming grinned. “Aye, ‘tis best if we save it for special occasions. S’truth, I cannae help but wonder if it could be the sort of thing that makes one crave it dangerously.”

  Brona kissed his chest and then rubbed her cheek against the taut skin. “Aye, I could see that happening to some. And, in truth, I rather like the way we were at the inn. It wasnae so powerful but the pleasure was certainly all one needs and one can go a bit slower and savor it more, aye?”

  He kissed the top of her head. “I have married a verra wise woman. Happy?” He grimaced, thinking it a foolish question for a grown man to ask a woman.

  Brona propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him. “I cannae explain just how happy I am. I have ye, the mon I love more than life. I have the chance to spend years and years and years with ye. I have a new family. I have Rosscurrach back and the evil that has held it in its fist for too long is all gone. I think I am more than happy. I am blissful.”

  “Blissful, eh?”

  “Verra blissful. I am even more so because I can give ye something ye like and nay cringe as so many others would. S’truth, I dinnae understand why I have nay trouble with ye biting me and especially with me drinking of ye, but I dinnae.”

  “And I shall be sure to go to the chapel and thank God for that.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Ye do ken that ye dinnae have to do it or let me do it.”