TemptationinTartan

by Suz deMello

  “Oh,” he said, sounding a little lost.

  She hardened her heart. She’d done right that day and deserved more credit.

  After he snuffed the candles, they lay together in the darkness, not touching. Once Kier reached a hesitant hand toward her, then dropped it.

  He spooned himself against her back. Draping an arm over her, he kissed the nape of her neck.

  She didn’t move.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Two days later, a drenching rain extinguished the last smoking embers in the cottages and the old keep. When the clouds lifted, they left an appalling stench. Nevertheless, the clanspeople dressed in their oldest clothes and picked through the wreckage of the crofters’ huts, looking for salvageable bricks, other building material and p’raps a trinket or two that had survived the fires. Kier and a few guards climbed with caution through the fallen timbers of the Dark Tower, with Lydia looking on.

  “I still think I can do this also,” she grumbled.

  He returned to where she stood on the beach, standing close to her. “’Tis too dangerous for you and the babe. I forbid it. Do ye think to tempt me once again?”

  A nip on her ear drew moist heat between her legs, which she ignored. She was still furious with Kieran. I should have known, I should have known, I should have known, sang through her head like a child’s roundelay. But so much had happened in so short a time. Six months before she had never heard the name Kilborn or the word vampire.

  “Temptation indeed,” she said coolly. “Have a care, sir.”

  “Sir?” He raised a brow. “I suppose I should be grateful that you’re talking to me at least.”

  “Yes, you should,” she said without looking at him.

  His lips tightened. “Well, if ye wish to see what is in the auld keep, ye may. Just be careful, and put a hanky over your nose.”

  Holding her hand, he led her into the sea caves and up a rough corridor. She noticed a crude staircase carved into the cliff, but Kier took her along an easier though longer route, passing twisted, burned remains of metal gates hanging off holes in the cliff. Oubliettes. She shivered.

  In the largest one, two burned bodies remained, surrounded by fallen timbers which themselves had been eaten away by fire. One corpse hung from manacles from the stone wall, body twisted in agony. Lydia thought she smelled burned hair and flesh, though the white skin seemed untouched.

  Detaching her hand from Kier’s, she went closer and hesitantly peered at the ravaged face. “Moira?” she breathed.

  “Aye, I believe so. He had them imprisoned here.”

  “Them?”

  Kier pointed. A second body hung from a nearby wall by only one arm. “Make the acquaintance of the late Seamas MacReiver.”

  She shook her head dumbly. Now she understood Gareth’s last and most eerie sing-song. “Moira’s dead, bad Moira’s dead.”

  “He knew,” she whispered. “He knew they were responsible for Euan’s death. He didn’t kill them quickly, but brought them here to torture them.”

  “Aye, and when he fired the tower, they died. From breathing the smoke, I reckon.”

  “Not him.” Belly clenching, she approached the remains of Seamas MacReiver and pointed. “He lacks an arm.”

  “Och, aye, it looks like the auld vamp became a mite…enthusiastic.”

  She swung around to face him.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “It is what it is, do ye ken? And he is what he is. Or was. We just have to hope that the vow will change the clan.”

  “We must do more.”

  “What would ye have me do, kylyrra?”

  “P’raps a new motto. Blood for the clan…” She shook her head. “It won’t do. Even a new name. Vampires are killed by burning, are they not?”

  “Aye. P’raps we should be the Kilburns, and our motto be something about fire.”

  “Fire our friend and blood our bond. Something like that.”

  He raised his brows, looking surprised. “You have an unexpected talent as a wordsmith, kylyrra.”

  She tried not to preen, without success. “How do you think the clan will react?”

  “I am the laird,” he said, arrogance infusing his voice. “They will adopt the changes, especially if we explain their importance. They have lost their homes, ye ken? If I explain the connection to Sir Gareth, they will accept it.”

  He led her back out to the cove and she breathed easier. There was a fresh breeze off the sea and she filled her lungs, grateful that she could do so. She was reminded of Moira and the way the treacherous creature had died by suffocation. But try as she might, Lydia didn’t have enough grace in her soul to think, Poor Moira.

  Poor Fenella. “Fenella didn’t deserve the kind of grief her daughter gave her,” Lydia said. “Will there be a funeral for Moira?”

  Kier’s lips pursed. After a pause, he said, “Aye, I think we must. For her mother, though, and not for the bitch herself.”

  “Kieran!”

  “What would ye have me say about her? Dear, sweet Moira came to a bad end?” He huffed. “She’s always been a trial to us.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “A quiet, small ceremony will suffice. And soon, so the clan can put these unpleasant episodes behind us.”

  “Will we rebuild the keep?”

  “I dinnae ken. ’Tis a new age, Lydia.” He gazed up at the ruins of the old keep. “’Tis likely that we just withstood the last siege of Kilborn Castle and won the last battle our clan will fight.”

  As they stood on the beach, guards stacked the reclaimable wood in one of the largest sea caves, above the tide line. “Those beams seem to be quite damaged,” she said, pointing.

  “Aye. We cannae use any as supports. But as siding or decoration, p’raps. If we sand them down, get the charred bits off, these could be quite attractive.” He kicked a nearby timber.

  Nearby, workers had lashed some of the burned wood into a makeshift raft. While Lydia watched, bodies were carried out of the wreckage and laid upon it. She guessed that the corpses would be sent to sea aflame, as was Kilborn—er, Kilburn—custom.

  “Milaird!” A cry came from deep within the maze of burned boards and planks. Kendrick picked his way toward them, waving what looked like a book.

  “Ah, his journal.” Kieran took the leather-bound volume. The battered diary looked much the worse for wear. Salt-stained and partially singed, but readable, Lydia discovered as Kier opened it and turned the pages.

  “Here, milady, ye’ll be interested in this.” He handed it to her.

  “This is Sir Gareth’s writing?”

  “Aye, I believe I recognize his hand. Come, let’s sit and have a good look at it.”

  He was trying to make amends, she realized, in his clumsy male way. Given that she could understand his viewpoint, she accepted the gesture. She went to sit with him on the lowest of the cliffside steps, which seemed drier than anything else on the beach.

  The first entries dated from a century before, when Gareth had impersonated his monarch. They told of his adventures. “Good heavens,” she murmured. “This is fascinating. We must preserve it forever.”

  He read over her shoulder as she turned the pages, some darkened by age, others by the burning. “It will be a treasure of our clan. Ah, look at this.” He pointed to an entry dated November, 1740.

  Our clan is surrounded by mystery and myth. Some believe we fly or change into beasts, as though we could sprout wings and soar with eagles. Foolishness. But our strength is found in blood. Human blood alone can provide our long lives, our strength, our powers p’raps. We do not sleep but are ever-vigilant, like sharks in the sea.

  We breed rarely and our women do not give birth to our kind with ease. Many die, whether Kilborn or from another clan…

  A chill passed through her but she said, “I thought I saw Gareth fly during the battle. He was atop the keep, which was burning, and he seemed to fly across the cove and into the ocean.”

  Kier shrugged. “I din
nae ken. Mayhap his clothes caught a chance bit of breeze. And ’tisn’t far from the tower to the sea.”

  “Yes, the beach is narrow, but…hmm. He doesn’t clearly say that vampires are faster or stronger than humans, but I’ve seen you do things that other men cannot.”

  “Like tear off the head of my enemy?” His voice was wry. “I reckon that strength and speed are the legacy of my oversized Viking ancestors rather than an unnatural ability.”

  “P’raps.” She turned the pages, lost in thought. That the Kilborns didn’t breed easily worried her. Rubbing her belly, she prayed that Kier took after his Cameron mother.

  * * * * *

  Sunset came and bonfires were lit on the beach. Lydia and Kieran flanked Fenella as Moira’s body, wrapped in a shepherd’s plaidie, was set upon a bier. Kier had offered a swatch of Kilborn tartan to cover her, believing that despite her treachery she was still a Kilborn, but Fenella had refused. “She was a traitor to our clan and caused us grievous harm,” she’d said.

  Now Fenella stepped forward and picked up a flaming branch. She touched it to her daughter’s funeral pyre. Kieran helped her to push the burning raft out to sea and held her elbow as they returned to the shore. As they watched it smolder, he kept an arm around her shaking shoulders. Nearby, somber clanspeople lit the other, larger biers bearing their fallen enemies and sent them into the western sea. “With more honor than they showed when they lived,” murmured Lydia to herself.

  While the night fell, the Kilburns silently watched the pyres dotting the darkening ocean before returning to their stronghold.

  * * * * *

  Lydia was awoken by a draft of air flowing through the bed’s curtains. Kier was gone. She rose, donned her robe and went to find him.

  High on the battlements, facing the ocean, a fingernail moon dropped toward the western horizon. Kier was silhouetted by a pinkish dawn in the east, glowing softly from the other side of the castle.

  Something clutched at her heart. After a moment of indecision, she knew it for what it was.

  Had she ever told him? He’d told her many times, without hesitation. She admired that courage, but had never taken that final step. Was this hesitation the legacy of her first marriage? And did Kieran deserve that?

  Taking a deep breath, she finally cast away William’s dead specter.

  Kieran turned. “Why, kylyrra. Ye’ve come to join me. Ye’re yet full of surprises.” His voice was merry but his eyes held sadness in their midnight depths. He set his lips to her forehead, her cheek, then kissed her mouth before he sighed. “I’m rough and brutal. I’ve taken ye to live at the end of the world in a drafty castle without heat, decent lighting or modern plumbing. Ye’ve seen battle and blood, been threatened by the family monster… ’Twas wrong of me to bring ye here. Say the word and I’ll take ye to your home in Surrey.”

  She stared at him, finally allowing her heart to open wide and embrace him. “You give me everything. You give to everyone, every day. How could you think that I’d want to leave? How do you put up with me? I’m such a fool.” Tears filled her eyes, spilled down her cheeks.

  He touched them with a gentle finger, drawing them from her. “Och, p’raps so, but my fool. And I’m yours.”

  “I love you, Kier. Always.”

  He smiled. “At last,” he said.

  “You’d been waiting? You never said—”

  “The words had to come from ye as freely as I gave them.”

  “I understand,” she whispered.

  * * * * *

  When Dugald visited the castle to get the latest news and some more supplies, he heard of the vow that his laird and lady had demanded of the clan. He said naught, but raised his brows and chuckled before going to the kitchen to fetch ale for his uncle. Sir Gareth now lived concealed in the Laird’s Tower, tucked snugly into Dugald’s old room.

  Epilogue

  1759

  “Pay up,” Dugald Kilburn told his laird.

  Kieran scowled and fumbled in his sporran, reluctantly withdrawing a silver piece. “I was sure there’d be another boy,” he grumbled.

  “After two? Nay, ’twas time for a little girl, a baby sister for Isobel.” Both peeked into the solar, where Lady Lydia sat in a window embrasure, nursing the newborn Marian. “Are ye disappointed?” Dugald asked.

  Kier grinned and cuffed Dugald’s shoulder. “About losing to you? Aye. About another baby daughter? Never.” His smile broadened as he walked into the room.

  Marian’s sleepy mouth fell away from Lydia’s breast. After her fourth lying-in, his wife was as radiant as ever. But while he scrutinized her, she stood, moving slowly.

  He jumped forward. “Let me take the bairn.”

  She smiled up at him. “Thank you.”

  He took Marian, careful to cradle her small, soft head in his big palm, supporting her tiny body with his other hand. “So wee and delicate,” he breathed, careful not to awaken the slumbering bairn. He carried her across the hall to their bedroom and set her in her cradle.

  Lydia cuddled close to his side, a warm, beloved weight as they regarded their sleeping child.

  His life, his wife and his children were everything he’d ever wanted.

  About the Author

  An award-winning, best-selling traditional romance novelist, Suz deMello uses a pseudonym to protect her privacy. But if you’re a romance fan, you’ve probably read her books or have heard of her. She’s known for layered, compelling novels charged with humor as well as emotion.

  Of her journey to the steamier side of writing, Suz says, “I love writing traditional romances, but after several years in the same mode, I felt that I really needed to cut loose as a creative artist and write hot, sexy books that reflect the wilder side of being human.”

  Suz’s books are fast-paced with seductive situations, complicated characters and a whole lot of kink!

  Suz welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

  Tell Us What You Think

  We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You can email us at Comments@EllorasCave.com.

  Also by Suz deMello

  First and Last

  Phoenix and Dragon

  Seducing the Hermit

  The Wilder Brother

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing

  www.ellorascave.com

  Temptation in Tartan

  ISBN 9781419937958

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Temptation in Tartan Copyright © 2012 Suz deMello

  Edited by Rebecca Hill

  Cover art by Caitlyn Fry

  Photos: Donskaya Olga, Carlos Caetano and NemesisINC/shutterstock.com

  Electronic book publication June 2012

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