Dark and Stormy Knight

by Nina Mason

  * * * *

  Leith pulled out the bottle of twelve-year-old single-malt he’d stowed underneath his seat when they’d loaded the van back at Glenarvon. After taking a long pull, he wiped the neck and offered the scotch to Gwyneth. Her eyes were closed and there was a wistful smile on her face.

  He hoped she was thinking about him.

  Without missing a beat, he passed the whisky to Tom, who took several swigs before handing it back to him.

  A harrumph from the back seat snapped his head around. He met two fiery emeralds set in a frowning face. She sat stiffly upright with her arms folded across her chest.

  He knew that scornful look; he just couldn’t think what he’d done to deserve it. In two seconds flat, his sweet angel had become a demon from hell. Aye, she’d been broody since taking Glorianna’s potion. This, however, was beyond the pale.

  “Is something amiss, my love?” he asked, mindful of the eggshells under his feet.

  Her frown deepened. “I can’t believe you’re drinking and driving.”

  “I’m not driving.” He offered her a grin, hoping to lighten the sudden palpable tension. He didn’t get what was eating her. She’d never been a buzz-kill before.

  Her eyes narrowed and hardened into agates. “Maybe not, but you’re aiding and abetting the person who is.”

  “Aiding and abetting? Christ, lass. You sound like a bloody barrister.”

  Fuck me.

  Not the right thing to say at all. She now looked fit to kill.

  “Put that fucking bottle away before we all die in a fiery wreck,” she demanded. “Or, worse, kill somebody else.”

  He opened his mouth to argue and then shut it again in a hurry. She was crying. Bloody hell. He must have missed something. Not surprising, since, when it came to women, he usually did. He shot a questioning look at Tom, who appeared equally befuddled. Then, to appease whatever had crawled up her bum, he corked the bottle and re-stowed the whisky beneath his seat.

  “All right.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I’ve put it away. Now, would you mind telling me what the devil you’re so upset about?”

  She sniffed, making him pang with guilt despite being ignorant of his crime. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a bitch. It’s just that, well, you see, my father was killed by a drunk driver.”

  Leith, feeling stunned and bloody awful about passing the bottle, unfastened his seatbelt and moved to the backseat. He took the spot beside her, put an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against his chest.

  “I’m so sorry, lass. I didn’t know.”

  She started to blubber against his sweater. His gut wove itself into a Gordian knot. He couldn’t bear a woman’s tears. Especially when he was the clueless idiot who’d triggered the waterworks. “I’m so sorry, my angel.” He stroked her hair. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I know.” She sniffed. “And I’m sorry for being such a baby.”

  “It’s all right.” He tightened his hold on her. “I’m here. You’re safe. Just let it out.”

  She did, sobbing with a violence he hadn’t witnessed since—oh, bloody hell. His heart shot into orbit, but crashed to earth again as soon as he remembered the curse. Damn Queen Morgan. Damn her to hell. He’d already fathered two bairns he’d never know. If Gwyneth now carried the third, he didn’t know what he would do.

  By and by, she cried herself to sleep. He went on holding her. They now were driving alongside Loch Glascarnoch, though he could only catch occasional glimpses of the water through the thick screen of planted trees. The last time he’d been out this way, the loch wasn’t here. Men built it in the 1950s to support a dam that supplied electricity. An underground tunnel channeled the water to a power station five miles away.

  His thoughts wandered. How much the world had changed since he’d first come into it. He’d been born during the Scottish Enlightenment, had witnessed the rise and fall of the Industrial Age, and now lived in the Age of Information.

  He heaved a weary sigh. So-called progress left its mark on the world, and rarely as innocuously as the loch flying past his window. Its ugly fingerprints were everywhere he looked. Air pollution, water pollution, ozone depletion, deforestation, offshore drilling, nuclear meltdowns, and global warming. Humankind daily raped Mother Nature and thought nothing of it. As long as there was money to be made, to hell with everything else. Too many humans saw natural resources as something to be harvested for gain.

  “Forgive them, Danu,” he whispered, his heart steeped in bitterness, “for they know not what they do.”

  * * * *

  When Gwyn opened her eyes, Leith was wrapped around her like a living shawl—a hot and heavy living shawl. He was facing her and softly snoring, his arms locked around her, his long legs curled up to fit the bench seat. His face was sweetly serene, his hair disheveled, his mouth lax and open. Her heart ballooned with affection. She felt safe, protected, and, well, loved. She also felt fiercely aroused.

  So did he, apparently. Even in sleep, her sweet knight was a total horn-dog. And now—due to magic or hormones or just being in love—so was she. Too bad they couldn’t slip into the rear of the van and avail themselves of the makeshift bed back there. Leith would sleep there while she and Tom were in Brocaliande. With the time difference between Hitherworld and Thitherworld, even a few hours spent in the druid forest could equal days of waiting.

  Missing her knight already, she kissed the end of his perfect nose and the sexy cleft in his chin. His face twitched and he made a noise deep in his throat, but didn’t open his eyes.

  The sun was still up, despite the evening hour. Curious to see where they were, she tried to rise, but his lock on her was unyielding. Softly, she put her mouth against his and ran her tongue across his teeth, feeling sharp fangs. Holy smokes. He really did need blood.

  Sleepy, blinking gray eyes met hers. “Hello there,” he said. “Are you feeling any better?”

  It took her a second to realize what he meant, having completely forgotten about the crying jag. “Yes,” she whispered, “and I’m sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be.” He pressed a kiss to her mouth. “I’m sorry I upset you by behaving like a cretin.”

  “It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

  “Because I never bothered to ask. And I should have. I want to know everything there is to know about you, but don’t wish to pry.”

  She smiled, touched by his interest. “I’m an open book. Ask anything you want.”

  He licked his lips and rearranged himself to sit beside her. “How old were you when he died?”

  “Fourteen.”

  She still remembered that awful night as vividly as if it were yesterday. The doorbell woke her from a deep sleep. She didn’t get up to answer the door right away because she assumed her father or stepmother would. Little did she know at the time, he’d gone out for more booze for his wife, who’d subsequently passed out on the couch.

  When the doorbell rang a second time, Gwyn got up, put on her robe and slippers, and crept downstairs. Tiptoeing past her unconscious stepmother, she peered through the peephole, startled to find a uniformed police officer on the porch.

  She’d often wondered why, after witnessing the state of her remaining caregiver, the policeman didn’t call Child and Family Services. Not that foster care would have been much better, but still. Weren’t the police supposed to serve and protect?

  “And your mother? Is she still alive?”

  “No.” She forced the word through her constricted throat. “She died from complications a few days after I was born.”

  “So, you were more or less an orphan at fourteen?”

  Too overcome to speak, she just nodded.

  “Gwyneth,” he whispered, taking her in his arms, “I wish I could take all your pain away.”

  “I wish you could, too.” Looking up, she did her best to smile. “But I’ll settle for a kiss.”

  The next moment, his m
outh was on hers and their tongues were entwined in an electrifying dance.

  “Up and at ’em, sleepyheads,” Tom’s voice boomed from the front seat, sparking her heart and breaking them apart. “We’re coming up on Loch Broom.”

  “What’s so special about Loch Broom?” she wanted to know.

  “See for yourself.”

  When Leith looked out the window, she followed suit, blinking the last remnants of sleep from her eyes. What she saw could have been an oil painting by William MacTaggart, whose portrait of two little girls had hung in her childhood bedroom.

  A shimmering silver-blue loch stretching beyond the horizon was the focal point. In the background, generous dabs of purple and gold lent color and texture to rolling brown hills. In the near ground, rustic rock walls bordered fields of vivid spring green. Quaint white-washed cottages salted the hills and edged the road.

  She yearned to live in one. Especially if she lived in the idyllic setting with Leith and their baby.

  Her imagination showed her a little girl with his black hair and gray eyes. She’d always thought, if she ever had a daughter, she’d name her after her mom.

  Emma Bernadette MacQuill.

  Yes, she was getting ahead of herself. But a deep-down part of her hoped she really was pregnant. She wanted to give him a child very much. Even more, however, she wanted to be part of a loving family again.

  “It’s a sea loch.” Leith’s voice near her ear burst her fantasy like a soap bubble. “Which means we’ll be in Ullapool in a few more minutes.”

  * * * *

  Loud rapping on the rear doors of the van snapped Gwyn out of her twilight sleep. After they’d boarded the ferry, the men had gotten out to stretch their legs and have a smoke. The sea wind proved too cold for her, so she opted to remain in the van. Besides, she felt strangely strung-out. Her body craved his like a junkie craved a fix.

  Not knowing what else to do and still unwilling to disclose her symptoms, she’d crawled into the bed in the back. Leith had outfitted the sleeping space with the pillows from his bed. For a long while, she’d reveled in his comforting scent before finally drifting off.

  Someone pounding on the door brought her back to herself with a jolt. She sat up and looked around, orienting herself. The banging persisted.

  “Leith? Is that you?”

  “Who else would it be? Now, open up. I’m ganting for it, and Tom’s only giving us twenty minutes.”

  Ganting? She’d never heard the expression, but could guess the word’s meaning. He sounded as desperate for her as she was for him. Delighted, she got to her knees and, after fumbling with the sticky handle, flung open one of the rear doors. He looked windblown and good enough to eat.

  He gave her one of his irresistible lopsided smiles. “Are you feeling up to a quickie?”

  She gave him a smile and crawled back toward the pillows. As she reclined, he climbed in and slammed the door. In a blink, he was over her on all fours.

  “Did you tell Tom not to come a-knocking if the van’s a-rocking?”

  His grin broadened before he brought his mouth down on hers. The kiss, though heartfelt, was frustratingly brief. She forgave him when he whispered in her ear, “I adore you, my wee mouse.”

  He smelled of the sea and himself—an arousing aroma that put the whip to her already galloping desire. She grabbed him by the hair and pulled his mouth back to hers, forcing her tongue into his mouth. He groaned and kissed her back as he lowered his body onto hers, pushing her legs apart with his knees. He tasted harshly of cigarettes and whisky, but she didn’t care. The kiss was so hot, her blood caught fire.

  “This will be quicker than I’d like.” His voice was husky, his eyes smoldering with desire.

  She swallowed a sudden onrush of saliva. Her body throbbed with the need of him—gums, heart, belly, loins—a physical, all-consuming lust she’d never felt before. “What are you doing to me?”

  “If you have to ask, I must be doing it wrong.”

  “No, I meant—”

  She stopped herself, not wanting to ruin the moment. Suddenly, she desired him inside her more than she desired life itself. He rose up on his knees and unbuttoned the fly of his jeans. Tiny effervescent thrills swarmed her nether regions when his erection popped out.

  He pushed up her skirt. Underneath, she wore one of her new pairs of sexy panties. Sheer black lace with ruffles across the butt. He ran his fingers over the crotch, brushing her swollen clit with his thumb. She gasped in response to the sudden sharp pleasure.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ll die if I don’t feel you inside me right now.”

  His eyes flashed and his mouth hitched up in a crooked grin. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we?”

  He stripped off her panties, positioned himself between her legs, and, with one hard push, buried himself inside her. Yes! She groaned loudly, not caring who heard. In fact, if somebody did, all the better. He felt so amazing she damn near exploded around him right then.

  As he started to move, she wrapped her legs around him and lifted her hips, meeting him thrust for thrust, taking him deeper than seemed possible. Still, it wasn’t enough. She groaned and writhed as her body melted into his.

  “Leith,” she gasped, “Oh, baby. Oh, God.”

  She still felt and sounded strange to her own ears, but at this point, she didn’t care. His powerful thrusts were pushing her to heights she’d only dreamed about. As she shattered around him, she felt him break, heard him cry out, and felt the pulsations of his release deep in her womb.

  When the spasms ceased, he came down on her, chest heaving and hair damp with sweat. His manly herb-leather scent taunted her nostrils, calling the hunger that still burned in her belly. She felt delirious, dizzy, and detached. She was no longer herself. Something wild had taken her over. Her senses were unnaturally sharp. She could hear his pulse pounding in her ears, smell his blood pumping through his veins.

  Not knowing what she was about to do, she turned her head and opened her jaws. She bit down, sinking teeth into skin and muscle. His body jerked as he cried out in pain and surprise. Blood pulsed over her tongue, tasting of salty silver. She swallowed and sucked, sucked and swallowed. As her craving abated, her desire reignited with the burst of a gas fire.

  Leith, still hard inside her, started moving again. Pleasure sizzled through her blood-stream. Sparks shot across her skin. Every hair on her body stood on end. She let go of his neck and wrapped her legs around his thrusting hips, driving against him. They fell over the edge together, plummeting to earth in an explosion that left her shell-shocked.

  What had just happened?

  Still breathing hard, he pushed himself up, sat on her pelvis, and clapped a hand over the bleeding wound on his neck. “I’m so sorry,” he said, looking half-penitent, half-mortified. “I think I may have given you a wee bit too much soup.”

  She narrowed her eyes, struggling to decipher his meaning. “I don’t understand.”

  “You just drank my blood,” he said, blinking at her. “After biting into my neck with your wee fangs.”

  She ran her tongue across her top teeth. Sure enough, her canines were elongated and razor sharp. She pushed up on her elbows, gaping at him. “What the hell was in that soup?”

  “Blood,” he said. “Mine.”

  “You turned me?”

  “It would seem that I have, though that wasn’t my intent.”

  She dropped back on the pillows and closed her eyes, her mind spinning. She tried to let the revelation soak in a little at a time. Was it the blood, and not pregnancy, that had made her feel so strange and stopped her period?

  As disappointment chomped down on her heart, tears sprang into her eyes. She tried to bite them back, but they refused to be dammed.

  He gathered her into his arms and held her against him. “Are you upset with me?”

  “No,” she said between sobs. “I wanted you to turn me.”
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  There was no other way for them to be together forever and ever.

  “Then why are you crying?”

  “I’m not sure,” she lied. “I guess I’m just feeling a little overwhelmed.”

  She knew exactly why she was crying. She did not, however, understand her reaction. She should be happy. Or, at the very least, relieved. Having a child was a big responsibility. So why did she feel as if someone had cut her heart out?

  Chapter 17

  Leith honestly hadn’t meant to turn her. He’d realized only in hindsight that adding the blood in the soup to what he’d already given her might bring on the change. At the same time, he didn’t regret his error. She didn’t seem upset about being turned and her new status introduced the possibility of lifelong commitment.

  That she might also have his bairn in her belly seemed too much to hope for. It would be enough to break the curse and keep her alive. His only lament was she’d taken his blood while they were making the beast with two backs. Already subpar, he now felt even worse. Luckily, they were nearing the caravan park, having landed on Lewis twenty minutes ago.

  The time was right around nine p.m. It was still light out, but the full moon shone big, low, and golden in the southerly sky. They’d resumed their original places: Tom at the wheel, he in the passenger seat playing navigator, and Gwyneth on the bench seat behind, where she could take a nap if need be.

  He stole a glance at her around the seatback. She was looking out the window at the moon wearing a dreamy expression. She looked so radiant and brave. And so beautiful his chest hurt to look at her.

  The blood she’d taken would not sustain her for long. Luckily, they could easily share a full-grown man, provided they limited their intake to four or five ounces each. Granted, it was a bit of a risk with a newborn—especially if she was eating for two—but not impossible.

  Returning his attention to the open map, he traced the route with the flashlight beam. By his calculations, they should pass the turn-off any second. He shot a glance out the window, watching for the sign. There it was, coming up fast on the left.