NYC Vamps: Roman: Vampire Romance

by Sky Winters

  She did not weep, she would not allow herself to weep in front of this terrible man, and she dug her nails into the palms of her hands to stop her from crying.

  “At least now you have me, you can relinquish the lands you have stolen from the Macadam Clan and release James’s father?”

  Andrew Stewart snorted in derision. “Then you are more naive than I thought my dear. Of course I will not be giving back the lands. The old man will be put to death and the others will shortly follow, including your beloved James.”

  She wanted to tear at his face but her hands were bound and she sat, hopeless, pondering her fate, as the carriage rumbled on towards Inverness.

  The men had decided quickly on a plan and James hurried to tell Arabella the news. When he could not find her in the camp he began to worry. Some of the men had seen her wander off into the forest a little more than an hour ago but had not seen her return. James was angry that no-one had stopped her, and getting up a small band of his men they started to comb the forest. Soon the little cap of berries was found and James feared the worse. The tracks of a carriage and horses was found a little further out and his fears were confirmed – it could only be one man that had taken his beloved Arabella – Lord Andrew Stewart.

  Racing back to camp James saddled his horse and with two of his most trusty men they set off on the trail of the Laird. They would ride much quicker than the lumbering carriage and they would soon be able to track it down.

  Andrew Stewart had been asleep, dreaming of bedding the delightful Arabella when the coach came to an abrupt stop and the lurching motion of the carriage caused him to wake.

  He pounded on the roof of the carriage and called out to see what the matter was.

  The driver’s voice was thin and afraid.

  “I think you had better come and look for yourself sir.”

  Frustrated with the stop to his journey, Lord Stewart stuck his head out of the window. He could not see anything and opened the door and jumped out into the open.

  Walking to the front of the coach he froze in fear. There stood three enormous brown bears, directly in their path.

  Turning back towards the carriage, he raced forward to collect his gun, but was too slow. The largest of the bears had him trapped in its gigantic paws and dragged him away into the undergrowth. The sharp claws tore at his skin, the large teeth gorging into the soft flesh until he was no more.

  Arabella had sat quietly in the carriage, she had managed to work on the bindings to her hands and finally break free. There had been strange noises outside and she had been afraid. Now it was silent and she cautiously stepped outside to see what had happened. At first she wondered where Lord Stewart had gone, and then she noticed a trail of blood on the grass leading into the bushes. The coach driver was missing too and the air was eerily silent. As she walked towards the undergrowth she thought she saw something move. A crackle of dry leaves followed by the snap of twigs, and then she saw it, the magnificent brown bear. It had seen her and she froze. She had heard stories of these creatures and how they could tear a man apart with their sharp claws and teeth.

  It lumbered towards her, its brown deep eyes staring deep into hers. It seemed calm and yet she closed her eyes, braced herself for the inevitable. All was quiet again.

  Opening her eyes the bear was stood a short distance away, still gazing at her. A large paw came towards her and she held her breath, yet the claws were pulled back and the dry leather paw touched her face softly. She almost fainted with fear, yet there was something about this creature, something almost familiar.

  With a great bellow it raised itself onto its hind legs and waved its gigantic paws into the air before falling down onto the ground.

  The poor thing looked ill, it seemed to writhe around in agony and she could only stand and watch. The face twisted and contorted, it was changing before her very eyes. The body was changing shape and instead of brown fur there was bare skin. Soon James Macadam was lying naked before her and she eventually swooned, the whole experience being too great for her mind to contemplate.

  When Arabella next awoke, she was back at the camp. She did not know how long she had been asleep, but it had grown dark and she was very hungry. James was sat next to her, he looked tired and worn, deep shadows forming under his eyes, yet he smiled when he saw her wake and his whole visage changed to one of joy.

  “James I had the most fantastic dream.”

  His smile changed to a look of concern.

  “Arabella, there is something you need to know about me.”

  As she looked into his dark, brown eyes, she thought of the bear and deep inside already knew. There had always been something different about James Macadam, and although she could hardly believe it, knew it was true.

  “I would never hurt you Arabella, you must trust me. My family is ancient and we have handed down the werebear gene from generation to generation. It is said that one of my ancestors was cursed by a witch for not returning his love and was turned into a savage bear, but through the centuries we have learned to tame our bear and use it only when we must –that is our code”

  She placed her hand in his for comfort, not knowing what to say.

  “Can you still love me after this Arabella, I understand if it is too much. I should have told you but I was afraid?”

  Weaving her fingers into his she looked openly into his deep, dark eyes.

  “I love you, no matter what James and I always will.”

  The pair kissed and James gave her a knowing smile.

  “It’s good job that you do. I fear that our first night of passion has produced a new life within you,” he touched her stomach tenderly.

  She had felt different too, something that she hadn’t quite grasped, but there had been a fullness about her, a blossoming that she had put down to love, yet how could he know? She looked up at him quizzically.

  “Call it my animal instinct.”

  The new Laird of Inverness was a kindly, younger man, a nephew of the late Lord Andrew Stewart. His had been a terrible death, ripped to pieces by a pack of wild bears, but many said it was not undeserved. The lands were restored to the Macadam Clan by the new Lord Stewart and the old man was immediately released and recovered well in his ancestral home.

  James and Arabella were soon married with the full blessing of her parents. With Lord Stewart dead there was nothing more to be done. Besides, they had never fully understood who was behind the kidnapping of their daughter in the first place.

  Their joy was complete with the birth of their son, James Macadam the second, a bonny baby with dark brown eyes like his fathers and a shock of wild brown hair.

  He was her baby bear.

  *****

  Clan of the Cave Wolf

  A group of men thundered by on horses as Lady Catriona emerged from her tent. The animals’ hooves tore up the ground, tossing clumps of mud and grass across the encampment. In the lead was Lord Hector - Catriona’s husband. They rode into camp, throwing up whoops and hollers, having captured a single Highland rebel. Hector turned his horse ‘round and kicked it towards his wife.

  “What do you think of our game, my love?” He asked loudly, to put on a show.

  Catriona suppressed a curl of her lip and raised her chin. “It is very grand, my Lord.”

  The Lord laughed, barked, in amusement. “This mangy cur?” He spat on the ground, “first time he’s ever been called grand, I’m sure.”

  The other men joined in with their own thick laughter. Jeering at the man they held captive - though the prisoner’s face remained still, distant. Catriona bowed her head, quitting the conversation without further comment. Her husband spurred his horse and returned to his task. Looking up, Catriona took a brief glance at the stranger. Mangy cur was not the phrase she would choose to describe him. The man held his head high, and his shoulders straight - despite the harsh pull of the rope around his wrists. His body was well toned, muscles taught - there was an animal-like quality about him to be sure. But not o
ne of weakness or frenzy. He was strong and lean - and his presence couldn’t help but remind Catriona of what her life might have been, had Hector not chosen her as a bride.

  The captive turned his head, meeting Catriona’s gaze before he was dragged from her sight. His eyes were piercing even from a distance - and they made Catriona shiver. Before she could blink, he was already gone - spirited away to another part of camp, to be bound and ridiculed. Her husband out of sight, Catriona did little to hide the disgust on her face. Life had turned out so much differently than she had once expected as a young girl. Marriage to Lord Hector seemed the only practical choice at the time - he would provide security and wealth in a time when the Scottish lands were in uncertain upheaval. The Highlanders were fighting back against the Englishmen who continuously stole their land and enforced their rule. In truth, Catriona had been lucky to catch Hector’s eye. Instead of leaving her to be taken by the men of his camp, he instead took her aside to woo for himself. With this, Catriona ensured the safety of her own family - if not those of her former village.

  The first year or so was easy - she was still in Hector’s good favor. He doted upon her and showed her off as frequently as possible. But soon the question of a child became an issue. Hector hadn’t the gall to force himself upon her, but the few times Catriona did allow him into her bed, it was cold and unpleasant. His sweet words quickly turned into admonishments and strings of hateful whispers into her ear. She had never suspected Hector a kind man, but the strength of his cruelty was sharp. While he still played the part around his men, or men and women of the court, Catriona dreaded being left alone by his side. Over the course of a few years, Catriona had become attuned to her husband’s moods, his movements. She knew when a strike would come, when he was merely yelling, or when he would destroy the room to intimidate her. To confront Lord Hector directly…Catriona couldn’t be truly sure of the outcome. That is why she decided to make a fool of him behind his back. To make him small in the eyes of his men. She would free the Highland rebel that night.

  The camp was subdued, muted, as the moon’s wavering light drifted through the clouds. Catriona had feigned illness to her husband - claiming the constant travel was doing her no good.

  Hector had scoffed, “and I thought you Scottish women were supposed to be hardy. Should have chosen a girl with better constitution.” But he let her be, more inclined to join the men in their drinking and rabble-rousing than interrogate his wife.

  When the sounds of their revels died down, Catriona crept carefully and silently from the back of her tent. Her long black hair was held back in a tight bun as she snuck through the darkness - she didn’t want it hindering her in any way. In her boot was a small knife - it once belonged to her father, mainly used to gut fish. But tonight she would use it to cut the stranger’s restraints…and perhaps bequeath it to him. Catriona realized the man would have been stripped of his own weapons, and if she were going to give him half a chance, this was the best she could do. She comforted herself in the loss of such a dear item with the thought that her father would have done the same. Across the camp sat a small tent, separated from the others and guarded by a single man. Judging by his absent stare and poorly stifled yawns, he would be easy enough to creep by. As long as the captive inside let up no alarm as she entered.

  Crouching, balancing on the balls of her feet and her fingertips, Catriona couldn’t help but smirk. Crawling about in the mud. This certainly wasn’t the image Lord Hector had in mind for his bride, she was sure. Taking a long arc around to the back of the prisoner’s tent, Catriona sliced herself an entrance with the small knife. It was duller than she expected and took a few moments to truly cut a hole big enough for her. She hoped the rebel captive would remain quiet until she was finished.

  Poking her head in at last, she came face to face with the man. He was sitting, hands tied to the wooden pole behind his back. He wore a ragged shirt, with no sign of buttons or string, and a heavy kilt tied about his waist. His boots were leather, battered by unknown years of mud and travel. The man’s head was tilted, his amber eyes sparkling with bewildered amusement.

  “Hello,” he whispered, “is this meant to be a rescue - or are you simply redecorating?”

  Catriona blinked, taken aback by the unexpected quip. Her cheeks flushed, a slight indignation brewing beneath her skin.

  “I beg your pardon?” She uttered as quietly as possible, while still maintaining an air of offended dignity.

  The man chuckled under his breath. “Forgive me. I was trying to think of something clever to say all that while, and that was the best I could muster - under the circumstances.”

  He shrugged, tugging lightly at his restraints. Catriona hesitated only a moment more, bemused by the stranger’s odd nature. She shuffled into the tent and knelt on the other side of the pole.

  “Well, you’ll have more time to think of something better,” she slipped the knife between the man’s hands and began to saw at the rope. “I still need to cut through these.”

  “Saints preserve us, let’s pray you finish before sun up.” His voice was light, joking more than disparaging.

  Catriona shook her head silently. She had envisioned their first encounter many times before nightfall - expecting the man to be stoic, noble, and certainly more grateful than this. But here he was teasing her, jesting. It was odd, however…somehow this did not feel out of place. It was as if the two of them had known each other long before this moment. As if two good friends were finally reuniting.

  “What’s your name?” The man broke into her thoughts. He turned his head, looking over his shoulder to get a glimpse of his savior.

  “Lady Catriona,” she replied quickly. “And you?”

  “My name is Conall,” he began - then a thought seemed to strike him, “wait a moment…Lady?”

  He attempted to twist himself around even more, but Catriona kept her focus on the ropes and the movement of her knife.

  “Lady?” Conall repeated, keeping his voice low despite the curiosity in him.

  “Yes.” Catriona said simply.

  “As in the Lady married to our lovely Lord Hector out there?”

  Catriona could feel her cheeks growing hot again. She had also envisioned leaving her husband unmentioned that night - but so accustomed to Hector’s own flaunting of the title, she let Lady slip. Her eyes flitted up for a moment to look at Conall’s face. Instead of the resentful scowl she had expected, his face sat in a playful grin.

  “I fail to see the humor of the situation,” Catriona muttered. The ropes were finally beginning to fray. A few minutes more and the man would be free.

  Conall laughed out loud involuntarily - but quickly caught himself, turning the laugh into an awkward cough before trailing off. The two of them sat frozen for a moment, listening for the sounds of the guard outside - he appeared to be unperturbed by the noise. Catriona cut with more ferocity.

  “It’s brilliant though, isn’t it? The man’s own wife freeing a Highland rebel? I only wish I were his wife so I could pull off something so dastardly.”

  Catriona choked, only just managing to hide her own laughter. “Excuse me?” She asked through stifled giggles.

  “Well, I mean,” Conall shrugged, “not literally of course…”

  Finally, the last of the rope gave way and Conall’s wrists were free. He stretched his arms, bringing them around and massaging the life back into his hands. Catriona sat back on her heels, watching him - his hands were rough, broad. And yet she imagined they were much warmer than her husband’s.

  “Shall we be off?” Once again, Conall interrupted her thoughts.

  Catriona looked up, startled. “We?”

  Conall nodded. “I can’t imagine you entered this tent and freed me because you like your husband.”

  Catriona didn’t reply right away. Despite the hatred she held for her husband, despite the risk she had decided to take, despite everything, she hadn’t, in fact, imagined herself leaving. In Catriona’s mind, it wa
sn’t even possible - how could it be? When he had held her with such a deadly grip all these years. But now, on this quiet night, suddenly freedom was before her - staring at her with earnest, amber eyes.

  “I’m afraid the longer we delay -.”

  “Yes.” Catriona answered abruptly, causing Conall’s face to break into another grin.

  He took her hand. “Then off we go, my Lady. And I promise, since you have done me the honor of saving my own life, I will do everything in my power to protect yours.”

  Now this was the sort of noble behavior Catriona had hoped for. And she was right, the man’s hands were incredibly warm, and softer than they looked. Another moment and the tent was empty, save for the tattered ropes - and Catriona’s knife. She had not noticed it slip from her hands before they disappeared.

  Morning was grasping its way up the horizon as Catriona and Conall rode towards his home. When they had snuck their way out of Hector’s camp, Conall suggested they would have better luck on horseback. In truth, Catriona didn’t believe they would be able to get one away without raising suspicion and alarm - but as she watched from the shadows, Conall treaded the ground so lightly, that she began to wonder if he were more specter than man. As the two of them rode together, however, Catriona felt the weight of Conall’s arms around her, holding the reigns. Perhaps it was the cold wind, or the dawning realization that soon Hector may be nothing more than a bitter memory - but Catriona’s heart hammered in her chest like a war drum, dizzying her senses. In the distance, the mountains loomed and grew taller as they approached.

  Conall gestured. “We should be there within another hour or so, my people reside within the mountains - to keep out of sight.”

  He added this last comment, as if he already sensed the question on Catriona’s lips. Catriona only nodded. Within the mountains…Conall and his people must have once lived in a village of their own, on land of their own. Her expression hardened - it was men like Hector who were driving these people out, bending them to English rule or otherwise erasing them from the countryside. A sharp ire grew in the back of her throat. She had traded her countrymen for her own safety, sitting idle for years as Hector lead her from encampment to encampment to drive out the Highland rebels. She shook her head - but this was the last of it. The sun was rising on a new day for Catriona and she refused to turn back now.