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Authors: Colleen Faulkner

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BOOK: After Midnight
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He crossed his arms over his chest and made a ghastly face. "Ods fish, no."

"See that." She pointed. "Ruth is reading Bram Stoker's
Dracula
. Have you read it? Just published last year. Dracula sleeps in a coffin."

"Stoker writes romantic fiction." He lifted a slender, masculine finger to point back at her. Their fingertips nearly touched. "Entertaining fiction, but fiction nonetheless."

Now she was really frustrated. She had been the best debater at her woman's college. Where were those skills now? "The vampire legend was created to frighten people." She folded her arms over her chest triumphantly. "Everyone knows there's really no such thing as vampires."

"Everyone is wrong."

Emily threw up her arms. "We're really not making any progress here, Gordon."

"Emily, I canna change what I am, nor lie about what I am… not even for ye."

Emily froze as he freed the curl she'd tucked behind her ear. It was a simple gesture, innocent enough, but it made her palms damp, her knees weak, and her heart beat faster.

"I like the curls," he said softly. "They become your lovely face."

Emily moistened her dry lips. No one had ever called her lovely before. He had taken her completely off guard. These type of encounters were supposed to take place at night, in romantic gardens, shadowed hallways, not in mid-morning in a library stacked with books.

She swallowed. She didn't know what she would do if he tried to kiss her.

God help her, she might kiss him back.

Gordon held her gaze so long that she thought for sure he would kiss her. Then he glanced away and the spell was broken. "Would you like to see the Gutenberg?"

Suddenly she felt foolish. She must have imagined more than had actually occurred. Of course Gordon hadn't intended to kiss her. She was acting as flighty as Ruth. "Oh, yes, yes, I would. I'll get right to work on it."

He halted at the doorway to allow her to pass. "I didn't mean that ye must get straight to work. You have the entire month. I want ye to enjoy yourself at Fraser
Castle. I only meant that ye might like to see it. It truly is remarkable. It's above in a storage room." He shrugged. "More books than space."

She passed him, but then waited for him to join her at her side. The romantic moment had passed, and they were once again just colleagues. As they talked on their way down the corridor and up the grand stairs, Emily relaxed. This type of relationship she could handle. So what if Gordon thought himself a vampire? Was that really any stranger than the man with the dogs in the Louis XIV chairs?

 

"Fisherman, you say?" Ruth perched on the large oak worktable in the center of the cozy kitchen. She sat on her hands, swinging her legs as she chatted with Angus.

Ruth had originally come to the kitchen seeking Igor out of boredom. Emily and the vampire were so busy with the Gutenberg and each other that they'd barely acknowledged her presence in the dining room, where Emily had laid out the tools of her trade. Besides, the ink made Ruth sneeze. But now that she was here, she found she was actually enjoying the Scot's company. And he was a fine-looking man, in a hulking, au natural sort of way.

"Aye." Angus shook his head as he peeled an onion. He had removed his black coat and wore an apron over his linen shirt. "My whole family have been fishermen for as long as we've hated Englishmen. 'Tis what our men do."

"Then why did you come here? I mean that Gordon Fraser, he's nice enough, but you have to admit, he's a little strange, living in self-imposed exile on this island and telling everyone he's a vampire."

Angus placed the onion on the table and split it in half with a small cleaver. "I had no choice," he said in his thick Scottish brogue. "My father wanted me tae be a fisherman like him and his father before him, but I couldna fish. I was an embarrassment tae my clan. A MacReed who couldna fish."

Ruth watched as he cut the onion into tiny slivers, as fascinated by his voice as his tale. "Oh, I understand what it is to be a disappointment to your father. Mine wanted me to marry his partner, but he's just not the man for me." She snatched a cube of raw potato from one of the piles he'd made on the work table. "Why couldn't you fish, Ig… Angus?"

He sniffed and continued to dice the onion. "I am ashamed tae tell ye, lass, but I get deathly ill at sea."

Ruth's eyes widened. "A fisherman's son who gets seasick?"

With the back of one meaty hand, he wiped at the tears that gathered in the corners of his eyes. "Aye. I tried. The sweet Virgin knows I tried, but I couldna. Whilst my father and brothers brought in the nets, I knelt with my head hung over the side." He sniffed again loudly.

Ruth dug into her sleeve and produced a fresh white hanky.

Angus set down his cleaver and accepted the lacy bit of fabric. "I had no choice but tae take the master's position as manservant." He dabbed at his eyes.

Ruth felt her throat tighten. "Oh, Angus, that's such a sad story."

He hung his head, blotting his nose with her hanky.

"Aye. 'Tis, indeed. What kind of a man am I that I must find work in a kitchen?"

Ruth jumped off the table and ran her hand down Angus's muscular forearm. "I say that makes you more a man. You stood up to your father."

"I should have been a fisherman."

"Do you like being a manservant?" She let her hand rest on his arm.

"Aye."

"Do you like cooking and cleaning?"

"Aye."

"Then you are a man among men. You sought the life you wanted, not the one that was forced upon you by bloodlines or a manipulating father."

Angus glanced up, his eyes red from his tears. "Do ye think so?" He sniffed.

"I do. Now blow that nose of yours." She patted him. "How about you show me how to make that Highlander stew? I bet my matzo balls would be great in it."

Chapter Four

 

Gordon walked the lee side of the island's shore, gazing at the dark, churning water. Seagulls soared and sang overhead, and the waves crashed against the rocks as the last of the sun's rays sparkled off the surface. But his mind was not on the beauty of the ocean or the setting sun.

Two precious weeks with Emily lost
, he thought.

Where had the days gone? Spent talking, laughing, walking in the rose garden. Gordon watched her work at the dining table in the great hall by the hour. He was fascinated by the way her nimble hands moved as she brushed the gilt paint onto the damaged pages of his Gutenberg, bringing the illuminations alive again. He was entranced by the way her blue eyes sparkled as they discussed and sometimes argued over literature they had read. At some point, Gordon had fallen in love with those hands, with that laughter, with those blue eyes, bluer than the skies over his beloved Highlands.

And now in two weeks his Emily would be gone, gone from him forever, and he would be alone again.

Gordon felt a lump rise in his throat and he swallowed against his sadness. He picked up a piece of driftwood and tossed it carelessly into the water. The foaming white surf picked it up and carried it away… just as it would soon carry Emily away. The cold water splashed at his ankles, wetting his shoes and trousers, ruining the fine wool, but he waded deeper.

The last few days he'd been thinking long and hard about his plight. In a fortnight and one day he would require human blood. If he did not take it, he would die. In the past, on each anniversary, he had taken a life not because he wanted to, but because he had not wanted to die. Now, he wasn't so sure he wanted to live. Before Emily, he'd been content with his books and paintings. He'd been satisfied with his rose garden, and with Angus, and with the manservants that had come before the fisherman. But now, since he had come to know Emily and the life that bubbled from her, he knew he hadn't really been living. Life was not an isolated island, a castle filled with magnificent treasures. Life was someone to love. Life for Gordon had become Emily.

Angus's suggestion crept into his mind as it had many times in the last fortnight.
Take her as your own; make her one of your own
, the manservant had suggested. Gordon's dark side was tempted. The thought of living eternally with Emily was wickedly enticing. They could share in collecting together; they could read, discuss, dine, dance, make love… forever.

Gordon clenched his fists at his sides, fighting the temptation. If he made Emily a vampire, she would live at his side forever. He would taste her hot, sweet blood, and they would share an ecstasy no human could comprehend—

"No!" Gordon shook his fist at the gulls and the sea. "I canna. I won't. But I want to," he finished softly.

He kicked at a rock that jutted from the shore and savored the pain that shot up his leg.

He was sickened by his own thoughts, desires. It was an element of the vampire's curse that as he neared his anniversary wicked thoughts began to seep into his mind.

Of course he could not make Emily a vampire. Not even—his heart gave trip—even if she would be willing. He would not have it. Gordon knew she cared for him, perhaps even shared the love he felt for her, though they had never spoken of it. But he could not take Emily as his own because that would mean that every one hundred years, she too, would have to drink of human blood. She, too, would be tortured by the overwhelming desire to kill. He would not wish that curse upon anyone, not even his greatest enemy.

So what was he going to do? The anniversary grew closer, even now, minute by minute, creeping up on him like the shadows that sometimes disturbed his sleep.

What would he do? Gordon opened his eyes wide to see the majesty of the great blue ocean. He already knew the answer before he asked himself the question.

He would live his life to the fullest for the next two weeks and then… He summoned his courage.

Then when Emily and her friend Ruth were safely on the steamer, he would send Angus away with his fishermen brothers who often passed their shore, and Gordon would die alone in his castle.

A sound made Gordon look up and to his surprise he saw Emily. He halted in the surf, mesmerized.

Her back was to him; she was unaware of his presence. She had discarded her woolen stockings and button boots on the shore and waded into the shallow water. She lifted her skirt and laughed, looking down.

He wondered what she saw. What made her laugh? Small fish nibbling at her ankles, perhaps?

As she turned, still not seeing him, her red-gold hair reflected in the setting sun. She was beautiful, so innocent.

Her blood would be so warm, so sweet…

Gordon suddenly felt a painful tightening in his chest. Without warning, his breath caught in his throat and he was dizzy. Black spots appeared before his eyes. Her innocence, her innate goodness, was making his own black heart sick.

"Gordon?"

He heard Emily's voice, but she sounded as if she were at a greater distance than she was.

"Gordon, what is it? Are you all right?"

He heard her splashing toward him. The darkening sky spun overhead and the seagulls seemed to cry his name. She appeared beside him. Her warm touch on his hand… her soft, urgent voice. His desire for her blood faded. All he craved now was her gentle touch.

BOOK: After Midnight
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