Highland Vampire (25 page)

A hint of sadness entered Katherine's green eyes. "That is not fair, Isobella. There is nothing brave in hunting a beast who moves upon the wind and cannae be touched by steel. 'Tis the way of the clan, and there is nay sense in blaming our menfolk on what cannae be altered."

It was a familiar argument, but Isobella refused to be swayed. "How do they know it cannae be altered if they are not even willing to try?"

Katherine lightly touched her cheek. "Hush, my love, such bitterness is unseemly. Soon ye will have to take one of the men as husband. He will not thank ye for having branded him a coward."

"Husband?" Isobella widened her gaze in astonishment. "Katherine, ye must be daft. All ken that none of our brave and honorable clansmen are willing to have me, no matter how tempting the dowry. Indeed, 'tis a common jest among the men that it would be more comforting to share a bed with a wild boar than the laird's youngest daughter."

"Ye should not listen to such talk. 'Tis only the jealous mutters of lesser maids."

"Nay, 'tis the truth and I assure ye that it bothers me not a wit. 'Tis for the best that I become a spinster. I have no talent in bending my will to another and even less talent in pandering to the whims of a husband. I should only be miserable to be sold off as a broodmare and my husband even more so to have me."

"But—"

"Enough, Katherine." With a firm motion, Isobella crawled from the bed. She had no desire to argue with her sister. Besides, she needed a few moments alone to sift through her still foggy thoughts. Something had occurred last eve. Something strange and unexpected. She needed to determine what that might mean for Katherine. "I feel in dire need of my bath."

"I…" There was another sigh. No one attempted to gainsay Isobella when she used that precise tone. "Very well."

Bane's magnificent stone castle had been created by the same witch who had snatched him from the arms of death. It was a structure of mist and magic, but his artistic nature gloried in the flowing architecture and lush tapestries. Not even the King himself could boast such luxury. And most importantly, it remained constantly shrouded in a thick fog that protected him from the harsh glare of sunlight.

At any hour he could walk the battlements or stroll through the glen with no concern. It was his one source of peace in a very dark existence.

He was seated in the lavish comfort of his library when he felt a prickling awareness crawl over his skin.

With a smooth motion he was on his feet.

Isobella.

Despite the fact she had barely left the gates of her father's keep, he could sense her approach. As well as her determination.

But why?

He had taken care to use his powers to hide all memories of their encounter. It was the same power he used after feeding upon the stray travelers who passed by the glen. They would awaken, weakened and slightly dazed, never recalling they had encountered the notorious Beast of MacDonnell.

Was she simply so stubborn that she continued her foolish fight against her sister's doom? Or did she possess the rare ability to thrust through the barriers he had erected in her mind?

Or most disturbing of all, had he silently called to her despite his grim hold upon his instincts?

The questions plagued him as he discovered himself swiftly moving through the castle and out into the glen. He could, of course, allow the lassie to enter the mist. She would never stumble onto the castle. It was far too well protected. Instead she would simply wander in confusion for days until she at last died of hunger.

It would solve more than one problem. Including the fierce, biting desire that had haunted him since he had taken her in his arms last eve.

Still, his step never faltered.

The stirring of passions he had thought left in his grave were no doubt a worrisome distraction. For two centuries he had survived within a cloak of bleak loneliness. Only his lust for revenge was allowed to disturb his frozen calm.

But distraction or not, he had to concede that he was not yet prepared to banish the tantalizing heat that Isobella aroused deep within him.

It had been so long since he had experienced such sweet temptation.

So terribly long.

Moving with a flowing speed, Bane was out of the castle and moving through the mist. In the distance he could sense Isobella coming ever closer.

He could sense it in the prickles that whispered over his skin and the odd warmth that battled the ice of his dead heart.

Reaching the edge of the mist, Bane was forced to halt and impatiently await the unexpected intruder. Although dusk had fallen, it was not yet dark enough for him to risk leaving the protection of his lair. A stark price he paid for his immortal existence.

Pacing with what he could only suppose was impatience, Bane counted the moments until he could at last hear the faint rustle of leaves as Isobella approached. Shifting until he was directly in her path, he was prepared as she abruptly appeared within the swirl of fog.

Lifting his hands, he placed them firmly upon her shoulders. "Come no farther," he commanded.

She stilled beneath his touch, her hazel gaze wide as she regarded him in silence for a long moment.

"So… ye are real," she at last breathed.

His lips twitched even as he silently warned himself to take care. This lassie clearly possessed the ability to pierce through his web of magic. Yet another reason to keep her at a distance, a warning voice whispered in the back of his mind.

A voice ignored by his hands, which compulsively smoothed over her shoulders and down her back. By all the fires of hell, it felt so wondrous to touch her.

"Not entirely," he conceded wryly.

Her brows tugged together, although he was relieved when she did not pull away in fear.

"Who are ye?" she demanded. "Or should I ask…" She swallowed heavily. "What are ye?"

Two questions he had no intention of answering. Bane allowed his features to tighten with disapproval.

"Why are ye here, Isobella? 'Tis beyond foolish to enter the mist unless ye desire death?"

Surprisingly an expression that might almost have been petulance settled on her lovely countenance.

"I dinnae wish to be here. I am not utterly daft."

Well, one of them was surely daft, he acknowledged with a slow shake of his head.

"Then why the devil are ye?"

"Because I could not halt myself," she muttered. "No matter how I battled, the need to come here was like a fever in my blood. It has plagued me all day." Her gaze narrowed with suspicion. "Have ye put a spell upon me?"

Bane's fingers abruptly tightened upon her back. Blood of the saints. Despite all his grim determination, his need had still managed to call for her.

Or had it?

Was it possible that there was something more to this overwhelming awareness that clawed within him? Something occurring between them that was beyond both of their understanding?

And which was the lesser of two evils?

He met her gaze steadily. "I wish it was such a simple matter."

"What do ye mean?"

"If it were a mere spell, then I could release both of us. As it is… it appears we are both ensnared for the moment."

She caught her lower lip between her teeth. It was obviously not the reassurance that she sought. Indeed the suspicion in her eyes only deepened.

"Ye still have not told me who ye are."

Unable to halt himself, Bane stepped closer to her delicate form, allowing her sweet warmth to seep into his skin.

"Does it truly matter?" he husked.

"I… of course it does."

His hand shifted to the curve of her hips. They were narrow but perfectly formed and an enticement that made Bane clench his teeth.

"Why?"

There was a pause as if she were carefully considering her words.

"Because I believe ye have some knowledge of the Beast of MacDonnell," she accused. "Perhaps ye are even a servant of his."

His raven brows shot upward. "I am no servant."

"But ye do know of him?"

He bit back the urge to lie. What did he care if she feared him? Or fled from him in terror? ‘Twas what he desired of all treacherous Fosters.

Was it not?

"Aye."

He refused to acknowledge his relief when the hazel eyes darkened with fury rather than the horror she should have revealed.

"And ye know of his plans to take my sister as his sacrifice."

He lifted a broad shoulder. "All know of the sacrifice."

"Ye did not answer my question," she gritted. "Are ye a threat to my sister?"

"Yer sister has belonged to the Beast since the day she was born."

Without warning, she was stepping from his light grasp, her countenance glowing with a fierce determination so lacking in her ancestors.

"Why? She has done nothing. She is an innocent."

Bane unconsciously tilted his head to an arrogant angle. He was unaccustomed to being challenged. At least not since his return to this world.

"She carries the sin of her forbearers. 'Tis justice."

"Nay, 'tis revenge being offered on one who is blameless. Has not enough Foster blood been shed?"

His features hardened with the bleakness echoed within his heart.

"Is there enough blood to heal the wounds of betrayal and treachery and murder?" he demanded.

She seemed to falter at the cutting edge in his voice and the sudden chill in the air. No doubt she was regretting the relentless desire that had led her to his lair.

"Ye speak of ancient legends," she at last retorted.

His gaze narrowed. "And what do ye know of them?"

She gave a restless shrug. "The story claims that a bard fell in love with the laird's wife, and when he attempted to kidnap her, the laird had him taken to the glen and killed. Or at least they attempted to kill him. Somehow he managed to crawl from his grave, and since that night he has taken the form of a beast and stolen away the first daughter of every Foster laird as a sacrifice."

A cold disdain made Bane's hands clench at his side. It seemed his enemies considered no sin too wretched or too cowardly to indulge in.

"Blood of the saints, I should have known that Fosters could speak nothing but lies," he rasped. "Honor has no meaning for them."

A flare of color touched her cheeks. As much for embarrassment at her family as in anger at his insult.

"I dinnae lie."

He gave an abrupt wave of his hand.

"I have already accepted that ye are a rare Foster. Yer clan cannae claim yer preference for the truth."

She regarded him for a long moment, as if attempting to see into his very heart.

"Ye say the story is false?"

His jaw clenched. For him the betrayal was not an ancient fable nearly forgotten in the mist of time. It was a cold ache that never faded, never healed, no matter how many years might pass.

"Of course 'tis false," he drawled in icy tones. "The bard was a simple man but he was no thief. The lassie was unwed and quite willing to be wooed by the bard, and even pleaded to be made his bride."

Isobella sent him a frown. "She was wed to the laird."

Bane gave a short, humorless laugh. "Not until the laird happened into the small village and caught sight of the maid," he corrected, an unwanted memory of the golden-haired beauty flaring through his mind. He had tumbled in love the moment he had caught sight of her. Unfortunately he had been young and foolish enough to believe she could return his love. "She was beautiful, of course, and capable of bewitching with a smile. The laird decided in a moment he would have her. No matter whom she might belong to."

Isobella took a stumbled step backward. "He… forced her?"

"Nothing so tragic," he admitted, his voice without emotion. "He wooed her with the promise of a life far more tempting than that of a bard. She would be the laird's wife with servants, and silks and spices. In truth, it took wee convincing. She was in his bed afore the sun had set."

She sucked in a sharp breath. "And what of the bard?"

Bane smiled coldly. It was difficult to recall how he had ever been so innocent, or so trusting. It had never entered his thoughts that his lover would be other than terrified by the laird's lusty intentions. Or that she might weigh the differences between marriage to a lowly bard and being wed to a laird.

Love and loyalty to him had been pure and unwavering. It could not be bought and sold with the toss of a coin.

"Being a fool, he had no notion he had been so easily betrayed by his beloved. When he was told she was awaiting him in the forest so that they might run away together and escape the laird, he eagerly sought her out. Of course, 'twas not his lover awaiting him."

Her face paled in shock. "He was killed."

"Quite brutally. Every warrior desired to return to the laird with blood on his sword. It assured them a fine reward."

Isobella pressed a hand to her breast, clearly disturbed by his blunt words.

"That is horrible."

"Aye… horrible."

Chapter Three

Isobella pressed her hands to her unsettled stomach as she turned from the burning silver of his gaze.

She should not have come here.

In all truth, she had not intended to do so.

Although she was still determined to find some means to rescue her sister from the curse, Isobella was not utterly witless.

Last eve she had been crazed with worry for her sister and incapable of thinking clearly. She had bolted into the darkness without considering just how foolish she was being.

She had had an entire day to consider the height of her folly.

And to dwell upon her encounter with the mysterious stranger.

Who had he been?

Or perhaps more importantly, what had he been?

‘Twas no natural man, of that she was certain.

What man possessed such shocking beauty? Or moved with such fluid silence? Or could seduce a maid with a mere kiss?

And what man could so bewitch a lassie that she could not even recall returning to her bed?

Aye, she had been a fool. ‘Twas only stupid luck that she hadn't been carried off to the Beast's lair. Or simply murdered in the woods and left for the scavengers to feast upon.