Highland Vampire (28 page)

"Aye?"

"Have ye ever been in love?"

Not surprisingly, her sister was caught off guard by the abrupt question.

"What?"

Isobella shifted uneasily. She had never been one to dwell upon romantic notions or flutter over a handsome man. It had all seemed a foolish sort of business to a woman of sound wits.

Now she felt as awkward as if she were walking blindfolded through a bog.

"Is there a man that causes yer heart to leap when he walks into the room?"

Astonishingly, a pretty blush touched Katherine's cheeks. "I have always thought Douglas a fine man."

"Douglas?" It took a moment for Isobella's eyes to widen in disbelief. "The blacksmith?"

The blush deepened. "I ken he is not of our station, and that father would never allow him to court me, but he is gentle and kind and he only has to walk into a room to touch my very heart."

Touch my very heart…

Isobella's breath was wrenched from her throat. That was it. That was what Bane had managed to do with one glance, one softly spoken word, one caress.

It should be impossible. She was not even sure who or what he was. But she could not deny the truth.

"Have ye allowed him to kiss ye?"

"Isobella," Katherine breathed in embarrassment.

"Well?"

Dropping her gaze, her sister allowed a mysterious smile to curve her lips.

"Only once. It was after the spring fair and he escorted me back to the castle."

"And ye enjoyed it?"

Her smile widened. "It was the most wonderful moment in my life."

Och, yes. So wondrous that it stole a woman's very wits.

"What did ye feel?"

"My heart was beating so swiftly I thought it might leap from my chest and my palms became sweaty. And…"

"What?"

Katherine pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. "I possessed the most embarrassing urge to rip off my clothes so that I could feel his hands upon my skin," she confessed in low tones. "Shocking, is it not?"

Isobella smiled wryly, recalling precisely how magical it had been to have Bane's hands upon her bare skin. And how she still ached with unfulfilled desire.

"Not so shocking," she muttered.

A frown touched her sister's brow as she slowly lowered her hands.

"Isobella, have ye discovered some man whom ye desire?"

Isobella clenched her hands at her sides. She had wanted to believe the power Bane held over her was a spell. Some bewitchment that could steal her will and force her to do his bidding.

It would be far easier to forgive herself for her treacherous feelings.

"I wish it were so simple," she admitted in weary tones.

Katherine eyed her with open concern. "My love, what is it?"

Squaring her shoulders, Isobella gave a shake of her head. Time was slipping away. She could waste no more.

"I really must go, Katherine."

"Where are ye going?"

"To the village." Moving forward, Isobella gently kissed her sister before hurrying toward the door. "I shall return as soon as I am able."

Pausing only long enough to gather a wedge of cheese from the kitchens to ease her hunger, Isobella hurried from the castle and traveled the well-worn path to the village. Her hurried pace was predictably slowed as she came to the tightly packed shops and cottages.

She had devoted a considerable amount of her own wealth and efforts to helping the various merchants and craftsmen establish their various trades. It was difficult to walk down the street without being pulled aside to admire a newly fired urn or taste of a freshly baked pie. Or to remark upon a baby's new tooth.

As a rule, she enjoyed her visits to the village. She enjoyed being among those who valued her opinion and did not consider her strong will an embarrassing fault, but rather something to be rejoiced.

Today, however, she found herself increasingly impatient with those who crowded about her. She needed to be left in peace so she could be about her business. She needed to be done before night fell and she might risk encountering Bane once again.

At last having greeted all who approached and promised to consider the handful of problems that were always brought to her, Isobella was able to slip away and continue her path to the jagged hills beyond the cottages.

Silence cloaked about her as the moorland was left behind and she climbed ever upward. The surroundings were harsh but beautiful in their simple way, and Isobella paused for a moment to appreciate the sight of her father's castle below and the distant loch.

The untamed wilderness appealed to her Scots blood, but it was rare that she ever traveled beyond the village. As with the misty glen, these hills were shadowed by the Beast, and only the most daring would linger among the heather.

Giving a small shake of her head, Isobella returned her straying attention to the matter at hand. Above her she could make out the ancient stone cottage that clung to the hard ground.

It was the cottage that had once belonged to the betrayed bard.

And the place she hoped would hold the answer to the ghastly curse.

Not allowing herself to consider the fear trickling down her spine, Isobella clambered over the large rocks that now blocked the path and forced herself to push open the wooden door barring her entrance.

Just for a moment she nearly bolted. However, there was nothing in the simple room with its scrubbed table, chairs, and narrow bed in the corner to send a chill over her skin. In truth, it was astonishingly well tended for a cottage that had been abandoned near two hundred years before.

But there was no denying the unmistakable chill in the air or the haunting sadness that seemed nearly tangible.

Sucking in a deep breath, she at last forced her heavy feet to enter. Once inside she briefly faltered, but when no horrid Beast charged from the shadows and the thatched roof remained firmly in place, she cautiously moved forward.

She was not certain what it was she searched for. Something mystical, she supposed. Something that would reveal the soul and heart of the Beast.

Whatever the blazes that might be, she wryly acknowledged, crossing toward the shelves that held a few pieces of crockery and neatly stacked tunics that had long been forgotten. Nothing mystic there, or in the deep chest that held an exquisitely carved Lude harp lovingly wrapped in silk.

Carefully Isobella stroked the glossy wood of the instrument, startled by the odd tingle that raced through her fingers.

This had once belonged to the bard. A simple man who had loved so deeply and passionately that his beloved's betrayal could echo through all eternity.

Against her will the image of a young, innocent man joyfully playing upon his harp rose to her mind. When he had left this cottage, he could have no notion that he was heading into a villainous trap devised by her ancestors. Or that his beloved was already plotting to betray him.

Her heart grew heavy. Such terrible sadness. Such grief.

She could feel it in every part of her.

"Lady Isobella."

The soft, rasping voice had Isobella abruptly turning about, her hand pressed to her leaping heart.

Thankfully she swiftly discovered the intruder was no frightening monster come to devour her. Or even a ghost she had unwittingly stirred into existence.

Instead an elderly woman with a deeply lined countenance and stooped form regarded her with glittering black eyes.

"Forgive me," Isobella murmured with a shaky smile. "I thought this cottage deserted."

The woman waved a gnarled hand. "I tend to it on occasion. Twould be a shame to watch it crumble to dust."

"Ah, I did wonder how it remained so tidy," Isobella confessed.

"Most would tell ye 'tis because of the curse." The black gaze peered at Isobella with discomforting intensity. "This was once the home of the bard."

"Yes, I ken as much."

"What is it ye seek?"

Caught off guard by the abrupt question, Isobella discovered herself unable to conjure a suitable story to explain her presence. Although she was uncertain that she would even attempt a lie. Not with that unnerving gaze seeming to pierce to her very heart.

"The truth, I suppose."

The tiny head tilted to one side, her expression one of curiosity.

"Of the bard?"

Isobella briefly glanced toward the forgotten harp before attempting to harden her heart By all that was holy, she did not want to pity the man who had once called this cottage home. Not at the cost of losing Katherine.

"Of the monster who will take my sister," she corrected in stern tones.

"He wasnae always a monster, ye ken," the woman said gently. "Once he was a simple man who loved a maid and was betrayed."

She clenched her hands at her side. "He possesses my sympathy, but those that betrayed him are long dead."

"There are some wounds more difficult to heal than others."

Isobella gave a restless shake of her head. "I dinnae have the time for his wounds to heal."

There was a long pause as the woman regarded Isobella with a strange expression. "So ye will kill the Beast?"

"Can he be killed?"

"Aye." The woman stepped closer, bringing with her the faint scent of roses. "Sunlight or a wooden stake to the heart would be the end of him."

Isobella's heart gave a sudden jerk. For her entire life she had been warned that the Beast could not be killed. At least not by a mere mortal being. It was a creature of magic, her father had blustered, and would slay any who would dare to hunt it.

Even when Isobella had at last given in to her inner urgings and sought out the Beast, she had not truly believed she could best it. She had simply come to a place where she could no longer bear to stand aside and await fate.

Now she was not at all certain what she felt. Elation? Dread? Utter terror?

"A wooden stake?" she breathed. "And he would… stay dead?"

"For all eternity." The woman reached out to lightly touch Isobella's cheek. Her fingers were cold, but oddly comforting. "Tell me, Lady Isobella, what would ye do for love?"

Isobella blinked in confusion. "What do ye mean?"

"Would ye kill for love?"

An icy sensation clutched at her heart. A few days ago she would not have hesitated with her answer. She would have sworn to do anything to keep her sister alive. Including killing whatever threatened her.

Suddenly she was not nearly so certain.

The Foster laird had slain the bard without mercy and without conscience, cursing his clan for all eternity.

Could further death truly bring an end to the suffering?

She gave a slow shake of her head. "I thought I could, but now I dinnae know."

"Would ye offer sacrifice?" the old woman rasped.

"Sacrifice? Sacrifice what?"

"Whatever ye must, even yer own life."

Isobella met the glittering gaze squarely. "Aye, that I would do," she said without hesitation.

The old woman smiled. "Such love has the power to alter destiny. That is the only weapon ye shall need."

Clasping Isobella's hands with her own, the woman whispered beneath her breath, and Isobella felt something pressing into her palm. Glancing down, she realized that she now held two miniature portraits. One of a pretty maiden with golden red hair and the other a handsome, dark-haired man with silver eyes.

Her breath caught in shock as she realized she was looking at the images of the bard and his treacherous lover.

An image of Bane…

The Beast of MacDonnell.

Lifting her head, she was not at all surprised to discover the old woman had disappeared from the cottage.

She had given Isobella the answers she had sought.

It was now up to her to decide if she possessed the courage to do what must be done.

Indifferent to the fear he was spreading throughout the countryside, Bane charged his way through the darkness. It had been agony awaiting the sun to set so he could leave the protection of the mist and search out the woman who refused to leave him in peace.

He had sensed the precise moment she had entered his cottage. He had been curious but not overly concerned by her intrusion into his long-lost home. There was nothing there to harm her, and at least she was not torturing him by seeking him out once again.

But then the mysterious witch had appeared at her side and his curiosity had altered to wary unease.

Throughout the centuries he had been visited by the witch who had taken him from his grave.

She had never offered her reasons for snatching him from death. Nothing beyond her hatred for the laird that had cast her out of his clan. Nor had she ever spoken of the curse that he had placed upon the Fosters.

Instead she had remained enigmatic and inclined to speak in riddles that held no sense.

He did not trust her. Not at least with Isobella.

Reaching the cottage that had once held his youthful dreams, Bane slipped through the door and prepared himself for battle.

It took only a moment to realize the witch had already disappeared and that Isobella was alone. She was seated on the edge of his bed, her head bent and her face hidden by the thick fall of her fiery curls.

He should leave, he told himself. It was obvious she was in no danger.

But even as he commanded himself to return to the mist, his feet were carrying him forward and his hand was reaching out to lightly stroke her hair.

He could physically feel the pain in her heart. The witch had clearly troubled her. How could he leave without attempting to offer her comfort?

"Isobella?" he murmured softly.

Her head abruptly lifted, but there was no surprise upon her countenance. She had obviously sensed his presence the moment he had arrived.

"Bane."

He felt a jolt of pain at the shadows in her eyes. "Are ye harmed?"

"Nay, I am fine."

"Ye are certain?"

"Of course." A frown tugged at her brows. "What is it?"

"I sensed…" Bane abruptly broke off his words. Perhaps the witch had not made her presence known to Isobella. There was no need to frighten the poor lassie if she had not been bothered. "I thought ye might be in danger."