TemptationinTartan (25 page)

Hamish ignored the superstitious fear skittering down his
spine. “Mad, but clearly not a fae being who cannae tolerate sunlight.”

Angus jerked his head at Laird Kilborn. “I saw that creature
tear off my laird’s head and drink his blood!”

“The berserkers did the same, the ancient Vikings who came
to our shores to kill and pillage. ’Tis said that the Kilborns are their
heirs.”

“Angus MacReiver!” A high, clear voice stabbed through their
muttered conversation.

Hamish, the priest and Angus turned toward that commanding
tone.

Edgar MacReiver rode forth, guiding his pony around Kieran
Kilborn’s bigger horse.

“Edgar—” Kieran started, then said quietly, “Carefully,
lad.” His protectiveness couldn’t be mistaken.

Despite the shortness of his stature and that of his mount,
the boy sat tall, wearing his dignity like a cloak wrapped around his small
frame. “Angus MacReiver, are you my man?”

MacReiver almost fell off his horse in his eagerness to show
fealty. “Milaird, milaird, we though ye were dead!”

“Did you come and look?” Edgar snapped. “Or did you and the
rest of the gutless oafs with you tuck tail between your legs and run? Oh, I
see you, Fergus, Trinnian and Murdoch. You are all that is left of our men.
Where have you been?”

Silence.

“Where have you been while Kieran Kilborn took me in and fed
me at his table? Where have you been, while Kilborns rebuild our castle, farm
our land, protect our women and children. Where have you been?”

“Ye wouldnae need the protection of Kieran Kilborn were it
not for yon monster!” The priest pointed at the Dark Tower.

“What monster? I saw a strange old man who went mad from the
death of his brother and defended his clan.”

“Euan Kilborn was a vampire!” the priest shouted. “An
unholy, filthy monster!”

The Kilborns grew restless, hands dropping again to their
swords.

“There are no such things as vampires!” Edgar said. “Nor are
there kelpies, ghosts or redcaps.”

Kilborn urged his mount to stand beside Edgar’s. “Laird
Hamish, I’ve known ye all my life. For the first time, ye’ve let that foolish
priest of yours steal your good Scottish sense.”

Kilborn was right. Bitterness overtook Hamish and he glared
at the priest who had persuaded him to act against the interests of the clan.
They’d been unprepared to take Kilborn Castle.

“Why have the Lobsterbacks spared yer lands?” a voice
shouted from the skimpy group that pretended to be Hamish’s attacking army.

Kieran Kilborn shaded his eyes and squinted through the
bright sunlight. “MacLayne, is that ye?”

“Aye, I be a MacLayne. And our people have been sore tried
by the Sassenachs. Our laird was killed at Culloden. Our homes were burned and
our people murdered, exiled or starving to death. We have no weapons.” He
brandished a pitchfork. “We cannae wear the tartan. And there ye sit, holding a
claymore and wearin’ your plaidie. How be it but for a deal with the devil?”

“Nay, ’tis I.” said a female voice tinctured with a London
accent. Attired in red, Lydia, Lady Kilborn, sat on a black horse. Handling the
reins expertly, she guided her mount through the protective ring of Kilborns
guarding Laird Kieran. The soldiers pulled away to let her pass.

Kilborn swung around, brows beetled. “Owain, get the Lady
Lydia back into the bailey.”

“Nay.” Lydia Kilborn reached toward her husband and laid a
trembling hand on his sword arm. “’Tis apparent that the, er…gentleman is under
a misapprehension. He believes you have made a pact with the devil to spare our
clan from the clearances.”

A hush fell.

“Truly, I am not a devil or demon, just one English lady.”
She faced the attackers. “I am Lydia Swann–Williston Kilborn.”

The MacLayne drew back, discomfited. Angus MacReiver
frowned. Hamish Gwynn grimaced. The tide had more than turned. It was
positively rushing over them. The day had been nothing short of a disaster.

“Yes, Swann,” Lydia continued. “My cousin is Colonel Swann,
aide to Butch— um…General Cumberland. Part of my dowry to Laird Kilborn is
preferential treatment for Clan Kilborn.”

The MacLayne’s mouth gaped. And well he should gape, for
Lady Lydia gleamed like a ruby in the autumn sun, which drew out the deep red
tones in her dark hair.

“Ye need not make a pact with the devil to save your lands,”
Kieran Kilborn said, his voice gently mocking. “Merely a pact with the right
Sassenach lady.”

Hamish stayed still, aware of his failure, aware that
Kilborn could, if he wished, kill him in an instant. He realized bleakly that
p’raps now he’d learn if the tale was true, if Kieran Kilborn could indeed tear
the head off a man and drink his blood.

“Laird Hamish, I would have a private word with ye.” Kilborn
dismounted.

Hamish, lacking other options, did the same, following the
Kilborn as he strode a short distance away from the gathered warriors.

“I’ve no taste for more blood this day, despite the stories
ye’ve heard,” Kilborn said.

Hamish breathed easier.

“But a reckoning must be paid.” Kilborn gestured at the
smoking tower, the burning cottages. “Great damage has been caused to my
castle. Many of my people have lost their homes.”

Hamish bowed his head. “I’ll pay a fair price and more.”

“I’ll send ye the bill, and if it is not paid…” Kilborn
shrugged. “I think ye can see of what warcraft we are capable.”

Hamish nodded. He was lucky he remained alive. “Milaird, may
I speak frankly?”

Kilborn, looking surprised, nodded.

“Most chieftains would kill me or imprison me, demanding
ransom.”

Kilborn shrugged. “’Tis impractical. Aye, I could conquer
your lands and kill your people. But what for? We’d be overextended, our forces
stretched beyond their limits. ’Twould be foolish. Worse, ’twould draw too much
attention to our little corner of the Highlands.”

Hamish nodded. “Aye, I understand.”

“I’m glad ye do. Now get off my land.” Kilborn’s voice
hardened, and he gestured at the shreds of the invading army. “And take that
offal with ye.”

* * * * *

Sir Gareth allowed himself to float on the northward-flowing
current until he became cold and worse, bored. He swam toward the land with
sure strokes, wondering who would become his next meal. He hoped it would be a
Gwynn. Several Gwynns. P’raps he could go to Straithness. He crawled out onto a
stony beach and regarded the Celtic cross set high on the promontory above him,
aware it marked the boundary between Kilborn lands and Gwynn.

Then he remembered the promise he’d made to young Kieran.
“All right, then,” he grumbled, slouching southward. He’d take what he could
hunt and stay away from the Gwynns, despite the temptation.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lydia waited impatiently as Kieran and his men returned from
the parley. Then she and her laird rode triumphant into their castle after
victory in battle. They were greeted with great acclaim by their people, for
little Kilborn blood had spilled that evil afternoon.

Niall, who had bravely taken a shot to warn them all of the
peril, was resting in the Garrison Tower to heal with his family by his side.
He and his son were the heroes of the day. The only other injuries were to the
crofters’ bairns who, unfamiliar with the castle’s steep stairs, had suffered a
fair share of knees skinned and heads bumped on the unforgiving stone.

In the bailey, eager hands took Lydia’s borrowed mount and
led the horse to the stable. Same with their chieftain’s buckskin.

Then she led her husband upstairs to their bedroom and he
followed her with an eager stride. None stopped them, for Lydia strode too
swiftly for that. In the late autumn afternoon, the room was light, with shafts
of sunshine still stabbing through the arrow slits.

“We’ll have to be quick,” she said. “Dinnertime’s soon and
we’ll be expected in the Great Hall.”

“Aye, and we cannae let our pleasures interfere with duty,
can we?” Kieran’s black eyes gleamed.

She grinned and grabbed him by the shirt collar. Using both
hands, she tore downward. Buttons popped as he hurriedly unlaced his trews. He
sought her lips with his and clung. His kisses were short and desperate,
peppering her mouth, her cheeks, her neck, anything and everything he could
reach.

Still clothed, she knelt and tugged his trousers over his
thick member. It bobbed free and she captured it with her mouth. He tried to
kick his trews away, but they caught on his boots. He groaned and slid his
fingers into her hair, pressing her head to him with gentle hands.

She took all of him in her lust and need, fueled by sheer
relief. He was human, and he was hers. She hadn’t realized how much the
superstitious, wicked whispers of the priest had poisoned her mind against her
husband until daylight had burned away suspicion. How stupid she’d been!

The rest of Kier’s flesh was cool, yes, but his cock was
hot. Hot with the life-giving seed he’d pump into her…very soon.

She sucked him until her jaw ached, then pulled off his
boots.

“
Kylyrra
, ye’re wearing far too many clothes for my
taste.”

She turned, offering him the laces at her back. “You can
change that.”

He jerked at the cords with hasty fingers, snarling when one
broke in his hand. He tore them apart and tugged her dress down, exposing her
stays, which came off as quickly as their combined efforts could remove them.

Her chemise had stuck to her body from the day’s exertions.
She smelled of smoke and sweat and roses, all reminders of the many events.

Less than twelve hours before, she’d been sleeping
peacefully in the bed that Kier now pushed her toward. They’d arisen with joy,
looking forward to a happy and productive day.

Instead they’d endured battle and seen death many times
over.

“What a day,” she murmured, allowing Kier to bear her down
on the bedclothes.

His slow smile had a grim edge. “Aye. What a day. When I had
thought our clan’s troubles were over…”

“Nay. Remember you said that you expected an attack after
Euan’s murder?”

“Ye’re right. And I did double our guards and increase our
training.” He traced the curve of her cheekbone.

She raised herself on an elbow. “You’re so clever. You
predicted it all and prepared for it all. You’re beyond all words.”

“As are ye,
kylyrra
.” He kissed her lingeringly,
taking his time where she was impatient. He eased her down and tugged her
chemise open to expose her breasts. Pressing them together, he kneaded the
globes until she moaned. He flicked the nipples tight, then licked from the
valley between them down and beneath each, lapping as though her moisture were
the tastiest honey.

Down her body he nibbled, kissed and sucked, neglecting no
tender spot or needful bit of flesh. His tongue traced every curve, slid along
her belly to her sides, then back in, following the crease that joined leg to
pelvis, the line that led to the center of her desire for him.

She spread her legs and urged his head down. He chuckled and
obeyed, stretching out full-length on their bed. He licked and kissed before
raising his head to look at her. She had become accustomed to his intense
scrutiny, which no longer gave her shame or discomfort. Instead, she knew she
was the center of his world, just as he was the center of hers.

With a fingertip, he stroked up and down her folds, a different
caress than his tongue but delightful nevertheless. He thrust two fingers
inside her and curved them upward. An unexpected, sharp rush of feeling drew
her cry and a spasm, a quick release that snapped through her body but left her
wanting more.

He pulled out of her and replaced his fingers with his lips,
and she maneuvered herself so she could plunge her mouth over his hard cock at
the same time he sucked her pearl. With her body undulating against his, she
could feel as well as hear his rumbling groans of pleasure as she ran her
tongue up and down his length.

She loosened her neck muscles to take him in fully and
swallowed, feeling him fill the back of her throat. It was a difficult maneuver
but one that he enjoyed immensely, so she didn’t begrudge him the extra effort.

He gripped her buttocks convulsively and tore his mouth away
from her quim as he gave a strangled groan of completion. She pulled her mouth
away so she had just the round tip of his rod between her lips, and gripped the
base of his cock in her fist, pumping until he released thick jets of seed.

He rolled away from her, panting, his pale skin slick with
sweat. While they relaxed, he idly fondled her pearl, stroking until she moaned
anew.

* * * * *

“I’m right pleased with ye, lad,” Kieran told Edgar as they
sat at the laird’s table before dinner.

Lydia watched the boy’s chest expand with pride before
smiling at his struggle to control himself. “Yes, it went well, didn’t it?” he
said, but couldn’t quite conceal a trace of complacency.

Kieran chuckled and gently cuffed his arm. “Get ye gone to
enjoy the attention of the lassies.”

Indeed, a cluster of girls lingered by the Great Hall’s
hearth, staring up at Edgar, who’d cocked a jaunty hip and leaned onto the
table while talking with Lydia and Kier. But he eyed the girls and frowned.

“What ails ye, lad?”

“They want to touch me all over. Some of them almost
slobber.” He wrinkled his nose. “It’s…creepy.”

Kier turned away and bit down on his lower lip, visibly
trying not to laugh. Lydia grinned. “Try to talk with them. They only want to
be friends.”

“Well, all right,” Edgar grumbled.

“Before you go, come here for a moment,” she said. “If you
would.”

He complied. She turned on her stool so she could face him,
setting her hands on each of his shoulders to look him in the eyes. “Edgar, I
heard what you said to your men…do you resent what has happened? Do you resent
us?”

Blond brows drew together. “Resent?”

“Are you angry inside? At us?”

After a pause, he answered, “No…though I wish matters had
turned out differently.” He looked away from her and blinked away moisture
before returning his gaze. “I care about you, but…I wish I hadn’t caused my
mother’s death.”

She sucked in a shocked breath. “Edgar—”

“Everyone blamed me. Please don’t deny it.”

She clapped her hands to her mouth and let Kier handle the
situation. He knelt by the boy’s side. “Lad, women die in childbirth all too
often. My own mam died bearing me. Ye shouldnae feel bad about that. Isnae your
fault! It happens.”

Edgar bit his lip. Lydia remembered what Moira had said,
long weeks ago on the parapet. “I know what happened to his mother,” Lydia had
said. “She died in childbirth.”

“Did she now?” Moira had answered, her laugh high,
shrill…witchlike.

Lydia wondered if she should pursue the question and quickly
decided against it. Moira had been pure deceit and evil. She would have mouthed
any lie to tempt Lydia into the tower or to drive a wedge between Lydia and
Kier.

She came back to herself to see Kier ruffle Edgar’s hair.
“Your guilt is profitless,” Kieran said. “Matters are…as they are.”

“Aye, and I cannot complain.”

Kier grinned down at the girls by the hearth and gave the
boy a little shove. “Now go and enjoy yourself.”

Lydia tugged on Kier’s sleeve, turning him. “He behaves as
though flirting with the girls is his duty.”

“He’s young yet.” Kier continued to smile.

Most of the clan had gathered for the evening meal, though
guards still watched from the highest wall-walk and patrolled the perimeter.
Owain and Kendrick weren’t present. Along with a company of two score Kilborn
soldiers, they escorted the remains of the Gwynn forces off Kilborn lands.

Fenella, Grizel and the rest of the castle servants had
worked hard to find places for the displaced clanspeople. Niall and his family
remained abovestairs, and old Mhairi said that the fisherman would heal in
time. Between Niall and Rose, the elderly Mhairi had been run ragged. But now
Rose sat with Dirk, cuddling their baby, named Victor in honor of the day.

* * * * *

Later, after they’d had their bath, Kier sprawled naked on
their bed and patted a spot beside him. She hung back. He smiled at her. “Ye
were fair magnificent today.”

“I?” She remembered her husband, gleaming in the sun, seated
on his golden charger, the moment she’d realized he was wholly human. An
extraordinary man, yes. But a man, not a monster. “You faced down a mob backed
by only six men and a boy. And you kept your temper admirably.”

Sitting up, he raised a dark brow. “Were ye afeared that I’d
take Laird Hamish’s head and drink his blood?”

She hesitated. “Frankly, yes.”

“It never crossed my mind.”

“It didn’t really cross your mind, um…before. With the
MacReiver.”

“Aye. Then I just…did it. I dinnae ken the difference, but
today I had the chance to wait, and watch, and think. I could see that the
attack was ill-planned and poorly executed.” He sniffed, his upper lip curling.
“Hamish Gwynn should stick to prayer. He’s no warrior.”

“We are lucky he is so incompetent.” She sat near him.

“Aye, matters would have turned out differently had I torn off
Hamish Gwynn’s head.” He grinned. “I felt ’twas best to control my baser
impulses.”

“I’m not sure we should jest about it.” She bent her knees
and wrapped her arms around them.

“Some things are so terrible that only a jest will rob them
of their power.”

“P’raps. But truly I am happy you controlled yourself.”

“I had a chance to consider matters calmly. ’Tis a better
way, I think. Now we still have an ally, but one who owes us tribute.”

“How much?”

“I dinnae ken, yet. We will need timber, I believe, quite a
lot of it to rebuild the huts. I dinnae want to cut our forests. The Gwynn can
provide that, and the labor also.” He stretched out a hand toward her. “But
enough about clan business.
Kylyrra,
ye were so brave and so beautiful.
So beautiful it hurt my heart to look at ye. I still cannae believe ye’re
mine.” His voice had dropped to a husky, seductive whisper.

She managed to curve her lips in a smile but said, “Husband,
we must talk.”

He raised a brow and couldn’t stop an expression of
exasperation from crossing his face. “Milady, cannae we just enjoy a tup? For
we emerged from battle victorious today.”

“A battle that should not have been necessary.”

“Aye. Hamish Gwynn should have kenned better.” His voice was
impish but his manner uneasy.

She sat next to him but didn’t touch his thigh, strong and
muscular, so tempting and near. “In many rumors, there is a kernel of truth.
Husband, I must know. What are vampires?”

He sighed while closing his eyes, as though gathering his
thoughts…p’raps deciding how to censor his words?

“Everything,” she said. “The truth. All of it. Don’t force
me to go back to that priest and his numb-witted half-truths.”

He opened his lids and glared at her. “Ye spoke of us to the
priest?”

Bloody hell. She shouldn’t have told him that. “I asked
about the strange manner of Euan’s death, since neither you nor Dugald cared to
tell me the truth!”

“Ye may have been a part of the attack on us, do ye ken?
What did the priest tell ye?”

“A load of what you would call superstitious twaddle. About
bats and rats. An inability to tolerate sunlight and, er…garlic.”

He huffed.

“He also said vampires drink blood, are unnaturally strong
and prefer the night. Rather like you. That they are neither alive nor dead,
but in a state he called undead, that their flesh is strangely cool to the
touch because of that. Like yours. That they have midnight-black hair and eyes,
like yours.”

“But not like Sir Gareth’s.”

“True. The priest said also that vampires can be killed by
stabbing through the heart, beheading or burning, and to be safe, all three
should be employed.” She wondered why she was telling her husband all this,
certain she was earning herself another whipping.

“Aye. ’Twas chance that the Butcher Cumberland made certain
that every wounded Scot was stabbed through the body and then the corpses were
burned.”

“So there’s no chance he knew? That he planned to make sure
your father and brother were dead?”

“I dinnae believe so.” He sighed. “So. Is the priest’s talk
why ye’ve been watching me like a mother bear with her cub these last few
weeks?”

She nodded. “’Twasn’t ’til today I was sure, because there’s
rarely any sunlight around here.”