"Am I your heart?" she asked, shaking free of her sated lethargy just enough to wrap her arms around him.
Jankyn smiled at her and brushed his lips over hers. "Aye, ye are. Did ye doubt it, lass?"
"A wee bit," she murmured. "Ye left me."
"Aye, to keep ye safe, to let ye find a mon who could walk in the sun with ye and fill your home with bairns. I left heart and soul behind in your wee hands, love, but I thought it was for the best."
"Weel, ye were wrong."
Before he could respond, there was a pounding on his door, and Cathal's voice cut through the thick wood. "I have the priest here. I am nay sure if our Father James will be performing a wedding or muttering last rites o'er Jankyn, but ye have five minutes ere I come in to see for myself which will be required."
Efrica echoed Jankyn's curse as they scrambled out of the bed and hurried to get dressed. Even if they stepped out of the chamber fully dressed, Efrica was certain everyone would easily guess what she and Jankyn had just been doing. Five minutes was not enough time to hide kiss-swollen lips, tidy her badly tousled hair, or find something to hide the telltale mark upon her neck.
When Jankyn opened the door, took her by the hand, and stepped out into the cavern, Efrica felt a blush heat her cheeks. Cathal, Bridget, Father James, and every Pureblood in the place stared at her and Jankyn, then stared at her neck. There was a brief moment of utter silence, then cheers and congratulations. Efrica was still reeling in surprise when Agnes and Bridget dragged her off to Agnes's chambers to try to make her look less debauched and more like a bride.
It was not until she was being escorted back to Jankyn, her hair brushed and decorated with ribbons, that Efrica realized she had been given no warnings, no words of advice, and asked no questions. "Are ye nay going to say anything, Bridget?" she asked her sister.
"Nay, ye have made your decision verra clear." She met Efrica's frown with a little smile. "The mark, Efrica. I ken, mayhap better than any other, that ye would ne'er have allowed him to mark ye as his mate unless ye were fully committed—heart, soul, and mind. Aye, and Jankyn would ne'er have marked ye his mate unless he felt the same."
Agnes patted her arm. "I ken 'tis difficult for ye who arenae born MacNachtons to understand, but when Jankyn took from ye e'en as he gave to ye, the bond was made and it cannae be broken."
Efrica blushed, realizing that everyone knew exactly when she had been given her mark. Then Jankyn was at her side, taking her hand in his and tugging her before the priest. He looked so proud, so pleased, she lost the last of her embarrassment Smiling at him as she knelt by his side, she repeated her vows in a clear, steady voice. As Jankyn spoke his vows, she knew he meant each and every word.
The soft light from many candles gave Jankyn's skin an intriguing glow, Efrica decided as she ran her fingers up and down his strong arm. The celebration of their marriage had been all any bride could hope for, and Efrica felt truly welcomed into the clan. There was little of the anger and resentment that Bridget's marriage to Cathal had caused. She suspected each child born to the clan had thrown a little more water on the lingering fires of rebellion within the clan.
Jankyn moved to lie beside her, propping himself up on one elbow. "What are ye thinking of, love?"
"That the Purebloods are finally seeing that your laird is right, that the MacNachtons cannae remain alone, a breed apart, and survive."
Idly caressing her stomach, Jankyn nodded then sighed. "Love, I dinnae say this to give ye hope as it might prove a false one, but I am nay as pure of blood as I thought. There is more Outsider blood in me than the wee drop or two I thought I had. In the days when the Nightriders rode, spreading fear and death, some of my direct ancestors also spread their seed. The bairns born of those unions were usually cast out to die, considered demons and the devil's evil spawn, but my kinsmen saved a few. The ones saved were my ancestors. They married Purebloods, of course, so I cannae say how much Outsider blood I have, but 'tis more than I was led to believe. It doesnae, however, mean that I can give ye a bairn. I—" He frowned beneath the silencing finger she placed against his lips.
"It was obviously enough."
Jankyn inhaled so swiftly, he coughed. "What do ye mean?"
"I mean that I already carry your child." She grinned at his look of shock.
"But ye spoke earlier as if ye still feared there would be no bairns."
"I spoke thus because I needed ye to ken that it didnae matter to me, needed ye to believe it. This may be the only bairn we e'er have, and I needed ye to understand that it truly doesnae matter."
He held his hand flat against her stomach and whispered, "Are ye certain?"
"That, my bonnie husband, is one thing a Callan always kens for certain." She felt tears sting her eyes when he tenderly kissed her stomach. "Ye are pleased?"
"Och, daft lass. I was pleased beyond words that ye came after me, that ye wished to be my true mate. This? This is a miracle, a gift from God that leaves me truly humble." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. "I love ye, my wee cat. I dinnae deserve such happiness, but I will accept and hold fast to it. I will spend my life making sure ye ne'er regret becoming my wife, my mate."
"Just love me, Jankyn. 'Tis all I need. Weel, that and, mayhap, ye making me purr now and then."
Jankyn laughed. "How about now?"
"’Twill do for a start."
HIS ETERNAL BRIDE
Adrienne Basso
Chapter One
Scottish Highlands
Late summer, 1321
A clash of swords, anguished cries, and the coppery scent of fresh blood shattered the peaceful calm of the night. Anaxandra's legs tightened instinctively around her mount as she halted her horse, which was ambling through the forest at a slow gait. Stiffening, she raised her head, her ears alert to every sound.
Her companion pulled beside her, negotiating the densely wooded path with difficulty. "The sounds of battle are near," he said, his brow knitting together with concern. "These Highlanders are said to be a fierce and combative race, and they enjoy pursuing their enemies at night."
Anaxandra smiled. "I know. 'Tis why I wanted to come, so I could see it for myself."
A high-pitched scream wretched through the air, causing the horses to jump and paw the ground nervously. It took effort to calm the jittery beasts.
"We should come away," Anaxandra's companion, Randulf, urged, tugging on the sleeve of her gown. But Anaxandra ignored the summons, and turned her mount toward the sounds of the fighting. Under her command, the animal increased its stride, bringing her deeper into the low-hanging forest, ever closer to danger.
She did not bother to check if Randulf followed, confident he would obey her directive. Perhaps it was reckless to venture so near a battle, but danger of any sort was always appealing to Anaxandra.
She was a female who did as she pleased, who followed her whims and allowed her passionate and volatile nature to rule her actions. She was a creature of power and influence among her kind, and though many had tried, there was no male who dominated her life or made demands upon her person.
The long-suffering Randulf was her self-appointed guardian, and she tolerated his presence because he amused her. He, in turn, worshipped Anaxandra, defending her against all criticism and tolerating without complaint her uneven moods and streaks of temper.
The noise of the fighting grew louder as they followed a rocky outcropping up a hill until they reached the crest. The pair tried to remain as quiet as possible, fearing detection, but they soon discovered this precaution was unnecessary.
In the small clearing below, two groups of men fought with fierce determination, unaware of anything but the struggle that consumed them. The sides were composed of uneven numbers, but it soon became apparent that the smaller force possessed the greater fighting skills.
"English," Randulf whispered in her ear. "They have more men, yet they appear to be losing this fight."
Anaxandra nodded in agreement. The English knight
s were mounted on destriers protected by armor and carried both sword and shield. Battle-axes, billhooks, and iron ball-and-chains hung from their belts. Their faces were obscured by helmets, but even at this distance Anaxandra could see their eyes were filled with hatred.
Ignoring Randulf's pleas to stay hidden, Anaxandra urged her horse closer, craving a better view. The Highlanders were mounted on smaller horses, and neither man nor beast wore armor. The Scots carried no shields, only large, long-bladed swords they lifted with both hands as they attacked.
The initial impact of those heavy swords upon ironclad flesh was horrendous. One by one the English knights were gradually unseated, and they dropped like stones upon the hard ground.
Those who were not dead or unconscious soon rose to their feet, swords drawn. A few of the Highlanders also dismounted, ready to engage their enemy in final combat. The melee that followed was horrific, but one Highland warrior quickly caught Anaxandra's eye, for he fought not only with strength and skill but with absolute confidence.
He hacked his way through the center of the English, and when he lost his sword, he flipped his opponent's helmet off and elbowed the man in the face, snapping his head back. The knight staggered for a moment, then came back for more.
The Highlander was ready. He punched him in the face, striking his nose. Blood spurted in a high arch as the bigger man reeled and fell, clutching his face in agony.
"Callum!"
The Highlander turned at the call, easily catching the claymore that was tossed his way. He wiped the blood off his palm down the front of his shirt, then transferred the weapon to his dry hand.
Sword held high above his head, the Highlander charged toward three knights, letting out the most terrifying, barbaric snarl Anaxandra had ever heard uttered from human lips.
The sound made every hair on her body stand up as if in response.
"He is magnificent," she whispered in awe.
Her gaze remained riveted on his face. It was strong, arrogant, fearless. In the moonlight his eyes were a silvery blue. Cold, piercing, and deadly, they were filled with a mad glint of bloodlust. Anaxandra shivered with delight.
Soon, only one English knight remained, cornered against a large tree trunk. A ring of Scots encircled him.
"What do ye say, lads?" a Highlander on horseback called out. "Should we show him mercy?"
"English swine. They killed innocent women and children and tortured an old man for amusement." The Scottish warrior turned his head and spat. "Skewer the bastard."
The deed was accomplished swiftly and with far too much mercy for Anaxandra's taste.
The tension of the night eased, and the mood of the soldiers turned jovial. Laughing and joking, the Highlanders quickly stripped their vanquished enemies of armor, weapons, and clothing.
"Shall we bury the dead?" one man asked.
"No," the man called Callum replied. "Leave them for the wolves and vultures. 'Tis what they deserve."
Weighed down with their spoils, the Highlanders departed the glen, leaving behind a tangle of naked bodies, the ground on which they lay steeped in blood.
There was deadly silence once they had departed. Anaxandra slid from her horse and walked among the carnage, her mind replaying the intense battle and the skill of one Scottish warrior in particular. She had to see him again!
How long Anaxandra stood there, she could not say. A restless stirring beside her roused her from her near catatonic state.
"The bodies are still warm," Randulf announced. "'Tis foolish to waste such bounty."
Anaxandra's stomach lurched. She usually enjoyed the hunt as much as the kill, but on occasion was not averse to have others do the work. Yet for some reason the notion held little appeal.
"I have no need of sustenance," she said. "If you wish to feast, be quick."
With a cry of glee, Randulf fell upon the bodies and the sounds of his suckling cut through the silence. Anaxandra mounted her horse and waited impatiently for him to finish. Finally sated, he returned, and Anaxandra led the way through the dense forest.
They came through the woods on the fringe of the keep and tied their horses to a fallen tree trunk. Through the darkness, a noisy celebration could be heard from behind the stone walls that encircled the castle.
"We walk from here," Anaxandra announced.
"What?" Randulf exclaimed. "You cannot enter that dwelling. These Highlanders are a close, tight-knit group that do not take kindly to strangers. You saw what they did to the English."
"But I am not their enemy," Anaxandra retorted. "They will have no cause to harm me."
"Lucifer's horns!" Randulf cursed loudly and hurried to keep stride with Anaxandra. "Unescorted females do not suddenly appear on the doorstep in the middle of the night Your arrival will cause great suspicion and raise questions you cannot answer."
"I can hardly arrive in the daytime with a proper escort and chaperon," Anaxandra snapped.
"You should not go at all!" Randulf insisted, and when Anaxandra did not stop walking, he hissed, "Your stubborn defiance will get you killed."
"It will take more than a broad Scottish sword to end my existence," Anaxandra retorted.
Her step did not falter even when she realized that Randulf did not follow. Perhaps it was best—it should be easier for one, rather than two, to slip in unobserved. Though her heart pumped in a nervous beat, Anaxandra did not slow as she drew closer to the castle.
The keep was a large, two-story structure with a square tower on each of the four corners. A walkway connected the corners, and there were sentries posted at equal intervals across its entire length. Obviously, the clan had made good use of the abundant amount of stone in the area, having constructed the majority of the dwelling from it.
For further protection, there was an outer wall of stone. A sturdy log bridge provided the only entrance through this formidable barrier. The bridge was lowered and crowded with people intent on entering the castle to join in the celebration.
Anaxandra quietly joined their ranks and passed through the great curtained wall of stone without incident. With hood drawn and head bowed, she entered the great hall. As she had predicted, there was so much jovial excitement that no one initially questioned her presence or challenged her attendance.
Still, Anaxandra tried to keep to the shadows. But the lime-whited walls of the great hall reflected the light from the many torches positioned throughout the room, giving it a brightness she found disconcerting. There was such a crush of people she was hardly noticed, yet as she strayed too far into the center of the room, a group of young women gathered together in a circle tossed her curious looks.
Anaxandra pulled back to the edges of the wall, trying to lose their gaze. Though she had spouted words of bravado in front of Randulf, she was not a fool. There would be no way to protect or defend herself if anyone decided to question her.
She also knew her greatest threat would come from the women, not the men. Anaxandra's erotic beauty had always been cause for great jealousy among females. It was part of the reason she had always roamed so freely in the mortal world—it helped to avoid the malice of the other females of her kind.
She lifted a flagon of ale from a servant hurrying by with a full tray, then drank and watched, searching for her warrior. She expected him to be seated in a place of honor, but there was no high table on a raised dais in this hall, only rows of wooden tables set at equal heights.
The tables were filled with boisterous men and women, eating, drinking, laughing, and singing. A few were even dancing. Servants scurried along with a hurried purpose, attempting to keep the trenchers full of food and the drinking vessels topped with ale and wine.
Anaxandra continued to cling to the edges of the hall, the rushes beneath her feet giving off the fresh sweet scent of mint with each step she took. Her eyes continued to search among the many male faces in the hall, and just when she began to wonder if she would ever find her warrior again, he appeared.
He was garbed in
a clean white shirt, with a blue and black plaid worn casually over his left shoulder. His dark hair waved back from the broad plane of his brow and shoulders, and the hard line of his granite jaw softened as he laughed and joked with the men who surrounded him.
Fascinated, Anaxandra moved closer. In the light of the hall she could now see an expression of inner fire in his eyes, a fire so intense it threatened to consume all who dared to venture too close. It was that fire that had first captivated her, that she now craved.
She knew in that instant that fate had at long last bestowed upon her what she had always desired—a worthy mate. Never before had she beheld anyone who inspired such longing within her, who drew her close and held her fast. Surely he was more than a mere mortal man, for he'd cast a spell on her that she was powerless to break.
Anaxandra's heart raced with excitement. She had to get him alone! But how? He was surrounded by companions, clearly the center of attention. Her foot tapped impatiently on the hard stone floor until she realized he was drinking far more than he was eating. Eventually, he would have to leave the hall to answer nature's call.
Her observation proved true. Within the hour, the warrior left the circle of soldiers. She followed his progress doggedly with her eyes, then positioned herself in the archway where he exited.
The moment he returned from the garderobe, Anaxandra pushed herself directly in his path. Their eyes locked and Anaxandra's breath caught. She found herself lost, floating in the deep passion of his eyes, and for an instant she was speechless with wonder.
His brow lifted. "What are ye looking for, lass?"
"You," she whispered, feeling a flash of heat at the sound of his deep voice.
He smiled, revealing a row of strong, even white teeth. "Now, how can that be? We have no acquaintance with each other."
"Are you certain?" A slow, seductive smile spread across her face as she placed her hand against the center of his chest. His heart beat fiercely under her palm. Unable to resist, her fingers began to slip over the hard muscles. Anaxandra heard him suck in a sharp breath. "I know you well enough to give you great pleasure. And to take pleasure from you in return."
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