Highland Vampire

by Deborah Raleigh

  As the mood of the clan grew restless and edgy, the initial sympathy toward Maev began to wane. It worried Brenda, for she knew there were many who now viewed her daughter with great suspicion and believed she was somehow part of this heinous event.

  Suddenly, the bedchamber door burst open and the laird came charging through it. He was encircled by a ring of his most loyal warriors, and from the thunderous expression on his face, she knew there had been more trouble.

  Brenda's stomach clenched at the sight of them. "What is it? What has happened?" she asked worriedly.

  The laird ignored Brenda's question and looked beyond her, firing a glance of hatred at Maev so strong it pierced Brenda's soul. She knew he blamed Maev for Callum's death, but it seemed ludicrous to think her helpless, grief-stricken daughter had had anything to do with his nephew's demise.

  "Callum's grave has been desecrated, his body taken," the laird announced. "I want to hear what Maev has to say about it."

  Brenda caught her breath at the accusation. "Maev is weaker than a kitten, flat on her back and wallowing in grief and misery. She hasna the strength to walk to the garderobe, let alone dig up a grave."

  "'Tis sorcery," one of the men declared hotly. "The work of the devil and the devil's handmaiden."

  "Aye," another agreed. "We should bury her in the grave she has robbed and leave her there till her flesh rots from her bones."

  Brenda gasped. She glanced wildly from side to side, but the men were blocking the doorway, cutting off the only avenue of escape. Besides, she could not leave without Maev, and her poor daughter was in no condition to flee.

  The thought resonated with frightening clarity in Brenda's mind, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Her lips began to move in quiet prayer as the men argued over Maev's fate.

  "If we kill her, the magic could get stronger. It might be wiser to banish her."

  "Aye, set her far away from all decent folk."

  "No," Brenda shouted with newfound vehemence. She opened her eyes and turned frantically from one man to the next, but their faces all held the same expression of vengeance.

  The heir was dead, his body taken, and someone had to pay. Many had always been suspicious of Maev's origins, and now they believed they had proof she possessed evil powers.

  "There is an ancient stone tower on the northern border of the McGinnis lands," the laird said. "Bring her there, and tell her if she ever ventures farther than a mile or two from it, she will be put to death."

  "She will die if ye leave her alone out there," Brenda cried. Panic tightened her chest. She practically threw herself at the laird, clinging tightly to his plaid as she pleaded for her daughter's life. "Ye must not do this to her. She has done nothing, nothing!"

  The laird's expression would have chilled the sun. "My nephew is dead, his body taken. Clearly, sorcery is the cause."

  "But how can ye blame Maev?"

  The laird's lips twisted with disgust. He spoke tightly. "She is alive."

  Silence filled the air around them. "If ye send her away, then I'm going with her," Brenda declared.

  "Think hard upon yer decision. If ye go, ye may never return."

  "She is my child. And she is innocent."

  The laird had no reply. Brenda felt as if the world were spinning crazily around her. Thankfully, her righteous anger kept her moving at a lightning pace. She was given little time to prepare for the journey. Brenda quickly dressed an unresponsive Maev in a warm gown, then insisted that the trunks containing her daughter's dowry be loaded in the cart.

  Fearing to leave Maev alone with the men for even a minute left Brenda no time to gather any of her personal belongings from her cottage, but she gave it nary a passing thought. Her main concern was for her daughter, whose head she held in her lap throughout the long journey as the cart bumped and swayed over the uneven terrain.

  As they climbed higher in the mountains, the air became cooler, the woods thicker. Finally the men stopped beside a tall, round, stone tower. It stood on a low ledge at the mountain's peak, weathered and abandoned, with thick vines clinging up the sides. The entrance door swung in the desolate wind, its hinges creaking.

  Brenda saw no signs of life. It was so quiet, she could hear her breath catching in her throat. After unloading the women's possessions, the escort of men turned and left, saying nothing.

  With her arms clasped firmly around Maev's waist, Brenda led her daughter into the dwelling. It was dark and gloomy, with sections of the stone floor and walls missing. They both shivered as the wind whistled through the openings and swirled against their legs.

  There were no candles or torches to light, though in truth Brenda was not anxious to illuminate the area. She had already spotted several piles of rat dung and could only imagine what other wild creatures had found sanctuary within the tower.

  There was a lone wooden stool pushed near the cold hearth. Brenda set Maev upon it, propping her shoulder against the wall so she would not topple over. She took a deep breath and tried to force her mind to formulate a plan of action, biting her lips when she could not get her thoughts organized.

  The place was a hovel. Crumbling, remote, isolated, lacking in even the basic necessities. It was barbaric to be expected to live here for the rest of their lives. As Brenda looked around her, the final vestiges of hope she had been clinging to throughout this ordeal began to fade. She sank to her knees and began weeping.

  To what manner of hell had they been condemned?

  Chapter Three

  Three years later

  As she stood braving the harsh elements on the rampart of the tall, narrow tower, Maev McGinnis could see the vast forest stretching out for miles in every direction. The land was spacious and intimidating, an untamed wilderness filled with unknown dangers, clearly not a place for the weak or timid.

  There was one poorly defined path leading up to her prison tower and that remained empty. As always. Maev spent many hours staring toward that endless horizon, yet she never saw any signs of travelers, either on foot or horseback, no human movement of any kind. She often wondered how she would react, what she would feel, if she saw someone approaching. Fear? Relief? Indifference?

  Though it had been days since the last storm, the air still smelled of rain. Plumes of pale pink and violet blazed across the sky with luminous splendor as the sun began setting. It was a rare moment of pure beauty and majesty, yet Maev felt no emotions.

  A shudder shook her shoulders when a strong gust of wind blew, making her lips twitch. She pulled the ends of her threadbare shawl tightly together, but it offered little protection from the cold.

  She saw a pair of deer darting through the thick brush, heard a flock of birds rustling and chirping in the trees, then spotted several rabbits racing through the small clearing. She hoped they were heading toward one of her snares. It had been many months since she had eaten meat, and her body hungered for the sustenance she had so blithely taken for granted in the past.

  The men of the McGinnis Clan were skilled hunters, taking pride in ensuring that none of their people ever went hungry. But Maev's hunger was no longer something that concerned these men. She was an outcast.

  Not that she much cared. Living among the clan in her childhood home would not alleviate the pain in her heart, would not eliminate the despair that clung to her spirit like a dense fog.

  It seemed more and more the only thing that ever broke through Maev's constant mist of pain was worry for her mother. It had been a harsh winter, and Brenda had suffered through most of it with fever and chills. As spring arrived, she remained weak, and Maev knew the longer she was ill, the harder it would be for her mother to regain her health, especially without the hearty food needed to build her strength.

  Deciding it would be worth the effort to check the snares, Maev carefully descended from the tower. The steep, winding wooden steps were worn and unsteady, despite her weekly attempts to repair them. Since the sun had dipped beyond the high, narrow, stone window slits at the top
of the tower, the single room where she and Brenda lived was cast in gloomy shadows.

  Maev groped her way carefully toward the glowing embers of the hearth. A crude square table, a low stool, and a rickety three-legged chair with a broken back were the only pieces of furniture in the room, but Maev knew she would make a great deal of noise if she smashed into any of them. And that noise would startle and disturb her mother, who had not risen from her bed for over a week.

  "I'm going to check the traps," Maev whispered as she knelt beside the pallet that Brenda rested upon. She casually touched her mother's forehead, distressed to find it warm and feverish.

  Brenda heaved a high-pitched sigh. Her lashes fluttered and her eyes slowly opened, as though she were fighting to waken. "I worry for yer safety, Maev. 'Tis too late for ye to go outside in those woods. Best wait until morning."

  "I willna be gone long," Maev assured her mother. "I'm hoping to find a plump rabbit so I can make a hearty stew for our dinner."

  A shadow crossed Brenda's brow. Maev was instantly angry with herself for mentioning the possibility of a good meal, not wanting her mother to be disappointed. Since arriving in this desolate place, Maev's appetite had been sparse, but Brenda often spoke of warm, crusty bread; rich, thick stews; and other gastric delicacies that they would never again have the opportunity to eat. For the past few years the women had existed by consuming anything edible they could forage from the surrounding woods and the occasional small animals Maev managed to trap.

  It was a meager and miserly existence.

  Maev banked the fire, added several pieces of precious wood to the small blaze, tucked the only other thin blanket they owned tightly around her mother, then gathered the crude bow and arrows she had crafted and quickly left. She walked several feet beyond the tower and paused. Shading her eyes against the glare of the setting sun, Maev peered into the horizon, trying to decide which way to go. There was only enough light to check a few of her traps.

  Taking a gamble, Maev headed west, hoping the light lasted long enough for her to reach those snares she had set farthest away. As she walked, she stopped to gather some of the tender green shoots that were pushing through the thick, mossy soil, knowing they would in all likelihood be the only food for dinner that night.

  As she feared, the traps were empty. Maev closed her eyes in despair. Brenda needed the nourishment that only fresh meat could provide. Each day she seemed weaker, her strength ebbing, her spirit fading. As she watched her mother's suffering, Maev was acutely aware that she was responsible for Brenda's condition.

  If not for Maev, Brenda would be home where she belonged, in a comfortable, cozy cottage, her belly filled with warm food. She would have female friendship and male protection and the spiritual guidance of a priest. Instead, she was marooned in the middle of a desolate, harsh forest with a daughter broken in spirit as her only companion.

  This woman who had taught her all the important lessons of a good life—how to love and laugh, to be loyal and kind, how to hold her head high—deserved better.

  And what of ye? Dinna ye deserve better? Maev pushed the thought away, burying it deep inside her mind. She deserved nothing. Callum was gone and so was her desire to participate in life. The laird and his clan had thought to punish her by making her an outcast, but Maev truly did not care.

  Without Callum there was no meaning, no purpose, no joy, no dreams, no future. It was as if she had fallen into a deep black hole. The inner light of her soul had simply drained out of her, and she had neither the strength nor the desire to try to regain it.

  If not for her mother, she would have allowed this ultimate despair to claim her mortal flesh long ago, but Brenda had sacrificed everything to save her and Maev would not repay such selfless love with cowardly cruelty.

  Knowing Brenda would worry if she was gone too long, Maev turned and started back. As she drew closer, a strange silence enveloped the small clearing where the tower stood amid the thick woods. Maev had become accustomed to the usual sounds of nature that now surrounded her, but something was different. The air had changed. She glanced up at the sky, saw no twinkling stars, and realized that thick clouds had formed, threatening rain.

  Hoping to avoid a drenching, she quickened her pace. She was rounding the east end of the tower when she saw it. A cloth sack, tied at the top with a heavy rope, lay propped against the entrance door.

  Startled, Maev froze. Her first instinct was to turn and hide. Whoever had left the parcel could still be in the area. Perhaps they were watching her at this very moment.

  Suspiciously she cast her eyes about, but saw no one. A clap of thunder struck, and lightning cut a gash through the dark sky. Maev hurried toward the door. The first raindrops struck her cheek as she bent to examine the package. Absently she brushed them away, then continued struggling with the knot. Finally she untied it. With trembling hands, she opened the sack.

  "Oh, my God!"

  Rain pelted the back of Maev's head, the water falling in droplets from her hair to trickle down her spine. But she noticed neither the cold nor the wet—her eyes were captivated by the contents of the cloth bag.

  An entire haunch of venison! Maev was amazed. There was enough meat to feed her mother decent meals for weeks! But delight turned to suspicion and then fear. Who could have left this much-needed food? And what did they want for it?

  "Is anyone there?" Maev called out, then once again cast her eyes toward the forest, but the darkness was complete. Whoever had left the meat was not visible and in all probability long gone. At least she hoped they had departed.

  Clutching her bounty tightly to her chest, she entered the tower and bolted the door behind her.

  He stood in the darkness, watching her lift the heavy cloth sack, hoping she would be pleased when she viewed its contents.

  "Oh, my God!"

  Her voice was raw and rough, as if she did not use it much, but it still held traces of familiarity. The sound recalled memories of her tenderness and love, her sweetness and affection. It made his heart ache.

  "Is anyone there?"

  She turned toward his hiding place, and he craned his neck forward, hoping to see her face. He knew the darkness would shield him from her view, while his keen vision would enable him to drink in the sight of her.

  She was thinner, her face drawn, her cheeks hollow, yet her delicate, refined features were in evidence. Even at this distance he could feel the pull of her almond-shaped eyes. They beckoned his heart, but he could not answer the call.

  He never thought he would see her again, never believed it would be possible to hear her voice, to delight in the delicate sway of her hips as she walked. Maev. The past exploded into the present, and pain shot through him. Intense, dark pain that should have lessened with time but seemed more acute than ever. Pain that ripped away the layers of protection he'd carefully built between himself and the nightmare world he now inhabited. Pain that had been buried deep within him for three long years.

  Maev. My beautiful bride. I have finally found you.

  Brenda dozed fitfully as Maev cooked their dinner. Her fever had worsened, and Maev hoped waking to the aroma of the roasting meat would bolster her mother's spirits. Eventually the tantalizing smells did rouse Brenda, yet while the older woman praised her daughter's culinary efforts, she was able to swallow but a few bites of the juicy meat.

  Even more worrisome to Maev was the realization that her mother lacked the strength to ask how she had procured such bounty. It was yet another indication of Brenda's worsening condition.

  Since there was no salt to preserve the venison, Maev made a large pot of stew using whatever meager food supplies they had in the sparsely stocked larder. She left the pot bubbling gently over the dwindling fire, hoping a cup of rich, hot broth would tempt Brenda's appetite in the morning.

  Her cooking chores, coupled with her concern for her mother, left Maev little time to dwell on the identity of their unknown benefactor. Yet later that night, as she curled herself into a
tight ball and huddled into her lumpy pallet fashioned from dried grass, Maev could not help but wonder if the mysterious stranger would return.

  A few hours later, Maev awoke to the sound of her own cries and whimpers as the nightmarish vision of Callum's lifeless face staring up at her filled her being. She jerked upright from her pallet, the taste of fear sour in her mouth. Her breathing hitched. Damp with sweat, she pushed off her blanket and sat listening to the racing of her heart. Brenda snored gently on the pallet beside her, unaware of her daughter's pain.

  The shaking slowly subsided. Maev had never before dreamt of him. In fact, during her waking hours she could barely recall her beloved's handsome face, and she preferred it that way. There was only sadness associated with Callum's memory and more pain than she was able to endure.

  Restless and edgy, Maev left her bed. She climbed the tower steps into the cool, star-filled night, breathing deeply. She looked up at the moon and shivered, wishing she had brought her blanket. It was peaceful here, and she intended to stay until the dawn broke through the darkness.

  A sound drew her attention to the opposite side of the tower. Maev tilted her head and studied the large shape that filled the shadows, waiting for it to disappear.

  But it did not. Instead, it moved closer. Oddly, she felt no fear, for a storm of hunger swirled around her as the shadow stepped into the moonlight and revealed itself.

  "Callum," she whispered, tears filling her eyes. She believed she could no longer recall his features, but she realized she had been deluding herself. She knew him now, even though he was but an illusion. "First I dreamt of ye and now ye appear to me as a vision. Have I finally lost my wits?"

  Lucifer's horns! Callum had not intended for her to see him. He had crept inside the fortress and watched her sleep, and when her restless dreams woke her, he had slipped from the room and climbed the tower, hoping when she fell back to sleep, he would have a chance to gaze upon her beauty once again before the dawn broke.