"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.
But even as she had gone about her duties overseeing the servants and chastising herself for having been so impulsive, she had been unable to banish the elegant male countenance and silver eyes.
It had not been the sweet moonings of a woman who had just had her first kiss. Or even fear at the realization that she had allowed herself to be near seduced by a… a creature of the night.
‘Twas more an itch that she couldn't get scratched.
An itch that became more bothersome and more intolerable with every passing hour.
As the sun had at last tilted toward the horizon, she could bear no more. She was uncertain what the stranger had done to her, but she did know that she could no more prevent herself from seeking him out than she could halt her heart from beating.
Slipping from the great hall, she had collected her cloak and was out of the castle before she could ever be missed.
A part of her had not expected to actually discover the creature. The entire eve still seemed more like an odd dream than reality.
But another part harbored a sense of inevitable doom.
He was out there, it whispered in the back of her mind. Just waiting for her.
And he had been.
Not only waiting, but just as wickedly beautiful and disturbing as she recalled.
Thank the heavens she had possessed enough sense to refrain from tossing herself into his arms. Although it was a task that became more difficult with every passing moment Every instinct urged her to abandon herself to the strange sensations he created deep in her heart.
Instead she forced herself to concentrate upon her sister.
Katherine was all that should matter to her.
Nothing else.
"'Tis a tragic tale," she muttered at last, reluctantly moved in spite of herself by his words. "But the laird and his bride are long dead. What is the pleasure in punishing Katherine for a betrayal that was not her own?"
The hauntingly beautiful countenance hardened at her persistence. "It has naught to do with pleasure. The curse was given and it cannae be broken."
"There must be some means. I willnae accept that Katherine's death is inevitable." A pain wrenched her heart "I cannae."
He regarded her for a long moment before slowly reaching out to gently touch a stray curl that lay upon her cheek.
"I begin to believe ye must be a changling."
Isobella was lost in the compelling silver gaze. "Why do ye say such a thing?"
"Because for all yer Foster blood, ye possess few of their traits."
His touch. So cold, and yet sending a violent heat surging through her.
"I… I have the look of my mother."
"Nay, 'tis not yer looks, although they are… exquisite. 'Tis yer courage, and fire and loyalty to yer sister," he murmured in silken tones that shivered down her spine. "None before ye have ever attempted to battle the Beast."
"My father would call it foolishness, not courage."
The thin nose flared with an increasingly familiar distaste. Whether servant or companion to the Beast, this creature obviously held her father in contempt.
"Because he is shamed, he cannae claim such an admirable spirit."
Isobella gave a restless shrug. She was not close to her father; indeed their relationship was prickly at best. But because he was her kin, she disliked having his faults so blatantly revealed.
"For all my spirit, I am not any closer to saving my sister. The Beast could appear any moment and I have no means to halt him."
His lips thinned with impatience, his fingers shifting to grasp her chin. "Even if he does not come, yer sister will still be beneath the curse. Eventually the compulsion to seek out his lair will overcome her. Naught can alter the inevitable."
Her entire body tingled at his touch, and Isobella struggled against the urge to melt against him.
Katherine, she sternly reminded herself. She could not forget Katherine.
"Unless I can bring an end to the Beast."
"Mayhap," he murmured, his tone distracted as his fingers traced the line of her jaw.
Her heart jolted. "Will ye take me to him?"
"Nay." The elegant features softened as a smoldering fire entered the silver eyes. "For all yer courage, ye are no match for the Beast."
Those slender fingers traced down her throat, lingering at the frantic pulse at the base of her neck. Och, she nearly purred with pleasure.
"There must be some means."
"None that ye possess."
"I am hardly likely to take yer word for it. 'Tis obvious ye are somehow connected to the monster."
Astonishingly his lips twitched at her fierce words. "And if I am? Do ye intend me harm?"
"If ye threaten my sister."
The twitch became a smile revealing strong, white teeth. "And how would ye accomplish such a mighty feat?"
Her gaze narrowed. "Are ye laughing at me?"
There was a moment of silence. Almost as if he was forced to consider her accusation. Then he gave a slow, disbelieving shake of his head.
"By all that is holy, I believe I am," he murmured. "Astonishing."
"Nay, 'tis not astonishing, 'tis insulting. I…" Her angry words became a shriek of surprise when he reached out to sweep her off her feet and cradled her high against his chest. "What are ye doing?"
He gazed down at her startled expression.
Isobella's breath was wrenched from her throat at the searing heat in his gaze.
"I suddenly have wee desire to discuss curses, or beasts, or sisters," he rasped. "Ye are so lovely."
She trembled, her thoughts becoming clouded as pure desire flooded through her. His arms could crush her, and yet they cuddled her with a tender care. As if she were a fragile treasure rather than a shrill-tongued spinster. Perhaps, 'twas sinful, but nothing had ever felt so wondrous before.
"Nay, I am too skinny and my hair too red," she felt bound to protest.
His brows snapped together as he carried her deeper in the mist "Who would tell ye such foolishness?"
"I need no one to tell me. I possess a mirror."
"It must be flawed." The silver gaze flared over her countenance, lingering upon her unsteady lips. "For an eternity I have collected the most rare and beautiful objects and none have satisfied my demanding taste as ye do."
She was burning from within, aching with a need she did not comprehend. It was a frightening sensation.
"Ye must put me down."
"If ye insist."
She was startled by his ready agreement. Creature or man, he did not take orders from anyone.
Too late she realized her mistake. Bending down he gently laid her upon a bed of moss and covered her with his hard body. It all happened so swiftly she was unable to roll away.
And then she had no desire to roll away.
Bane softly hissed in exquisite pleasure.
By the fires of hell, she felt good beneath him. So tiny, so delicate. Like a wood nymph that had strayed into his lair.
And so very warm.
His eyes slid closed as her heat cloaked about him. It had been so very long he had nearly forgotten the sheer pleasure of having a woman in his arms.
The softness of her curves, her sweet scent, the rasp of her breath as she quickened beneath him.
She was all that he had lost. And he ached for her with a fierce need that made him groan deep in his throat.
"Isobella."
Her hands gently fluttered to his chest, but much to his relief, she did not attempt to push him away.
"This is not what I meant," she breathed.
Bane regarded her from beneath his lowered lashes. "Yer heart races," he murmured. "Are ye frightened?"
She gave a rather bewildered shake of her head. "I should be. I dinnae know who or what ye are."
"If ye insist upon an introduction, ye may call me Bane."
"Bane." She considered a moment. "'Tis an odd name, but it fits ye."
"Now what can ye mean by that, I wonder?"
Surprisingly she shifted her hand to lightly touch his cheek. "I suspect that ye are more than a mere man."
He gritted his teeth at the sharp bite of desire.
Her touch was tentative, but it was enough to unleash the hunger burning through his body.
"Not at the moment. Ye have stirred feelings I thought forgotten forever." His head lowered to bury his face in the satin spill of her hair. "Ye smell so sweet. Like a field of flowers."
He felt her breath catch. "Och, this is madness."
"Madness, indeed." He turned his head to nuzzle his lips against her temple, his hands smoothing aside her heavy cloak and tugging at the ribbons at her bodice.
"Bane."
"I need to see ye. To touch ye. 'Tis a fever in my blood," he muttered, pulling back as he tugged down the loose material of her gown. A growl rumbled in his throat as he revealed the curve of her breasts. In the misty glow her skin was as perfect as a rare pearl, the small mounds of her breasts tipped with rose-hued nipples.
For a long moment he regarded her in stunned silence. It was not just the desire that held him motionless. Or the burning in his thighs that strained for release. Although it had been two centuries since he had enjoyed the delicious sensations, he recalled passion, and the need to brand a woman as his own. But there was something more in the fire racing through his body. A strange tenderness and fierce need to wrap her in his arms and never let her escape.
This woman was utterly unlike the maid who had betrayed him. She was brave and honorable and willing to risk everything for those she loved.
Slowly he lowered his head, brushing his lips over the swell of her breast She gave a startled moan, then ramming her fingers roughly into his hair, she arched upward in silent demand.
Bane did not hesitate. Allowing the heat and scent of her to wash through him, he swept his tongue over the rosy nipple, teasing it to a straining peak before closing his lips about it to suckle with urgent insistence. She shivered with approval, and his hands ran an impatient path down the curve of her hips, tugging her legs apart so he could settle in the cradle of her thighs.
He was hard and straining as he gently rocked himself against her, damning the clothes that hampered his full possession.
"Oh." Isobella squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers pulling at Bane's hair. "What have ye done to me?"
Bane laughed softly as he continued to feast upon her sweet temptation. "Easy, sweeting, I will not harm ye."
"I have never felt such things. I didnae know…"
"Neither did I." A shudder wrenched through him, and Bane lifted his head to study her flushed features. She looked extraordinarily beautiful with her hair tangled about her pale countenance and her eyes more gold than green. And heartbreakingly innocent. His teeth snapped together. By the blood of the saints, what was he doing? He might be a creature of the night, but he was no monster. His honor had not been forgotten in the grave. He did not steal the virtue of young, untried maids. Even if they were Fosters. "'Tis a dangerous thing."
Her rapid breath stirred the air. "Aye, most dangerous."
He grimly grasped command of his raging passions. Or at least he attempted to do so. It was a far more difficult task than he could ever have imagined.
"Ye should be tucked in yer chambers," he rasped. "This is no place for ye."
She offered him an accusing frown. "'Tis where I would be if ye had not bewitched me."
He regarded her with a somber expression. "Ye must fight it. I cannae…"
"What?"
"I cannae be trusted," he forced himself to confess. "'Tis been too long since I have desired a woman, and never one such as ye. I fear what I may do to ye."
Her eyes flashed with the stubborn spirit that so captivated him. "Ye think to harm me?"
He smiled ruefully. She had no notion of how easily he could harm her. With the squeeze of his hands, he could crush her. Or sink his teeth into her and drain her blood dry. He could even enthrall her to the point she would become his willing slave.
"Not in the manner ye fear. But I would steal yer innocence. It calls to me like the song of a siren." His gaze lowered to where she lay beneath him, her skin still moist from his lips. A violent tremor wracked his body as he roughly tugged her bodice back into place and covered her with the heavy cloak. His limbs felt heavy as he forced himself to his feet and pulled her upright. Heavy and still aching with relentless need. "Go before I lose all honor."
She fussed with her cloak as a dark stain reddened her cheek. She did, however, manage to lift her chin and meet his gaze directly.
"I will not allow ye to hurt Katherine."
Catching her face between his hands, he pressed a fierce kiss to her lips.
"Go."
Isobella stumbled through the dark forest. Outwardly she had managed to straighten her clothing and smooth her tumble of curls, but within she still trembled with unfamiliar sensations and a lingering ache she very much feared would haunt her for far too long.
Twas a spell, she told herself for the hundredth time since leaving the mist-shrouded glen. Bane was obviously a creature of magic and he had managed to entrap her in some sort of bewitchment.
What else could explain her reckless need to seek him out despite all the danger? Or to be so strangely moved by his story of the simple bard when she should be outraged by the slander done to her clan?
Or to melt like the veriest tart the moment he touched her?
She bit her lip as she recalled the soft sweep of his hands, the feel of his lips on her breast, and the press of his hard body between her legs.
Oh aye, she had been a tart, but what maid could resist a man so handsome he stole her breath? Or one who could offer such exquisite pleasure?
Obviously not a shrewish spinster, she acknowledged wryly.
Still attempting to assure herself that it had all been no more than a strange spell cast upon her, Isobella came to a slow halt at the rustle of nearby leaves.
Abruptly she was aware of how alone she was in the darkness. And how vulnerable.
"Bane?" she called softly, even knowing that it was not her mysterious enchanter. He moved without sound, and more importantly, her entire body hummed with awareness when he was near. She glared at the nearby trees. "Who is there?"
With a shove of the branches, a large man stepped into view, his broad shoulders and shaggy mane of golden red hair all too familiar.
"Isobella," the man growled, folding his arms over his massive chest.
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"Father?" A faint hint of unease trickled down her spine. Her father had an expression on his heavy countenance that never boded well. "What are ye doing here?"
"What am I doing here?" With a sharp motion he moved forward to grasp her arm, nearly lifting her off the ground. "I believe that is a question ye should be answering."
Isobella gritted her teeth. Few things infuriated her more than being bullied. Those who used their strength to force their will upon others were no more than brutes to her mind.
"Father, ye are hurting me."
"'Tis nothing of the hurt ye will be feeling." Lifting his free hand, he slapped her across the face.
Isobella's head snapped backward, but with a grim stubbornness she met his baleful gaze steadily.
"I have done nothing."
The thick face flushed with fury. "Oh, nothing, is it? Ye dare to make a jest of me and my warriors?"
"A jest?" She frowned in confusion. "I dinnae ken what ye mean."
"Ye think the villagers and servants are not whispering of yer bold efforts to hunt down the Beast and rescue yer sister?"
Another tingle of unease raced through her. She could clearly smell the heavy scent of ale upon her father's breath. His temper was unpredictable at best, but it became frighteningly violent when he had been deep into his tankard.
"They dinnae even know."
"Oh aye, they know. They have been boasting of yer bravery and daring when they think I cannae hear them, and all the while sneering at me and my men." He gave her another backhand. Isobella stifled a cry as her lip began to bleed from the blow. "I willnae have it. I willnae be branded a coward by those beneath me."
Sensibly she knew that she should attempt to placate her furious father. Katherine could turn his anger with a few pretty tears and a tremble of her lip. Isobella, however, had never been capable of such feminine wiles. Her pride refused to allow her to play the role of the submissive daughter.
"Then mayhap it should be ye out here hunting the Beast," she retorted in fierce tones.
He gave her a rough shake. "Impertinent wench, I shall teach ye to use that sharp tongue on yer father…"
Braced for yet another blow, Isobella was caught off guard when she discovered herself being abruptly released. Tumbling to the ground, she hastily brushed the hair out of her eyes in time to see her father tossed through the air as if he weighed no more than a feather. He hit a nearby tree with a dull thud and crumpled to the ground.
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