"What would ye like to see, my lady?"
She didn't think that the way her pelvis ached for him that there were very many safe answers. “Show me what you are planting."
"Very well.” He walked beside her as they moved to where he'd been working. “Just wheat is all. Surely nothing special for a noblewoman."
"And then you are wrong, farmer Campbell.” His brogue fascinated her. Unlike McGill's cultured and learned style of speech, this man spoke as he always had. “As the lady of the keep, I'm interested in what our charges do."
He chuckled a little. “Very well, then. Not much to it, really. Just scratch into the ground to get enough dirt for the seeds to grow.” He kicked a rock. “In this poor excuse for dirt, ‘tis nae easy, though."
"I can imagine.” She saw a few green sprouts poking through the soil. “Are these your wheat?"
"Aye.” Thunder rumbled in the distance, and he looked up at the sky. “Rain coming. Ye should get to the keep."
Thick clouds boiled over the hills, black with the rain they carried. “I'll never get back to the castle in time."
He nodded. “Ye go to yonder barn, and I'll fetch your horse.” He pointed to a decrepit shack at the edge of the field before turning toward the waiting horse.
Standing alone in the field, she decided she should listen to the man. This was his home, and he would know the weather. She made for the barn.
She'd almost reached the shack when the rain started. It didn't start with a few drops and then build. The heavens simply opened up like a bucket. She sprinted the last of the distance.
Once inside, she wiped the rain from her face and looked outside. Duncan came across the field, slowly leading the horse by the reins. He didn't seem to notice the rain pounding him as he walked.
Entering the barn, he tied the horse to a pole and shook his head. His hair, the color of sand on the beaches with a reddish tint, flew around his head like a great billowing auburn cloud. Specks of water danced in every direction, some splashing softly against her. As her gaze drifted down his body, she saw the water shimmering on his bulging arms, tracking slowly down to drip delightfully from his fingers. The rain soaked his shirt, which clung to his chest like a second skin, outlining and highlighting the firm swelling of his chest leading to the rippled plateau of his stomach.
Knowing full well she should turn away, Melissa let her gaze slip farther. His pants were no less wet than the rest of him, and they too stuck to him like paint. The bulge in his trousers protruded as much as those in his shirt. Clearly outlined by the wet material, his cock was long, and her mouth again watered.
His speaking distracted her thoughts and snapped her back to reality. “Did ye get too wet?"
"Um, no. I'm fine."
His face held an amused look. “That's just fine, then. These rains come almost everyday, but they dinna last long."
She tried to keep her imagination in check. “I've noticed them, but I haven't yet discerned the pattern."
"Aye, ye haven't been here long enough."
She needed a safe subject. “Have you lived here all your life?"
"I have.” Duncan pointed to where the castle lay hidden by the mists kicked up by the rain. “I hae never lived out of sight of yon castle."
"That would get boring after a time, I would think."
He shrugged. “Nay, not for we farmers. We like to stay put and be left alone to go about our business."
"Other than farming, what is your business? Taking care of your wife and children, I'd wager."
"No, my lady. I hae neither wife nor children.” He smiled a little, and a dreamlike look came to his eyes. “One day, I'll be blessed with both."
"You seem a fine man, Duncan Campbell, and I'm sure any woman would feel blessed by your attention.” This wasn't the safe subject she looked for.
"Perhaps so.” He suddenly smiled as he stared out at the rain. “Come here, my lady, and look upon this bonny sight."
He pointed off to the west, and she stepped to the door so she could see of what he spoke. The hay on the barn floor concealed a small stone, and her toe hit squarely against the rock, causing her to stumble.
With no warning, his arms suddenly encircled her, catching her before she could fall. She shook in his embrace. The bulging muscles pressed against her, and the clean smell of hard work filled her nose.
He looked concerned. “Are ye hurt?"
She struggled for her breath as she panted. Her eyes locked onto his, and somehow his embrace made her feel safe. In the larger scheme of this, Duncan was a food animal to her. In an instant, however, all thoughts of being an ancient predator and of the vast differences between her and mortals vanished into the caring hazel eyes staring at her.
This is, she thought, wrong for a million reasons.
She struggled to get her feet under her and stood up, pulling away from his arms. “Yes. Thank you."
He just nodded. “Come see."
She avoided the rock and looked out the door to where he pointed.
Stretched across the sky was a rainbow. Bright and multihued, it glowed with a light to accompany miracles.
* * * *
Duncan watched her as she caught sight of the rainbow. Her face went slack for a moment, and then it split into a smile the likes of which he'd seen only rarely, and then on the visage of small children—their eyes full of wonder at the new and magical world.
As she watched the sky, he allowed his gaze to drift over her. Small, more than a foot shorter than he, she looked soft and smooth all over. Her face was as he'd imagined it that day he had seen her in the carriage. Her cheekbones were high and a slight blush seemed to touch them all the time. The little nose, turned up at the end, crinkled in delicious ways when she smiled. Her eyes amazed him, though. Blue—the color of precious sapphires he'd seen the wives of the wealthy merchants of the bishopric of Glasgow wearing. He'd also heard sailors speak of the deep blue seas, though he'd never seen them, and wondered if they were her color.
Her hair, only glimpsed before, was more the color of gold rather than of wheat ready to harvest. And it flowed like oil on water when she moved, smooth and easy. When she had stumbled and he had helped her, the touch of the long hair definitely wasn't that of coarse straw. It had felt like nothing else in his experience, soft and gentle against the skin of his arms. Even the softest furs sold in the markets felt like rough stubble compared to her hair.
When she tripped on the rock, he'd caught her. Without thinking of her position, or his, he just reacted. She ended up in his arms.
His first thought was that she would slap him. His second thought was that she would tell her husband and he would soon lose the company of his head to his shoulders. Somehow, though, the look on her face told him that neither would happen.
She turned from the rainbow and smiled. The smile seemed to banish the rain and clouds, and the sun poured down on the now wet field.
"That is a beautiful sight. Does it happen often here?"
Duncan feared his voice might squeak like a boy when he spoke. “Aye, it does, but none so beautiful as today."
Her smile wavered a bit. “How special a place this is.” A frown came to her lips. “I should return. My husband and the servants will worry for me."
He glanced at the field. “I think your horse will do well on the mud if ye take care."
"She will."
He brought her horse to the door and held his hand down for her to step up to the saddle.
Lady McGill leaned over in the saddle and held her hand out to him. “Thank you for an interesting visit, Duncan Campbell."
He took the tiny, soft hand in his and leaned to kiss the back. The creamy skin felt smooth and supple beneath his lips, and the touch made him tingle. “'Twas my pleasure, Lady McGill."
She smiled again and rode out across the field toward the road.
Duncan licked his lips as she rode, her hips swaying slowly as the horse moved from side to side. Her hand had tasted of some
flower or another, or perhaps it was a rare and expensive spice.
No matter which, Duncan knew his place.
Longing after the wife of the lord of the keep wasn't his place at all. Not even close.
* * * *
"Where did you go today?” McGill picked at his pheasant. Mortal food filled his belly and gave his kind some benefits, but it was not his preferred food. He wanted peasant instead.
"Just for a ride through the village and farms.” Melissa wouldn't look at his face.
"Without an escort. While that is safe for us for several reasons, it does not look right to the villagers. They expect us to have soldiers and servants around us.” He set down his fork and looked down the table at her. “You should know better."
"I do, but I didn't care. I wanted to be alone."
She lied, and he knew it. He didn't need the reports from his spies to know, either. More than a millennia of life had taught him to read others like they read books. “Melissa, do not lie to me. Who was this man you spoke to?"
"Just a farmer. He showed me his fields and crops."
"First, they are my fields, not his. Just like the house he lives in and the crops he grows."
"As you like."
"What I like has little to do with anything."
She barked a laugh. “Like you want me to come to your bed?"
"Yes, there is that.” Despite the session they had shared in this very room, it had not repeated, and he knew she had been avoiding him. “You need to be with your own kind."
"I don't even know what my own kind are. I know you are a killer."
He smiled. She always came back to this. “And you have never killed a mortal?"
"You know I have. Because of you."
"We have been down this road before. Do not fall in love with this mortal. You will only end his life prematurely.” He stood and paced to the window, looking out at the falling darkness. “These peasants rarely live past fifty anyway. This man is perhaps half of that many years. Would you snatch the precious time he has from him for no reason at all?"
Melissa sat quietly for a time. “What makes you think I'm falling in love with anyone?"
"I never said you are."
"Oh."
He knew her so well. She spent so much time fighting what she was that she never learned how to be normal. At least normal for a vampire. Maybe the time had come to press her.
"I forbid you to leave the castle alone and to ever see that man again."
"You don't own me.” She slammed her fork on the table. “You have no control over me!"
He turned from the window. Despite what she thought of him, he hated to do this, even to a mortal, let alone her. Reaching out with his mind, using skills learned over more than a hundred centuries, McGill touched her thoughts.
She jumped up from the table, knocking the chair over with a loud crash. A look of fear—no, terror—spread over her face, and Melissa slapped her hands to her temples.
"Stop it! Just stop!"
He toyed with her thoughts, pointing out that he could, should he elect, indeed control her. And that she was powerless to stop him. A thought saddened him a little. Had she but trained with him to use the skills her form gave her, she would stand a chance of resisting him. As things stood, she could do nothing more than cry.
She staggered from the table and collapsed on the floor before the huge, dark stone fireplace. Holding her head in her hands, she whimpered. “All right! I'll do as you say! Just please stop!"
The sight of her in pain caused something in his mind to snap. He pulled back, releasing his grip on her, and walked as quickly as he could without running to kneel beside her.
Forcing a smile, McGill brushed away a tear that ran down her cheek with the back of his hand. “I am sorry, but you must learn that we are different from the mortals."
"I know we're different.” She sniffed loudly. “I don't want to be different!"
As he'd told her countless times over thirty centuries, he said, “If I could turn back time, I would not have done this to you."
Maybe he'd never meant it as much before as he did now, watching the woman he loved, but could never have, sobbing in pain because of his actions.
* * * *
Scotland, Present Day
Roland walked through the ruins with Stanley beside him giving commentary now and then about some particular part of the castle.
"You see, Roland, this area was once the Great Hall of the castle. It was here that Angus McGill held audience with the peasants needing his attentions."
Roland nodded. “I understand.” He closed his eyes for a moment, visualizing the walls still standing, covered by fine tapestries, and torches lighting the darkness, casting flickering shadow demons into the corners. The dark pictures Markinson painted in his stories spoke of creatures more frightful than the demons themselves hiding in those shadows.
And there, just on the edge between darkness and light, hovering between fantasy and nightmares, was Elektra. Terrifyingly beautiful, seductive in the same manner as the Sirens of the Odyssey, her flaming red hair, sapphire blue eyes, and staggering figure had, in Stanley's books, drawn countless men into the web of the spider only to meet their death at her hands.
Even now, nearly three years after he read the first of the books based on the vampire Elektra, some of the images gave him the willies. The stories Stanley told were, maybe, too good. They could almost be real. Elektra could almost be real. He wondered how Markinson slept at night.
Valerie came around the corner near the remains of the fireplace. She flicked her gaze away from Stanley, intent on not looking at him. “I just came to tell you both that lunch..."
She put her hand to her temple and frowned. Before Roland could even move, she fell to the stone floor, but he made it to her in time to keep her head from hitting the unyielding rock.
"Baby? What's wrong?"
Her eyes looked empty for a moment, as if the lights were on but nobody was home. “I ... I don't know. I think I'm OK now."
Stanley stood beside them, his hands shoved casually in his pockets. “Perhaps it is just the heat."
She looked up at the novelist for a moment. “Maybe that's it."
Roland looked at the pair for a second. Something just happened, and he had no clue what. Then again, it didn't matter too much. “Yeah, maybe. Can you stand and walk?"
"I think so, yes.” He helped her to her feet, and she seemed stable enough to stand without help. She took a couple of wobbly steps, but quickly became steadier as she regained some of the poise he found so attractive. “I think I'm just hungry.” She looked intently at Markinson again. “And the heat probably got to me, too."
As the trio made their way to the RV for lunch, Markinson kept humming some tune Roland thought would sound better on bagpipes.
* * * *
Scotland, 1301
Duncan stopped with the mug halfway to his lips, sloshing ale onto the table. “Ye're going to do what?"
Gilroy seemed to shiver despite the heat of the day. “I'm going to pay a visit to McGill and see if he's sooder folley."
"Are ye mad? He'll either laugh ye out the door or hae ye killed for your arrogance!"
He clearly shivered now. “Aye, but I'll know then.” Gilroy took a huge swallow of ale. “And so will all the rest of you."
Duncan thought furiously. Gilroy wasn't in his cups yet, so he wouldn't just sleep this idea off. “I canna let ye do this, Gilroy."
He laughed a little. “Ye canna stop me."
He was right. “Can I talk ye out of it, then?"
"Nay. I owe it to old MacRath. Someone has to expose McGill, and I'll do it."
Duncan had known Gilroy since they had been boys, playing together at the edge of the fields as their fathers worked the land. He understood that his oldest friend had made up his mind, and there was no changing it. “And so this is why ye pulled me from the fields to drink instead of working?"
"Aye.” Gilroy tossed b
ack the last of his ale. “Farewell, my friend.” He turned and walked out the door.
* * * *
McGill sat in the Great Hall tallying the taxes. He sighed to himself. Even immortals had to deal with the mundane realities of life.
The big door swung open slowly and one of the guards came inside. “Lord, a peasant demands audience with you."
"Demands? Send him away.” Some of the peasants seemed to think this was a democracy.
"He insists, my lord.” The guard smiled a little. “He's some ale in him and perhaps might be an entertainment for you."
A little distraction didn't sound all that bad, now that he thought about it. “Very well, send him in."
The guard nodded and withdrew. A moment later, a dirty, skinny man stumbled into the room, shoved through the open door by the guards. The door slammed shut behind him.
McGill stared at the peasant for a few seconds. “What is so important that ye dare to interrupt me?"
The man shivered, but showed no other signs of fear. “I hae come merely to look upon ye, my lord."
Something clicked in McGill's mind. This, he thought, is one who knows. Some mortals, for some reason, could sense his kind. No one knew how they could do it, but some believed it to be a survival skill. Most of the work in avoiding death by the teeth of a predator was knowing that the predator was there. It took skill and training and practice garnered over centuries of life, but McGill could block this.
"So, peasant, have ye a name?"
"I do, lord. I am called Gilroy McBarens."
"And what is it that Gilroy McBarens does for his lord?"
"My lord, I drink the finest ale in all Scotland brewed from the finest grain in all Scotland, grown right here in the finest keep in all Scotland."
McGill had to smile at the man. Most drunks knew how to be sarcastic, and this one did not disappoint. “My thanks for the compliments on my lands. So, ye are only a leech on my people and serve no purpose to the common good?"
"It's that common good that brings me here this day, lord."
Ruins of a Past Day: Bloodlust 1 Page 4