MIDNIGHT CAPTIVE: Book 2 of the Bonded By Blood Vampire Chronicles

by arial@arialburnz. com

  “Near around five years ago,” Richard answered, “stories drifted through the merchant routes about torches lighting the old ruins.”

  “Some people says they seen someone walking on the grounds,” Bess whispered.

  “On the merchant routes?” James turned the Margeret. “Have you heard the MacDougals speak of such stories?”

  She shrugged.

  “Sounds like the place has been taken up again,” James offered.

  Richard shook his head. “They said it be Angus Campbell wandering the grounds. The son of Fraser Campbell. Being the murders happened over fifty years ago and the place abandoned…well, it either be Angus’s ghost or a mad man.”

  James and Margeret exchanged glances and the warning in her eyes reflected what he wanted to voice: Say nothing! These folks might kick them both out on their arses if they knew who had a hand in capturing Cailin.

  “I dinna understand why they would take yer Cailin to Glen Morin,” Richard said. “But you may be in for more than a few surprises.”

  “That may be,” James stated firmly, “but I need to get on that path. Do you know the way?”

  “That road there will take ye, lad.” Richard advanced to the door, pointed to the road they’d been on and waved north.

  James nodded as Richard explained a detailed route that would take him past major milestones and lakes, burning the directions into his memory and repeating the information back to the older man when he was done.

  “Just stick to them old roads, lad,” Richard encouraged. “Anyone along the merchant route should keep you on the path.”

  “’Tis all well,” Margeret said, waving off Bess’ attentions. She shuffled to the door and urged James outside. James expressed his gratitude to the Drummonds and stepped with Maggie to stand beside his gelding. “Doncha be worrying about a thing, Master James. I don’t intend on breathing a word about Angus.”

  “’Tis a wise idea, Maggie.”

  “What I do not understand is why them that took Cailin do not seem to know—”

  “About how well-known their location is?” he finished and nodded. “Perhaps they were counting on it. Maybe they are expecting someone other than Broderick to pursue.” Urgency was nagging at James’s heart. He had to go. “Listen—”

  “Get after her, James,” Margeret encouraged. “Guessin’ the whys will not save her.”

  “Aye.” After planting a kiss on her cheek, he swung into the saddle, nodded to her and waved to the Drummonds before he kicked his mount forward and set on down the road toward Glen Morin and his sweet Mouse.

  * * * * *

  “Here.” Jasper shoved a piece of dried meat at Cailin and she raised her bound hands to accept the food. Not entirely filling, but she took what they offered to keep up her strength. Her bottom was sore from riding and her wrists were tender and chaffed by the rope. She could only hope she’d be able to face Angus when the time came. Shifting her seat on the round stone by the fire, she made a futile attempt to get comfortable then leveled her gaze at her future father-in-law.

  Alistair sat brooding on the other side the fire, the yellow glow casting severe shadows on his face and creating harsh angles. Cailin shivered. His hands turned over a small, smooth stick in a repetitive, nervous movement. He glared at her, his frown deepening. “Stop lookin’ at me.”

  She kept her eyes trained on him. “I do not understand your motives, Alistair.”

  “Shut yer mouth.”

  “You’ve joined forces with the man who killed your wife,” she persisted.

  “Shut. Yer. Mouth.” The stick snapped in two.

  Jasper rasped a hearty laugh. “Easy now, Alistair.” He patted James’s father on the back like an old mate. “Yer lettin’ her get to ye.”

  Cailin wasn’t certain why, but she wanted to press Alistair more. “Mayhap, I’m hitting too close to the mark.” She kept her voice as level as her gaze. “Do you think dear Fiona would approve of you escorting me to my death?”

  The harshness of Alistair’s eyes softened just enough for Cailin to understand that James’s father had indeed not thought his plans through to the end. A certain measure of panic rose in her throat. He was going to get himself killed, and didn’t have the slightest idea the position he’d put himself in or the monster Angus truly was.

  “’Tis enough out of you, ducks.” Jasper rose and yanked Cailin to her feet. “Time to give that mouth o’ yours something more productive to do.” His calloused hands gripping her elbows wrenched a cry from her and she growled, struggling to keep him from dragging her into the woods. Her bare feet slid uselessly through the mud, scraping on rocks and pebbles, adding to her misery.

  “Enough!” Alistair grabbed Jasper by the shoulder and spun him around. “This was not in the arrangements!”

  “What do ye think Angus is going to do to her when he has her?” Jasper protested, his steel grip still on Cailin’s elbow. “No better way to defile a woman and incite the wrath of her father than—”

  “Nay!” Alistair pushed Jasper aside and started untying Cailin’s bonds. “I cannot go through with this. This was wrong! This was not—”

  Warm liquid spurted across Cailin’s face. Echoes of the past. She squeezed her eyes shut and pursed her lips closed as the warmth dripped down her cheeks and over her lips. Her breath stayed trapped in her lungs. I’ve killed him! When Alistair yanked on her hands, pulling her to her knees, her eyes popped open. He collapsed to the ground. But he tore my dress, he’d tried to… Thick red blood oozed onto the dirt. A strange noise assaulted her ears—a raspy, rapid panting that grew faster. She marveled over the realization that it was her breathing. She fell back onto her rump and stared at Jasper, standing over her, shaking his head.

  “Damn fool,” he growled, pity in his eyes for Alistair. Pity for the man he had just killed as if he had put an animal out of its misery. “Ah, ’tis better to have ended his life now. He surely would have tried to kill me once he discovered I killed his wife.” He diverted his gaze to Cailin and his eyes drooped in a failed attempt at compassion. “Aw, now lassie. Doncha be mournin’ the life of a man who handed ye over to yer enemy.” Seizing her hands, he yanked her to her feet and snaked his arms around her. With a hefty handful of her bottom, he said, “And now ol’ Jasper has ye all to himself.” He winked and escorted her back to the horses. “Not a very romantic settin’, a dead body an’ all.” Cailin allowed him to hoist her back into the saddle. He patted her thigh. “Aye, yer not quite here, are ye, lassie?” He chuckled.

  Cailin stared at Jasper as he dragged Alistair’s body into the bordering forest. She heard what he’d said. Yet why did she not respond over learning the truth of Fiona’s death and how far back Angus has inserted his henchman? She saw what he did to her future father-in-law. Her heart was numb. She knew she had the chance to run away, on horseback, while he was busy with his task. She just couldn’t get her body to respond to her mind. If she could keep this immunity to emotion while she faced Angus, she may be able to accomplish her goal. But the fragility of mortal life loomed before her. Alistair never knew what happened. With a flick of his wrist, Jasper had slit Alistair’s throat and his life was over.

  Another realization trembled inside her belly. Jasper only threatened to assault her to solicit a response from Alistair. He somehow needed the excuse to kill him. Her life could be over just as easily, especially at the hands of Angus. Jasper was a mortal man who had no regard for life, except mayhap his own. Angus would be worse.

  Jasper approached her side and she met his eyes. Handing her a wet kerchief, he cocked his head at an angle and smirked. “Not so tough without yer knives, are ye lassie?”

  Her face was a mask of neutrality. Her cheeks, still dripping with Alistair’s blood, would not respond though she wanted to grin. “You, Jasper, will be the first life I snuff out like a candle flame.” Only then did her face gain mobility and the corner of her mouth turned up.

  Jasper’s lips parted and he hitched a breath,
his eyes growing just a fraction wider. Then he frowned and shuffled away.

  Cailin glared at his back as he urged their horses forward, leaving Alistair’s body behind. She placed her hands over the silver-plated dagger still strapped to her thigh and imagined the blade sinking into Jasper’s back. Hands returned to her lap, she nudged the blade at her forearm. She wiped the blood from her face and tossed the kerchief to the ground. After several yards, the indifference melted from her body. She sobbed.

  Chapter Seven

  Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud. The monotony of the horse’s hooves hitting the dirt as they trotted along at a steady pace grated at James’s patience. He wanted nothing more than to jab his heels into the side of his mount, lean forward in the saddle and ride the horse into exhaustion. However, doing so was a death sentence for Cailin. At a steady trot, a horse could continue for hours. A hard gallop may get him farther in a short period of time, but the resting would be a fatal set-back. The only thing maintaining his sanity was his endless study of tracks in the torchlight. He tossed another prayer of thanks toward the heavens for the rain they’d had and how far-reaching the weather had stretched. The road was still soft and Cailin’s journey was imprinted in the mud. He was also grateful his father and whoever he worked with were such fools. They made no attempt at all to cover their tracks, but this also made James wonder if their lack of effort was intentional. It mattered not. He would rather get to Cailin and deal with a fight than lose the trail and be helpless in coming to her aid.

  The tracks disappeared. He pulled the reins and doubled back more slowly. When had they vanished? He’d been so caught up in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed until now. There! Picking up where he regained sight of the tracks, he followed them as they veered off the trail and to a small clearing just off the side of the road. Remnants of a camp littered the area. Grass matted down in the amber glow of the torch. He hovered his hand over the dead campfire and, in finding no warmth, eased his hand into the ashes. He smiled when a subtle warmth greeted his fingertips as he touched the earth.

  Sweeping the torch around the area, he noted long marks in the dirt and held his breath. He pushed forward, reticent to follow, his feet dragging from an unseen weight. No more than a dozen steps inside the dense trees, he clenched his jaw. A pair of man’s boots. Upon closer examination, he groaned at the wide-eyed expression of his father. Alistair’s mouth hung open, the front of his shirt and coat dark with blood from his gashed throat.

  James whirled away from the sight to catch his breath. “Stupid fool!”

  Giving himself enough time to gain his composure, he inhaled deep and faced the body of his father once more. James knelt and fought the tears threatening to come forth. He stabbed the torch into the soft earth and leaves to keep it upright, and touched his father’s hand. The warmth still present in Alistair’s skin gave James some hope, as this indicated he hadn’t been dead for very long. His own experience with death at the Fechtschulen and over the years provided him at least that much information.

  James shook his head and quelled the rising anger and sorrow, cursing his father again. Another bout of steadying breaths, he stood and paced the forest.

  Cailin, it appeared, was much closer than he had hoped, but staying behind to give his father a proper burial would put that much more distance between him and her.

  He growled at Alistair’s prone form. “Damn you, Father. I must tend to you later.” No longer able to stay the tears, James let them fall as he pulled fallen branches, brush and leaves over Alistair’s body. He grabbed the torch when he finished and started for his horse, but stopped. James twirled, reached through the debris into Alistair’s coat pocket and found what he sought. The laudanum. If Cailin is wounded during this ordeal, this may actually help her.

  He stomped out of the forest and shoved the half-filled bottle into his saddlebags before swinging into the saddle. Several yards down the road a white speck amongst the dirt gleamed under the moonlight. He dismounted and picked up a dirty kerchief stained with blood. Clenching his jaw, he mounted and continued once more at a steady trot, hoping the stains on the cloth were not Cailin’s blood.

  * * * * *

  “Veh ata...adonai…mah— mahgen—” Broderick growled.

  “You are almost there, Vamsyrian,” Malloren encouraged. “I know you are weary from the incantations draining you. Just this one last time.”

  Broderick nodded and took a deep breath to gather his strength. He had already been at these exercises for several hours with the prophetess, bringing up the shield, lowering it, casting the incantations over various objects and areas. However, the casting was limited to what he was. He could not cast such a protective boundary around himself without causing great pain. The incantation was designed to cleanse an area of evil, moving from the center point of the target outward to the designated boundary. Broderick disliked the idea that he was evil more and more with each demonstration of Jehovah’s power. He was anxious to learn the history of the Vamsyrians, to learn why he was considered evil other than in his choice to turn against God. Though Malloren Rune shared that the incantations would protect against any spawn of Satan, she insisted he would learn such things once he performed the incantations to her satisfaction.

  Speaking slowly, Broderick extended his hand at the candlestick again and recited while envisioning a small bubble around the object. “Veh atah adonai…mahgen bah-adee, k’vodee…u-merim roshee.”

  The subtle oppression resonated from the candlestick. He tried to touch the protected item and ran into the expected barrier…and the anticipated weakness rippled from his fingertips up his arm.

  “Very good, Broderick,” she whispered.

  He nodded again. “Pitkhu li…sha-ahray tsedek,…avoh…bahm ve odeh yah.” The request to remove the protection. “Zeh ha-sha-ar…adonai. Tsadikim…yavou bo.” Broderick sighed as the oppressive atmosphere vanished.

  “Excellent.” Malloren smiled at Broderick, stepped forward and recited the incantation to erect the boundary.

  With a blow to his chest by an unseen but familiar force, Broderick flew across the small room and hit the stone wall with grunt. He bellowed in agony as an intense pressure crushed his chest. Malloren recited the last two parts of the incantation and his body fell to ground in a heap. After several minutes of panting, the pain finally subsided enough for him to breathe easy. He shook his head to clear the dizziness and glared at her. “What in blazes was that about?”

  The corner of her mouth turned up in a half-smile. “The last lesson for this evening. Davina or Cailin can use the incantation, setting a desired boundary, to cast away any evil in their midst. As you can see, it is quite effective.” She held her palm up and again recited the first chant.

  Broderick staggered to his feet and groaned from the oppressive force. “Was it really necessary, though?” He kept his distance.

  “Recite the request,” she commanded.

  He did as instructed and Malloren recited the final part of the incantation. The shield disappeared.

  “Remember, the request alone is not enough to lower the protection. The person who originated the defensive guard must be the one to respond and remove it.”

  “Or someone of the same bloodline,” he amended, based on what had she told him earlier.

  “That is correct. Otherwise the protection is permanent, such as what has happened with the amulet you left with Cailin. Because the person who created the cleansing amulet has passed on or is unknown, it cannot be removed from the amulet.”

  “And that particular protection was the cleansing,” he said more to himself, reviewing their lessons for the evening.

  “Yes. You envision the item as cleansed instead of with a barrier. Cleansing burns. The shield repels. That is why—”

  “Aye, why the amulet burned me instead of repelled me,” he grumbled. Again, the idea that he was evil did not sit well with him. He also pushed away the nagging thoughts that he may have not left much protection for his f
amily after all, with the amulet only being cleansed. He was here now. He knew the incantations. He would be home shortly.

  “I realize it has been a trying evening, but you must understand the weapon I have given you and its limitations.”

  “Aye.” He sighed.

  “This is how the incantation is used. Davina and Cailin should invoke the protection. Either you or they request for its removal. They should respond.”

  “Understood.”

  “Come, Vamsyrian.” Malloren turned and opened the door, exiting into the corridor. “I will show you to your accommodations.”

  Another trek through the turning and twisting lamp-lit hallways, he became increasingly agitated. “And just how am I to find my way through this labyrinth on my own?”

  She stopped and faced him, tilting her head as if pondering the idea. “Who says I will allow you to wander my halls alone, Vamsyrian?” Without waiting for his answer, she spun and continued through the maze.

  Broderick grumbled after her.

  They finally arrived at a door, which Malloren opened and stepped through. Broderick followed. The room was lit by more oil lamps. “Surely, you must have a monumental supply of oil at your disposal.” He smirked.

  The prophetess pursed lips as if to suppress a smile. “I only light what I need when I need it. Since I knew of your coming, I made the appropriate accommodations for our duties this evening. I usually carry my lantern to light my way.”

  She twirled around the room, showing Broderick his lodgings. A good-sized, box-frame bed was positioned along the far wall. A small table sat near the head of the bed with the oil lamp. The walls were bare. A crudely woven rug lay at the bedside. “Nothing as fancy as your grand fortress in Scotland, to be sure, but suitable for your needs I hope.”

  He cocked an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “You already know it will suit.”

  “Yes, I do.” She sauntered to the doorway and stepped into the corridor, pointing down the hall. “Walk in this direction, Vamsyrian, and you will come to another ladder. Ascend that ladder to the surface and you may exit to do some much-needed feeding.” Her eyes traveled down and up his body. “Be sure to make note where you emerged from these chambers so you may return.”