Born to Bite Bundle

by Hannah Howell

  “Nay, sir, ’tis too rich for a maid to be offered it,” she said. “Now, sir, I would ask ye kindly that ye . . .”

  “Let ye taste it? T’would be my pleasure.”

  He kissed her just as she tensed to pull away from him, and immediately Murdina lost all urge to do so. The soft thud of the tankard’s being set down on the table by the chair caught her attention, but the thrust of his tongue into her mouth scattered her thoughts again. He tasted so good, and the lingering flavor of the mulled cider had little to do with it. Despite the voice of caution in her mind that warned her it would be a grave mistake to touch him, she did. The warmth of his smooth skin beneath her hands as she stroked the broad chest she had admired so often burned away what little control she had over her rising desire. She could feel his hunger for her, and it made her own yearning grow by leaps and bounds. The fact that such a man desired her was intoxicating.

  It was his soft groan, one filled with desire and approval of her touch, that pulled her out of the passionate haze she had stumbled into. This was no dream. She was pressed against his body so tightly she could feel his hard length against her body, feel it pressed close to the very place that ached for it. The realization that she was thinking about rubbing herself against that hardness was enough to bring her to her senses. Murdina wondered why she did not feel better about herself as she pulled away from him.

  “Nay, I told ye, sir, that I willnae be your plaything whilst ye stay here,” she snapped and, without taking her leave as she should, she ran out of the room.

  It was a graceless retreat and, far worse in her mind, she knew she would not stay away. Her duties would bring her back into the reach of that temptation again and again until Sir Gillanders went away. While the sensible part of her said his leaving would be for the best, the part of her that was so fiercely drawn to the man ached with sorrow at the very thought of his going away. Murdina prayed that a good night’s rest would restore her good sense, but she feared her sleep, when it finally came, would be filled with the dreams of all she now craved. She had not only tasted a deep desire for the first time in her life, but she had tasted the depth of his for her as well, and that was certain to haunt her dreams for a very long time.

  Gillanders cursed as he stood up, so hard with need that the mere act of standing hurt. It would be a long time before he could sleep. He had no doubt what he would be dreaming about, either, if he were blessed with any sleep at all. The hunger he ached with now would be tormenting him all night long.

  He also had to deal with that touch of guilt for attempting to seduce a woman who was obviously a virgin. Gillanders could almost hear his mother’s tsk of disappointment in him. She paid little heed to the women the young men dallied with, only warning the men to be certain they left no child behind and unprotected, but she heartily disapproved of seducing the innocent. All of the men at Cambrun now heeded to warnings about being certain they left no child behind. No one liked to think of how many might have died because they had believed for so long that they could not have children. The discovery of the Lost Ones, people with MacNachton blood left to fend for themselves and too often being killed by superstitious fools, had been a hard lesson they had all taken to heart. Seducing the innocent was one lesson taught, however, that only some of them tried to heed.

  The thought of the children they had lost and the ones they had found had Gillanders thinking of his own children yet to come. When the images in his head revealed a small girl with blood red hair and eyes a mix of blue and green, he cursed. It could be the result of his hunger for Murdina, but he had the sinking feeling that it was much, much more.

  He was going to have to try and get her to travel to Cambrun with him and not just to meet her cousin. The more he thought of the way he wanted her, teased her, and thought of her all the time, the more he began to think she might be the gift that all MacNachton males wanted to receive. Murdina Dunbar could be his mate.

  A mate who had not one tiny drop of MacNachton blood in her, he thought as he began to wash up before seeking his bed. He did not think she had anything different about her; she even seemed lacking in some of the strange gifts that made some women such perfect mates for the MacNachton men. Such gifts gave them the ability to accept what he and his kin were, what they had to do to survive. They had tasted the poison of the superstitious fears of others and also knew that there were things and people in this world who were different.

  “Weel, she will have to learn,” he told himself as he crawled into bed. “Her cousin is married to one of us, and if she wishes to be with her own blood again, then she shall have to accept the family that kin has joined.”

  Easier said than done, he thought. He would have to tread warily, easing her toward seeing the truth. Gentle steps were needed or she would run from him as fast as she could. The mere thought of how she might look upon him with horror when she found out the truth struck him with a deep, sharp pain in his heart, and he sighed with resignation. Murdina had already become more important to him than a woman who could give him some pleasure during his stay at Dunnantinny. The trip to Cambrun was going to be long and hazardous, and not just because some of the laird’s men might try to follow them. Every step he would be taking could well decide his future.

  Chapter Four

  “He is one of them, of that I have nay doubt.”

  “Nor do I, Egan, but he gives us no proof of it at all,” grumbled Sir Ranald. “The mon makes my innards clench with anger every time he speaks, and I would enjoy cutting out his clever tongue, but I willnae declare him the one of the ones we seek until I am certain. I have no wish to be made a fool of because I acted too quickly and was wrong.”

  Murdina paused near the door of the laird’s tiny ledger room. She had been ordered to bring the man some wine and had worried with every step toward the room that she would be punished for being too slow to obey the command. It was not her fault, but she knew men like Sir Ranald would not care about that. He was the sort of man who expected immediate obedience even if the one he had commanded had to crawl over broken glass to accomplish the chore. The only thing that had delayed her was the need to find Mistress McKee to let her into the room where the wine was kept, deep in the underbelly of the keep.

  Curiosity about what the two men were saying stopped her now, all thought of possible punishment pushed aside. She knew they spoke of Sir Gillanders. He was the only one at the keep who could be said to have a clever tongue. He was also the only one she could think of who would inspire caution from Sir Ranald. If they needed proof of something from anyone else, she was certain they would just beat it out of the man. Or woman. Murdina had quickly seen that the men of Dunnantinny were not at all hesitant to raise a fist to a woman.

  “The Dunbar lass isnae giving us much news of the bastard.”

  “Nay, but I suspicion he gives her little to see or hear. Those MacNachton demons havenae survived for so long by being fools easily beguiled by some bonnie lass.”

  “Many a clever laddie has fallen into trouble atween a pair of fine, white thighs,” said Egan.

  “True enough.” The laird laughed, and Murdina shivered as the cold, raspy noise scratched at her ears. “But, I dinnae think he has e’en bedded her.”

  “That is strange, is it nay? She is a fair piece and a fine armful for a mon.”

  “True, but he might ken weel how easily he could reveal his true self to a lass sharing his bed. Ye are keeping a close watch upon all our people, aye?”

  “Aye. He hasnae attacked anyone. If ’tis true that his ilk needs blood, he isnae taking it from our people.”

  “The animals? Horses? Cows?”

  “Nay them either. Cannae see any sign of it.”

  “He should have sought some out after ye wounded him.”

  “A wound I ken was deep, yet he suffered little trouble with it. It healed as if by magic.”

  “Which should have been because he got some blood somewhere.”

  “Are ye sure that is tr
ue? The blood drinking and all?” asked Egan.

  “The Laird says it is,” Sir Ranald replied, his tone one of a man quoting the words of some great prophet. “He has been hunting the MacNachtons all his life, has seen proof of their fiendish ways and vile hungers with his own eyes. One of his men saw this mon and swears he is one of them. Aye, I doubted all The Laird said, but recalled that mon from the village, the one who bedded Anne Drummond, bred a little beast on her, and then tried to return to his clan. This mon has the same look, the verra same reluctance to face the light of day. He claims to be here to see if we will ally with him in trade or in war but says little about what he wants and why. I think we have played this game with him long enough.”

  “So we kill him?” asked Egan, eagerness in his voice.

  “Nay unless we must. The Laird wants the mon. The Laird searches for the secrets of the strengths and weaknesses of the MacNachtons. He needs live ones. So we secure the bastard and then send word to The Laird. He will let us ken when and where to send our sly demon.”

  “Shall I take some men and see to that now?”

  “We will give the mon one more night to play his games, fill him with wine, and then catch him in his sleep. Pick five strong men to help us.“

  “Five?”

  “If The Laird speaks true, we will need at least that many to secure our captive.”

  “Jesu! What are these people? Six men to take down one? Is The Laird sane?”

  “Verra sane. These are demons, Egan. Satan’s own. That mon who bred a wee demon on Anne Drummond killed four men with his bare hands. And his teeth. Ne’er forget that, Egan. He killed armed men with his teeth. He ripped the throats right out of the men. I have his skull. I saw the teeth. I have found two others as well, and so, aye, I believe him. They are naught but monsters. Animals in men’s skins.”

  Murdina glanced at the wine she had brought and thought that Sir Ranald did not really need any more drink. To speak such nonsense he had to have had more than enough already. Quietly, she backed away from the door and then walked up to it making certain that the men in the room could hear her footsteps. She used the time to calm herself and to keep all knowledge of what she had just overheard from her face. After taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly to further calm herself, she rapped on the door, entering the room the moment after the laird called out to her. She almost stepped right back out, for the whole room smelled of fear, anger, and violence, all directed at a man she kept dreaming of kissing.

  “Ye took long enough, woman,” snapped Sir Ranald as Murdina set the tray down on his writing table and poured a tankard of wine each for the laird and Egan.

  “It took some time to find Mistress McKee and the key, m’laird,” she replied, deciding it did not hurt to at least try and explain her tardiness.

  Sir Ranald grunted and took a long drink before asking, “Any news of our guest?”

  “He is resting, m’laird,” she replied.

  “Resting? ’Tis the middle of the day.”

  “He keeps late hours, m’laird.” She shrugged. “He reads of a night, works on papers or letters, cleans his weapons, and such as that. If my father was called to tend to something that kept him working late, he, too, would rest during the day if his work allowed it. Mayhap Sir Baldwin keeps such hours when he is at home and thus has fallen into the habit of it all.”

  She quickly stopped talking when she saw how closely both men eyed her. Either her tone or her words must have hinted that she was doing more than just babbling; she was stoutly defending Sir Gillanders. She had been, but that was the very last thing she wanted these two hard-eyed men to think. Murdina did not wish to lose her place as Sir Gillanders’s maid, nor did she want them to grow as suspicious of her as they were of him.

  “So he avoids the heart of the day and thus the sun,” said Sir Ranald.

  “ ’Tis difficult to rest beneath the harsh light of the sun, m’laird, but, aye, he does darken the room. I did question it once when he said he didnae wish me to open the drapes, but he explained his reasons for that.”

  “Did he? And what did he say?”

  “That his eyes are verra sensitive to the strong light of the day.” Murdina hoped Sir Gillanders would forgive her for revealing that, but she was compelled to try and ease the suspicions the laird held. “He does have eyes of a most unusual color. It wouldnae be so strange if they had such a weakness.”

  “Nay, I suspicion it wouldnae be so strange for his eyes to have such trouble. Ye may go now.”

  Accustomed to the laird’s abrupt dismissals and eager to get away before he thought of more questions to ask, Murdina strode out of the room. She considered lurking outside the door to see if she could hear more of their plans for Sir Gillanders, but shook the idea from her head. If the laird and Egan wished to continue their discussion, they would now check to be certain she was gone. As quickly as she could without actually running, Murdina went to the kitchens.

  Her heart was thundering, stirred by all the wild thoughts running through her mind. She did not know what to do about all she had just heard. Sir Gillanders was in danger, yet should she risk her own life for a man she barely knew, a man who shamelessly taunted her with his beauty and kissed her without permission? A man who could take a sword thrust and healed from it as if touched by an angel? This was not her trouble. She was only a lowly maid who both the laird and Sir Gillanders had tried to use as a spy. Sir Gillanders was definitely playing some game with the laird.

  But has he done anything he should die for? she asked herself. The answer was an immediate no. Sir Gillanders Baldwin, or whatever his true name was, might be a seducer, a man with neither morals nor humility, but he was certainly not the monster the laird thought he was. Murdina was certain she would have seen the demon in Sir Gillanders after so many days of serving him. She had touched evil before and knew its chill. Touching Gillanders had never given her the same feeling. With her gift, it would be very hard for a true demon to hide himself and all he was from her.

  There was one thing that strongly roused her suspicions about the man. If he was the MacNachton Sir Ranald thought he was, why had he not told her anything about her cousin? The man by the graves of her aunt and uncle had been certain Adeline had left with a MacNachton. Sir Gillanders had to know something about her fate, yet he had said nothing, had acted as if he did not really know the woman. Perhaps he was hiding the fact that poor Adeline had been killed by his clansman.

  After a moment’s thought, she sighed and shook her head at her own foolishness. She was allowing the fear and suspicion of Sir Ranald and Egan to affect her. Sir Gillanders could not speak of Adeline or admit to knowing who the woman was if he was truly a MacNachton. He was here under false colors for some reason, and telling her he knew about Adeline would rip aside the mask he hid behind.

  “Murdina!”

  She turned to face Mistress McKee, almost glad to be distracted from her thoughts. Sir Gillanders had one more night. She did not need to make a decision on what she should or should not tell him right this minute. Although she already knew she would warn him, she needed a little time to decide how much to tell him about what Sir Ranald believed. This would be her home for a while longer, and she needed to tread carefully or find herself tossed out.

  “Aye, mistress?” Murdina moved out of the pantry where she had gone to idly sort the goods on the shelves and have some privacy to think.

  “I need ye to go to the laird’s chambers.”

  “Ye do?”

  “Dinnae look so worried. The mon isnae in his chambers but has just ridden out to see if he can hunt down some venison for the table. I cannae do the cleaning there as I had planned to. My daughter is about to give birth, and I need to be with her.”

  “Of course ye do, mistress. I wish her a safe and easy birthing.”

  “Thank ye, lass. Ye are a good child. Now, ye dinnae have to scrub the place down. Just change his linens and clear some of the dust. Mayhap clean out the hearth if
needed.”

  Murdina agreed, fetched the things she would need to do the chore, and made her way to the laird’s bedchamber. Being a maid who was allowed into the upper chambers was a lot better than being given work in the kitchens or the laundry, she decided. The work was hard, but she worked alone most of the time and that suited her. Then she stepped into the laird’s bedchamber and grimaced. The room was soaked in the man’s anger and cruelty. She felt as if her skin was crawling with it. As she shut the door, she glanced toward the hearth to see if it needed cleaning and gaped. Three clean skulls were set upon the mantel.

  Fighting back the urge to flee the room, she set down the bucket of water she had brought and cautiously approached the hearth. The closer she got, the more she saw that they were real, not some strange carvings. A shudder went through her as she wondered what the people had done to have their bodies treated with such disrespect. Taking a step closer she frowned, for there was something not right about the skulls. It took her a moment of staring hard at each one to realize that there was something wrong with the teeth. It looked as if the ones who had been killed had had fangs like some wolf.

  She took a step back and then told herself not to be a fool. The ones who had lost these heads were long dead. Murdina was not sure why the skulls had such teeth, but they looked real enough. She was not prepared to think these were the heads of some demons, however. People were born all the time with some oddity, the same oddity running through entire families. Had her mother not told her that her gift was one that had been in her family for a very long time?

  What the gruesome display did tell her was that Sir Gillanders was in grave danger. If this was how anyone with that strange style of teeth was treated, he was a dead man, for she had noted in passing during one of his heady kisses that he did have some very sharp teeth, ones that could be mistaken for fangs. The mere thought that his skull could soon be sitting on some man’s mantel made her stomach roll with horror. This barbarity decided her. She needed to warn him of the danger he was in as soon as possible and do so with great secrecy.