When she moved her small hand over his heart, he fought against tensing. She was asleep, but he was obviously letting his feelings run so strong that she could sense them even as she slept. Perhaps her gift would be enough to make her more understanding of how different he was. He smiled briefly. It would certainly make her a wife one never lied to.
There was still time before he had to confront her with the truth. He had no doubt about her desire for him. Despite her innocence it had run as hot and wild as his. He would make sure she shared enough of that pleasure with him that it would aid him in getting her to stay with him. He wanted her to love him, but he would take what he could get in the beginning.
Chapter Seven
A fading, late-day sun shone through the trees and touched Murdina’s fair skin and long, red hair with a warmth that made Gillanders harden with need from one breath to the next. She was beautiful and passionate, her innocence no barrier to her desire for him. The fierce urge he had to put his mark on her long, slim neck every time they made love told him that she was his mate. One time he might have been able to shrug it aside, but it had happened again. It would be impossible to convince himself otherwise now. The way she looked at him and made love to him told him that, if she were not in love with him now, she soon would be. However, he still faced the problem any MacNachton did upon finding his mate outside the clan. How did he tell her about the need to taste her blood and mark her as his own?
He decided to wait until they were within reach of the gates of Cambrun. Her cousin was there, marked and mated. Adeline would help ease whatever fears Murdina might have about his clan and their ways. As he slipped beneath the blanket and tugged her into his arms, he dreaded the time he would have to tell her what he was, and dreaded it more with every mile they drew closer to his home. He had, at best, but one full night and day left to enjoy the peace they had found together, to savor her smiles and sweet loving, before he put it all to the test with the harsh truth of his existence.
The touch of her small hand on his chest banished his worry. Gillanders smiled when she opened her eyes to look at him, loving the soft, sleepy look that lingered there. She smiled back at him, and he knew they would be lingering a while longer beneath the shelter of the trees. He brushed a kiss over her mouth and felt the tips of her breasts harden against his chest.
“How fare ye, lass? Sore?” he asked as he kissed her throat.
Murdina could feel the heat of a blush stain her cheeks, and, staring at the hollow at the base of his throat, answered, “Nay, I am hale.”
“Good.”
She laughed when he pushed her onto her back, but her amusement faded when he kissed her, passion rising quickly to brush it aside. Yet again she could sense his desire for her. It fed her own, blending with it and enriching it. In this, the skill that she had seen as mostly a curse became the gift her mother had always called it.
Every stroke of his hands added to the heat of her passion. Murdina caressed him wherever she could, delighting in the smooth warmth of his skin. She stroked his broad shoulders and tangled her fingers in his hair as he kissed his way down her body. It was not until his broad shoulders pushed between her thighs that she became aware of where his kisses had been leading. Shock cooled some of the desire racing through her veins, but with only a few strokes of his tongue it faded away, and she opened herself to his intimate kisses.
Just as she began to call to him, desperate to have him inside her, he began to kiss his way back up her body. When his mouth possessed hers, she wrapped her body around his, silently urging him to join with her and end the aching need he had roused. She gasped with pleasure when he thrust inside of her, filling her, and clung tightly to him as he took them both to that sweet paradise only he could give her.
It was not until he eased away from her, their breathing having slowly returned to a more normal pace, that Murdina became all too acutely aware of just how intimate they had been this time. She could feel a fierce blush burning her cheeks as she looked at him. Just what did one say when a man gave her such a sinful pleasure, and was she wrong to have enjoyed it as much as she had?
Gillanders brushed a kiss over her forehead and idly began to untangle her hair by combing his fingers through it. “Dinnae look so worried, lass. I dinnae think we are about to be struck down by God.”
His irreverent words and amused tone had annoyance conquering her embarrassment. “Nay having the vast experience ye do in such matters, pardon me if I need a wee bit of time to accept certain things. I am verra new to this game,” she muttered.
“ ’Tis no game I play here, lass. Trust me in that.”
Before she could ask what he meant by that, he gave her a quick kiss, stood up, and began to don his clothes. Murdina took a moment to enjoy the sight of his long, lean body touched by the soft light of a setting sun. It astonished her that such a man desired her as he did. She just wished she was able to tell how deep that desire went and if there was more there than the simple lusting all men had for a willing woman who returned their desire.
She quickly shook away that thought, knowing her mind would prey on it until her head ached but give her no answers. In moments she had used a little water and a rag to wash up and donned her clothes. She dug into her sack for what she needed to clean her teeth and drank some of the cider Gillanders offered along with one of the last bits of bread.
“We may be able to get a few supplies in the next village,” Gillanders said as he moved to ready the horses. “If we make good time we should reach Cambrun at sunset on the day after the morrow, but I certainly dinnae wish to go that long without something to eat, and we shouldnae pause to hunt down our food. It could take too long.”
Murdina secured their rolled-up blankets to their saddles. “Ye still believe that Sir Ranald is hunting us?”
“I do. I think he will pursue us right to the base of the mountain Cambrun sits upon.” He mounted and then looked at her. “Ye dinnae think so?”
“Oh, aye, I do,” she replied as she mounted her pony. “I but pray that I am wrong. Yet, I can still hear how he spoke of the man he meant to send ye to. I think Sir Ranald would do most anything to win that mon’s good regard.”
Gillanders nodded in agreement and nudged his horse into motion, keeping the animal’s pace slow so that Murdina could ride alongside him on her stout, placid little pony. He had thought to ease her worry about pursuit with a pleasant little lie, but had decided against it. It could prove dangerous, for it would cause her to stop keeping such a close watch for their enemy.
Travel proved slow for the sky was not clear and clouds often robbed the night of the light from the moon. Gillanders tried to ease the tedious plodding along by encouraging her to speak of her family, but they soon both fell silent. It was not easy to keep a careful watch on the path they took and talk at the same time. He also began to feel guilty over the way he evaded her questions about Cambrun and his clan.
He was going to have to tell her the truth before the sun set again. Gillanders knew he could not take her right up to the gates of Cambrun without preparing her for all she would discover there, no matter how much he would like to. It had been a coward’s plan. He found he had far more sympathy than he had ever had before for the men who had struggled with the same problem when they had found themselves mated to an Outsider. Belief in such things as demons and a natural repugnance for creatures who saw one as food made it difficult to gain acceptance from any Outsider, and his clan had learned to accept that hard truth. It was impossible to accept, however, when that Outsider was the one you wished to mark as your mate.
“Gillanders!”
The urgency of her soft call drew him out of his thoughts, and he looked to find her staring at him in fear. “What is it, love?”
“I think they are near at hand. Sir Ranald and his men. They are close.”
He wanted to deny it, if only out of pride. It was galling that he had not seen or heard the threat, but he shrugged that foolish vanity aside.
She had a gift, and it was proving its worth right now.
“Close?” he asked as he dismounted and unsheathed his sword.
“It feels as if they are all round us. Ye cannae mean to stand and fight. We should run.”
“If they are all round us, love, there is nowhere to run to. Dismount and stand with the horse. Go where the feelings ye are getting are nay so harsh and close.”
She did as he said, bowing to his better knowledge of such things, but her heart pounded with fear. It was hard to know how many men there were out there, creeping toward them through the thick trees, but it was more than one man could face. Murdina tried to calm her fear for him by reminding herself that Sir Ranald had said Gillanders was to be captured, not killed. Sir Ranald’s need to present a gift to the man he called The Laird could be what saved Gillanders, although she doubted she would be so lucky.
Her mind diverted by that thought, she began to plan how she might escape to get help for him if it looked as if he would be captured. His horse was strong, and she could tell by the look of the animal that it was also fast. Murdina decided she would mount the horse the moment it looked as if Gillanders was going to be captured. On her own she might be able to elude any pursuit until she could get to Cambrun and get help for him.
She was about to ask Gillanders if that was a good plan when the men broke through the trees and encircled him. They saw her, several glancing her way, but obviously considered her little threat and kept their full attention upon Gillanders. Murdina could not believe that he could face so many men and still hold that calm she could feel coming from him. The dark shadow she always sensed was a little stronger, but it was impossible to sense what it came from.
“So, ye are a cursed MacNachton just as I thought,” said Sir Ranald, standing with sword in hand but making sure his men were between him and Gillanders.
“Aye, and this is one skull ye willnae be decorating your bedchamber with,” said Gillanders.
“There are seven of us, fool,” said Egan.
“Aye, and it would grieve me to get that much blood on my hands, so I will give ye a chance to leave now, to turn away and return to your home and hearth.”
The men laughed, but Murdina shivered from a chill and that chill was coming from Gillanders. She looked at him and took a step back. His lovely amber eyes had changed to a more yellow shade. They looked like the eyes of a wolf. When he smiled, she glimpsed fangs and felt the first flicker of fear from Sir Ranald and his men.
The more she looked, the more the men with Sir Ranald edged toward Gillanders, the more Gillanders became different. His face changed to that of a pure predator, still beautiful, but now terrifying in that beauty. The hand that held the sword changed as well, his nails becoming more like claws, lengthening and thickening.
“The Laird wants him alive,” Sir Ranald said, making no move to join his men.
“I am nay dying for that mon,” said Egan as he charged Gillanders.
Murdina found herself trapped in a nightmare. Her fear for Gillanders faded the moment Egan’s head rolled across the clearing without her even seeing Gillanders swing the death stroke. She stumbled back as the dying Egan’s emotions slammed into her, adding to the fear she was already feeling from the men facing her lover.
Sir Ranald’s men charged Gillanders, but he leapt clear of them with a skill and grace no man should possess, appearing oblivious to the wounds that were inflicted upon his body. One man knocked Gillanders’s sword from his hand, but he quickly proved the weapon was unnecessary. With one swipe of his hand he gutted a man. With another he tore out a throat. Each man dying sent his last fierce emotions of fear, horror, and pain slamming into Murdina until she found herself backed up hard against a tree, still clinging tightly to the reins of their mounts. She released them, allowed the horses to back away from the blood and death filling the small, shaded clearing, and sank down onto the ground.
Gillanders had the last of Sir Ranald’s men by the throat and threw him against a tree. The snap of bones hurt her ears, but she was so consumed by the emotion battering her mind, heart, and body that she barely flinched. She wrapped her arms around her stomach as if to keep her churning innards from falling out, prayed she could cling to her sanity during this onslaught, and watched as Gillanders stopped Sir Ranald from fleeing.
“Who is The Laird?” Gillanders demanded.
“I dinnae ken!” Sir Ranald replied as he scratched helplessly at the hand around his throat. “I swear I dinnae ken. He ne’er tells anyone. I dinnae e’en think any of his men have seen him.”
“Yet ye all rush to do his bidding.”
“We fight demons.” His wide, terrified gaze flicked around at the bodies strewn upon the ground. “And ye are that, arenae ye. Ye are a demon.”
“Nay, ye fool. I am but a mon. Different, aye, but still but a mon, and if ye had let me just leave ye wouldnae be facing death.”
“I will keep your secret. I swear. I will say we ne’er found ye.”
“Is that what ye told my cousin ere he died?”
“I didnae kill him!”
“Nay, but I believe some of your men aided in the murder. And I think ye found others and killed them, which must have angered The Laird. Ye had three skulls on your mantel. Three of my kinsmen whose blood stains your hands, e’en if ye didnae do the actual killing. And I suspicion ye sent others to their deaths or torture at The Laird’s hands.”
“Nay! Nay!”
Even through the maelstrom of emotions tearing through her, Murdina could sense the man’s lies.
“Where is The Laird?” demanded Gillanders.
“I dinnae ken! His men come and take away any prisoners from those who get them. Or they arrange a place to take them to and someone collects them there. I cannae tell ye anything about the mon!”
“Then ye are of little use to me.”
Murdina almost fainted when Gillanders bent his head and bit into the laird’s throat. Sir Ranald’s fear and horror pounded against her already battered senses as the man she had made love to but hours ago drank his blood. Through Gillanders’s torn clothing, she could see the wounds he had suffered cease to bleed and begin to close. He was healing right before her eyes.
Murdina did not even have the strength to flinch when Gillanders lifted his head and with but one twist of his hand, snapped the laird’s neck. The laird’s last burst of emotion, tainted with his cruelty and anger, flooded her. She groaned from the force of it, the man’s final pain becoming her own.
Shaking, sweating, and rocking back and forth where she sat, Murdina watched as Gillanders checked all the men to be certain they were dead and even helped himself to what little of value they had. She remained seated when he walked out of the clearing, leaving her alone with the dead. A moment later she heard the sound of horses running and knew he had taken the time to free their animals.
A part of her wanted to run, but she was unable to move. Never had she suffered such a battering from the emotions of others. It was too much, too hard to control, and too dark. Murdina wanted to empty her belly but held it down, knowing she would not be able to move away from the mess once she was done. All she could do was wait until Gillanders returned.
When he did, she watched him cautiously approach her and could see nothing of the beast that had ended the lives of seven men. His eyes were again the color of warm amber and held a look of uncertainty that sat ill on his face. His fangs were gone, his face and hands clean of blood, and he had even changed his clothing so there was no blood on him. Yet over the image of the man whom she had let into her bed, was the one of the man who had just killed so many men, drank Sir Ranald’s blood, and healed before her very eyes.
The word demon whispered through her tortured mind, but she could not hold fast to it. Her heart refused to believe it even though her heart was being shredded by the death throes of so many men. Yet, Sir Gillanders MacNachton had not been honest with her. Murdina knew that, if she had the wit to think on that, could dig thr
ough the morass of others’ emotions that still rampaged through her, she would be hurt by that. She had to wonder if the torment she was now suffering was making her mad.
He reached for her, and she heard herself whimper and pressed herself against the tree. She could not bear any touch at the moment, could not tolerate even one more touch of another’s emotions or her heart would shatter. Perhaps even her mind. She sensed his hurt but, for the moment, was not concerned about how he felt.
Chapter Eight
“What are ye?”
Gillanders had never believed one’s heart could break; yet her words hit him like a mallet to the chest. He had to tightly clench his hand to stop himself from rubbing at his chest to ease the sudden, sharp pain her hoarsely whispered question had caused. It was not easy, but he sternly reminded himself that she was unaccustomed to the ways of the MacNachtons. She had grown up amongst Outsiders. To suddenly discover there were others in her world, ones so different from what she had always known, had to be a hard shock.
He sat down in front of her, trying not to be hurt by the way she pressed herself back against the tree she sat next to. It was impossible to do when he could see how desperately she wanted to keep a distance between them. Her fear was so strong he could almost smell it. He ached to take her into his arms and soothe that fear away but knew that she would run if he reached for her now.
“I am a MacNachton. Sir Gillanders MacNachton of Cambrun.”
“That isnae all.”
“Nay, I am a Callan as weel.” A brief flare of anger darkened her eyes, and he hoped it was a sign that her shock and fear were easing. “We MacNachtons are but a different breed of people. In some ways, so are the people of my mother’s clan, the Callans.”
“Different how? Those fangs?”
“Aye, all MacNachtons have them.”
“To drink blood?” Murdina had to swallow hard, afraid the frantic roiling in her belly would make her sick.
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