Desire in Tartan: 2 (Highland Vampires) (9 page)

While she allowed bliss to flood her body, her mind hadn’t stopped. She wondered what she’d become. Last night she’d thought they were going to die, which had made what she did with Dugald permissible, of no consequence given their probable fate. But what were her reasons on this new, bright day?

She’d been carried away by the beauty of the morning and sheer relief that she—they—were still alive. That did not make what they were doing right, or smart.

But could she stop herself, or him?

Later, p’raps, but not at this moment, not when he had his head buried between her legs and his tongue buried in her cunny and his fingers, his marvelously long, clever fingers, buried in her channel doing delicious and naughty things.

Naughty. She’d never before been naughty. Never had the opportunity, really, not after her mother had died and they’d lost their home and everything had gone to—she dared think the word—
hell.

There. She hadn’t said it, but she’d thought it.
My life had been hell.
And hell for her had been a cold and lonely place, wandering between different colleges and universities, never knowing a true home, not since Mama had died. She’d taken care of her father and made the semblance of a home as best as she had been able wherever they’d been, but life had been hard. Life had been hell.

Dugald stopped kissing her cunny and looked up the length of her naked form and into her eyes. “What is it, mistress? For a mo’ ye seemed ten thousand furlongs away.”

She came back to the moment and smiled at him. “I was just thinking.”

“Thinking?” His black brows drew together. “Ye’re not supposed to think when your man makes love to ye, lass. Ye’re supposed to feel. But what thoughts trouble your lovely head?” He scooted up her body by her side and draped his arm around her shoulders.

“Everything’s changed now. Everything in my life.”

“Everything had already changed for ye. It’s just changed a little more.”

She turned her face away. “I don’t want the Kilburns to think I’m…loose. Unsuitable to teach their children.”

“Och. I didnae think of that last night. ’Tis true that milady is a stickler.” He shrugged. “Well, then, there’s a few solutions. We’ll hide what we do, or we won’t do it at all. Or we’ll marry or, if ye prefer, handfast. There be many Kilburn men—mayhap ye’ll prefer another.” He winked.

“Never. What if I’m…increasing?”

His face went blank and smooth, and her heart chilled.

Then he smiled at her and hugged her closer. “That shouldnae happen, but if it does, I’ll love our bairn all his life.”

“Or her.” But what had that momentary bleak expression meant?

“Or her.” His voice was firm.

She cast aside her concern. He sounded sure, so why should she worry?

He went on, “I’m your man, Mistress Alice. One look at ye, one sniff of your gorgeous perfume and I was lost, lost forever.” His voice had taken on a sonorous tone.

She jabbed him with an elbow. “Stop that.”

He laughed.

“And what perfume do you mean? I don’t wear scent. I can’t afford to buy any.”

He nuzzled her neck. “Then your fragrance is something natural to ye. And as enticing as the tastiest stew.”

“Thank you,” she said tartly, stood and walked off.

He followed her toward the water, watching as she rinsed.

A mystery was Mistress Alice, and again he was assailed by doubts. What had he said that was so wrong? What had she been thinking?

He sighed. He knew ‘twas wrong to compare, but his wife Elsbeth had been an open book, earthy, warm and direct. Alice was frequently direct, and undoubtedly honest, but she was different.

She’s a Sassenach, he reminded himself. An outsider, an Englishwoman. But that couldnae be the root of the mystery, could it? Elsbeth had also been English. But she’d been milady’s servant, while Mistress Alice wasnae one thing nor the other, he hazarded. She wasnae a highborn lady but not a servant either.

He didnae quite ken how to deal with her. But deal with her he must.

And, truth to tell, he wanted to be hers, and she his. That she’d been virgin had been a bonus. He would be her one and only.

As for bairns…well, that might never happen. He’d pulled out, and creatures such as he rarely reproduced, despite their long-lived nature. Should he tell her of his doubts? Of his late wife’s fate?

No.

He followed Alice to the edge of the water and in. Impulse seized him and he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her deeper into the waves.

She squealed. “Stop!”

“Why?”

“I can’t swim!”

“I can,” he said, laughing. “Have I ever steered ye wrong, mistress mine?”

She stopped gulping in air and calmed, her struggling body growing still. “Er, no.”

“Weel, then…” He towed her swiftly out beyond the breakers, and she gasped. From his speed, he reckoned. He was bigger and faster than ordinary. He didnae regard that as anything to boast about, just fact. “Push your feet doon, like ye’re stamping on a floor.”

She obeyed and he held her away from his body so she wouldnae knee him in the cods. “I’m gonnae let ye go now.”

She sent him a glance replete with fear.

“I’ll no let ye drown. How would I explain that to milaird and milady?”

“Very amusing.”

“‘Tis no’ amusing at all.” He sighed. “I already have to explain Malcolm’s death.”

“What will happen? Will you be punished?”

“Och, no. That’s not milaird’s way. There may be some shouting, of course, but no punishment except that of me conscience.” He pulled away from her, holding on only to her hands. Her fingers curled around his even while her arms gently waved beneath the water’s surface.

“That you have one is to your credit. Many men do not.” She took a deep breath and let him go. She trod water quite capably though she hadnae lost the look of a frightened ewe.

“Good! Good! Ye may now add swimming to yer list of accomplishments when ye meet milaird and milady.”

She giggled. “Hardly. I feel as though I am barely staying alive.” The waves lifted her and let her down, clasping her in their rhythmic grasp. Her breathing evened.

“Treading water is the first step. The other two are stroking with yer arms, like this…” He demonstrated. “And kicking. Well done. Take me hand and let’s go back.”

She obeyed. “Yes, let’s. It’s cold. I can’t believe you dragged me out here!”

“’Tisnae nearly as cold as the sea at Kilburn,” he said whilst towing her. “Home is much farther north. Remember to kick and stroke.”

“Ah.”

She kicked and he towed and they speedily reached the shoreline. He walked up the beach, found a clean, dry chemise and handed it to her along with her new pink silk shift. Though crumpled and none too immaculate, ‘twas nevertheless hers, and he guessed she’d prefer to wear her own apparel.

He was right. She dried her lovely, lithe body—the body he’d claimed and loved so well—with the borrowed chemise and donned her own, then found stockings, a blouse and her riding habit. “Where are my stays?” she demanded, holding the jacket in one hand and the skirt in the other.

He evaded her eyes. “I couldnae find them. Do ye really need them? Your form is beautiful, mistress, in need of no…staying.” He shoved his legs into his black trews and tied them at his waist.

“Thank you.” A bonnie blush stained her cheeks as she found petticoats and tied them beneath her habit’s skirt. She slid her arms into the jacket and buttoned it up to the throat before looking for boots that fitted. That took a few minutes while she tried different pairs before she exclaimed in delight. “You found my boots!”

“I did?” He slipped his arms into his shirt.

“Yes!” She held up a pair of battered black boots.

He restrained a sigh. He’d hoped she’d find a different, newer, pair. “Do any of the others fit?”

“Yes, but it never does to break in new shoes on a long trip. Didn’t you know?”

“That may be, but carry with ye any shoon that fit, mistress. Ye may have need of them.” He sat on the discarded clothing and pulled on his boots. “Are ye ready?”

“In a moment.”

While she fussed with her clothing he went to inspect last night’s bonfire. His belly roiled, but he took a stick and poked through the cold embers. He found a pewter button that the Beans had overlooked, one that he recognized, for a stag was stamped into the thin metal. The presence of their clan emblem confirmed what he’d surmised. His young cousin Malcolm had been cooked and eaten in this place.

He crouched on his heels and sighed. Not much of Malcolm was left to return to Kilburn for proper disposition, but at least Dugald could assure the clan that Malcolm had been burned, as their customs required. He retrieved the big, long bones that hadn’t been consumed by the flames and rinsed them in the sea before returning to the discarded clothing for a plaidie to wrap the remains. He’d take them home to Malcolm’s mother along with the head.

He wondered what his little mistress would think of their customs, but decided that she’d become used to their ways, just as had milady.

“Come,” he said to Alice. He led her to the path up to the cliff and helped her with the climb. The sun wasnae so hot, but he noticed that she struggled a wee bit even though he held her arm. Though she didnae complain, she panted and sighed with relief when they reached the top, where Archie awaited them along with three mounts.

She exclaimed with delight. “Mary!” The mare snorted and tossed her head while Alice petted the black mane.

Archie coughed and she turned to him. “Hello,” she said rather formally, holding out her hand. “Thank you.”

Archie shot her an amazed look while Dugald chuckled. “Ye can put away your company manners, mistress. Ye’re one of us.”

She nodded and looked around. “I hope you didn’t wait long,” she said to Archie. “But at least you had a nice view.”

He snorted, sounding rather like the horse. “‘Twas dark and foggy throughout the night.” He shot Dugald a glare. “The long, cold night.”

“Whisht, mon. All’s well that ends well,” Dugald took Alice’s hand. “Up ye go, mistress. I doonae ken how ye feel but I want me breakfast.”

* * * * *

‘Twas a longish ride to Kilbirnie but they stopped several times, once to retrieve a wrapped bundle surrounded by a swarm of curious insects. She didn’t dare to ask what it was, for she could guess by the somber expressions on the men’s faces. Later Archie spotted some late berries by a stream. Small and shriveled they were, but sweet, and Alice hoped that they’d keep the worst of her hunger pangs at bay. They had to. She had no choice, she grimly reminded herself.

They arrived at Kilbirnie Castle in the afternoon, having lost one day to the depredations of the Beans…one day and one man, she thought, despondent. How would they fare during the rest of their travels? This was only the afternoon of the second day and already she felt as though she’d lived a lifetime on the road.

Kilbirnie Castle was a graceful edifice, not a great, gloomy stone pile like the university in Glasgow. She had no reason to conclude that it was a friendly place, save her instinct, which was surely influenced by the need to find shelter, warmth and amenities.

They were met at the open castle gate by someone she assumed was the castle’s steward. He took one look at Dugald’s face and said, “We’ve hot baths and a good supper for ye, sir, at our table.”

He turned to Alice. “Welcome, Mistress Derwent, to Kilbirnie. Ye may bide with us as long as ye like, certainly until ye’re rested.”

Alice nodded and, swaying, slid off her mare, holding back tears of fatigue. Her knees buckled and the steward grabbed her before she crumpled to the ground.

Dugald leaped off his mount. “I’ll take her.”

The steward nodded. “Come awa’ then. We’ll find her a maid to help her.”

For Alice, the next minutes were a blur. Dugald carried her to a small room where a maid awaited her. The round-faced young woman stripped Alice of her dirty clothes, wrinkling her freckled nose as she did so. She dumped Alice into a bath where, despite the brisk scrubbing, she fell asleep.

* * * * *

When she awakened, she didn’t know how she’d ended up in a bed, but she had, and a very nice one. It was clean, and big enough so that when she stretched out her arms and legs she didn’t touch any side of it at all. She rubbed her head, carefully examining the small bump she’d suffered in the grotto. Her hair was damp, although the maid had braided it.

Alice wasn’t sleepy anymore but was ravenously hungry. What time was it?

Even though her eyes were accustomed to the dark, she couldn’t see anything whatsoever except the vague shape of a candle near her bed. P’raps it had been left for her but it had guttered out. Despite hunger and thirst, she had no taste for wandering around an unfamiliar castle in the dead of night.

The dead of night. Why had she thought of that phrase? But there it was.

She shivered, her memory dredging forth the image of Malcolm’s headless corpse dangling over a horse. Body parts dripping with blood strewn around the Beans’ cave. Dugald’s mouth rimmed with red.