Highland Vampire (15 page)

She took a few steps closer. He could feel the warmth of her body, smell the flowery scent of her lovely skin. Her glorious hair surrounded her body like a silken veil of spun gold, and he could barely contain his need to run his hands through it.

Nothing could spoil this incredible moment.

Yet as he approached his bride, a shiver of unease passed through Callum's body. Something was wrong. Battle instincts honed through years of rough warfare made him turn in alarm.

The door was barred shut from the inside, just as he had left it, but there was a movement in the far corner of the room, a shadowy figure of evil. The hair on Callum's nape started to prickle. Naked and defenseless, he lunged toward his sword, which had been left near the bedchamber's doorway.

As he rushed toward it, he heard Maev's scream of fright and agony.
God Almighty
! Heart pounding with fear, he grabbed his sword with both hands, turned, raised it high above his head, and charged straight ahead, a mighty battle cry upon his lips. He could not clearly see his enemy, but he knew the enemy was there, threatening all that he valued, all that he loved.

Callum's feet came off the ground as he connected with the unseen warrior. Dimly he could hear Maev's screams continue. Callum felt numb. He fought with courage and strength, striking out fiercely, yet this time his efforts yielded no victory. As he struggled to get closer to Maev, Callum felt a crushing blow at the back of his head. A light of sharp pain exploded in his brain, then total darkness descended upon him.

"They have been shut up in that bedchamber for nearly two days," Brenda said, her brow furrowing as she glanced at the strong wooden door. "I dinna care how loving a couple they might be, 'tis unnatural to go so long without food or drink. Ye must demand that they open the door. At once. I want to see my daughter."

The laird of the McGinnises raised his brow and gave her a masculine snicker. "Maybe she disna want to see ye."

"Then she can tell me to go away," Brenda retorted. Drawing herself to her full height, which was little more than five feet, she signaled to the female servants waiting in the hallway.

The pair hurried forward, and after a quelling glance from Brenda, the laird moved aside and allowed them to pass. Arms ladened with trays of food and drink, they stood at a respectful distance behind Brenda.

The older woman raised her arm and knocked, and when there was no response, she called out, "Maev, 'tis yer mother. I've brought ye and Callum some lovely refreshments. Open the door so we can deliver yer meal before it gets cold."

The silence continued. Brenda tried again, this time offering to have the tub fetched so the couple could have a nice warm bath.

"They might be sleeping," one of the servants volunteered.

"Or just plain exhausted," the other chimed in, and both women giggled.

"Aye," the laird agreed. "Just leave the trays in the hall. When they have a need, they'll come looking for the food."

It was a logical suggestion, but a nagging sense of unease began to grip Brenda. Perhaps it was the worry of a protective mother, but it suddenly became vitally important to see and speak with Maev.

She lifted the door latch, but was unable to budge the heavy wooden door. "'Tis barred from the other side," Brenda said. Her pulse raced and her heart started pounding with fear. Turning toward the laird, she asked, "Can ye open it?"

Irritation flashed through the laird's eyes, then he expelled a resigned sigh. "Dinna expect me to protect you from my nephew's wrath," he warned as he braced his shoulder and rammed it against the wood. "Most men want to be alone with their brides, and Callum is no exception."

It took several attempts before the door broke free. It slammed open noisily, assuring that if the couple had been asleep, they would certainly be awake now.

The moment the way was clear, Brenda pushed past the laird and entered the bedchamber. But she could scarcely credit her eyes with the sight that greeted her.

"Mother of God!"

Callum lay sprawled on the floor, his left cheek pressed against the cold stone. Maev was on her back on the bed, her head twisted at an odd angle. Both were naked, their flesh an unhealthy, pasty white color. Beneath each of them was a large, dark pool of dried liquid.

Blood
. Oh, dear God, she had never seen so much blood. The scent of it seemed to surround her. A horrible, coppery taste coated Brenda's tongue. Sobbing and crying Maev's name, Brenda ran to her daughter's side. She lifted her limp body into her arms, trying to ignore the smears of deep crimson on the white bed linens.

Behind her, Brenda could hear the laird's shouts of surprise and grief. There were footsteps and yelling, screams of anguish and horror.

"He's dead."

"My God, who could have done this?"

"We must search the castle grounds at once. Whoever is responsible for this carnage will be caught and punished."

Brenda cradled Maev's head in her lap. She smoothed back a few strands of her daughter's hair, revealing a pale cheek streaked with dry blood. Maev's body was cold, yet still pliable. Brenda continued to stroke her face and hair, a gesture that had always comforted Maev as a child.

Suddenly, she felt the faint pulse of life at Maev's neck. Tears streamed down her face as Brenda's heart soared with hope. Pressing her ear close to the spot, she waited and listened. The beat was so weak she could barely hear it. But it was there. Feeble and sporadic, with long moments of somber silence between each thump.

"She lives!" Brenda hugged Maev's limp shoulders as her lips moved in an anxious prayer of thanks.

In all the commotion, no one heard Brenda's exclamation. Except for Maev. Miraculously, her eyes opened. She gazed in solemn confusion at her mother for several long moments.

"Callum?" she whispered weakly.

Brenda slowly shook her head. "He's with the Lord."

Maev's face contorted with pain. Her eyes seemed to lose focus and then her lashes fluttered closed.

It was a tragic day for the Clan McGinnis. Those who had so recently gathered to celebrate Callum's nuptial joy now huddled together at his grave and offered prayers for his soul. Maev, her body and spirit broken, her mind unhinged, did not attend the funeral mass or the burial. Brenda remained by her daughter's bedside, trying to offer healing and comfort.

"Please, love, ye must try and swallow a wee bit of the broth I made for ye," Brenda pleaded. "Nothing has past yer lips for days."

Maev turned and gave Brenda a blank stare. Her sunken cheeks were nearly the same white color as the linen on the pillowcase where her head lay. Callum, God rest his soul, was dead, but the life had been taken from Maev also, and the mystery surrounding the fatal attack was a heavy burden for all of them.

The castle grounds and village had been thoroughly searched, but no intruders had been found. The door had been barred from the inside; the height of the bedchamber and sheer drop to the ground outside the chamber's window made it difficult to believe someone had escaped so easily.

So how had the killer gotten out of the room?

There were no large stab wounds on either Maev or Callum, which made the presence of so much blood another mystery. The laird had questioned Maev endlessly, yet she had no answers, repeating constantly that she had seen nothing, remembered nothing.

As the mood of the clan grew restless and edgy, the initial sympathy toward Maev began to wane. It worried Brenda, for she knew there were many who now viewed her daughter with great suspicion and believed she was somehow part of this heinous event.

Suddenly, the bedchamber door burst open and the laird came charging through it. He was encircled by a ring of his most loyal warriors, and from the thunderous expression on his face, she knew there had been more trouble.

Brenda's stomach clenched at the sight of them. "What is it? What has happened?" she asked worriedly.

The laird ignored Brenda's question and looked beyond her, firing a glance of hatred at Maev so strong it pierced Brenda's soul. She knew he blamed Maev for Callum's death, but it seemed ludicrous to think her helpless, grief-stricken daughter had had anything to do with his nephew's demise.

"Callum's grave has been desecrated, his body taken," the laird announced. "I want to hear what Maev has to say about it."

Brenda caught her breath at the accusation. "Maev is weaker than a kitten, flat on her back and wallowing in grief and misery. She hasna the strength to walk to the garderobe, let alone dig up a grave."

"'Tis sorcery," one of the men declared hotly. "The work of the devil and the devil's handmaiden."

"Aye," another agreed. "We should bury her in the grave she has robbed and leave her there till her flesh rots from her bones."

Brenda gasped. She glanced wildly from side to side, but the men were blocking the doorway, cutting off the only avenue of escape. Besides, she could not leave without Maev, and her poor daughter was in no condition to flee.

The thought resonated with frightening clarity in Brenda's mind, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. Her lips began to move in quiet prayer as the men argued over Maev's fate.

"If we kill her, the magic could get stronger. It might be wiser to banish her."

"Aye, set her far away from all decent folk."

"No," Brenda shouted with newfound vehemence. She opened her eyes and turned frantically from one man to the next, but their faces all held the same expression of vengeance.

The heir was dead, his body taken, and someone had to pay. Many had always been suspicious of Maev's origins, and now they believed they had proof she possessed evil powers.

"There is an ancient stone tower on the northern border of the McGinnis lands," the laird said. "Bring her there, and tell her if she ever ventures farther than a mile or two from it, she will be put to death."

"She will die if ye leave her alone out there," Brenda cried. Panic tightened her chest. She practically threw herself at the laird, clinging tightly to his plaid as she pleaded for her daughter's life. "Ye must not do this to her. She has done nothing, nothing!"

The laird's expression would have chilled the sun. "My nephew is dead, his body taken. Clearly, sorcery is the cause."

"But how can ye blame Maev?"

The laird's lips twisted with disgust. He spoke tightly. "She is alive."

Silence filled the air around them. "If ye send her away, then I'm going with her," Brenda declared.

"Think hard upon yer decision. If ye go, ye may never return."

"She is my child. And she is innocent."

The laird had no reply. Brenda felt as if the world were spinning crazily around her. Thankfully, her righteous anger kept her moving at a lightning pace. She was given little time to prepare for the journey. Brenda quickly dressed an unresponsive Maev in a warm gown, then insisted that the trunks containing her daughter's dowry be loaded in the cart.

Fearing to leave Maev alone with the men for even a minute left Brenda no time to gather any of her personal belongings from her cottage, but she gave it nary a passing thought. Her main concern was for her daughter, whose head she held in her lap throughout the long journey as the cart bumped and swayed over the uneven terrain.

As they climbed higher in the mountains, the air became cooler, the woods thicker. Finally the men stopped beside a tall, round, stone tower. It stood on a low ledge at the mountain's peak, weathered and abandoned, with thick vines clinging up the sides. The entrance door swung in the desolate wind, its hinges creaking.

Brenda saw no signs of life. It was so quiet, she could hear her breath catching in her throat. After unloading the women's possessions, the escort of men turned and left, saying nothing.

With her arms clasped firmly around Maev's waist, Brenda led her daughter into the dwelling. It was dark and gloomy, with sections of the stone floor and walls missing. They both shivered as the wind whistled through the openings and swirled against their legs.

There were no candles or torches to light, though in truth Brenda was not anxious to illuminate the area. She had already spotted several piles of rat dung and could only imagine what other wild creatures had found sanctuary within the tower.

There was a lone wooden stool pushed near the cold hearth. Brenda set Maev upon it, propping her shoulder against the wall so she would not topple over. She took a deep breath and tried to force her mind to formulate a plan of action, biting her lips when she could not get her thoughts organized.

The place was a hovel. Crumbling, remote, isolated, lacking in even the basic necessities. It was barbaric to be expected to live here for the rest of their lives. As Brenda looked around her, the final vestiges of hope she had been clinging to throughout this ordeal began to fade. She sank to her knees and began weeping.

To what manner of hell had they been condemned?

Chapter Three

Three years later

As she stood braving the harsh elements on the rampart of the tall, narrow tower, Maev McGinnis could see the vast forest stretching out for miles in every direction. The land was spacious and intimidating, an untamed wilderness filled with unknown dangers, clearly not a place for the weak or timid.

There was one poorly defined path leading up to her prison tower and that remained empty. As always. Maev spent many hours staring toward that endless horizon, yet she never saw any signs of travelers, either on foot or horseback, no human movement of any kind. She often wondered how she would react, what she would feel, if she saw someone approaching. Fear? Relief? Indifference?

Though it had been days since the last storm, the air still smelled of rain. Plumes of pale pink and violet blazed across the sky with luminous splendor as the sun began setting. It was a rare moment of pure beauty and majesty, yet Maev felt no emotions.

A shudder shook her shoulders when a strong gust of wind blew, making her lips twitch. She pulled the ends of her threadbare shawl tightly together, but it offered little protection from the cold.