Highland Vampire (23 page)

Chapter One

The shadows near the castle darkened as a chill settled in the air. Within the thick walls the boisterous celebrations continued unabated, but those servants scurrying about the courtyard abruptly halted with a sense of dread.

"The Beast walks…" muttered a grizzled guard, gripping his broadsword in fear.

The Beast walks
, echoed on whispers in the still night air.

With a rush of fear, servants hurried toward safety, crossing themselves and mouthing prayers of protection. All knew that to catch sight of the scourge of MacDonnell was certain death.

Standing just outside the open gate, Bane watched the frantic chaos with a cold amusement.

He rarely allowed his presence to be felt. He took scant pleasure in leaving the isolation of his lair and preferred to hunt with stealth.

On this night, however, he desired all to feel his dark force.

‘Twas, after all, a most special evening.

Within the great hall the Foster laird was celebrating the saint's day for his eldest daughter. The clan was gathered as the maid was toasted and led to the dais as an honored guest.

And a proper sacrifice for the Beast of MacDonnell.

Tonight the lassie turned one and twenty. A thin smile touched his lips. The age he would mark her as his own and lead her to his mist-shrouded lair.

She would come eagerly, of course. The curse would hold her in ruthless enchantment, and she would overcome any obstacle or kill any in her path to make her way to Bane's side.

Not that any would stand in her path, he acknowledged wryly. All knew the ancient legend. And the price demanded to keep the Foster clan from certain death.

Aye. For all their lavish displays of sympathy for the poor lassie, they would truss her up like a fatted pig and toss her into the glen if need be.

He well knew such cowardice. Although two centuries had passed, he could recall with perfect clarity the clansmen who had led him to his own doom. Nary one had been willing to risk the wrath of the chief to offer a warning or lift a sword in his defense.

Honor and loyalty had been sold for no more than a bid to gain favor.

The pale, elegant features hardened. That, of course, had only been the beginning of the treachery.

In the distance Bane could hear the heavy thud of tankards banging against the wooden tables, and he thrust aside his brooding. The celebration would soon be coming to an end. ‘Twas time to claim his sacrifice.

Indifferent to the warriors who lined the battlements, he moved silently toward the gate. What need he fear? His death at the swing of a broadsword now ensured that he was impervious to mortal threat.

An ironic twist of fate that the ancient laird who had commanded his death would ensure his future heirs would be incapable of halting Bane's revenge.

Almost upon the gate Bane stilled as the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention. With ease he melted into the shadows, sharply curious to discover who would be daring enough to ignore the thick menace surrounding the castle. Surely they must be daft.

Or desperate…

The cold smile once again touched his lips as he tilted back his head to sniff the air. Aye. A Foster lassie. The stench of her blood was unmistakable.

‘Twas not surprising. This would not be the first occasion his sacrifice attempted to flee, he acknowledged with a flare of disdain. There was little courage or dignity flowing through the veins of his enemy. More than one of the maids would have condemned their entire clan to death if they could slip away and save their own skin.

Content to wait for the lassie to walk toward her doom, Bane absently stroked the delicate golden tore hung about his neck. It would be a simple matter to enchant her as she passed, although not quite so satisfying as luring her away in view of her father and kin.

As the footsteps neared, however, a faint frown marred his smooth countenance.

He once again sniffed the air. There were two females approaching. One an elderly servant. And the other…

A Foster lassie, without doubt. But not the one he was seeking.

Stepping deeper into the shadows, he watched them pass through the gate with a narrowed gaze. What would lead the wench out at such an hour? Any woman of sense would be locked in her quarters on such an eve.

Intrigued in spite of himself, Bane studied the slender waif shrouded in silver moonlight.

Although she was wrapped in a heavy cloak, he could tell she was constructed on delicate lines. Far more delicate than most of the raw-boned Foster clan, with a restless spirit that smoldered in the odd, gold-flecked hazel eyes. And unlike the rest of her kin, her hair was not the golden red of a sunrise, but rather a deep simmering fire that tumbled about her ivory skin like licks of flame.

There was little to remind him of the deceitful lassie who had betrayed him near two hundred years before.

Nothing but the smell of her blood.

Lingering despite his urge to complete his revenge and return to his lair, Bane watched as the heavyset servant with a square countenance and braid of coarse gray hair reached out to grasp the female's cloak.

"Isobella, this is daft. Ye must return to the castle."

With obvious impatience the lassie twitched the cloak from the clinging fingers. "Och, let me be."

"Nay. I cannae let ye," the servant moaned. "There be something terrible foul in the air tonight."

Isobella gave a loud sniff, but Bane did not miss the faint shiver that raced through the slender form.

"Ye would have me cower behind these walls? To await the Beast to come steal my sister as do those pathetic wretches who claim to be noblemen and warriors?"

Her tone was fierce, and Bane lifted a raven brow in surprise. So, 'twas not only her appearance that was at odds with her clan.

"'Tis naught that can be done, mistress. The curse cannae be broken. If Katherine doesnae offer herself to the Beast, every man, woman, and child will be slain. Is that what ye would have?"

"Of course not. But neither do I intend to do no more than wail and bemoan Katherine's fate. There must be some means to halt the curse." The lassie wrapped her cloak even tighter about herself as she glanced toward the nearby trees. “There must be."

"There is none. All who have tried are in their graves," the servant retorted. "If nay worse."

"So we have been told. For too long we have been held in the clutches of fear to even attempt an end to the plague that besieges us."

"Nay, mistress." The older woman hastily crossed herself, perhaps sensing the danger that lurked in the shadows. "Many have entered the cursed glen never to return."

Isobella gave a toss of her head. "Foolish lads and drunken warriors out to seek glory. They blunder forward where stealth is needed. None have attempted to discover the weakness of the Beast so that it might be slain."

"That is what ye intend to do?"

"What else can I do?" The delicate features hardened in the moonlight. "I cannae hide here and do nothing."

Bane stilled, caught in an odd sense of fascination.

"'Tis sorely hard, but consider, lassie, there is nay saying the Beast will come for Katherine on this night. It is said in the past he has ofttimes waited days and even weeks afore he claimed his prize."

"But he will come," she said in flat tones.

The servant sighed. "Aye, he will come."

"I will put off my duty no longer. I had hoped that Father would gather his courage and do what is necessary… och." Isobella squared her shoulders. "I hoped in vain. Now 'tis upon my shoulders."

"Nay."

"Aye. Go back to the great hall. Stay with Katherine."

Although the command was said in a gentle manner, there was no mistaking the authority in the wench's voice. This was a maid who was accustomed to having her orders obeyed.

Lifting her shawl to dab at her eyes, the servant scurried back through the gate. Left on her own, Isobella paused for a moment, glancing about the darkness with obvious unease. Then, with a tilt of her chin, she briskly moved toward the nearby trees.

Bane found himself hesitating. He had one purpose when he had approached the castle. To capture his prize and return to his lair. Simple and uncomplicated. Just as he preferred his existence to be.

Now, however, he could not deny a strange compulsion gathering within him. The lassie had done something to him that no one had managed in near two centuries.

She had stirred his interest.

Flowing through the darkness behind the slender form, Bane did not bother to ponder his distraction. Aye, what did it matter? ‘Twas enough he must discover more of the wench.

With unnatural ease, he managed to pass through the thickening woods. Not so much as a leaf rustled or twig snapped. His presence, however, remained thick in the air, quickening the maid's step as she glanced over her shoulder with mounting apprehension. She could feel him closing in. Still she continued forward, perhaps attempting to convince herself that the prickles on her skin were mere fancy.

They traveled ever closer to the misty glen that protected his lair. Bane faintly smiled at her courage. Or perhaps madness. Few had ever conjured the nerve to wander so close.

Altering her path, the lassie stepped into a small opening. Then, spinning about, she pressed her back to a tree and pulled a small dirk from beneath her cloak.

"Who is there?" she demanded. "Show yerself."

Bane studied the frantic pulse beating at the base of her throat. God's teeth but she stirred his instincts. Bloodlust. But… more. Some sensation that seemed a distant echo of a forgotten memory.

Remaining in the gloom of the circling trees, Bane folded his arms over his chest.

"Do ye think to command me, lassie?"

The pulse fluttered with even more force, but astonishingly she remained poised to fight rather than flee.

"As is my right." Her voice rang through the clearing. "This is Foster land, and I am the laird's daughter."

His lips curled. "How proudly spoken."

"Not proudly, 'tis merely the truth."

"I know who ye are," he said with a cool disdain. "I can smell the taint of yer father's blood in the air."

The hazel eyes widened with startled anger. "Ye seek to insult me while hiding behind the trees? Why do ye lurk in the shadows? Are ye shamed to show yer face?"

"I have no need for shame, my honor is above reproach." He allowed a faint pause. "Can ye say the same, daughter of Foster?"

A dull blush marred her ivory skin. Bane narrowed his gaze. So, the wench felt the sting of her family disgrace. A far cry more than her father suffered.

"Ye waste my time," she gritted. "I nay desire foolish games."

"Ah. Then what is it ye
do
desire alone in the darkness?" he drawled.

"Merely to be on my way."

Silently Bane shifted through the trees, coming ever closer. "On yer way to where?"

She frowned, sensing his movement but unable to see him through the darkness.

"That is my business and my business alone."

"Should ye not be safely tucked in yer virginal blankets at such an hour? The dark is a dangerous place for such a beautiful lassie."

"I have no fear." With a determined motion she lifted the dirk to brandish it at the shadows.

Bane offered a rasping laugh. "Ye believe that ye are protected by that slender blade? Or is it that shrill tongue ye depend upon to keep the demons at bay?"

Her lips thinned. "I am protected by my father and his men. Should any harm befall me, there would be nowhere safe enough for ye to hide."

Bane stilled, his age-old fury flowing through his body. ‘Twas in this very spot that he had been surrounded by Foster warriors and brutally attacked.

And all for the love of a woman.

"Ah, the same father who drinks in his hall and waits to toss his daughter to the Beast of MacDonnell?" he mocked. "I tremble in terror."

Her color deepened. As much in anger as in shame.

"Saints above, I will not talk to shadows," she gritted. "Show yerself or be on yer way."

Bane hesitated. He should be on his way. To return either to the castle and his waiting sacrifice, or to the comfort of his lair. To linger implied more than a passing curiosity.

Oddly, as the thought brushed through his mind, he already had made his decision. He would be lingering. It had been near two centuries since he had considered a lassie more than a source of revenge.

Or dinner.

He was not as anxious as he should be to return to his solitary brooding.

Ignoring the prickle of warning in the back of his mind, Bane stepped forward, allowing the moonlight to reveal his cloaked form.

"As ye wish."

Isobella was not daft. Indeed, most claimed she was cursed to have been born with wits more suited to a man than a maid.

From the moment she had left the castle, she had known she was on a fool's errand.

For centuries the Beast had plagued her family, claiming the eldest Foster daughter in each generation without mercy. And for centuries not one laird or warrior had managed to do more than mutter beneath his breath and shake his fists in futile frustration.

None could enter the mist where the Beast lay in wait. Not without certain death. And not even the most fearsome warrior was willing to brave the dark when a chill settled in the air and whispers of the Beast echoed through the garrison.

What could a lassie with no more than a small dirk do?

‘Twas a question that she had no answer for. Not even as she had commanded her nurse back to the castle and she had forced her reluctant feet toward the distant glen.

All she knew for certain was that watching her father and his warriors drink themselves into a stupor while poor Katherine awaited death was more than she could bear.

God's teeth, she was no coward. Let the others hide away and blame Katherine's loss on destiny.

She would at least make an effort to save her.

With only a vague hope of stumbling over the Beast and somehow halting it, she had ignored the thick chill in the air that had made her skin prickle in fear. The lair was not far from the castle. Surely she could maintain her courage for such a short span of time?