heard about it. Ye dinnae think she’s suspicious of
a man who ripped off the head of his enemy and drank his blood?”
Kieran laughed bitterly. “At least she doesnae suspect the
truth. I doubt she’s ever heard the word ‘vampire’.”
Lydia strained her ears. She thought her husband said something
like “vespers”, but didn’t understand what evening prayers had to do with a
secret her husband was keeping from her. Was it a Gaelic word she didn’t yet
understand?
A secret that others knew—possibly many others. Lydia
remembered how crofters from neighboring villages had crossed themselves as
they’d passed. Kieran had told her to pay them no mind, that up in the
Highlands Sassenachs were few and of unsavory, even unholy, reputation.
But how could the Highlanders know she was English? What if
he’d deliberately misled her? What if the peasants were afraid of Laird Kilborn
and not of his Sassenach wife?
“Have you taken from her?” Euan asked.
Taken what? Lydia wondered.
“Aye. Like the finest whisky, she is. Sweet, but…oh, how she
burns. She fires my soul. Intoxicating.”
Her cheeks flamed.
“Have a care,” Euan said.
“I will, I will. Though ’tis hard. She slakes my thirst like
no other.” Kieran groaned. “Och, it’s afraid I am. If I lose control, take too
much from her, turn her or worse, kill her—”
“Ye willnae,” Euan said while Lydia’s heart stuttered.
Turn her into what? Kill her? Her husband planned to kill
her? But he sounded frustrated, even despondent, not desirous of her death.
His thirst? His thirst for her? For sex? For what?
“We’re born, not made,” Euan continued.
“And what was I born?”
“We willnae ken for a long time. Dinnae worry about it now.”
“I am afraid of what I am and what I may become.” Kier
sounded miserable.
Lydia was astounded. She’d thought he was happy and hadn’t
had any inkling of some hidden sorrow.
“Dinnae fear the change.” Euan touched Kier’s shoulder. “In
this way, we protect the clan.”
“Is it worth the cost?”
What under heaven was going on?
She sensed someone by her side and turned. Moira’s catlike
green eyes gleamed in the faint light of the tiny candle-stub she carried.
“Ye must wonder,” Moira said without preamble.
Lydia paused. How much should she say? “Yes, I do.”
“The answers ye seek are in that auld keep.” Moira gestured
with the candle, which sat in a small but ornate pewter holder. Her red curls
floated on the chilly sea breeze.
Lydia shivered. “Milaird forbade me to enter the Dark
Tower.”
“Dinnae ye wonder why?”
The woman was so close to Lydia that she could smell the
lavender Moira used to keep her plaidie fresh.
After a brief hesitation, Lydia said, “Of course. I’m but
human.”
Something strange edged Moira’s chuckle. “I dinnae doubt
it.”
An odd statement. “Why should I trust you? You want my
husband. I feel your jealousy.”
“’Tis true.” Moira shrugged. “The brothers, Kieran and
Ranald both, didnae hesitate to take us when they, and we, pleased. Along with
the old laird.”
“Do not use his name.” Lydia’s unaccustomed temper
burned white-hot.
Moira ignored the command, instead continuing, “We all know
what the Kilborns are.”
“What they are? What do you mean?”
“He hasnae told ye, has he? Ask him what happened to his
mam.”
“I know what happened to his mother. She died in
childbirth.”
“Did she now?” Moira’s mirthless laugh was high and
frenzied. Fortunately, the wind blew from the sea to land and didn’t carry the
uncanny sound to Kieran and Euan.
“He bites your neck and drinks from ye. Dinnae ye worry that
one day he willnae stop?”
Lydia’s brain froze. No, the thought had never occurred to
her. Unwillingly, her memory brought forth the sickening sight of her husband
slaking his thirst with the MacReiver’s blood.
“He’s quit yer bed night after night…dinnae ye wonder where
he
a man who ripped off the head of his enemy and drank his blood?”
Kieran laughed bitterly. “At least she doesnae suspect the
truth. I doubt she’s ever heard the word ‘vampire’.”
Lydia strained her ears. She thought her husband said something
like “vespers”, but didn’t understand what evening prayers had to do with a
secret her husband was keeping from her. Was it a Gaelic word she didn’t yet
understand?
A secret that others knew—possibly many others. Lydia
remembered how crofters from neighboring villages had crossed themselves as
they’d passed. Kieran had told her to pay them no mind, that up in the
Highlands Sassenachs were few and of unsavory, even unholy, reputation.
But how could the Highlanders know she was English? What if
he’d deliberately misled her? What if the peasants were afraid of Laird Kilborn
and not of his Sassenach wife?
“Have you taken from her?” Euan asked.
Taken what? Lydia wondered.
“Aye. Like the finest whisky, she is. Sweet, but…oh, how she
burns. She fires my soul. Intoxicating.”
Her cheeks flamed.
“Have a care,” Euan said.
“I will, I will. Though ’tis hard. She slakes my thirst like
no other.” Kieran groaned. “Och, it’s afraid I am. If I lose control, take too
much from her, turn her or worse, kill her—”
“Ye willnae,” Euan said while Lydia’s heart stuttered.
Turn her into what? Kill her? Her husband planned to kill
her? But he sounded frustrated, even despondent, not desirous of her death.
His thirst? His thirst for her? For sex? For what?
“We’re born, not made,” Euan continued.
“And what was I born?”
“We willnae ken for a long time. Dinnae worry about it now.”
“I am afraid of what I am and what I may become.” Kier
sounded miserable.
Lydia was astounded. She’d thought he was happy and hadn’t
had any inkling of some hidden sorrow.
“Dinnae fear the change.” Euan touched Kier’s shoulder. “In
this way, we protect the clan.”
“Is it worth the cost?”
What under heaven was going on?
She sensed someone by her side and turned. Moira’s catlike
green eyes gleamed in the faint light of the tiny candle-stub she carried.
“Ye must wonder,” Moira said without preamble.
Lydia paused. How much should she say? “Yes, I do.”
“The answers ye seek are in that auld keep.” Moira gestured
with the candle, which sat in a small but ornate pewter holder. Her red curls
floated on the chilly sea breeze.
Lydia shivered. “Milaird forbade me to enter the Dark
Tower.”
“Dinnae ye wonder why?”
The woman was so close to Lydia that she could smell the
lavender Moira used to keep her plaidie fresh.
After a brief hesitation, Lydia said, “Of course. I’m but
human.”
Something strange edged Moira’s chuckle. “I dinnae doubt
it.”
An odd statement. “Why should I trust you? You want my
husband. I feel your jealousy.”
“’Tis true.” Moira shrugged. “The brothers, Kieran and
Ranald both, didnae hesitate to take us when they, and we, pleased. Along with
the old laird.”
“Do not use his name.” Lydia’s unaccustomed temper
burned white-hot.
Moira ignored the command, instead continuing, “We all know
what the Kilborns are.”
“What they are? What do you mean?”
“He hasnae told ye, has he? Ask him what happened to his
mam.”
“I know what happened to his mother. She died in
childbirth.”
“Did she now?” Moira’s mirthless laugh was high and
frenzied. Fortunately, the wind blew from the sea to land and didn’t carry the
uncanny sound to Kieran and Euan.
“He bites your neck and drinks from ye. Dinnae ye worry that
one day he willnae stop?”
Lydia’s brain froze. No, the thought had never occurred to
her. Unwillingly, her memory brought forth the sickening sight of her husband
slaking his thirst with the MacReiver’s blood.
“He’s quit yer bed night after night…dinnae ye wonder where
he
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