The Eternal Highlander by Lynsay Sands, Hannah Howell Page B

of a Pureblood? But he has reddish hair. I have seen him about during the day as weel.”
    “Aye, he is more our kind than theirs, but the MacNachton blood is in him. He is a strong, healthy lad, always was. And, though he can go about in the daylight, he has to be most careful, avoiding the full heat of the day and such as that. Seems way back in his father’s line one of his ancestors mated with a halfling. The wee added bit of our blood is what has made my David so blessed. The laird has seen that my lad is educated and he will be verra important to the clan. Already is in many ways.”
    “Can ye tell me who his father is, or is that a secret?”
    “Jankyn.” Mora laughed briefly at Bridget’s obvious shock, then sighed. “Aye, Jankyn doesnae look a day older than our son, aye? but he is my age. And that was some of the problem. Oh, I did love that lad.”
    “Jankyn is easy to love, e’en when ye wish ye had a thick stick in hand to clout him o’er the head.”
    Mora grinned and nodded, then grew serious. “It was both wondrous and awful, heaven and hell. Twas a delight when I was with him and a pure torment when I thought on the years ahead. I could see it as it is now all too clearly, with me as I am and him still looking like a bonnie lad of twenty. Ah, but he said he wished to marry me, and I was sorely tempted. Was near to saying aye when he told me the secret about the mating, about the bite.” Mora nodded when Bridget touched her own neck. “Aye, for ones such as us, ’tisnae just a wee thing, is it? We cannae heal as they can. We arenae as strong. Mayhap I just didnae love him enough. I couldnae do it. My heart, my body, aye. My blood? To let him feed on me, e’en just a wee bit? Nay, I couldnae. E’en when I kenned I carried David, I couldnae, and, being a Pureblood, Jankyn couldnae swear that he wouldnae do it. He couldnae be sure he would be able to stop himself from completing the mating.”
    “It has to be the neck? He couldnae just take a wee sip from somewhere else?”
    “Nay, I dinnae think so. Tis like this—when ye are together as mon and wife, just as he spills his seed, he bites ye and has a wee taste.”
    “Every time?” Bridget asked in alarm, thinking of all the times Cathal had nipped at her neck while they made love.
    “Wheesht, nay. Just the once.”
    “Oh, thank God. If ’twas every time, I wouldnae last out the week.” She blushed when Mora laughed heartily.
    “Aye, the laird does have the fever for ye. Nay, lass, ’tis just the once. Tis done on the wedding night. As the mon gives ye his seed, gives ye a part of him as it were, he takes a wee bit from ye. Tis a blending and ’tis what binds him to ye as a mate.”
    Bridget sipped at her cider and thought over all Mora had told her. It explained Cathal’s talk of mating. It certainly explained the way he always nipped at her neck as his body shuddered with release, as well as the way he seemed to tear himself away from there. Maybe all halflings did not need to do it, but she now felt certain that Cathal had that urge. It explained that odd feeling she kept getting that she was failing him in some strange way. And, yet, to allow him to sink his teeth into her flesh, to drink her blood? Could she still think of him in the same way if she allowed him to do that? Could she still feel the same way about him?
    “Despite the odd choice of food, I had decided that the MacNachtons didnae drink blood,” she said.
    “They dinnae do it verra often. Many, many years ago they werenae so, weel, controlled. When they would go on a hunt, it wasnae always for animals. They fought a lot of battles, too, and were verra savage. Tis said they used to ride out at night to fight or hunt. They must have been a chilling sight with their black cloaks and black horses. They were called the Nightriders.”
    “Aye, Cathal mentioned something about that once.”
    “Weel, the name is still whispered from time to time, but it has been so verra