The Eternal Highlander (5 page)

A soft growl escaped her as an exciting heat flooded her body. She wrenched her hands free of his grasp and wrapped her arms around his neck. Every part of her suddenly felt intensely alive and needy in a way she did not completely understand. An equally soft growl escaped Cathal and it heightened the pleasure she felt. A wildness was stirring to life inside her and she both feared and welcomed it.

Then, abruptly, he was gone. Bridget felt the loss of his warmth so keenly she shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She realized she was breathing as if she had just run a long race, her breasts ached, and there was an odd feeling between her legs, a heated blend of pleasure and pain. A quick glance at Cathal, who now stood by the side of the bed, revealed that he was suffering some of the same feelings. She wished she could find more comfort in that. He had awakened something inside of her and she suspected it would be impossible to put it to rest again.

Cathal took a deep, slow breath to steady himself. While he did not indulge in the sensual gluttony some of his kinsmen did, he was no virgin. Yet, no woman had ever stirred his lust into such a swift frenzy with just one kiss. He was not sure if that was good or bad. He only knew he wanted more. There was passion in Bridget Callan and he intended to claim it for his own.

“Enough wooing for now,” he said as he strode toward the door. “Tis late and ye must rest.”

“That was wooing?” she muttered as the door shut behind him.

All the warm, exciting feelings he had stirred up faded away, leaving her feeling irritated. Bridget had the sinking feeling that sense of irritation was because he had stopped kissing her. Hissing a curse, she got off the bed and went to change into her night shift by the fire. The man had revealed that there was a lustful side to her and that could prove dangerous. Even more dangerous was that the lustful side of her wanted Cathal to come back—right now.

“A week. I only have to stay out of his reach for a week,” she said as she crawled into bed.

That was not going to be easy, she decided. She had let him see that she was stirred by him. There was no doubt in her mind that he would try to take advantage of that weakness. And it was a very big weakness, she thought as she groaned and buried her face in the pillow. She could still taste his kiss. Just thinking about it, of how it felt to have his body pressed so close to hers, revived that delicious heat he had roused inside of her. The man would undoubtedly haunt her dreams, dreams she suspected would no longer be so sweetly innocent.

Flopping onto her back, she glared up at the ceiling of the canopied bed. How she could think she would be safe with people who had fangs, shunned daylight, and had eyes like a wolf, she did not know. But, she did, at least with the ones who did not shun her or openly threaten her. The question was, could she trust Cathal to keep her safe from Scymynd and his ilk?

Bridget quickly pushed that thought aside. It did not matter if Cathal could keep her safe or not. In one week’s time she would leave Cambrun. She would not allow passion to blind her to all the very good reasons why she could not marry Cathal MacNachton.

If naught else, she had to consider what sort of children they would breed. The Callans had spent hundreds of years perfecting their bloodline. She could not add MacNachton blood to the mix. Her family would be appalled. And how could she be sure Cathal would even give her children? Apparently, there was already a problem amongst his clan. Did a creature from the grave have what was needed to make bairns? Everything she had seen indicated that the MacNachtons were like those dark creatures who refused to stay dead. Yet, she was sure the man she had just held in her arms was alive. So, if Cathal was not some beautiful demon, what was he? Bridget doubted she could unravel that mystery in a week, but she was certainly going to try.

Cathal slowly licked the life-giving vein in Bridget’s long, elegant throat, then gave in to the strong urge to nip her there, very gently. He shifted his body slightly against hers, echoing the faint shudder that went through her. He did not think there was a part of him which did not ache with need. After four days of
wooing
, of pulling her into his arms at every opportunity, he was starving for her. There did not seem to be a single hour of the day when he was not thinking about how much he wanted to be inside her or how badly he wanted to see her naked and willing in his bed.

He kissed the hollow behind her ear and she purred. Cathal could think of no other way to describe the noise she made deep in her throat. It never failed to enflame his desire. He spent far too much of his time thinking about all the things he might do to make her purr like that.

A faint noise yanked him free of the sensual daze he had fallen into. Cathal pulled away from Bridget and realized he had her pinned against the wall not far from the doorway of the great hall. Her feet were several inches off the floor. Her arms around his neck and the press of his body all that kept her in place. He had obviously suffered a complete loss of control. His only consolation was that she looked as dazed and heated as he felt.

Keeping his hands on her tiny waist as she released him and got back down on her feet, Cathal looked around for what had distracted him. He frowned when he saw no one, even though all of his instincts told him that someone had been there. Since most of his people would never think to slip away out of respect for his or Bridget’s modesty, he had to wonder if he was being watched. Many of the Purebloods rejected his plan to breed out many of the traits they held dear so it was highly possible that a close watch was being kept on his wooing of Bridget. It was something he had better look into, he decided.

“Are ye ready to say aye?” he asked Bridget, pleased to see that she was still struggling to regain her composure.

“Ye are a verra obstinate mon,” she murmured as she fought to calm her breathing.

“Aye, I am.” He gave her a quick, hard kiss. “We will have to return to our wooing later.”

Bridget blinked and watched him walk away. She remained slumped against the wall for a few minutes as she tried to fully clear her head of the haze passion always filled it with. Idly touching the spot where Cathal had nipped her neck, she felt no wound. It was odd that, when he had scraped her skin with those sharp teeth, she had felt no fear.

Shaking free of the last of her bemusement, Bridget headed out of the keep. There were no MacNachtons around in the sunlit bailey, but there were many of the MacMartins, Mora’s people. Bridget knew they would guard her as closely as the MacNachtons did. Their loyalty ran deep. She had learned that much since coming to Cambrun.

Mora smiled at Bridget as she fell into step at her side. “Tis a fine day, aye?”

“Ye say that about every day, Mora,” Bridget drawled, then smiled back at the woman. “What do ye consider a bad day?”

“Och, winter brings many of them. I am nay fond of the cold.”

Bridget looked around at the people working in the bailey. “There are no children, are there? That first night I dined in the great hall, I heard Cathal speak of the lack with Scymynd, but I dinnae think I really heeded the words. There arenae many MacMartin children, either? Or do ye keep them away from here?”

“Nay, ye are right. There are verra few bairns born to those who work for the laird here. I had but the one, twenty years ago. My David who mostly works in the stable. There hasnae been a bairn born since then. It has been a lot longer since the MacNachtons have borne a child.”

“Really? I would have thought Jankyn was only about twenty.”

“Och, aye, I forgot about him.”

There was an odd, strained note to Mora’s voice that made Bridget suspect Mora was lying, but she decided not to remark upon it. “How old is the laird?”

“Wheesht, lass, I cannae recall. Such things are of little interest to me. Ye should ask the laird. Then, again, what does it matter? He be hale and handsome. Blood still runs hot, aye?” Mora chuckled when Bridget blushed. “Has all his teeth, too. Nay, age doesnae matter. Tis the heart of the mon what counts, nay how long it has been beating.”

“There is some truth in that. Yet, I
do
wish to have children.”

“I am sure our laird will give ye many fine bairns. Tis just that we, MacMartins and MacNachtons alike, have been too much alone. Nay matter how good ye think your bloodline is, ye need to add something fresh to it now and again. When there were more of us it wasnae so verra bad, but, now? Weel, unless my David leaves these hills to find himself a wife, he will ne’er wed. There isnae a woman of marrying age here about who isnae closely related to him, e’en if they were not all older than he is. Ye will give us the fresh blood we need.”

Bridget really wished Mora would stop mentioning blood so much. “So, ye think the laird
is
capable?”

“I would have thought ye could answer that for yourself. The way ye two are so often pressed together, the proof of his capability couldnae be ignored, I be thinking.”

Another blush stung Bridget’s cheeks. She grimaced when she heard Mora laugh heartily as she walked away. It was embarrassing to know that others had witnessed the embraces she and Cathal had shared. She was failing miserably in keeping the man at a distance. It was no wonder everyone who spoke to her seemed convinced she would marry Cathal.

As she started toward the stables, one of the many buildings cluttering the bailey that she intended to inspect very closely, Bridget knew she had to come to some decision about Cathal. Once she had realized how little control she had over her own passions, she had decided to find out everything she could about the MacNachtons. There could yet be some secret to uncover that would cool the heat in her blood. It was becoming clear, however, that everyone kept the secrets of Cambrun very well indeed.

Inside the stable she found clean hay, some very fine horses, and, of course, darkness. It seemed cruel to keep the animals confined in the dark, but then Bridget lit one of the lanterns kept by the door and looked around. There were several iron-barred openings in the walls of the stables, but someone had closed the outside shutters. After walking deeper into the stables, inspecting the horses, Bridget suddenly felt a presence and understood why the stable was so dark. She tensed as she held the lantern up and slowly looked around, wondering which MacNachton was watching her. It was difficult to control an involuntary gasp when the light from her lantern revealed a pair of gleaming yellow eyes. She had to tell herself, several times, that it was simply the light from the lantern which made those eyes seem to glow before her heartbeat slowed to a more normal pace.

“Ye dinnae belong here,” said Edmee as she stepped into the arc of light from the lantern.

“Nay? Why shouldnae I be here?” asked Bridget, feigning ignorance of Edmee’s warning. “I am nay upsetting the horses.”

“Dinnae play the fool. Ye ken what I mean. Ye should leave Cambrun.”

“I believe your laird would prefer me to stay.”

“Och, aye, to help him fulfill his plan to destroy us.”

“Ah, weel, as I understood it, his plan is to save you, to save the MacNachtons.”

“We dinnae need saving.” Edmee moved until she was barely a foot away. “To think some weak Outsider could save us is laughable. Cathal should stay to his own. He should turn away from the stain of Outsider blood in his veins and return to the fold. He should seek a wife amongst us, one who can help him find his way back to his true heritage.”

“And that would be ye, would it?” Bridget realized she loathed the idea of Cathal marrying this woman, or any other woman for that matter. “Yet, if he wished ye for his wife, wouldnae he have chosen ye by now?” Bridget fought the urge to step back from the feral look of fury that tightened the lines of Edmee’s face.

“He would if ye left. Without ye about, he would give up this mad plan and turn to me.”

“He wants bairns. As I understand it, there is a verra good chance ye wouldnae give him any.”

“What do we need those for? Squalling, filthy things.”

“Without bairns ye
will
die out, the clan
will
vanish.” The smile Edmee gave her made Bridget feel distinctly uneasy.

“Nay, not for a verra long time. There are more years than ye can count left to us ere the lack of bairns becomes a true danger. Tis just his Outsider blood speaking to Cathal, the fear of his own mortality that is the curse of his mother’s blood. Cathal will be dust in his grave ere the rest of us, who are
true
MacNachtons, need to fear for our end as a clan.”

Bridget had given up the idea that the MacNachtons were the walking dead, yet Edmee’s sneered words seemed to imply that they might be. Why would the woman speak so scornfully of mortality, implying it was a curse suffered only by Outsiders? Inwardly, she shook her head. Edmee was trying to frighten her. There was life in the MacNachtons. Bridget was sure of that, could sense it. It might not be the sort of life she was accustomed to, but it
was
there. Then Bridget recalled Mora’s evasiveness when she had asked her how old Jankyn and the laird were, and she frowned.

“Are ye saying MacNachtons live a long time?” she asked.

Edmee laughed, but it was not a pleasant, joyful sound. “Ye might say that. We arenae the weaklings ye Outsiders are. We are stronger, faster, superior in every way.”

“Including in vanity, it appears.”

“We have a right to our vanity. We are in need of nothing from ye or your kind. There is naught ye can do that we cannae do better.”

“Truly? Ah me, this lantern grows most heavy. Mayhap we should step outside, into the sun, and discuss this further.”

Bridget tensed when Edmee snarled at her and reached for her. Instead of the attack she anticipated, however, her sight of the infuriated Edmee was suddenly blocked by a tall, slim figure. An instant later, Edmee seemed to fly through the air. Bridget gasped as the woman hit one of the posts holding up the roof of the stables, certain that the woman was dead. It took a full minute for Bridget to believe her own eyes when a softly cursing Edmee got to her feet and brushed off her skirts.

“I wasnae going to kill the little fool, Jankyn,” Edmee said.

Jankyn shrugged as he stepped back to stand at Bridget’s side. “Ye could have. Ye were angry.”

A chill went down Bridget’s spine. If the ease and speed with which Jankyn had tossed Edmee so far was an example of a MacNachton’s strength, he was right. Edmee could have killed her. Bridget was not sure it would have been the accident Jankyn implied, however.

“I am still angry.” Edmee languidly combed her fingers through her hair, cleaning it of bits of hay. “Cathal’s plan is pure madness. He wants to destroy all that makes us strong. How can ye stand beside him in this?”

“Because he is my laird,” Jankyn replied. “Because he is right. We are dying, Edmee. A long, slow death to be sure, but we are still dying. There hasnae been a child born to a Pureblood in two score years.”

Forty? Bridget looked at Jankyn, who flashed her a cocky grin before returning his full attention to Edmee. That grin did not soothe her. If no bairn had been born to the Purebloods in forty years that meant Jankyn was that age or older. He looked little older than her. Bridget decided she did not really want to think about that.

“Ye have been of breeding age for at least that long,” Jankyn continued, scowling at Edmee. “Despite the many hours ye spend in rutting and the vast army of bed partners ye have had, your womb has ne’er quickened. None of the women of the Purebloods has quickened with child in far too many years. Nay, not e’en those women who arenae so particular about the blood of the mon they rut with. Cathal’s father only seeded one child in his Outsider wife. E’en the MacMartins have few bairns. We have bred amongst ourselves for too long, Edmee. None of the gifts we have are worth anything if there is no bairn to carry on the name, the blood, or the traditions of our forefathers. We have become naught but a group of barren women and weak-seeded men. That
is
death, Edmee. Aye, it might be long in coming, but ’tis still death.”

“Better death than to become a weak, puling Outsider,” hissed Edmee, and then she was gone.

“She is gone,” Bridget whispered, feeling foolish for stating the obvious, yet unsettled by Edmee’s abrupt disappearance.

“Aye.” Jankyn scowled after Edmee for a moment before turning his gaze upon Bridget. “There are tunnels connecting nearly every building in Cambrun. Ye
are
stirring up a lot of trouble, arenae ye?”

“Me? I just came to explore this building. She is the one stirring up trouble. She wants Cathal, I think.”

“She does, e’en though his Outsider blood sickens her. Edmee would like to be the lady of Cambrun. She has ne’er been able to convince Cathal of that, however. It doesnae help her cause that she makes her contempt of his mother so verra clear. Cathal has ne’er intended to wed with a MacNachton, either. He wants bairns.”

Bridget frowned at him. “There is a wee bit more to me than a womb, ye ken.”

“Och, aye, a wee bit.” He laughed when she softly hissed in annoyance, then grew serious. “O’er the last few days ’tis evident neither of ye will suffer in the making of a bairn.” He only briefly smiled at her blushes. “Tis a blessing, that. And where is the insult in a mon thinking a woman a good choice as mother to his bairns?”