The Vampire Laird (A Ravynne Sisters Paranormal Mystery/Romance) (10 page)

It hadn’t been Allyn Meg had seen crossing the moor. Allyn was lying face down across his bed with a pillow over his head, as he tried desperately not to listen to Orianna’s vicious tirade. “I just saw your sister, Meg, go out on the moors all by herself. Perhaps the fog will catch her or she’ll fall into a bog. Your other sister has gone off with Seth to the hunting lodge. He’ll probably seduce her. She’s not all that much to look at in my opinion, but he seems to find her quite delectable. His sexual proclivities are even more profane than mine and that is saying quite a lot, wouldn’t you agree, Allyn?”

“Stop it, Orianna! For the love of God, stop it!”

“God?” You dare to invoke the name of God, Allyn? How very inappropriate. I don’t think your
God
will want to help you after all that you have done.”

“I’ve done nothing, but fall in love with you,” he whispered hoarsely.

She laughed, mockingly, then lifted the edge of the pillow and purred close to his ear. “Exactly, Allyn. Exactly! That’s one of the deadliest of mortal sins.”

***

They clattered over the wooden planks that spanned a moat that must have dried up centuries ago, then passed under the portcullis and into the outer courtyard. Meg looked around, briefly, at what she could see in the fog. It wasn’t much. Just crumbling stonewalls and the remains of wooden outbuildings that were now little more than a pile of timbers. Weeds and ivy had taken over most of it. It was sad…derelict…and strangely lovely in its own way. But more than anything else, it felt so terribly lonely…painfully so…and she felt a surge of compassion for her abductor.

He lowered her, gently, to the ground and slid down next to her. He was much taller than she would have imagined…well over six feet. He must have been quite an anomaly in the fifteenth century, she thought. And he truly was beautiful. If anything, his portrait hadn’t done him justice!

His gray eyes were hooded as he watched her looking him over, then he peeled off one gauntlet and touched her short blonde curls, rubbing one between his fingertips. She grimaced, wondering if he noticed what the fog had done to her hair. She would be a frizz ball by now and then she laughed. Here she was, face to face with a vampire who happened to be the sexiest man she had ever seen in her not inconsiderable years and she was worried about her hair of all things.

“Why are you laughing?” he asked, tilting up her chin so that he could look into her eyes.

She didn’t answer him. Instead she said, “I know who you are.”

“Really,” he drawled. “That makes us even. I know who you are, too. In a manner of speaking, you are here because of me. Because I wanted you here.”

That startled her. “How…why….”

He put his finger across her lips and smiled. “Enough. You’ve stood on that ankle too long already. Let me carry you inside where I can see to your wounds.” Before she had time to think of protesting, which she probably wouldn’t have done anyway, he had swept her into his arms. Now their eyes and their lips were much closer. “May the devil take me,” he muttered hoarsely as he lowered his mouth in a savage kiss that jolted Meg to her toes. She had never been kissed like that. She didn’t even know there was such a thing as a kiss that could rock your entire body. She simply looked up into his eyes with her mouth ajar.

He laughed wickedly. “It seems you are more of an innocent than I imagined.” Still laughing, he carried her across the courtyard and kicked open the rough-hewn double doors. They stepped into a dark stone floored Great Hall. A rough wooden table ran along its length and crude benches were shoved against the wall next to a huge fireplace that was big enough to roast an ox…or more likely a deer. The high-beamed ceiling was black with smoke and draped with cobwebs. “Your host furnished this castle with just enough pieces to lend it ambience. He likes to bring his guests up here and pretend he is Laird of Blackcreag,” he said with a bitter twist to his sensual mouth. She looked around and pictured it as it must have been with rushes strewn on the floor and torches lit along the walls. There would have been hounds fighting for scraps of food thrown from the tables by the Laird and members of his clan…the MacMorley clan.

“Yes, Meg, that’s very like it was though we were a little more refined than you pictured us…at least in my household.”

She gasped. “You read my thoughts?”

He laughed. She was beginning to love that laugh. “I read the expression on your beautiful face and surmised your thoughts…not read them. Now it’s upstairs with you and a comfortable bed, where you can stretch out.”

Before she could say yes or no to that, he carried her up the narrow stone steps that hugged one wall and then to a chamber at the end of a short hall. Gently he lowered her on the rope bed and studied her for a long moment, then ran his hand distractedly through his long black hair. “I should not be doing this. I know it is wrong, but I can not seem to help myself.”

He sat next to her and traced her injured ankle with gentle fingers, then turned her palms over and examined them “I will make a poultice and wrap your ankle then clean the wounds on your hands. Your injuries are not serious, but you would be wise to rest as much as you can. Stay here…I will return in a few moments.”

And with that he was gone. Poof. Disappeared. She looked around at the sparsely furnished chamber. Just a trunk…no two. A large sword lay across one and she wondered if it was one of the two handed claymores the Scots wielded so fiercely. Other weapons hung on the wall, including a similar claymore with a wider blade. The window was little more than a slit. Probably to protect the archer, she thought, as he fired at the invaders who came by boat. .Maybe the Irish?”

He appeared then as suddenly as he had vanished. Gently, he washed her palms and then applied a pungent ointment to her ankle, smiling when she wrinkled her nose in distaste. “It worked for my horse so it should work for you.”

She wanted to tell him she wasn’t a horse, but, since that seemed obvious, she kept her mouth shut and allowed herself to enjoy the feel of his hands on her body. He had removed his cloak and she saw her wore a black velvet frock coat, brocade waistcoat and breeches tucked in tall back boots. “You’re not dressed for your period, you know? You wouldn’t have worn that in the fifteenth century.”

“No, I would not and did not. A kilt does not a man make, although there are those who would disagree. The kilts of my time were not like those you see today. They were simple weavings without the colors and patterns that became popular in a later century, but no matter. Now I wear what I like. I have pilfered many oddments from the manor. I even have clothes from your time, Meg.”

“So you just took whatever you fancied, like you took me?”

“You might say that, though I’m hoping in time you won’t be here against your will.”

“And your speech. Your burr is hardly noticeable and I would have thought a Scotsman from your century would have a distinct brogue. As it is, I can scarcely understand a word of what they say in the village,” she said feeling a languorous heat invade her, as she watched his large capable hands wind a long strip of unbleached linen around her ankle.

He tore the end down the middle and tied it securely, then perched on the edge of the bed next to her. “My burr or lack of burr is your next question, is it? My father fought in the crusades as a mercenary for the Dauphin Charles who later became Charles VII of France. The Highlanders were much feared by the Saracens who had never seen their like in battle. My father returned with a belly full of war and bloodshed and he wanted a different life for me. At the age of fourteen years he uprooted me from this place and sent me to Oxford, where I lived in a house run by Franciscan monks.

“There were others there like me. Displaced…lonely…wanting to go home to our Highlands, but we had no choice but to do as we were bid. My father would never have tolerated my rebellion. My brogue was polished off as were the other traits deemed
uncivilized
, though we were much more civilized than the Sassenachs believed. Unfortunately, my father’s intentions for me were never realized. The Highlanders are a warrior people…eager to fight either a common enemy or each other for any number of reasons. There is plenty of blood on my hands.” He swung one long leg up on the bed and watched her reaction with interest. “I saw you looking at my portrait…when was it?…it’s so easy to lose track of time when dealing with eternity.”

Meg’s eyes widened in surprise. “You saw me?”

He smiled. “Indeed, yes. And now I am going to stretch out next to you…like this. Rather cozy, isn’t it?”

Some part of her would have liked it even
cozier
, but her sane part told her it probably wasn’t wise to snuggle with a vampire…even one as devastatingly handsome as Grey MacMorley.

“Now where were we, Meg?” he asked drawing a long lean finger up the inside of her forearm. “You were ogling my portrait and I…”

Meg sniffed in outrage. “I was not ogling! I was merely studying a very fine portrait. There’s a big difference between the two.”

He sighed. “As I was saying, you were
studying
my portrait and I found myself desiring you. You are very beautiful you know,” his finger was now trailing up her neck, “all curves and curls. A buxom lass and I’ve been quite lonely for a long time.” His finger now traced the whorl of her ear and his warm breath fanned her cheek. Vaguely she wondered about the breath part, but forgot it as he touched her earlobe with the tip of his tongue.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked in little more than a choked whisper. Turning her head, she found his haunted gray eyes just inches from hers.

His finger traced her lower lip. “What would you like me to do to you?”

Meg gulped. He would have to ask that! She let her eyes linger on his sensual mouth, where a wolfish smile flashed whitely. She didn’t see any fangs, but then would she? Maybe they were retractable like a cat’s claws.

He rolled half way on top of her and propped himself up on one elbow. Her body seemed to grow liquid…melt…and she moaned. His fingers moved along her throat and she reacted instinctively, pushing his hand away. “You are a vampire, aren’t you?” she squeaked.

He sat up next to her and drew his knees up to this chest. “A vampire…one of the so-called undead,” he mused, “I take it you mean to ask if I have fangs…turn into a bat…sleep in a coffin and shun the sun and, yes, drink the blood of helpless innocents. Let me clarify one point to start with. I much prefer the blood of an experienced woman to a virgin’s…”

“I’m not really all that experienced,” Meg squeaked again. “I was married once, but it wasn’t much of a marriage so I wouldn’t count that!”

He laughed. “And besides, I don’t sleep in a coffin. I don’t even have a coffin. They drove a nail through my temple while I slept, severed my head and buried me face down beneath the courtyard below, where I lay for most of three centuries before I stirred again. I don’t turn into a bat, though I do have a companion raven I named Nevermore.”

“Like Edgar Allen Poe’s Nevermore?” she found herself asking in surprise.

He pointed to the trunk across the room. “I don’t just steal clothes…I steal books. Lots and lots of books, including those of your American writer Poe. I have a special fondness for your romance novels. In a situation like this, for example, I would be exploring your satin skin…skimming my hands up your silky thighs…spreading them wide…plunging my engorged manhood into your throbbing depths.”

She found herself blushing violently. “I sort of get the picture. But this isn’t a romance book…this is real life though a strange one to be sure.”

“It all could happen. I have the engorged manhood part already and it wouldn’t take much encouragement from you for me to explore every inch of your exquisite body,
etc.
etc.
In fact, I really don’t need any encouragement at all.” With that, he slid his hand under her top and cupped her breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb.

She was lost. Or very nearly so. The more he touched her…the more he rambled on in his deep so very sexy voice the farther she drifted free from her moorings, but then the pesky rational bit did what it could to save her. “Do you mind if I use your bathroom…your lavey?”

Laughter lit his gray eyes and one corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry grin. “I will have to carry you, Meg. The garderobe is on the other side of the castle for obvious reasons and that is too far for you to walk.” With that he stood and swept her off the bed, bounced her high and caught her, laughing at her shriek of surprise all the way out the door.