TemptationinTartan (26 page)

He laughed.

“And I was reasonably certain you’re human. You enjoy
Fenella’s garlicky sausage far too much to make a good vampire.”

“And a bat’s wings would look stupid on me. We’re an unusual
clan, I’ll grant ye that. The first Kilborn, the Viking we spoke of at
Kilbirnie, we believe he was the one who brought the odd strain into our
blood.”

“Ah.”

“He came from the far north, and ’twas said that his flesh
was as cold as those icy climes. He needed hot blood to stay alive, and he was
a terrifying warrior.”

She nodded. “I should have known, should have guessed that
there was a kernel of truth in the priest’s maunderings. Keep talking.”

“What more is there for you to ken?”

“I ken that if ye had been plain-spoken from the beginning,
many events wouldnae have happened. Many men wouldnae have died.” She stopped.
When had she started to adopt a Highland accent? Bloody hell. She would not
lose herself. She pressed on. “The truth. All of it.”

His jaw tightened. “All right. We’ll deal with the other
later.” He sent her a glance charged with steel.

“Fine,” she snapped. Punishment she could bear, even enjoy.
But she needed the truth. “Talk, milaird.”

He sighed. “Our clan started many centuries ago, and some
fools believe that we are still a tribe of
baobhan sith
.”

“Bava…what?”

“Baobhan sith
. Fae creatures, beautiful women who
drink blood and wear green. Or white. It depends upon who is telling the tale.”

“What?” She couldn’t stop her stare of disbelief.

“Lydia, do ye not ken?” His voice rose with frustration. “’Tis
madness to try to find even a kernel of truth in these tales.”

“I know that Sir Gareth was—is—was unnaturally long-lived.
And he drank blood. Same with Euan. And what about you?”

“
Kylyrra
, I assure you, I have but thirty years and
plan to p’raps live only thirty more.”

“What if you’re wrong?” she whispered. “You drink blood and
your skin is cool. What if you turn into the mad old creature in the tower?”
Her voice broke.

He gathered her into his arms. “Nay, nay, love, it won’t
happen. I promise.”

“How can you promise such a thing?”

“My mam was a Cameron. I believe that my brother had more of
the tendency than I, because his ma was a Kilborn. Not a long-lived blood
drinker—she died of natural causes in her fiftieth year—but a Kilborn.”

“Ah. So the strain was…is diluted in your blood.”

“Aye. And remember, there are no such creatures as
baobhan
sith
or vampires, at least not as the priest would have it.” His voice was
firm. “Ye heard Edgar, did ye not?”

“A ten-year-old is not an authority. There was—is—was
something beyond odd about Sir Gareth.”

He nodded. “Aye. I can admit to that. He is driven to drink
blood, more so than am I. He needs it to survive. He is—was—unnaturally auld
and quite mad because of it, and I daily pray that I will be spared his fate.
But Euan was auld, also, but not mad. At all.”

“That’s true.”

“I did tell ye that we were an unusually long-lived family.”

“I thought you meant that p’raps there were an unusual
number of folk who were, mayhap, sixty or seventy years old, not…not over one
hundred!”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Call us vampires if ye will, but
I am tellin’ ye that we dinnae turn into bats or rats. And, by the by, none of
us is afeared of the sunlight.”

“Yes, I saw that today. But what Sir Gareth did—”

“Edgar was right. For such a small lad, he has much wisdom.”

She shook her head. “Euan’s death didn’t drive Sir Gareth
into insanity. He was mad long before Euan died.”

“Aye, that is so. He lived too long, do ye ken? I think that
brought the madness. But Euan was important to my grandda.” Kier sighed. “In
some ways, Euan was Gareth’s last tether to civilization. I’m sorry my
grandda’s gone, and yet…not.”

“He brought a lot of trouble,” she said darkly.

“Aye, he did. The attack this day was his fault, I ken. And
due to other…factors.” He stroked her bottom.

Though his touch felt good, her thoughts continued to spin
and twirl. “What if one of our children is a vampire?”

“Still with that word.” He squeezed her rear, then let go.
“All right, then. With luck, our bairns will be normal children. The vampire
strain—if ye insist upon calling it that—is weak. We have few bairns, and in
each generation, p’raps only one so long-lived. And now ye’re marrying in,
which will make it less likely that any of our children will be affected.”

“Did you think about it before we married?”

“Of course. I didnae tell ye, but it was a good reason to
marry ye.”

“You don’t want—”

“Nay, never. I’m satisfied to be a mortal man. Your mortal
man. Centuries of life without ye by my side? ’Twould drive me mad e’en without
the Kilborn curse.”

“When will we know about the children?”

“We may never know. One could turn after we die. Worse, one
could lose control and kill us before we ken she or he’s turned.”

Lydia shuddered. “We can’t allow this to happen again.”

“This—what? What do ye mean?”

“Think about all the trouble that Sir Gareth caused.
Everything was linked, don’t you see? I was forbidden to enter the tower because
of him. I was tempted, and she who tempted me was punished. She went to the
MacReivers, who killed Euan. In retribution, Gareth destroyed their clan.
Because of what he did, and because we’d lost Euan and were seen as weakened,
we were attacked. How many men died today?”

“Most were mercenaries who chose their fate.”

“I realize that, but our clan was lucky today. If Ian hadn’t
been able to get Niall back quickly he would have died. Many would have died,
because the crofters would have been outside the castle walls when the Gwynns
came. Owain and Kendrick did well defending us today, but the Gwynns could have
burned the huts with the women and children inside them.”

“Aye, that is so.” His dark gaze was somber.

“We can’t allow this to happen again. Milaird, we must ask
the clanspeople to take a vow to stamp out the unnatural strain.”

“A vow?”

“Yes. No one in the clan can intermarry. We have to bring in
new blood from outside.”

He stroked his chin. “Aye, that can be done. Announcing the
betrothal of our firstborn daughter to Edgar is a good start. We lead the way,
do ye ken?” He reached for her and nuzzled her hair.

“I also want—”

“What more do ye want?” His voice rose with exasperation.
“Have ye not done enough?”

She jerked upright and shot him a hard, level stare. “Are
you still blaming me for the attack, after all we’ve talked about?”

“Lydia, have ye no idea of my feelings when ye rode out of
the castle into that mob this afternoon? Were ye thinking at all?”

“I was thinking of the clan!”

“One stray arrow, one feckless, foolish MacLayne with a
blade, and ye would have been dead. What do ye think would have happened then?”

She was silent, trying to think.

“Did ye not ken that if matters had gone wrong, there would
have been a bloodbath?” He jumped off the bed and began to pace.

“You mean you would have ripped off someone’s head and drank
his blood?”

“Every Kilborn there would have done that to avenge ye!”

Outraged, she stood to face him. “I did what I thought was
right, and I was right. Can’t you admit it?”

“We were lucky. Lucky. But ye cannae do that again, do ye
ken, Lydia?” He reached for his belt.

“Don’t,” she snapped, steel in her voice. “Just don’t.”

“Ye ken I’m within my rights as your laird?”

“I know. But that isn’t the point. You never forbade me—”

“Ye should have kenned! What are ye, a bluidy fool? Only an
idiot of a woman rides into a battle.”

“What did you just call me?” She clenched her teeth and
controlled her temper, striving to keep a reasonable tone. “I saw that we had
the situation under control. And what I told them worked! Hamish Gwynn and his
forces surrendered completely.”

“Hamish Gwynn surrendered because he had no choice.”

“He was probably worried that you’d rip his head off.”

A grim smile crossed Kier’s face. “Aye, that he was.”

Lydia went to her side of their bed and got underneath the
covers. “I’m going to sleep. My baby and I need rest.” She rolled over and
presented her back to him.

“Oh,” he said, sounding a little lost.

She hardened her heart. She’d done right that day and
deserved more credit.

After he snuffed the candles, they lay together in the
darkness, not touching. Once Kier reached a hesitant hand toward her, then
dropped it.

He spooned himself against her back. Draping an arm over
her, he kissed the nape of her neck.

She didn’t move.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Two days later, a drenching rain extinguished the last
smoking embers in the cottages and the old keep. When the clouds lifted, they
left an appalling stench. Nevertheless, the clanspeople dressed in their oldest
clothes and picked through the wreckage of the crofters’ huts, looking for
salvageable bricks, other building material and p’raps a trinket or two that
had survived the fires. Kier and a few guards climbed with caution through the
fallen timbers of the Dark Tower, with Lydia looking on.

“I still think I can do this also,” she grumbled.

He returned to where she stood on the beach, standing close
to her. “’Tis too dangerous for you and the babe. I forbid it. Do ye think to
tempt me once again?”

A nip on her ear drew moist heat between her legs, which she
ignored. She was still furious with Kieran.
I should have known, I should
have known, I should have known,
sang through her head like a child’s
roundelay. But so much had happened in so short a time. Six months before she
had never heard the name Kilborn or the word vampire.

“Temptation indeed,” she said coolly. “Have a care, sir.”

“Sir?” He raised a brow. “I suppose I should be grateful
that you’re talking to me at least.”

“Yes, you should,” she said without looking at him.

His lips tightened. “Well, if ye wish to see what is in the
auld keep, ye may. Just be careful, and put a hanky over your nose.”

Holding her hand, he led her into the sea caves and up a
rough corridor. She noticed a crude staircase carved into the cliff, but Kier
took her along an easier though longer route, passing twisted, burned remains
of metal gates hanging off holes in the cliff. Oubliettes. She shivered.

In the largest one, two burned bodies remained, surrounded
by fallen timbers which themselves had been eaten away by fire. One corpse hung
from manacles from the stone wall, body twisted in agony. Lydia thought she
smelled burned hair and flesh, though the white skin seemed untouched.

Detaching her hand from Kier’s, she went closer and
hesitantly peered at the ravaged face. “Moira?” she breathed.

“Aye, I believe so.
He
had them imprisoned here.”

“Them?”

Kier pointed. A second body hung from a nearby wall by only
one arm. “Make the acquaintance of the late Seamas MacReiver.”

She shook her head dumbly. Now she understood Gareth’s last
and most eerie sing-song. “Moira’s dead, bad Moira’s dead.”

“He knew,” she whispered. “He knew they were responsible for
Euan’s death. He didn’t kill them quickly, but brought them here to torture
them.”

“Aye, and when he fired the tower, they died. From breathing
the smoke, I reckon.”

“Not him.” Belly clenching, she approached the remains of
Seamas MacReiver and pointed. “He lacks an arm.”

“Och, aye, it looks like the auld vamp became a
mite…enthusiastic.”

She swung around to face him.

He shrugged his shoulders. “It is what it is, do ye ken? And
he is what he is. Or was. We just have to hope that the vow will change the
clan.”

“We must do more.”

“What would ye have me do,
kylyrra
?”

“P’raps a new motto. Blood for the clan…” She shook her
head. “It won’t do. Even a new name. Vampires are killed by burning, are they
not?”

“Aye. P’raps we should be the Kilburns, and our motto be
something about fire.”

“Fire our friend and blood our bond. Something like that.”

He raised his brows, looking surprised. “You have an
unexpected talent as a wordsmith,
kylyrra.”

She tried not to preen, without success. “How do you think
the clan will react?”

“I am the laird,” he said, arrogance infusing his voice.
“They will adopt the changes, especially if we explain their importance. They
have lost their homes, ye ken? If I explain the connection to Sir Gareth, they
will accept it.”

He led her back out to the cove and she breathed easier.
There was a fresh breeze off the sea and she filled her lungs, grateful that
she could do so. She was reminded of Moira and the way the treacherous creature
had died by suffocation. But try as she might, Lydia didn’t have enough grace
in her soul to think,
Poor Moira.

Poor Fenella
. “Fenella didn’t deserve the kind of
grief her daughter gave her,” Lydia said. “Will there be a funeral for Moira?”

Kier’s lips pursed. After a pause, he said, “Aye, I think we
must. For her mother, though, and not for the bitch herself.”

“Kieran!”

“What would ye have me say about her? Dear, sweet Moira came
to a bad end?” He huffed. “She’s always been a trial to us.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“A quiet, small ceremony will suffice. And soon, so the clan
can put these unpleasant episodes behind us.”

“Will we rebuild the keep?”

“I dinnae ken. ’Tis a new age, Lydia.” He gazed up at the
ruins of the old keep. “’Tis likely that we just withstood the last siege of
Kilborn Castle and won the last battle our clan will fight.”

As they stood on the beach, guards stacked the reclaimable
wood in one of the largest sea caves, above the tide line. “Those beams seem to
be quite damaged,” she said, pointing.

“Aye. We cannae use any as supports. But as siding or
decoration, p’raps. If we sand them down, get the charred bits off, these could
be quite attractive.” He kicked a nearby timber.

Nearby, workers had lashed some of the burned wood into a
makeshift raft. While Lydia watched, bodies were carried out of the wreckage
and laid upon it. She guessed that the corpses would be sent to sea aflame, as
was Kilborn—er, Kilburn—custom.

“Milaird!” A cry came from deep within the maze of burned
boards and planks. Kendrick picked his way toward them, waving what looked like
a book.

“Ah, his journal.” Kieran took the leather-bound volume. The
battered diary looked much the worse for wear. Salt-stained and partially
singed, but readable, Lydia discovered as Kier opened it and turned the pages.

“Here, milady, ye’ll be interested in this.” He handed it to
her.

“This is Sir Gareth’s writing?”

“Aye, I believe I recognize his hand. Come, let’s sit and
have a good look at it.”

He was trying to make amends, she realized, in his clumsy
male way. Given that she could understand his viewpoint, she accepted the
gesture. She went to sit with him on the lowest of the cliffside steps, which
seemed drier than anything else on the beach.

The first entries dated from a century before, when Gareth
had impersonated his monarch. They told of his adventures. “Good heavens,” she
murmured. “This is fascinating. We must preserve it forever.”

He read over her shoulder as she turned the pages, some
darkened by age, others by the burning. “It will be a treasure of our clan. Ah,
look at this.” He pointed to an entry dated November, 1740.

Our clan is surrounded by mystery and myth. Some believe we
fly or change into beasts, as though we could sprout wings and soar with
eagles. Foolishness. But our strength is found in blood. Human blood alone can
provide our long lives, our strength, our powers p’raps. We do not sleep but
are ever-vigilant, like sharks in the sea.

We breed rarely and our women do not give birth to our kind
with ease. Many die, whether Kilborn or from another clan…

A chill passed through her but she said, “I thought I saw
Gareth fly during the battle. He was atop the keep, which was burning, and he
seemed to fly across the cove and into the ocean.”

Kier shrugged. “I dinnae ken. Mayhap his clothes caught a
chance bit of breeze. And ’tisn’t far from the tower to the sea.”

“Yes, the beach is narrow, but…hmm. He doesn’t clearly say
that vampires are faster or stronger than humans, but I’ve seen you do things
that other men cannot.”

“Like tear off the head of my enemy?” His voice was wry. “I
reckon that strength and speed are the legacy of my oversized Viking ancestors
rather than an unnatural ability.”

“P’raps.” She turned the pages, lost in thought. That the
Kilborns didn’t breed easily worried her. Rubbing her belly, she prayed that
Kier took after his Cameron mother.

* * * * *

Sunset came and bonfires were lit on the beach. Lydia and
Kieran flanked Fenella as Moira’s body, wrapped in a shepherd’s plaidie, was
set upon a bier. Kier had offered a swatch of Kilborn tartan to cover her,
believing that despite her treachery she was still a Kilborn, but Fenella had
refused. “She was a traitor to our clan and caused us grievous harm,” she’d
said.

Now Fenella stepped forward and picked up a flaming branch.
She touched it to her daughter’s funeral pyre. Kieran helped her to push the
burning raft out to sea and held her elbow as they returned to the shore. As they
watched it smolder, he kept an arm around her shaking shoulders. Nearby, somber
clanspeople lit the other, larger biers bearing their fallen enemies and sent
them into the western sea. “With more honor than they showed when they lived,”
murmured Lydia to herself.

While the night fell, the Kilburns silently watched the
pyres dotting the darkening ocean before returning to their stronghold.

* * * * *

Lydia was awoken by a draft of air flowing through the bed’s
curtains. Kier was gone. She rose, donned her robe and went to find him.

High on the battlements, facing the ocean, a fingernail moon
dropped toward the western horizon. Kier was silhouetted by a pinkish dawn in
the east, glowing softly from the other side of the castle.

Something clutched at her heart. After a moment of
indecision, she knew it for what it was.

Had she ever told him? He’d told her many times, without
hesitation. She admired that courage, but had never taken that final step. Was
this hesitation the legacy of her first marriage? And did Kieran deserve that?

Taking a deep breath, she finally cast away William’s dead
specter.

Kieran turned. “Why,
kylyrra.
Ye’ve come to join me.
Ye’re yet full of surprises.” His voice was merry but his eyes held sadness in
their midnight depths. He set his lips to her forehead, her cheek, then kissed
her mouth before he sighed. “I’m rough and brutal. I’ve taken ye to live at the
end of the world in a drafty castle without heat, decent lighting or modern
plumbing. Ye’ve seen battle and blood, been threatened by the family monster… ’Twas
wrong of me to bring ye here. Say the word and I’ll take ye to your home in
Surrey.”

She stared at him, finally allowing her heart to open wide
and embrace him. “You give me everything. You give to everyone, every day. How
could you think that I’d want to leave? How do you put up with me? I’m such a
fool.” Tears filled her eyes, spilled down her cheeks.

He touched them with a gentle finger, drawing them from her.
“Och, p’raps so, but my fool. And I’m yours.”

“I love you, Kier. Always.”

He smiled. “At last,” he said.

“You’d been waiting? You never said—”

“The words had to come from ye as freely as I gave them.”

“I understand,” she whispered.

* * * * *

When Dugald visited the castle to get the latest news and
some more supplies, he heard of the vow that his laird and lady had demanded of
the clan. He said naught, but raised his brows and chuckled before going to the
kitchen to fetch ale for his uncle. Sir Gareth now lived concealed in the
Laird’s Tower, tucked snugly into Dugald’s old room.