Highland Thirst. Lynsay Sands
“How will we ken if ye have taken too much?”
“Ye will be able to see it. Trust me in this. I wouldst rather none of ye see this or e’en ken about it, but I dinnae really have a choice now, do I?”
“Nay if ye wish to live.”
Brona looked at him as he slipped his hand around the back of her neck and tugged her closer. She could see the glint of the gold of his eyes behind his bruise-swollen eyelids. Otherwise he was a mess. It almost looked as if Hervey or one of his men had resented the man’s handsome looks and had done his best to utterly destroy them. She felt uneasy as he pulled her so close she was laying on top of him. This seemed uncomfortably intimate.
“Be at ease, wee Brona,” he whispered in her ear. “It willnae hurt.”
“How can ye say that? Are ye nay about to sink something sharp into my neck?” she whispered back.
If he was not in so much pain and fighting to control the hunger the sight of her slim, lovely neck stirred inside of him, he would have laughed. “Aye, but just as I was able to make sure Peter didnae bleed to death, I can make it so that ye are barely aware of what I do.”
Her eyes grew wide when she felt him lick her neck, causing a river of heat to suddenly flow through her body. Brona was just trying to figure out what that was when she felt a sharp pain immediately followed by more of that heady fire. She could feel him drawing the blood from her body, but all of her fear was gone, replaced by what she was beginning to think was pure, hot lust.
He stroked her back lightly with one hand and gently rubbed the back of her neck with the other, his touch becoming stronger and more sure with each passing beat of her heart. Brona had the strongest urge to rub her body against his, to relieve a sudden ache in her breasts and her groin, but she held herself as still as she could, all too aware of the other men watching her. Just as she began to think she was going to have to rub against him or go mad, he was licking her throat again. Dazed though she was, Brona actually had to bite back a protest when Colin lifted her away from Sir Heming.
Heming closed his eyes and felt the magic of her blood flow through his body. It had been difficult to stop, even more difficult not to start to make love to her. There was a deep ache in his body at the moment that had nothing to do with his injuries. He took a deep, slow breath to try to calm the lust raging inside of him and for the first time in days, felt no pain as he did so. Brona’s elixir was already working its magic and, to his utter astonishment, doing so as swiftly as the rich blood of a Pureblood of his clan, even an Elder. He had never heard of an Outsider’s blood being so potent.
Brona struggled to shake off the effects of the strange feelings Sir Heming had stirred inside of her and found Colin, Fergus, and Peter all staring at her neck. “Is it bleeding?” she asked and hastily touched the place where Sir Heming had bitten her, but could feel nothing, which was very strange indeed.
“Nay,” answered Colin. “’Tis fine. Looks like nay more than a wee love bite.”
“What is a love bite?”
“Ah, weel, ’tis when a mon has a wee nibble on a lassie’s neck—”
“Hush, Colin,” snapped Peter. “Ye dinnae talk of such things with a weelborn lass and a maid.”
“Actually, I was rather interested in what he had to say,” said Brona.
“Sweet Jesu!” cried Fergus.
Turning to see Colin’s brother staring wide-eyed at Sir Heming and crossing himself, Brona quickly looked at Sir Heming. For a moment she feared he had died despite taking her blood, or, God forbid, her blood had poisoned him, but she could see that he was still breathing. In fact, he was breathing very well, deeply and evenly and not even wincing a little as he did so. Looking at his face, she gasped along with Colin and Peter. She could actually see the bruises and swelling fading. She glanced down at his broad chest and watched the lash marks and knife slashes slowly fade away as well.
“Ye must have some verra powerful blood, mistress,” muttered Colin.
“Are ye still sure he isnae a demon?” asked Fergus in a slightly unsteady whisper.
“He isnae a demon. I dinnae e’en feel faint so he didnae take much blood from me. And I am quite certain I still have my soul.” She shook her head. “’Tis miraculous.”
“This is what the laird seeks,” said Peter.
“And ’tis something I cannae give him e’en if I wanted to,” said Heming as he opened his eyes, speaking to Peter but staring at Brona. “’Tis something that is unique to the MacNachtons, something that has been a part of us forever. The clan is ancient, as are these gifts.”
Heming finally looked at the men, although it was hard to tear his gaze away from Brona’s wide sea-green eyes. The three men staring at him looked more amazed than appalled or afraid, even a little stunned. None of them was rushing to find a weapon, either.
“And, Fergus, I am nay a demon,” he said and decided that Fergus’s guilty flush was a good sign, for if the man could feel uncomfortable about calling him a demon then it meant Fergus did not fully believe it. “I truly am just a mon, one with a few special gifts and a few, weel, curses.”
“Curses like having to drink blood?”
“Aye, I suspicion ye could call that a curse, but I have ne’er worried o’er it much as I dinnae have to do it verra often.” He shrugged, silently pleased over how his abused muscles now allowed him to do so easily. “It doesnae matter. Just cease to worry that I am about to suck out your soul. And I would like your word to nay speak of what has happened here. ’Tis talk about such things that has brought me into this hell.”
“Fair enough,” said Fergus. “Ye have it. Dinnae think anyone would believe me anyway.” Peter and Colin nodded in agreement.
“How did my cousin come to ken about ye and your clan?” asked Brona. “None of us have really heard more than a whisper here and there about the MacNachtons, and some nay e’en that.”
“Your cousin has joined with others who have made it their crusade to hunt down me and mine and kill us all. As your cousin so sweetly told me, the MacNachtons are an abomination that must be cleared from God’s earth.”
“Hervey sounded that pious?”
“He has become a hunter and they tend to talk that way. My cousin and I were trying to find out more about them as we kenned that they were starting to gather together, to become many instead of one here and there. Several of my clan have met gruesome ends recently and we are sure it was done by the hunters. We have declared them all our blood enemies.”
“Oh, weel, aye. So ye must.” She shook her head. “I confess I dinnae understand what ye are, how ye could drink blood, or how ye could heal as ye have. Howbeit, ye have ne’er harmed anyone at Rosscurrach and ye didnae deserve what was done to ye. Ye certainly didnae deserve what Hervey and Angus had planned for ye.”
“Exactly what did they have planned for me? I assumed they would torture me until I died or, since I would ne’er tell them what they sought to ken, just get so furious with their failure that they simply killed me.”
“I did as I said I would and tried to find out exactly what was going on. Weel, I am nay sure how much Hervey believes in what these hunters do, but he was appalled by what ye are. However, he wants your secret to a long life. When I heard him speak of that, I also heard what he meant to try next. When ye healed after drinking Peter’s blood, Hervey decided that your blood was the secret to your long life. He and Angus intended to drink a potion made from your blood every day for a fortnight and see if they began to heal quickly from wounds. If they did, weel, I fear ye would ne’er have been set free. They would have continued to use ye to make their daily potions.”
“Ye mean they would hold him down here forever and milk him like a cow just so they might live longer?” asked Fergus.
Brona