Highland Thirst (4 page)

“He
has fangs, Angus.”

“But
nay any horns, aye? And, though he is a strong, weel-set lad, he doesnae really
have much more than ye and I have. I have often heard it said that the devil’s
minions have massive rods and bollocks as big as apples.”

Brona
grimaced in disgust as both men laughed. She was beginning to think she was
wasting her time. They were not telling her any more than what she already knew
and it was hardly worth standing so close to the heat of the fireplace. She was
drenched in sweat and beginning to feel a little un-well. The heat was stealing
all the strength from her body.

“Actually,
I begin to think ‘tis something to do with the blood,” Hervey said just as
Brona decided to leave and she quickly halted, pressing herself against the
wall again.

“Ye
may just have the right of it,” agreed Angus. “The mon
did
heal and grow
visibly stronger after drinking of Peter’s blood. Mayhap we err in allowing so
much of it to drip into the floor. We may have been wasting something as
precious as gold.”

“Aye,
mayhap we should collect it and drink it. A disgusting thought, but it could
hold the answer to the secret.”

“Weel,
he will have to recover a wee bit first. He lost too much blood this time. Nay
sure we ought to let him just feast on another prisoner either, so we shall
have to leave him be for a wee while. Once he gets his strength back, we will
take some of his blood and see if the secret of what he is lies within it.”

“A
good plan. After all, if it
is
the blood that makes him what he is, it
just might work for us and then we shall have to keep the MacNachtons alive, or
at least some of them. I but wonder how we can ken that it works.”

“If
it is his blood that makes him what he is then ye will feel some change, I am
certain.”

“Any
wounds we had would heal faster. Mayhap giving ourselves just a wee cut and
watching how fast it heals itself will be enough to tell us. It might be that
we need to drink of his blood several times before we can be sure whether that
holds the secret or not.”

“Agreed.
We will take a potion made of his blood each day for a fortnight. If we see
naught changing in ourselves by then, then we must decide if he is worth
keeping alive.”

“He
will be worth it only if he begins to tell us what we need to know.”

“True.
Mayhap if the arrogant bastard realizes that he is now the prey and nay the
predator, he will start telling us all his secrets in some vain attempt to save
his worthless hide. And now let us speak of Brona.”

“Ah,
aye, my sweet wee cousin whom ye have been sniffing around for years. Are ye
sure ye still want her?”

“Aye,
I do and I want her soon. She is two and twenty now and ripe for a mon.”

“She
doesnae seem verra interested in ye, Angus.”

“She
will learn to be. She just needs to be ridden hard a few times. So? When can I
marry her?”

“Soon,
my friend. Verra soon. Just allow me to finish with the MacNachton first.
Either the blood will hold the answer I seek or he is useless to me and I will
be rid of him.”

Angus
cursed. “What does that business matter? How does my wedding Brona possibly
affect that?”

“Because
I think my cousin willnae come to the marriage willingly and we will need to be
able to watch her verra closely until the deed is done. Come, dinnae look so
fierce. Ye ken that I want ye to wed with her. ‘Tis the perfect answer to both
of our problems. Ye will get the woman ye have been lusting after for years and
I will get her dowry to fill my empty purse. I dinnae think ye will need to
wait too much longer. MacNachton will soon be dead or he will become our own
source of the potion that will bring us superior strength and long lives.”

Brona
heard the clink of two tankards knocking together and knew the men were giving
each other a silent toast to the success of their plans. Numb with shock, she
decided she had heard all she could stomach for now and she started on her way
back to the solar. It was not only MacNachton she needed to worry about now.
Her own life was in danger for she had no doubt that marriage to Angus Kerr
would kill her, if not in body, certainly in mind and spirit.

She
reached her bedchamber without anyone seeing her, much to her relief. Brona was
sure that anyone meeting her would have immediately seen that something was
wrong and she doubted she could have given them a plausible excuse for her
obvious upset. Washing up and changing into her night shift, she crawled into
her small bed. Thor immediately curled up on the sheepskin rug by the side of
the bed and Havoc sought his usual place at her feet, but she did not find the
comfort she usually did in their presence. She needed to think about all she
had heard and make some very hard decisions.

Sir
Heming MacNachton concerned her first. He truly had drunk Peter’s blood. It was
hard to believe that a man would do such a thing, but she doubted Angus and
Hervey were mistaken. They had obviously expected MacNachton to do just what he
had done. And yet they did not think MacNachton was a demon. Despite hearing
what he had done, Brona could not make herself believe it either. But what
could he be if not a demon?

She
thought of the man she had seen in the cage, of his wild beauty, and hoped she
was not being swayed by his appearance. It was said that the devil tempted men
and women with all they desired and any woman would desire a man like Sir
Heming MacNachton. Brona knew she should be horrified that he had fed upon the
blood of a man, and a part of her was, and yet she could not bring herself to
condemn him for it. All she could keep thinking of was that he had not killed
Peter, that he had not even sought out the man for his blood but had it forced
upon him. If Sir Heming needed such sustenance then having a bleeding Peter
shoved under his nose in the time of his greatest need must have been no more
than another torment. She sincerely doubted the man had wanted others to see
him do something like that.

As
if sensing her agitation, Thor sat up and rested his head on the edge of the
bed. A moment later she felt Havoc curl up against her back, his deep rumbling
purr sounding quite loud in the silent room. Brona smiled faintly as she
scratched Thor’s ears and softly commanded him to lie back down. She left Havoc
where he was, rather liking the warmth of the cat’s big body on her back. Brona
just wished they could help her make some decision about what to do.

Recalling
Hervey’s plan to take blood from Sir Heming, she decided that was all that
should rule her decision, that and the fact that Hervey was brutally torturing
a man who had never done him any harm. What the man was did not matter. What
Hervey was doing was wrong and what he planned to do was even worse. On the one
hand, Hervey condemned MacNachton for drinking blood and on the other, Hervey
planned to do just that if he discovered that Sir Heming’s blood held the
secret of a long life.

Brona
realized she had already made her decision about Sir Heming. She was going to
try to save his life. Whatever manner of man he was, he did not deserve what
Hervey and Angus were doing to him. He certainly did not deserve being used by
her cousin and his first as a source for whatever magical quality might lurk in
his blood.

A
shiver went through her as she recalled her cousin and Angus discussing how they
would use the man, taking his blood every day in order to see if they could
gain the man’s strength and longevity. She had always known that her cousin and
Angus were hard, cruel men, but their plan to keep Sir Heming caged so that
they could feed off him was beyond cruel. Brona had to wonder if the two men
were mad, or at least edging very close to madness. Even if one believed all
the tales about the MacNachtons—and she had probably only heard a few of them
in the last sennight—what her cousin planned was still madness.

She
would take Sir Heming away from them. Brona intended to free Peter, if he still
lived, as well as Colin and Fergus. The moment she opened the door to Sir
Heming’s cage she would not be able to stay at Rosscurrach, so she may as well
help every man in the dungeons flee her mad cousin’s rule. None of these men
had done any harm to their laird or anyone else at Rosscurrach. She also had no
doubt the men would stay free once their wounds healed. Brona just hoped she
would be able to save herself as well.

Thoughts
of the threat hanging over her own head started to creep into her mind, but she
pushed them away. If she thought about how Hervey wanted her to marry Angus, of
how that man lusted after her, she would never sleep or, if she did, she would
be plagued by nightmares. She was fleeing Rosscurrach and that was all she
would think about.

Closing
her eyes, she tried to calm herself, knowing she needed her rest. There was a
lot she had to do before she could help the men in the dungeons and herself.
She would need to find a place for them to hide and gather some supplies. She
would need all her wits clear to prepare for her escape and she needed sleep
for that. The sooner she, Fergus, Colin, Peter—if he still lived—and Sir Heming
got out of Hervey’s reach the better.

Heming
rocked slightly, struggling to fight the waves of pain washing over him. The
laird of Rosscurrach had a true skill at torturing a man. Worse, Heming got the
feeling the man actually enjoyed it. By the time the torture had stopped, Sir
Hervey Kerr had been so enraged at Heming’s refusal to tell him anything about
the MacNachtons that Heming was a little surprised he still had all his parts.

Not
sure why he was fighting unconsciousness and thinking about just giving into it,
Heming had his attention suddenly caught by the sound of voices. He wondered
why he felt such a keen sense of disappointment when he did not hear the woman’s
low husky voice. The two men Mistress Brona had been talking to before leaving
were talking to each other now that they were all alone. He doubted they would
say anything of any importance, but Heming eagerly grasped the chance to think
about anything except the pain wracking his body.

“Do
ye think she will come back and set us free?” asked one and Heming recognized
the voice as the one named Fergus.

“If
she can, aye,” said the man Colin.

“But
ye dinnae think she can, do ye?”

“I
cannae say. It willnae be easy to get us out of here and she is just a wee
lass. Aye, and one who has lived here and been cared for all her life. Weel,
until that bastard showed up and sat his arse in the laird’s chair. She will
want to and, if I recall right from when she was a bairn, she can be a stubborn
lass. Just dinnae feel too unkindly toward her if she cannae do it.”

“Och,
nay, I wouldnae. As ye say, she is just a wee lass. But, if we do get free what
shall we do? We cannae stay here yet what about the rest of the family?”

“We
will get word to them to get away if they fear they may be in danger. S’truth,
I dinnae think they will be. We really didnae commit any crime and we have been
punished for the one that bastard tries to say we committed. That should be the
end of it yet he keeps us here. I still think it may be to feed that beastie in
the cage. Weel, the laird cannae say that, can he. I think he willnae be so
verra concerned about us escaping. He will be too busy trying to get MacNachton
back and mayhap Peter as weel, if the mistress can find him and he still lives.”

Fergus
cursed. “The old laird was such a good mon. How could he leave us with this
bastard as his heir?”

“He
couldnae make Mistress Brona the laird, could he? I like to think the mon
didnae really ken what sort of mon Hervey Kerr is, e’en if that makes the old
laird sound a bit of a fool.”

Obviously
Hervey Kerr was not the usual sort amongst the Kerrs of Rosscurrach, thought
Heming. If he ever did reach his kinsmen he would have to make it clear that it
was Hervey Kerr and his first who were their enemies. Them and a few of Hervey’s
men. For all that he ached to avenge this treatment at Hervey’s hands, he could
not allow the innocent to be caught up in that.

“Sweet
Jesu, Colin, I hope she does get us out of here and soon. I dinnae want to be
dragged afore that demon and have my soul eaten.”

Heming
inwardly cursed. A beastie and a demon that ate souls. It was obvious the two
men did not share Mistress Brona’s doubt concerning the claims about him and
his clan. If there was a rescue, he might not be invited along, especially if
the decision was left up to those two.

“Weel,
thinking it all o’er I am nay certain he is a demon. Mistress Brona is right.
Where is his power if he is a demon, eh? Why hasnae he sent those bastards
straight to hell? If ye heed all the Godly men say then that mon down there
shouldnae be just setting in that cage letting them torture him every night. He
would be ripping those bars apart and killing the men who think themselves so
strong they can torture one of the devil’s minions. Aye, and e’en if he stayed
a wee while, letting the laird and his men stain their souls nice and black by
their own actions, wouldnae he be trying to woo us into sinning? Into giving
him our souls?”

“I
heard them say he is bound by silver chains and in an iron cage. Mayhap that is
what has trapped him.”