Laird of Darkness (5 page)

Ridiculous.

Fool that he was, he had been caught in his own trap. He withdrew from her, washed himself off at the tub, then dressed. He especially shouldn’t have released his seed inside her. Saints! What if he got her with child? The world did not need another Fae half blood tormented by Otherworld demons.

He blocked it from his mind and moved toward the door.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Sleep. I’ll return later.”

She’d covered herself with the blankets. “I don’t like sleeping alone in the dark.”

Nor do I.
He lit two more candles. “I’ll return soon.”

She nodded and snuggled down into his feather pillow. Something about seeing her there, in his bed, spawned his possessive nature.

She is not mine!

When Duncan returned to the bedchamber, Alana was asleep. Good. He would not disturb her. He’d paced the battlements for more than an hour, stewing in his own quandary. He hungered for her again already, yet she wasn’t his. Would never be his. When he thought of his half brother married to her, swiving her, he wanted to slam his fist into something hard.

Cursing, he went to the table near the door and poured himself a dram of whisky. He rarely drank, but the despair gnawing at his chest was more than he wanted to face. He hated feeling anything. Especially about infuriating, luscious lasses who crawled under his skin. The wanting he felt for her was more than lust. ’Twas as if he was trapped in the dark, withering and lonely, and she was life-giving light. He was cold, and she his flame. The urge to claw his way toward her near overwhelmed him.

He cursed and turned up the bottle for a long swallow. After a moment, the whisky warmed his veins, distracting him from the need goring his vitals. He slumped into the chair by the hearth. Though the fire was but embers, he felt too lethargic to add more peat.

Moments later, his eyelids grew heavy. It had been days—or was it weeks?—since he’d slept more than a couple of hours within a day’s time. And he must not sleep now, else the Otherworld fiends would attack. Forcing himself to his feet, he opened the shutters. Fresh air cooled his skin. Though ’twas still night, the faintest light of dawn glowed in the east.

Exhaustion dragged at him and he staggered back to the chair. Hell, he’d had too much drink and not enough food. But at least he was done thinking about
her
. Wasn’t he? Aye, she no longer possessed his thoughts. To hell with her.

His head dropped back. He would but rest his eyes for a moment.

Then…he drifted into a dream. It must have been a dream for he knew not where he was. Duncan was lost in a castle he’d never visited before. Somehow, he knew ’twas Castle Claren, and he was here to steal the magical bow. Where might it be? He rushed from one cold, dim room to another but no one else was about. His footsteps echoed off the stone walls. When he looked out the windows, all was a gray mist.

MacClaren likely kept the bow in his bedchamber. Or perhaps the armory. But he knew not where either was located.

A movement from the corner of his eye stopped him.

’Twas a dim room with only one arrow slit. He moved toward it to peer out, but saw naught but the gray mist again. Footsteps sounded behind him, not human footsteps.

Wake!
But he could not. Something held him within the grip of sleep.

Warrior instincts rising, he turned to face his foe, back to the wall, his eyes scanning the dimness. He clenched his hand, yearning to feel a sword hilt there. Or a bow.

The heavy footsteps crept slowly closer, claws clicking and scraping against the wooden floor. Then he saw them—two furred animals scurrying from table to settle.

Damnation, they had found him once again. He cursed and braced himself for the pain he knew would come.

They leapt at him, teeth bared. Their jaws latched on to both wrists. Their fangs sank into his flesh and pain screamed along his arms.

He fought them. Kicked. Rolled to the floor and smashed the beasts’ heads against the wood. One released his wrist and seized his leg, its claws sinking deep to pin him. Their vicious growls filled the room. Bitter pain engulfed his body. Duncan kicked at the one on his leg but its hold was too fearsome.

Mayhap this was the end. Mayhap they would devour him alive this time.

A growled curse awoke Alana.
What?
The strange room with its faint light startled her for a moment. Then she remembered…

Duncan
.

The passion she’d shared with him earlier bewildered her. Had that truly been her? With him? She could not quite comprehend where so much pleasure and passion came from.

He sat on the floor before the fireplace now, bent forward, working at something. What was he doing? Had she chased him from his own bed? ’Twas warm here and she wished to curl her body into his and sleep more.

“Why do you not come to bed and sleep?” Alana said.

Duncan straightened and turned, finding her with his midnight eyes. “Nay. Go back to sleep.” His voice was a raw, edgy sound.

“I will if you sleep with me.”

Giving her his back, he was silent for a long moment. “Why did you lie to me?” His cold tone chilled her. How could he speak to her thus after their scorching encounter?

“About what?”

“If you have to ask, you must have told more than one lie.” Again he glared back at her.

“I know not what you speak of.”
Loutish knave!

“When I asked if you were a virgin before, you said that you were. But we both ken you were not.”

“’Tis not your concern.”

“’Tis now.”

She shook her head. What did it matter and why did he care? “Because…I was ashamed. And I sought to protect myself.”

“How long since this happened?”

“Three years. I was young and foolish. There was a lad—”

“You are still young and foolish,” he snapped in a chastising tone. “You shouldn’t have allowed me to…” He muttered curses and rose to his feet.

She remained silent, refusing to regret it.

“Once ’twas clear to me that you weren’t a virgin, I told myself it wouldn’t matter if I took you. MacClaren would blame me for the loss of your virginity whether I’d taken it or not.”

“’Haps you are right. So it matters not. What’s done is done. Why don’t you come here? Am I so terrible to sleep with?”

He watched her for a moment with a displeased expression then glanced away.

She noticed something white wrapped around the lower part of his leg beneath his plaid. It even appeared dark blood was seeping through “Is that a bandage?”

“Aye.”

She started to rise from the bed. “How did you get hurt since—”

“Nay, stay where you are.” He held up his hand. His white sleeve appeared bloody as well.

“What happened? Your arm and leg are bleeding. I’m a healer; mayhap I can help.”

He shook his head. “I am well. The bite marks and scratches will heal. They always do.”

A chill slid down her body. “What? How did you get bitten? A dog?” She recalled the earlier healing wounds she’d seen on his body.

“Nay.” He remained stubbornly silent about the cause.

“How?” she said in a firm tone, determined to hear the truth of it.

“Why do you fear rats?”

Panic closed around her throat. “Were you bitten by rats?”

“Nay,” he said calmly. “You said earlier that you were afraid of rats, and I wondered why.”

Was he trying to divert her from the subject at hand? If she revealed her fear, maybe he would finally tell her the source of his injuries. “If you must know, when I was seven summers old, my father sent me to foster with a lesser chieftain and his wife who had no children. They gave me the honor of my own bedchamber in the old castle. But during the night, large rats invaded the dark room and bit me all over, creating horrible painful wounds.” The mere memory of the sharp teeth slicing into her in the blackness, no one to help her despite her screams, made her stomach clench with nausea. “I was terrified, naturally. I refused to eat or sleep until my father and his men arrived to take me home two days later.”

Duncan’s intense and concerned gaze burned into her. “’Tis a hellish thing for such a young child to suffer. They shouldn’t have left you alone,” he growled.

She was surprised to feel a stinging mist of tears in her eyes. From the memory or from his disturbed, caring tone, she wasn’t sure. Alana knew if he’d been with her, he would’ve protected her.

“What bit you, Duncan? I won’t tell anyone if you don’t wish it.”

After a long moment of silence, he spoke in a low voice. “After dark, if I go to sleep, my nightmares come to life.”

“What sort of nightmares?”

“Vile creatures from Otherworld. They attack me. One day they may devour me alive.” He shrugged as if it were naught. “Sometimes now they even come in the daytime. When they attack, I wake with bloody scratches and bite marks.”

“How terrible. You mean they are real?”

“Aye.”

“Why does this happen to you?” She started to slide from the bed.

“You were right. I’m half Fae.”

Alana halted, her whole body chilling. She had suspected…but to hear him confirm it was another matter entirely. The Fae were not sweet or compassionate creatures. They were more like mischievous demigods who could unleash havoc on human lives if they so chose. With naught more to spur the decision than a bad mood or wicked whim. Her family, indeed all Scots, sought to appease them and stay out of their way.

“My mother was Fae,” Duncan said. “She died at my birth and was not able to gift me with a golden bow and a protection spell against the Otherworldly creatures. At least ’tis what an old wise man told me.”

If Duncan was only half Fae, mayhap he retained enough humanity to have a bit of rationality and consideration. Aye, even though he’d taken her hostage, he had treated her with kindness. Then something alarming occurred to her.

“Does that mean MacClaren is half Fae too?”

“Indeed.”

“Nay! I do not wish to marry a half-blood Fae.” Why had her father arranged such a horrid marriage?

Duncan glared. “You’re like all the others.”

“Pray pardon. ’Tis naught against you.”

“You detest the Fae, and I’m one of them.” His voice was hard, biting.

Suddenly chilled, she crossed her arms over her chest. “’Tis not that I detest them.” Nay indeed, she liked Duncan more than was proper. “But you must admit your mixed blood causes you trouble.”

“Aye, but I’m told MacClaren’s troubles are considerably less than mine, so you have little to worry over if you marry him.” A bitter smirk contorted his lips.

“Why?”

Duncan shrugged. “Because he has the protection of the magical bow our mother gave him. He is able to sleep peacefully at night.”

How unfair that was. “Could you not obtain a faerie bow someplace?”

“’Tis what I’m attempting.” He sent her a meaningful look.

“Oh! You mean to trade me for MacClaren’s bow.”

“Aye,” he said in a subdued tone, then crouched again before the fire.

Alana stared down at her fingers in the pale dawn light, remembering the erotic pleasures they’d shared earlier. It had meant naught to him. She was a stupid and wanton lass.

She wasn’t even certain she wanted to marry MacClaren now that she knew him to be half Fae. Had her father known? Surely not.

Anyway, her future was not in her hands. Men had the power to decide her fate. If she escaped Duncan and didn’t marry MacClaren, her brother would find another man for her to wed. A man not of her choosing—a tyrant perhaps. Maybe Fae blood was not the most vile thing in the world. She would wait until she met MacClaren to form an opinion of him. ’Haps she could marry him after all.

Duncan focused on the fire before him until the brightness of the flames stung his eyes. But naught could sting as much as the bite marks on his wrists and shin. Damned hellish creatures. He had been lucky to wake when he did and escape them. He could not go on in this torment. He must have the bow.

Why had he bedded Alana? He shouldn’t have touched her. Even with his injuries, he craved her again. Naught could tamp down his intense desire for her. Not even pain. One part of him said he could tolerate the living nightmares if only he could have her in his bed every night. But another part of him rebelled against the thought. Was he mad?

MacClaren would want his bride, and he would trade his bow for her. It had to be. Duncan had desperately wanted the bow for many years, since the old druid told him of its existence. Duncan had to have peace within his own head, his own home. He would not let some bonny lass deprive him of that.

“What if MacClaren no longer wants me?” Alana asked in a small voice. “What if he will not trade his bow now?”

“He will.” Damn his hide.

“But what if he doesn’t?”

“Does he ken what you look like?” Duncan snapped more harshly than he’d meant. Her exquisite face and blue eyes made his chest ache.

She shook her head. “I have never met him.”

“Then we shall make sure he knows of your great beauty.”

“My face is a curse, I vow.” A tear glistened at the corner of her eye, but she angrily brushed it away.

“Nay.” How could she say such a thing? Her beauty was surely a gift from the gods.

“It holds no value for me. ’Tis only something men bargain with to get what they want. What about what I want?”

“And what do you want?” Had no one ever asked her this? Well,
he
cared, even if he couldn’t give it to her.

“I want to practice my healing arts and help those in need. To be treated with kindness. To have a family. I wish for a husband who…” She lowered her face.

“Who what?”

“Is generous in bed.”

He lifted a brow.
Och.
He could be very generous. He thought he had been. “And what does that mean?” He had to hear her say it. Wished to know what she wanted in bed.

She would not meet his gaze. “You know. Pleasure.”

He turned away. Jealousy stabbed at him with sudden viciousness when he imagined MacClaren taking her to his bed. His half brother did not deserve such a charming and lovely lass. MacClaren deserved a she-devil who would torment him every day.

Her arms wrapped around Duncan from behind. He turned his head to look into Alana’s bewitching eyes. She kissed his cheek and whispered in his ear. “Like the pleasure you gave me this night.” She lifted his bandaged wrists and kissed each one near his injuries.

A feeling burned through him, a feeling he’d never experienced before—raging hot, yet tender.

He couldn’t resist kissing her and dragging her onto his lap.

“You’re naked,” he whispered against her lips before devouring them again. His hands explored her bare arse. What a delightful shape it was. Soft and supple.

He relished the way she wound her arms around his neck. Only now did he realize how he’d craved someone to hold him tight in his dark room. And he adored her kisses, so sweet, yet lusty and wanton, her tongue flicking his own. Perfectly delectable.

Her hip created a wonderful pressure against his stone-hard shaft. He moaned and she slid her hand down to caress the head of his cock through his plaid.

He growled. “I crave you again, lass.”

“Aye, take me, if you please. Just once more.”

“We should not.”

“I know, but…” She bit his neck gently, spiking his lust.

Where the devil had his noble streak come from? He banished it immediately and unbuckled his belt. Lifting her slightly, he slid the plaid from between them. “Help me remove my shirt.”

She yanked it up and over his head. Skin to skin, he embraced her and the silky feel of her seduced him. So soft and warm. He stroked her all over while she sighed and whispered his name.

He kissed her again, entwining his tongue with hers, his fingers tugging gently at her peaked nipples.

“Mmm, Duncan, I beg of you.” She stroked his cock over and over in a maddening rhythm.

He growled, unable to withstand any more. His hands beneath her hips, he lifted her and turned her back to him. “Spread your legs.”

“What?” She clenched her hands on his forearms.

“If you want my cock, then sit on it. Ride it.”

“I don’t know…”

Taking one hand off her derriere, he guided his cock toward her slit, stroked it. She gasped and widened her thighs. Aye, there it was, that sweet wet pussy he craved. It drenched the head of his cock. She wiggled and pressed down slightly, the head pushing into that passage that squeezed him so tightly.

“You feel divine,” he breathed against her ear.

She arched her back and he slid deeper. Her heat surrounded him, making him want to thrust. But given the position, he couldn’t. Instead, he lifted and lowered her. She cried out, her hands squeezing his arms.

Unable to abide this position any longer without going mad, he withdrew and carried her to the bed. There, he laid her on her side and slid in behind her. Moving his hand between her legs, he pushed his cock between her pussy lips and plunged deep. She gasped, arching against him.

He stroked her sweet nub of flesh and thrust his hips as he’d wished to do before. Unearthly pleasure burned through him with each movement. Wishing to feast upon her, he nibbled on the lobe of her ear. When she screamed and shuddered against him, the urge to come was strong, but he held back.

He must have more, give her a night she’d never forget. Because she would leave soon and Duncan might never see her again.

He rose over her, turned her to her back, and first devoured her mouth, then kissed down her throat to her delightful breasts. Sucking at each nipple in turn, he relished the way she arched her back. Sliding his tongue down over her, he paused at her hip and bit, gently tugging the flesh between his teeth. Aye, he wished to consume her utterly.

Pushing her legs wide, he settled between her thighs and observed her in the faint glow of daybreak. With his thumbs, he pushed her pussy lips apart and flicked that wee hard nubbin of flesh with his tongue. She gasped and thrust her hips toward him. He loved that she was lusty and unafraid. Bold, making it known what she wanted in bed.

“Duncan?” she moaned.

“Aye, Alana. You taste like honey.” He pushed two fingers deep into her, his fingertips stroking the inner walls of her passage while he lapped at those delectable cunny lips. Enjoying the way they grew firmer with each flick of his tongue. The way her juices drenched his fingers.