Highland Thirst (19 page)

“Aye,
I confess, I did think a lot about that myself,” she said as she trailed her
fingers up and down his spine.

“There
is one thing I must tell ye ere we get too witless.”

When
he hesitated, she smiled and kissed his chin. “Just tell me, Heming, as I am
verra eager to get witless.”

“I
am nay sure ye understand what I mean when I say ye are my mate. ‘Tis more than
a wife. ‘Tis a bonding, a deep one, and it makes me want to mark ye. Not every
Halfling feels the urge, but more do, and I have felt it.”

“Mark
me? How?”

“A
bite right here,” he replied and kissed the pulse point in her neck.

“But
ye have already bitten me there and drank my blood. Why would ye still feel the
urge?”

“The
mating mark is given whilst the two mates make love. At the point where I give
ye my seed I bite ye and take some of your blood. A blending, if ye will.”

“Ah,
weel, I dinnae see anything wrong with that if that is what ye wish to do. It
didnae hurt when ye did it the last time and I fear ‘tis the thought of pain I
would shy away from. Am I supposed to drink your blood as weel? I dinnae see
how I can as I dinnae have the teeth for it.”

“Ye
dinnae have to, but I think that, if ye could stomach it, I would like ye to
try. My mother had done so with my father and she said it was verra nice.
Blushed when she said it, too, which was verra telling. It would also be a way
for ye to have a wee bit of my blood now and again so that we can be together
for as long as possible.” He nodded toward the little table near the bed. “All
I need to do is give myself a wee cut on the wrist and ye could take a wee sip
from there.”

“Will
it hurt ye?”

“Nay
much and, remember, I but need to lick the wound and it closes.”

Brona
wrapped her hands around his neck and rubbed her body against his, delighting
in his soft groan. “Weel, then, let us get about the business of consummating
this marriage. I am most eager to get witless and bitten.”

Heming
laughed and kissed her. His need for her swiftly filled him and he knew he
would have to fight for control. The fact that she was going to let him give
her his mark and even try to drink from him herself only added to the strength
of his need. He kissed every part of her sweetly curved body, reveling in her
murmurs and sighs, in the taste and the heat of her. The feel of her small
hands stroking his skin stole his wits. They were both trembling with the force
of their passion by the time he knew they would have to be joined or he would
be spilling his seed on the sheets.

Panting
as if she had just run for her life over miles of countryside, Brona watched
Heming reach for the small dagger on the table. She felt no doubt or hesitation
about what they were about to do. Instead something strong and primitive
swelled up inside of her and only added to her desire for Heming. She could
feel a spot on her neck, the place where he had taken some of her blood before,
grow warm and that warmth spread through her body adding to the heat passion
had already stirred inside.

When
Heming held his cut wrist to her mouth, she wrapped her fingers around it and
pressed her mouth to the cut. His blood seeped into her mouth at first and her
eyes widened. It was sweet and rich and it sent fire flying straight to her
groin. She closed her eyes and sucked gently and felt a strong tremor go
through Heming’s body. A moment later she felt him bite her and begin to drink
of her. Something inside of her burst and she screamed against his wrist and
her release tore through her, followed by another and another as Heming thrust
into her with a ferocity that had her sliding up the bed until her head was
pressed against the bank of pillows.

Heming
felt her soft lips on his wrist and his whole body clenched with the need to be
inside of her. He felt his fangs fill his mouth as he reentered her. Every
light pull of her mouth upon his wrist sent fire racing through him and he felt
himself grow even harder. Without conscious thought he again sunk his fangs
into her neck and closed his eyes in ecstasy as the heady warmth of her blood
filled his mouth. A small part of his mind whispered that he could hurt her,
but nothing could stop him from slamming into her heat again and again. He
heard her cry out against his wrist, felt her body clench around his like a fist,
and heard himself growl. Feeling his release at hand he thrust as deep inside
of her as he could and nearly roared at the force of it. His last clear thought
was that he hoped he remembered to close the wounds before he passed out from
the pleasure that was tearing through him.

“Oh
my,” Brona whispered, rousing enough from her stupor to find herself flat on
her back, Heming sprawled in the same boneless way at her side.

“Oh
my, indeed,” he said, forcing his limp body to move enough to wrap an arm
around her slim shoulders and pull her close to his side. “I cannae believe my
mother said that was
verra nice,”
he muttered.

“Verra
nice?” Brona shook her head. “I am verra surprised that we are still alive.”
She reached a hand up to touch the spot he had bitten and, although there was
no blood there, she could feel that there would be a mark. “This one willnae
fade, will it.”

“Nay.
‘Tis why it is called the mating mark. Anytime I bite ye after this, those
marks will fade away as the other did. I am nay sure why this one doesnae. Just
one of those mysteries.” He took a slow deep breath to quell a sudden attack of
nervousness. “Weel, do ye think ye can drink from me every now and then?”

“It
had best be only every now and then or e’en your magical blood willnae keep us
from dying, our poor wee hearts stopped by the strength of the pleasure we just
survived.”

Heming
grinned. “Aye, ‘tis best if we save it for special occasions. S’truth, I cannae
help but wonder if it could be the sort of thing that makes one crave it dangerously.”

Brona
kissed his chest and then rubbed her cheek against the taut skin. “Aye, I could
see that happening to some. And, in truth, I rather like the way we were at the
inn. It wasnae so powerful but the pleasure was certainly all one needs and one
can go a bit slower and savor it more, aye?”

He
kissed the top of her head. “I have married a verra wise woman. Happy?” He
grimaced, thinking it a foolish question for a grown man to ask a woman.

Brona
propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him. “I cannae explain just how
happy I am. I have ye, the mon I love more than life. I have the chance to
spend years and years and years with ye. I have a new family. I have
Rosscurrach back and the evil that has held it in its fist for too long is all
gone. I think I am more than happy. I am blissful.”

“Blissful,
eh?”

“Verra
blissful. I am even more so because I can give ye something ye like and nay
cringe as so many others would. S’truth, I dinnae understand why I have nay
trouble with ye biting me and especially with me drinking of ye, but I dinnae.”

“And
I shall be sure to go to the chapel and thank God for that.” He kissed the tip
of her nose. “Ye do ken that ye dinnae have to do it or let me do it.”

“I
ken it, but I find I like it. I liked it the first time, too. I wanted to rub
myself all over ye. It troubled me a wee bit, but it doesnae trouble me
anymore. I love ye and so I love all that is part of ye, e’en if it includes
big pointy teeth and a strange thirst.” She laughed along with him but then
grew serious again. “And, Heming, it makes me feel verra good to ken that I
have something in me that can always be used to heal ye.”

“I
think that is when I first began to think ye were my mate. Your blood healed me
with the swiftness and strength of the blood of one of our Elders. It shouldnae
have, for ye are an Outsider, but it did. Oh, it would have healed me anyway,
but much more slowly. Another mystery, aye? I must be sure to remember to tell
Maman
about it as she is trying to gather all the information she can on the many
strengths and gifts of the clan. Since she found out how we can hold our mates
at our sides with a wee sip now and then, I can only praise her work.”

“Will
it be all right, Heming? Ye living here? I ken that the MacNachton clan is
verra close and ye willnae have any of them here. ‘Twill also be difficult for
them to visit verra often.”

“It
will most certainly be all right. And I willnae be the only MacNachton here.
Several of my clansmen have decided to stay here too. It grows quite crowded at
Cambrun now that children are being born again. It seems Rosscurrach has
beneath it some verra fine places that they can make their own.”

Heming
rolled on top of her and smiled when she wrapped her arms around him. “Aye, my
clan is large and lives closely together, but ye are my soul, Brona. This is
your home and so it is mine.” He brushed a kiss over each of her eyes when they
glistened with tears. “Others of my clan have left Cambrun and have been most
happy with their new homes and their mates. I will be most happy with mine.”

“And
I will be most happy to have ye stay here, my demon. Holding me. Loving me.
Giving me golden-eyed bairns. Giving me happiness. Thank ye most kindly, my
beautiful demon.”

“Nay,
love, your demon thanks ye for blessing the long life he has ahead of him with
hope and laughter.”

Brona
was afraid she was going to start weeping and so reached down between their
bodies and curled her fingers around him. “And lots and lots of pleasure.”

“Aye,
lots of it. Forever.”

“That
is my dearest hope, Heming, my love. My verra dearest one.”

THE CAPTURE

Lynsay
Sands

One

Lucy
glanced around the inn, uncomfortably aware of a strange buzz of excitement in
the air. It had started when the two Scots had entered.

Nay,
before that even,
she thought with a frown. Everything had seemed relatively normal when she and
her brother had first been ushered inside by Wymon Carbonnel. He’d insisted on
seeing them back to the boundary of his land after their day at Carbonnel
castle, and then had been equally insistent on their stopping for a meal at the
inn on the border where his property met theirs.

Lucy
had not been pleased with the delay. It had already been growing dark and she’d
just wanted to go home and get this uncomfortable day behind them. It had been a
long day for her. She’d spent the better part of it on tenterhooks dreading the
proposal she’d feared coming, and dreading even more the man’s reaction when
she refused him. Wymon could be dreadfully unpleasant when crossed.

However,
all that anxiety had apparently been for naught. The man finally had proposed
before they’d left Carbonnel, but he’d taken her refusal much better than she’d
expected, merely nodding with a half smile as if he’d expected it and was
untroubled by the rejection.

Lucy
supposed it was partially out of gratitude for his easy acceptance that she’d
allowed herself to be convinced into stopping for the meal. She knew it was
also the reason her brother, John, had given in gracefully and allowed the
delay in their returning home. There had simply been no polite way to refuse
and neither of them had wanted to be churlish when he’d taken her refusal so
well, so had agreed to the meal.

Apart
from the fact that they really hadn’t wished to be there—or perhaps because
they’d been distracted by that—nothing had seemed abnormal at first. The inn
had been surprisingly busy for that hour of the evening, the innkeeper and two
serving wenches bustling to serve the men their ales and good hearty food.
Although Lucy had been uncomfortably aware that, despite how busy it was, she
was the only female there besides the two serving girls. Other than that,
however, everything had been fine. . .But then one of Carbonnel’s men had
entered and nodded at Wymon and the room had suddenly gone oddly quiet for the briefest
of moments, all conversation dying as the other men noted the gesture.

When
the conversations had started up again an instant later, the sound had seemed a
little louder, a little more hearty and—compared to what had passed before—quite
unnatural.

Then
the two Scots had entered. Both were tall, well-built men, both attractive in
their own way. They’d taken seats away from the others and eyed the occupants
of the inn with cold narrow eyes.

It
was only when the innkeeper himself had gone to the table to serve the men that
Lucy had realized that the two serving maids were now absent. That fact, along
with the undertone of excitement in the air, was making her feel a bit nervous.
There was a definite feeling that something was going to happen. Apparently,
she wasn’t the only one to think so, she realized when John touched her arm and
she glanced his way to see the sharp look of concern in his eyes.

“If
you are finished, Lucy. I think ‘tis time we continued on home,” he said
quietly.

“Aye,”
she murmured, getting to her feet.

Thankfully,
Carbonnel didn’t protest, but stood silently to follow them from the inn.

Lucy
frowned as they stepped out into the courtyard and she saw how dark the night
had gotten. The sun had been making its downward journey when they’d stopped,
but she hadn’t realized how close it had been to nightfall. It appeared she and
John would be making the rest of the journey in the dark, which meant they
would have to travel at a more sedate pace to guard against their mounts
injuring themselves on the uneven road. It would be quite late when they
finally arrived back at Blytheswood, but that couldn’t be helped now, she
supposed and sighed inwardly.