Highland Thirst (7 page)

“Ye
saw that, did ye?” He tried not to blatantly sniff her clean, sweet scent when
she slipped her arm around his back and helped him sip from a tankard of wine,
easing the painful dryness of his throat.

“Nay,
I didnae, but Peter has survived and he hides here with us. Also, I o’erheard
my cousin speak of it with his first.”

“Then,
aye, blood will aid me to heal myself.”

She
could see how much he hated to admit that. The man was obviously not
comfortable with those not of his ilk knowing that he had such a dark hunger.
He looked both embarrassed and wary. The man might fear that such a confession
would now end the life he was clinging to by the very tips of his fingers.
Brona was still not sure how she felt about such a thing or exactly what such a
hunger made Sir Heming, but she could not let him die.

“Will
the blood of some animal work just as weel?” she asked.

“Nay
this time. I am weak nigh onto death. There isnae—“ Heming decided he would not
get into a discussion about the varied qualities of blood right now. “‘Tis nay
strong enough.”

That
was a disappointment, Brona decided. Disgusting as it might be, there would
have been no trouble amongst the men if she could have slipped up into the
kitchens and gotten some animal blood. To save him, however, he was going to
have to be allowed to drink from someone. It took only one glance at Fergus,
Colin, and Peter to reveal that there would be no rush of volunteers from
amongst them. Oddly enough she got the feeling that it had less to do with
someone drinking their blood than with the fact that that someone was a man.
That left her and she was not sure she had the stomach for it. It would
probably hurt, if nothing else, and she was a coward when it came to pain.

Even
with his poor sight Heming could see that none of them wished to do what was
needed. He could understand that. Not only was there the fear that somehow he
could suck out their soul along with their blood, but Outsiders had a natural
distaste for being seen as prey, as food. Some men also found it all a little
too intimate to be comfortable sharing blood with another man. Usually he did
not need blood, not as some of his kinsmen did. An occasional drink of some
blood-enriched wine was enough to keep up his strength. Since he was born of a
MacNachton and an Outsider, there were a lot of differences between him and a
Pureblood MacNachton. One was that he really only needed a hearty drink of
blood if he was wounded or ill. Since most of the time he had been at Cambrun
during such times, one of his clan had given him what he had needed. Except for
being forced to feed from Peter, Heming had never drunk the blood of an
Outsider before.

If
given a choice he knew which one of the people watching him he would choose to
feed from. Heming covertly watched the woman, sensing how hard she was thinking
over the problem. He desperately wanted to live and, without blood, that would
not happen, but he would not beg.

“Weel,
then, I guess we had better give ye some blood,” Brona said, pleased at how
calm and brave she sounded even though she was shaking inside. After glancing
at the three other men, she murmured, “And I guess it shall be me who does so.”

“Nay,
mistress,” said Colin, hastily stepping up to the side of the pallet. “I will
do it.”

Brona
could not help it. She laughed and then reached out to pat Colin on one of his
thick, muscular arms. “Nay, Colin, though I thank ye most kindly for choking
out the offer.” She grinned when he blushed and grimaced. “‘Tis fine. I am the
one who has pulled him free of my cousin’s grip. Aye, and ‘tis my kinsmon who
has done this to him. I will do it.” She looked at Sir Heming. “Just how does
one do it? I hope there is no need to cut my throat first as was done to Peter,
for I willnae be able to do that and I doubt any of these men will be able
either.”

“Nor
would they allow me to try,” said Heming. “Nay, ‘twas your cousin who cut Peter’s
throat, as I had no intention of giving the bastards a show. Unfortunately, I
was weak and maddened with pain so that when they kept pushing a bleeding mon
beneath my nose, I couldnae stop myself. I also thought that I had best do so
if only to close the wound that was made ere Peter bled to death. They didnae
care and he was cut badly.”

Brona
had to lean closely to him to hear him clearly as his voice wavered from being
clear if hoarse, to being little more than a ragged whisper. “Best we do this
now. I dinnae think ye will be able to stay awake much longer. Do ye need to do
it at the throat?”

“‘Tis
easiest.”

Heming
could not believe this woman was going to allow him to feed from her. She was
afraid for all she sounded calm, but she was not resistant. He glanced at the
men as she leaned closer, holding her thick hair away from her throat. They
looked grimly curious.

“Should
we leave?” asked Colin. “Nay sure I should watch this, or e’en want to.”

“Stay,”
Heming said. “I am sitting on the edge of death and I need at least one of ye
to stay here to be certain to stop me if ye think I am taking too much from
her.”

“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
winced, but had to admit there was a certain clarity in Fergus’s words,
although it was not an image she really wished stuck in her head. “Aye, in a
manner of speaking.”