Dark and Stormy Knight (22 page)

“That’s one of my favorite scenes.” Her voice took on a dreamy tone as she added, “The best one, though, is when he walks toward her across the field with the sun rising behind him.”

Leith cleared his throat. “My point was that the structure sheltering them from the rain is a folly.”

“Oh.”

Satisfied, he consulted the ferry schedule. Tonight was the full moon, so they’d need to reach Callanish somewhere around eleven o’clock to allow time to perform the ritual. Tom had the nawglen, which he’d prepared over the past fortnight, and a cross-over incantation provided by Queen Glorianna.

The last ferry set off around five o’clock. The crossing took three hours, give or take. That would put them in Stornoway with time to spare. Good. While Gwyneth seemed to be feeling her oats, he sure as hell wasn’t. Truth be told, he felt rather anemic, the result no doubt of all the blood he’d contributed to her sustenance.

He needed to feed, but not on hare. He required human blood. Since his wee mouse needed all her strength to stave off the curse, he’d be forced to tap a random donor somewhere along the way.

He studied the map of Lewis, looking for a caravan park. At this time of year, campers made the best targets. He could strike a lone straggler and be gone before anyone was the wiser.

“When we get to Lewis,” he said, turning to Tom, “I’m going to need to feed.”

“Oh, aye? Did you have any particular quarry in mind?”

“Long pig,” he said, hoping the slang might mask his intent. “Would you happen to know of a caravan park anywhere along the route?”

“What’s long pig?” she asked.

His jaw clenched. He should have known that inquiring mind of hers would never let his code pass.

“Human.”

“Oh. I see. And what’s a caravan park?”

He bit his lip, fearing her condemnation. “I believe you call them
campgrounds
in the States.”

She took a minute to put the pieces together, then, with notable alarm, said, “You’re not going to kill anybody I hope.”

“Of course not.” His sharp tone conveyed his offense. “I’ll just take a scant few ounces and be on my way. They won’t ever know what hit them.”

“Can I go with you?”

His common sense reared in protest. “Go with me? Whatever for?”

“To watch. I might never get another chance to see a real-live faery in action.”

Her statement made him sputter in surprise, but also gave him ideas. Human blood aroused his passions. Turning, he gave her a smile. “If I let you watch, will you let me have my way with you after?”

* * * *

As excited as Gwyn felt about their quest, she couldn’t help feeling like she’d stepped inside a movie.
The Wizard of Oz
or maybe
The Chronicles of Narnia.
When they got to Brocaliande, would she find a friendly satyr or a helium-voiced guild of candy-crafting Little People waiting to welcome her?

Her money was on the satyr.

In mythology, satyrs were nothing like the friendly creatures depicted in the Narnia and Percy Jackson films. Rather, they were lusty creatures with perpetual erections who fucked anything that moved—and probably a few things that didn’t.

She cast the strangely stimulating image away and steered her mind back to the strangely stimulating itinerary ahead. They’d be stopping off at a campground so Leith could drink someone’s blood, after which he planned to fuck her savagely. Well, at least she assumed so. The handful of times he’d tapped her veins, he’d been a total wild man during the lovemaking that followed.

As desire flamed in her loins, she heaved a dreamy sigh. She loved it when he fucked her like that, which was rare of late. Since she’d taken the elixir, he refused to drink from her and, in bed, handled her with kid gloves. Not that she was complaining. Sex with him was a scrumptious feast any way he served it.

She found the idea of doing it after he’d tapped a random stranger surprisingly exhilarating. She should be appalled, not enthralled, but she couldn’t wait. Ever since she’d taken Glorianna’s elixir, she’d been unbelievably horny. However much they had sex, however many times she got off, she couldn’t seem to quell her need.

There were other changes, too. Her senses seemed sharper and more attuned, her breasts were tender, and she was having all these weird cravings. It had to be something in the potion. Or that god-awful soup he’d fed her, which tasted like a fusion of salt-and-vinegar crisps, fried pork rinds, and raw meat.

Just thinking about that horrid stuff brought the flavor back with a grimace of revulsion.

Leith didn’t know about her symptoms. She was too afraid the cause might be something less supernatural. They’d had unprotected sex that one time a few weeks ago, and she hadn’t had a period the whole time she’d been in Scotland.

Both Clara and Belphoebe had been pregnant when he lost them. He could still lose her, too. As much as she wanted to believe the druids could help her, the odds were good they wouldn’t be able to. If she was pregnant and Leith found out, the loss of her and his guilt would be that much worse. Not telling him would spare him the extra grief.

She flung the thought away. Dwelling on the possibility only brought her down, and she was trying very, very hard to keep her spirits up. Better to think about happy things. Like having hot faery sex at the campground. Tingling with anticipation, she licked her lips and closed her eyes, letting her imagination sweep her away.

* * * *

Leith pulled out the bottle of twelve-year-old single-malt he’d stowed underneath his seat when they’d loaded the van back at Glenarvon. After taking a long pull, he wiped the neck and offered the scotch to Gwyneth. Her eyes were closed and there was a wistful smile on her face.

He hoped she was thinking about him.

Without missing a beat, he passed the whisky to Tom, who took several swigs before handing it back to him.

A harrumph from the back seat snapped his head around. He met two fiery emeralds set in a frowning face. She sat stiffly upright with her arms folded across her chest.

He knew that scornful look; he just couldn’t think what he’d done to deserve it. In two seconds flat, his sweet angel had become a demon from hell. Aye, she’d been broody since taking Glorianna’s potion. This, however, was beyond the pale.

“Is something amiss, my love?” he asked, mindful of the eggshells under his feet.

Her frown deepened. “I can’t believe you’re drinking and driving.”

“I’m not driving.” He offered her a grin, hoping to lighten the sudden palpable tension. He didn’t get what was eating her. She’d never been a buzz-kill before.

Her eyes narrowed and hardened into agates. “Maybe not, but you’re aiding and abetting the person who is.”

“Aiding and abetting? Christ, lass. You sound like a bloody barrister.”

Fuck me.

Not the right thing to say at all. She now looked fit to kill.

“Put that fucking bottle away before we all die in a fiery wreck,” she demanded. “Or, worse, kill somebody else.”

He opened his mouth to argue and then shut it again in a hurry. She was crying. Bloody hell. He must have missed something. Not surprising, since, when it came to women, he usually did. He shot a questioning look at Tom, who appeared equally befuddled. Then, to appease whatever had crawled up her bum, he corked the bottle and re-stowed the whisky beneath his seat.

“All right.” He raised his hands in surrender. “I’ve put it away. Now, would you mind telling me what the devil you’re so upset about?”

She sniffed, making him pang with guilt despite being ignorant of his crime. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a bitch. It’s just that, well, you see, my father was killed by a drunk driver.”

Leith, feeling stunned and bloody awful about passing the bottle, unfastened his seatbelt and moved to the backseat. He took the spot beside her, put an arm around her shoulders, and pulled her against his chest.

“I’m so sorry, lass. I didn’t know.”

She started to blubber against his sweater. His gut wove itself into a Gordian knot. He couldn’t bear a woman’s tears. Especially when he was the clueless idiot who’d triggered the waterworks. “I’m so sorry, my angel.” He stroked her hair. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I know.” She sniffed. “And I’m sorry for being such a baby.”

“It’s all right.” He tightened his hold on her. “I’m here. You’re safe. Just let it out.”

She did, sobbing with a violence he hadn’t witnessed since—oh, bloody hell. His heart shot into orbit, but crashed to earth again as soon as he remembered the curse. Damn Queen Morgan. Damn her to hell. He’d already fathered two bairns he’d never know. If Gwyneth now carried the third, he didn’t know what he would do.

By and by, she cried herself to sleep. He went on holding her. They now were driving alongside Loch Glascarnoch, though he could only catch occasional glimpses of the water through the thick screen of planted trees. The last time he’d been out this way, the loch wasn’t here. Men built it in the 1950s to support a dam that supplied electricity. An underground tunnel channeled the water to a power station five miles away.

His thoughts wandered. How much the world had changed since he’d first come into it. He’d been born during the Scottish Enlightenment, had witnessed the rise and fall of the Industrial Age, and now lived in the Age of Information.

He heaved a weary sigh. So-called progress left its mark on the world, and rarely as innocuously as the loch flying past his window. Its ugly fingerprints were everywhere he looked. Air pollution, water pollution, ozone depletion, deforestation, offshore drilling, nuclear meltdowns, and global warming. Humankind daily raped Mother Nature and thought nothing of it. As long as there was money to be made, to hell with everything else. Too many humans saw natural resources as something to be harvested for gain.

“Forgive them, Danu,” he whispered, his heart steeped in bitterness, “for they know not what they do.”

* * * *

When Gwyn opened her eyes, Leith was wrapped around her like a living shawl—a hot and heavy living shawl. He was facing her and softly snoring, his arms locked around her, his long legs curled up to fit the bench seat. His face was sweetly serene, his hair disheveled, his mouth lax and open. Her heart ballooned with affection. She felt safe, protected, and, well,
loved
. She also felt fiercely aroused.

So did he, apparently. Even in sleep, her sweet knight was a total horn-dog. And now—due to magic or hormones or just being in love—so was she. Too bad they couldn’t slip into the rear of the van and avail themselves of the makeshift bed back there. Leith would sleep there while she and Tom were in Brocaliande. With the time difference between Hitherworld and Thitherworld, even a few hours spent in the druid forest could equal days of waiting.

Missing her knight already, she kissed the end of his perfect nose and the sexy cleft in his chin. His face twitched and he made a noise deep in his throat, but didn’t open his eyes.

The sun was still up, despite the evening hour. Curious to see where they were, she tried to rise, but his lock on her was unyielding. Softly, she put her mouth against his and ran her tongue across his teeth, feeling sharp fangs. Holy smokes. He really did need blood.

Sleepy, blinking gray eyes met hers. “Hello there,” he said. “Are you feeling any better?”

It took her a second to realize what he meant, having completely forgotten about the crying jag. “Yes,” she whispered, “and I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be.” He pressed a kiss to her mouth. “I’m sorry I upset you by behaving like a cretin.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

“Because I never bothered to ask. And I should have. I want to know everything there is to know about you, but don’t wish to pry.”

She smiled, touched by his interest. “I’m an open book. Ask anything you want.”

He licked his lips and rearranged himself to sit beside her. “How old were you when he died?”

“Fourteen.”

She still remembered that awful night as vividly as if it were yesterday. The doorbell woke her from a deep sleep. She didn’t get up to answer the door right away because she assumed her father or stepmother would. Little did she know at the time, he’d gone out for more booze for his wife, who’d subsequently passed out on the couch.

When the doorbell rang a second time, Gwyn got up, put on her robe and slippers, and crept downstairs. Tiptoeing past her unconscious stepmother, she peered through the peephole, startled to find a uniformed police officer on the porch.

She’d often wondered why, after witnessing the state of her remaining caregiver, the policeman didn’t call Child and Family Services. Not that foster care would have been much better, but still. Weren’t the police supposed to serve and
protect
?

“And your mother? Is she still alive?”

“No.” She forced the word through her constricted throat. “She died from complications a few days after I was born.”

“So, you were more or less an orphan at fourteen?”

Too overcome to speak, she just nodded.

“Gwyneth,” he whispered, taking her in his arms, “I wish I could take all your pain away.”

“I wish you could, too.” Looking up, she did her best to smile. “But I’ll settle for a kiss.”

The next moment, his mouth was on hers and their tongues were entwined in an electrifying
dance.

“Up and at ’em, sleepyheads,” Tom’s voice boomed from the front seat, sparking her heart and breaking them apart. “We’re coming up on Loch Broom.”

“What’s so special about Loch Broom?” she wanted to know.

“See for yourself.”

When Leith looked out the window, she followed suit, blinking the last remnants of sleep from her eyes. What she saw could have been an oil painting by William MacTaggart, whose portrait of two little girls had hung in her childhood bedroom.

A shimmering silver-blue loch stretching beyond the horizon was the focal point. In the background, generous dabs of purple and gold lent color and texture to rolling brown hills. In the near ground, rustic rock walls bordered fields of vivid spring green. Quaint white-washed cottages salted the hills and edged the road.