Highland Vampire (24 page)

Intent upon recalling how to breathe, Isobella did not note the foreboding sense she was being watched. Not until she had entered the dark forest.

‘Twas not that she actually heard the intruder. Or caught sight of a lurking form. ‘Twas more the menacing awareness that lodged deep in her heart.

Too far from the castle to call out, Isobella was forced to settle for the small clearing, where she could attempt to bluster the stranger away.

It had been a reasonable plan.

Until the intruder had stepped from the trees.

The fear clawing at her belly had suddenly been replaced with sharp disbelief.

By all saints, he was…

Beautiful.

Taller even than her father, who was considered a brawny man, he was lean and hard muscled beneath the silk cloak. In the moonlight his long hair was as dark and glossy as a raven wing and flowed well past his shoulders. His countenance was angular with flawless alabaster skin and features that made her breath catch in her throat. Perhaps his brow was a bit too broad and his mouth too sensually full, but such tedious flaws did not alter the impression of unearthly male beauty.

Swallowing the odd lump in her throat, Isobella at last forced herself to meet his watchful gaze. Her heart gave yet another leap.

Och. Never in all her years had she seen such eyes.

Silver in color, they shimmered with a cold fire, like the flash of hardened steel. And just as lethal.

A beautiful man, a voice whispered in the back of her mind, but dangerous.

Perhaps as dangerous as the Beast itself.

Holding the dirk high in an obvious threat, Isobella forced herself to take a breath.

"Who are ye?"

"A passing traveler," he murmured, his voice silky and edged with a peculiar lilt.

He was not of her father's clan. Nor any other clan they warred against. Not with that dark hair and strange silver eyes. Still, he had known too much of her to be a simple traveler.

"I dinnae believe ye."

"Nay?"

"A traveler would not pass through Foster land without halting at the castle to seek my father's favor."

"Favor?" His eyes glittered with a dangerous fire. "I seek no man's favor. I walk where I desire and none stand in my way."

"Ye are very sure of yer courage before a mere maid. I doubt ye would be so brave if my father's warriors were to appear."

A raven brow arched as he stepped toward her with a fluid grace. "Should yer father's warriors appear, they will die."

She clutched the dirk until her knuckles whitened. "Stand back or I swear I shall make ye bleed."

He offered a passing glance toward the sharpened blade before he casually reached out to knock it from her hand.

"Dinnae seek to threaten me, wench." He was standing so close Isobella was forced to tilt back her head to look at him. In the moonlight he appeared breathtakingly handsome as he reached out to capture a stray curl that lay against her cheek. Isobella's mouth went dry and her heart missed several beats. She told herself it was fear. What maid of sense would not be terrified? But there was a warm, magical tingle feathering down her spine that she suspected had nothing to do with terror. "Ye have not the look of a Foster. I have not seen hair such as this. Nor eyes that have been kissed by gold. 'Tis peculiar."

She swallowed heavily. "If ye imply I am a bastard…"

"Did I not tell ye that I smell the stench of yer father's blood? Nay, ye are a Foster, more's the pity." His fingers drifted down her cheek to linger upon the pulse racing at the base of her throat. "But beautiful for all yer sins."

For an embarrassing moment Isobella feared her knees might give way. His flesh was chilled as ice, but there was nothing cold in the searing heat that flared at his light touch. It was like being struck by lightning, and Isobella savagely bit her bottom lip to keep from moaning.

Bones of Saint Mark, dinnae be a dolt, Isobella Foster
, she sternly chided herself. The man was obviously an enemy of her father.

He could be there to take her captive and hold her for ransom. Or dishonor her. Or even kill her.

And all she could think to do was flutter over his male countenance.

Some warrior she was proving to be.

"And ye are overly bold, traveler," she gritted.

A slow smile curved his lips. "I feel yer heart quicken. Are ye frightened?"

"Nay."

"Tell me what ye seek in the dark."

His silky voice was weaving a spell about Isobella. With a frown she sought to shake off the strange lethargy seeping through her.

"Leave me be."

"Tell me."

She had no intention of telling the stranger anything of her business. What she sought in the dark was no one's concern but her own. Besides which, she was the laird's daughter. She answered only to her father.

So why were her lips opening and her gaze helplessly locked with the piercing silver eyes?

"I seek… the Beast."

"The Beast?"

"Aye, a fierce creature who has cursed my clan for generations."

"Ah." There was a faint pause as his lips seemed to twitch. "Ye have seen this Beast?"

"Och, of course not. He skulks in the fog nay showing himself, although 'tis rumored that he hunts during the light of the moon. And soon he intends to come for my sister. I shall be waiting for him to reveal himself."

The slender fingers abruptly shifted to grasp her chin, tilting her face upward so that he could study her features in the silver light.

"Ye, my sweeting, are most daring, or most foolish," he muttered in rather odd tones. "Surely ye cannae believe to kill a creature of legend?" His gaze slowly drifted down to her parted lips. "Or perhaps ye hope to seduce him to yer will?"

She sucked in a rasping breath. This man. He was befuddling her in a manner she could not explain.

"If he lives, he can be killed. I will find the means to do so."

His grip loosened, allowing his fingers to gently stroke the line of her lips. In the dim shadows of Isobella's mind she knew she should protest, but the bewitching spell held her captive. Her hands lifted to rest against his chest. Beneath her palms she could feel the cool silk of his cloak and hard steel of his muscles. A dark fire sparked deep within her.

"Should it not be yer father and brave warriors who hunt for the curse to his clan?" he murmured.

"'Tis my choice."

The silver eyes darkened to a smoky gray. The austere features seemed to soften as his head began to lower.

"Nay, my beauty. 'Tis mine," he whispered against her lips.

A fierce shock of pleasure kicked through Isobella as he offered a featherlight kiss. Och, but she had dreamed of this moment. Longed for it, if truth be told. What maid did not dwell upon her first kiss?

And yet it still caught her off guard.

The men in her clan did not softly seduce women with their lips. They did not allow their fingers to tenderly sweep over a maid's countenance as if she were a rare and delicate object or murmur tantalizing words that made a woman shiver with longing. They were as likely to grab a woman and take their pleasure without once considering the lady in their arms.

Isobella leaned into his hard form, lost in his scent of mist and smoke. This was the magic she had dreamed of. The searing heat that flared through her blood. The sharp, aching excitement that settled in the cradle of her thighs.

His lips molded to her own, gently tasting of her before pulling back. Over and over he teased her with his tender touch until Isobella was ready to howl with frustration.

With a low growl deep in her throat she thrust her fingers into the thick satin of his hair, arching her body until there was not a breath between them. She possessed a craving she could not explain. A craving only he could fulfill.

As if he had been awaiting that precise moment, his kiss abruptly deepened, his tongue stroking over her lips. Isobella gasped, uncertain what he desired.

"Open for me, Isobella," he muttered, his hands grasping her hips and pressing them urgently into his hardening thighs.

Tentatively she parted her lips and moaned as his tongue invaded her mouth. Her old nurse had never said anything of such doings when explaining what occurred between men and maids in the darkness of night. Nor just how pleasurable such… intimacy could be.

Her fingers tightened in his hair, her body shivering. She was as close to the man as was possible, but it was still not close enough. She was yearning for something. Something just out of reach.

With a faint hiss the man was scattering fierce kisses over her upturned countenance then down the length of her arched neck. There was a pause, almost as if he were inwardly battling with himself, and then Isobella felt a sharp fire at the base of her throat.

"Forgive me," she heard him whisper as his teeth sank deep into her flesh and a thick blanket of darkness descended over her.

She knew no more.

Chapter Two

Isobella battled her way through the clinging darkness.

For long moments she lay still as she attempted to recall where she was and why her head ached like the very devil.

It did not take long to realize she was in her own quarters. There was no mistaking the scent of dried flowers she kept in bowls beside her bed or the fresh linens she demanded be changed daily beneath her.

A relief, she acknowledged, but it did not offer enlightenment as to why she felt as if someone had used her head to batten down the castle gates.

Grimly she sought to dredge up memories of the previous eve.

She recalled the celebration for her sister. She had forced herself to remain through the endless supper and drunken toasts until her teeth had ached. And then… what?

There was a vague memory of speaking with her old nurse and walking through the forest, but it all seemed like more of a dream than truth. A tattered nightmare that was created out of the worry preying upon her mind.

Isobella stirred uneasily. There had been something more. A fear that had haunted her as she had walked through the dark and then… a man.

Blessed Mary. Her heart nearly halted.

Aye. There had been a man.

A beautiful, dangerous man who had stolen her wits and very nearly her heart when his lips had so softly touched her own.

And he had been no dream. Nor a nightmare.

Even now she could vividly feel the cool touch of his fingers and the heat flowing through her blood. It had been magical as he had kissed her in the moonlight and then… everything had gone black.

What had he done to her? And how had he returned her to her own bed with no one the wiser?

"Does she still sleep?" The soft, lilting voice of her sister abruptly intruded into Isobella's confused thoughts.

"Aye, mistress," her old nurse retorted close to Isobella's ear, her voice rough with worry. "I sorely fear she is ill."

A slender hand descended onto Isobella's forehead. "She has no fever, no wounds. Mayhap she is just weary from the night of revelry. I dinnae believe any slept well with such noise coming from the hall."

"Och, 'twas not the revelry. The lassie took herself—"

Stiffening at the realization the servant was about to reveal her foolishness of last eve, Isobella forced open her heavy lids.

"Enough, Janet," she rasped, flashing her nurse a warning frown. She had no desire to have her sister fretting over her. "Prepare my bath, I feel in dire need of a hot soak."

The thin lips nearly disappeared in disapproval, but she dared no more than a loud sniff as she straightened from the bed.

"Aye."

Waiting until they were alone, Katherine gently smoothed back the hair from Isobella's cheek. Unlike her younger sister, Katherine was tall with shapely curves and the golden hair of their father. A beautiful maid who should be wed and surrounded by children, not awaiting her death.

Isobella's heart clenched with a familiar ache.

"Oh, Isobella, Janet had me so concerned," her sister murmured. "She said that ye would not waken and that she feared ye had been injured."

Isobella forced a stiff smile to her lips. "Och, the old fool is always fussing o'er some bit of nonsense."

Katherine was not so easily fooled. "Is it nonsense? Ye're very pale. And cold to the touch. It seems an odd malady."

"I am very well, Katherine, merely tired." She grimaced, keeping as close to the truth as possible. Her sister would easily sense a blatant lie. "The night proved to be a long one."

Her sister sighed. "Aye. For me as well."

"Come." Shifting on the bed, Isobella tugged her sister down beside her. She held her tightly in her arms, laying her cheek upon the top of her head.

"I came to speak with ye last eve but could not find ye," Katherine murmured.

"I fear I could not sleep."

"Where did ye go?"

"Merely for a walk upon the grounds."

"Isobella." Her sister leaned back to regard her with a stern expression. "Ye went for a walk in the midst of the night? What if the Beast—"

"I am not the one who need fear the Beast," Isobella retorted in edged tones.

"There are other dangers in the dark."

The memory of a lean alabaster countenance and silver eyes filled her mind.

"Yes, so I have discovered."

Easily sensing the tension in Isobella, her sister offered a small frown. "Did something occur?"

"Nay."

The frown deepened. "Isobella?"

"Aye?"

Katherine sighed. "I wish yer promise ye will take better care. Soon I will be gone and—"

Isobella caught her breath as a pain twisted her heart. "Nay, dinnae say it, Katherine."

"I must. I love ye with all my heart, but ye're far too stubborn and inclined to rush into trouble with no regard for yerself. Father will not attempt to halt yer reckless follies, nor will any other man." A rueful smile softened the beautiful features. "I ofttimes believe they fear ye more than the Beast."

"And well they should," Isobella retorted fiercely. "I have no stomach for men who claim the bravery of warriors and then cower behind these walls when we most have need of them."