One With the Night (19 page)

He wasn’t, of course. Jane contracted inside.

Kilkenny stumbled out into the sunlight, drawing the blanket up over his head. What if he wanted to have sexual relations with such a beautiful woman? Jane wouldn’t give in to her own sexual urges, but she didn’t want Kilkenny giving in to his with Miss Zaroff, either.

She shrugged the hood of her cloak up and pulled it down over her forehead before she dashed out after him. By the time she reached the house, his door was closing upstairs. She thought wildly of offering him a soothing bath after his ordeal. But she couldn’t go out to the well for water until dark. He’d have to wait for comfort.

Mrs. Dulnan arrived and seemed unfazed by the presence of so many houseguests. Jane passed them off as other patients and forced herself to give instructions. The woman seemed competent and sensible. Jane gave her a tour of the house, told her that she would take care of the bedrooms herself, since they’d be occupied during the day. But her thoughts kept straying to that scene in the laboratory, where her father and Miss Zaroff had watched so calmly while Kilkenny suffered. Would they have watched him die? She had no doubt about Miss Zaroff. She and the strange monk had been willing to kill him outright if he had not been useful to finding the cure. But her father?

She watched Mrs. Dulnan move about the kitchen preparing a meal for her guests, oblivious to the fact that they were vampires. Jane had to admit that her father had seemed like someone she didn’t know up there in the laboratory. And Miss Zaroff had been nothing if not chilling. Jane was so tired she was almost dazed. Far too exhausted to figure out how she felt about all of this. She trudged upstairs.

The only thing she knew was that this situation was spinning out of her control.

CHAPTER
Twelve

Callan stumbled up the stairs, swung the door closed, and tumbled onto his bed. Was Blundell really close to a cure, or was he some mad dilettante who only sounded sane?

He groaned. He might not live through a test of the next dreadful concoction. Miss Zaroff’s manner … There was something unsettling about the way she had observed that dreadful experiment so dispassionately.

He heard feminine footsteps on the stairs. They paused outside his door. Jane’s scent drifted over him. Jane? Why could he not banish her first name from his lexicon? He had to forget the night at the ruined castle. That way lay madness. She probably hadn’t saved his life today. The Companion would have saved him in any case. But her altruistic impulse in the face of his distress was … Well, it was tempting to think it was something it was not. She was generous, giving, courageous. She would have helped anyone she saw suffering. It was a testament to her nature that she helped him in spite of her revulsion at what they had done together, and her new knowledge of his crimes. His stomach felt bleak.

The footsteps moved off down the hall and he heard her door close. He imagined her in the room he had seen, with the things he had touched around her. Was she undressing? He tossed himself onto his side and put that thought away.

But others crowded in. Callan couldn’t seem to confine his thoughts to achieving his own purpose. He kept thinking how important the cure was to Ja … Miss Blundell, as well. The vampires would not kill her while her father searched for the cure. But if the cure was found, what then? Would they let her take it? Callan would no longer be useful. They’d kill him. He didn’t care about that. He had longed for death so many times. The world would not miss the likes of Callan Kilkenny. But Miss Blundell must take the cure and be set free. She could be no threat to them. Would they see it that way? He felt so helpless! He was no match for the newcomers. He could not protect Miss Blundell or force them to give her the cure.

He heard the bed in her room creak. He strained to hear her breathing. In time it became regular with sleep. Exhausted as he was, sleep still seemed far away for him.

*   *   *

Jane woke that evening with confusion still churning in her breast. There were three new vampires in the house who were absolutely ruthless and whose motives were suspect. Mrs. Dulnan had been here all day, while Jane slept, doing who knew what. And Kilkenny was, by his own admission, a traitor who had raised an army against England and humanity, and a killer. How could she have been so wrong about him? And killer or no, she realized that she was still incredibly attracted to him. She could not be trusted around Kilkenny. Rising, she slipped into her wrapper with a sense of foreboding. She needed a bath. She wouldn’t think about why.

While she was in the little room off the kitchen that held the bath, she heard her father come in from his laboratory. At the same time heavy boots on the stairs were followed by the creak of the door from the hall into the kitchen, and the scent of cinnamon washed over her. Funny, she would not mistake that scent for any of the other vampires. It was Kilkenny.

“And how are yer potions this morning, Doctor?” Kilkenny’s voice held hope, in spite of what he’d gone through yesterday.

“Hard to say. Hard to say. Jane?” her father called.

“Just a moment, Papa.”

“I need valerian and hemlock. Can you gather some tonight?”

“Certainly.” Jane stood up. The water splashed off her into the bath.

Her father sat down, but she could feel Kilkenny go still. Was he listening to her, imagining her in her bath as she had imagined him? Nonsense. Of course he was not. She grabbed for the towel and began rubbing herself dry with unrelenting vigor.

She made certain she was presentable in a charcoal-colored morning dress very nearly black, her hair tidy before she emerged. Her father stood at the hearth, kettle in hand. Kilkenny stared from where he sat at the table. His gray-green eyes seemed … shocked. Shadows hung under his eyes and there were lines around his mouth. No wonder, after his experience.

“D’ye never wear anything but gray and black?” he asked, swallowing.

What? She drew herself up. “I am a serious student of science and a woman of medicine. Sober colors are appropriate to my calling,” she said in a dampening tone. That she had grown to hate those endless gray and black gowns did not alter the fact that he had no right to criticize her.

He accepted the rebuke with a speculative look in his eyes.

“It’s a little early for valerian,” she said pointedly to her father. “But I might find some on a south-facing slope.”

Her father poured water into his tea leaves. “Can you add some dill weed to your quest?”

“For your formula?”

“To add to tomorrow’s leftover stew…” he muttered. She went to his side and checked the pot. A hearty chicken stew simmered there.

She cleared her throat. “It won’t be necessary for Mr. Kilkenny to accompany me.” She glanced to Kilkenny, who looked relieved.

“Jane, how can I work when I’m worried about you?” her father asked plaintively. “I’ve told you, he goes with you or you can’t go and I get none of the ingredients I need. Kilkenny, promise me you won’t leave her alone.”

Kilkenny swallowed once, and nodded. “Aye. Ye can count on me.”

Jane heaved a sigh. Kilkenny wanted nothing to do with her. She’d wait until her father went to bed, and then release Kilkenny from his promise. There was no use arguing with her father now. So she changed the subject. “Mrs. Dulnan seems to have done well by us.” She looked around. The kitchen was spotless, potatoes peeled on the cutting board. Water stood in a pot ready to be boiled. She glanced to Kilkenny. His eyes had softened as he followed her movements. As she watched, they got that peculiar gleam in them. Was he … was he laughing at her? How could he after all that had happened?

“Oh, very well,” she said, making her voice cross. “You were right on all counts.”

“Right?” Her father jerked his gaze from the fire. “Not quite, my dear. The formula still isn’t right. Still, the key is to depress the reaction of the parasite, I know it.”

Jane suppressed a smile. Her father was oblivious to so much around him.

Miss Zaroff and Brother Flavio had not yet appeared, which was a relief, but Clara came downstairs, nodded once, and helped Jane set the table in the dining room. The two women were silent as they worked. Clara insisted on serving dinner, as Jane’s father spoke of his dwindling supply of glassware, the boiling time required for his concoctions. Jane wasn’t listening. She could not keep her attention from Kilkenny, though she did not look directly at him. She rather thought that, though he didn’t look at her either, his attention was focused on her, too.

Her father droned on through dinner, not noticing the silence of his companions. But upstairs, all was not silent. Jane could hear Brother Flavio and Miss Zaroff talking in snatches around and between her father’s monologue.

“I don’t think I can last,” Miss Zaroff said. “You can’t expect it of me, Flavio.”

“You have no choice, Elyta.” Flavio’s voice was stern.

What did they mean? Did she require blood? But Jane could provide for that need. There was some low conversation she couldn’t hear over her father’s voice. He was recounting the chemical properties of
conium maculatum
.

“How about Kilkenny? He’d serve nicely.” That was Miss Zaroff.

“You need the old man, Elyta. He wouldn’t like it if he found out.”

Again she couldn’t hear words, just Miss Zaroff’s petulant tone. Found out what? She couldn’t make out anything else until there was a cry of “Get out!” from Miss Zaroff. Kilkenny and Clara both glanced up. Was she the only one who had been eavesdropping?

“Mark my words, Elyta.” A door closed.

For what would Kilkenny serve nicely? She glanced to Kilkenny, but his face was closed and frowning.

Clara cleared the table and Jane used water from the bucket by the door to wash the dishes. She hurried as fast as she could, wanting to be away before the two vampires upstairs made their appearance. Kilkenny grabbed up a cloth and wiped them. He stood close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body. He was wearing another tartan, Lachlan’s blue and red this time, and a shirt open at the throat. She was acutely conscious that he was naked under his clothes. Lord. Couldn’t he stand farther away? As if he knew her thoughts he began to fidget.

Clara returned. “I’m afraid I must hurry out to procure some new ingredients,” Jane apologized. “Can I give up my place to you?”

Clara nodded silently and stepped up to the sink. Jane’s father collected Rathbone’s
Plants of Scotland
from the sideboard and went off to bed. She had to get out of the house instantly and away from Kilkenny.

“I’m certain you have better things to do than gather herbs,” she said brusquely to Kilkenny. “I’m perfectly capable of going out by myself.” She lifted her chin.

“I’ve bound myself ta yer father. I’ll go.”

“There’s no need.”

“It does no’ seem ye ha’ any choice.” His lips were a grim line. “I’ll saddle th’ horses.”

Well! Maddening man. He probably did it more to annoy her than from a sense of honor. Jane stomped up to the small shed that held her gardening tools with both dread and a strange excitement in her breast. But wait … why did she want to be rid of him? Weren’t there still so many things she had to know about being vampire? That had not changed. He might be a traitor and a murderer … but she’d been alone with him before and nothing had happened to her. Except dissolving in lust and having sex with him. He wanted the cure, badly enough to subject himself to torturous experiments. He wouldn’t risk alienating her father by attacking her. All she had to do was draw him out without letting her sexual urges get the better of her.

He was saddling the horses when she arrived at the barn, his worn German-made saddle for Faust, and her sidesaddle for Missy. He led the horses out, took her baskets with her trowels and tied them to Faust’s saddle.

She put her foot in the stirrup and was about to haul herself up, when he took the reins from her roughly. “Can ye no’ wait for a man’s courtesy?” He bent and cupped his hands.

“A little surly today, Mr. Kilkenny?” she asked sweetly. He was too near—too near!

He straightened. “And ye’re sa concerned with bein’ as good as a man ye can no’ be polite.”

“It’s the man who’s supposed to be polite,” she protested. “The woman receives.”

“So ye think ta accept a courtesy is no’ an act o’ courtesy itself? Are ye that afraid ta receive? Ta always be giving is a kind o’ selfishness.”

She swallowed. He was talking about wanting to be in control. Was that so bad? “When you put it that way … But I think it’s just as hard for you. You didn’t like that I helped you that first night, or last night, either.”

His lips clenched ruefully. But he jutted his chin. “Sa we’re both selfish.”

“The truth is I thought you might not want to touch me,” she said, relenting. She wouldn’t admit she didn’t want to touch him, either. His gaze roved over her face for a moment before he bent again. She held her breath and placed her boot in his hands. The electric charge burned even through her boots. He tossed her up.

“It’s hard, but I dinnae begrudge it.” His voice was low, almost a whisper. He handed her the reins and swung up into his saddle.

She bent her head as they walked out the barn door. It
was
hard. The air vibrated around him. He smelled of cinnamon and something else and male musk beneath it. She had never been so aware of a man’s … physicality. The very word “body” in reference to him made her want to shudder. Her female parts pressed against the subtle movement of the saddle and throbbed to life. Her feeling about Kilkenny seemed to have no bearing on her experiment with Tom Blandings. That had been a … a tribute to scientific method. This was fundamental, elemental, inevitable; wind and tide crashing against rock that did not yield but over time was worn away …

They trotted up toward the gate that opened to the track up the hill behind the farm in silence. It stretched, became painful. Finally, as he leaned over and opened the gate, he said. “Ye ride well, Miss Blundell.”

“What an encomium from a man!” she exclaimed as she passed through the gate.