Scotland, summer 1512

Berawald MacNachton ignored the little spirit cautiously approaching him and continued to watch the sun set. He was safely tucked just inside the mouth of his cave enjoying all the colors of the waning day and had no inclination to deal with spirits now. He took a deep breath to inhale the sweet scent of the summer air heady with the aroma of the flowers growing close to the opening of his new home.

He frowned and took another sniff. The pleasant aroma of flowers was tainted by a far less pleasing scent. He sniffed again. It smelled like a dirty little boy.

Looking toward the small spirit he had been calmly ignoring, Berawald studied it more closely. It had inched to within a few feet of him and he began to suspect that this was no spirit. Pale and dripping with mud as it was, he had thought it was the spirit of some poor, drowned child. Most areas near water, as his home was, had a few ghosts of the drowned wandering around. Instead, it appeared that he was being cautiously approached by a cold, wet little boy who had almost drowned.

Now that the child was nearly close enough to touch, it was easy to see that he was too solid to be a spirit. And spirits rarely smelled like wet little boys. Berawald sighed. He was not really in the mood to play the child’s savior, but his conscience gave him no choice in the matter.

“Child, what is it that ye want?” he asked the boy. “Are ye lost?”

“Nay, I dinnae think so,” the boy replied in a trembling voice. “Evie kens where we are, I am thinking.”

“Evie? Who is Evie?” Berawald looked around but saw no one else.

“My sister.”

“And she has allowed ye to wander off alone?”

“Nay, she is ill, I think. She carried me ’cross the water, then fell down and wouldnae get up and I waited and waited but she still didnae get up and so I covered her up with some leaves and branches and all and came looking for some help because I am too little to carry her about.”

Berawald was not surprised when the little boy took a deep breath. He had not taken a single one during that avalanche of words and was probably desperately in need of air. As he sorted through all that the boy had just said, he began to frown. There was a good chance the child’s sister was dead, yet Berawald saw no spirit lurking around the boy. In his experience, the spirit of a woman who died trying to protect a child tended to cling to that child even after death, at least until she was certain the child was safe and cared for.

He sighed again and cast a last look at the sky. The sun was nearly gone now. It appeared he was about to rescue a damsel in distress. He had only been in his new home for a month and already trouble had found its way to his door. Silently scolding himself for such uncharitable thoughts, Berawald stood up and waved the boy closer to him.

“And what is your name, lad?” he asked the boy.

“David Massey,” the child replied as he took a deep breath and stepped closer to Berawald.

“Come with me, then, David, and we will see if we can quickly get ye dry. After that we shall go and find this sister of yours.” Berawald smiled faintly as the boy quickly stepped up to his side. Few people hurried closer to a MacNachton.

It was fully dark by the time Berawald got David a little cleaner, dry, and dressed warmly in one of his old shirts. Ready to go hunt down the boy’s kinswoman, he reached for a lantern only to see the boy already striding out of the cave, unafraid and clearly unhindered by the shadows. Grabbing his bag of healing supplies, Berawald hurried after the boy.

“Can ye find your sister in the dark?” he asked David, following the boy but still carrying the lantern just in case it was needed.

“Och, aye. The dark doesnae trouble me.” David cast a quick, nervous look at Berawald. “Nay much. Nay when someone is with me. Evie isnae far away. We best hurry.”

“I could carry ye and we could move faster.”

“Nay, I can walk verra fast.”

The boy was nearly running by the time he finished speaking. Berawald knew he had no right to claim any great knowledge of, or experience with, children, but he felt certain the child’s confident stride and lack of fear in the dark were very odd. Even most adult Outsiders tended to scurry home once the sun set. If they had to venture out at night they always took a light with them, as well as a few sturdy friends if they could. He also sensed a lie, could see it in the hasty, almost timid glances the child kept casting his way. As far as he knew none of his kinsmen had a small, blue-eyed, red-haired child, and certainly not one who would be allowed to run about without a very heavy guard. MacNachtons cherished each of the few children they were blessed with. But before he could ask a few probing questions, David stopped.

“Weel, where is your sister?” Berawald asked after looking around and seeing no one.

“Right there.” David pointed to the ground.

Berawald looked down. Just a few inches from the tip of his boot was a pile of branches and leaves. He crouched down and immediately tensed. Mingled in with the smell of dead and dying leaves was another scent, one that knotted his belly with a sharp hunger. Sweet, rich, and temptingly fresh. The woman beneath the brush was bleeding.

Firmly reminding himself that a child awaited his aid, Berawald wrestled his craving into submission. It was possible he had ignored his need for too long. As soon as he healed or buried the woman beneath the leaves, he would have to tend to that matter. MacNachtons might have ceased to be the dreaded Nightriders of old, but some things never changed.

Kneeling by the pile of brush, he began to remove it. David moved quickly to help him. Berawald had no idea what to do with the boy if the woman they worked to uncover was dead, but he decided he would face that problem when, and if, it was necessary. When the last of the forest debris was removed, Berawald abruptly lost all interest in the little boy. All of his concentration became intently fixed upon the woman sprawled on the ground.

Once his shock eased a little, he tried to convince himself that his fascination was with all that red hair that swirled around her slender body, but he knew it was more. Much, much more. Berawald could not even see her face clearly, but that did not dim any of the strong pull he felt toward her. He suddenly realized he was praying, heartily and continuously, that she was not dead or dying, and forcefully shook himself free of the fascination that held him so tightly in its grip.

“Is she dead?” David asked in a tremulous whisper, his small hand held a few inches away from his sister as if he both ached and feared to touch her.

Berawald listened closely and silently breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the faint but distinct sound of a heartbeat. He told himself that bone-deep relief he felt was because he did not wish to have to tell the child that his sister was dead. A soft, inner voice mocked him as a liar, but he ignored it. Now was not the time to figure out all the strange feelings and thoughts besieging him.

“Nay, she isnae dead,” he answered, “but she is wounded and bleeding. How did this happen?”

“Some men came after us. They hurt her but we got away.”

“Before we go any further, lad, ye should tell me why they hurt her. I cannae risk sheltering someone guilty of some crime. I may wish to help, but there are others close by whose safety could be put at risk. I must think of them.” Even as he spoke the hard words, Berawald found himself trying to think of some place he could take her that would ensure her safety as well as his clan’s.

“Evie has ne’er broken a law!”

“Yet ye were chased away from your home, aye?”

The boy’s small shoulders slumped and he began to idly stroke his sister’s hair. “Aye. They killed my fither. He made me and Evie run when the men came stomping up to the door. Some men killed Maman when I was just a bairn. Fither escaped with me and Evie that time. He didnae escape this time.”

“I am sorry for your loss, laddie, but ye still havenae told me why this happened.”

“They say we are witches or demons.” David’s expression and tone of voice were belligerent, but Berawald saw the fear in his eyes. “We arenae. We are just a wee bit different, ye ken? There be nay evil in just being a wee bit different.”

“Nay, there isnae. Mayhap later ye will tell me why, aside from all that red hair ye and your sister have, anyone would cry ye and her demons or witches. First, we must get your sister warm, dry, and mended. I promise I will do all I can to heal her.”

The moment Berawald turned the young woman over onto her back, he began to regret that promise. Despite the paleness of her skin, despite all the scratches and bruises marring it, she was beautiful. Breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly beautiful. In fact, her loss of color only enhanced the fine bones of her face, adding a heart-wrenching ethereal look to her beauty. It was not easy for him to tear his gaze from that face and look for the wound that scented the air with her blood. When he found that wound low on her side, he reached for his knife and saw David grow very pale.

“I must cut away some of the bodice of her gown, lad, so that I may bandage her wound,” he said in as low and soothing a tone as he could manage. “’Tis best if I try to ease the bleeding ere I carry her to my home. Where are your belongings?” he asked as he started to bandage what appeared to be a sword cut at her waist.

“On t’other side of the burn,” David replied. “Evie was going to go back to get them after she set me down here but then she fell down. I couldnae wake her up.”

Glancing at the swiftly flowing, rain-swollen burn, Berawald had to marvel at the strength of the woman. It would not have been easy for even a full-grown man to cross those rough waters carrying a child. The small, slender body he tended to certainly did not look capable of such a feat of strength.

“After I have your sister settled I will go and collect your belongings,” Berawald said.

“The water is verra cold, ye ken.”

“Aye, I suspicion it is, but I am neither a wee lass nor wounded. I will survive.”

“Will Evie?” David whispered.

“I believe so if we hurry to get her warm and dry. Carry the lantern and my bag. I will carry your Evie.”

Berawald picked up Evie and, after assuring himself that David could manage the sack and the lantern by himself, headed back toward his home. Carrying the woman proved to be a torment for him. Even though she was bandaged he could still smell her blood. It was mixed with the equally heady scent of her skin. A man should not be presented with so much temptation at once, he thought wryly. He had to be insane to take her right into his home, but there was no other choice. Just because she plucked at all of his weaknesses, some he had not even known he possessed, he could not leave her outside to die. Nor could he turn his back on the little boy who had asked him for help.

It was not until he stepped into his cave that he considered how odd his living quarters would seem to someone outside his clan. He glanced back at the boy. David was looking around with no more than a calm curiosity. Berawald noticed that the boy had still not lit the lantern. Shaking off a strong urge to demand exactly what David meant when he said he and his sister were different, Berawald continued on, going deep into the hillside he now called home.

“Ye live in a cave?” David asked when Berawald finally entered a large chamber and halted.

Still seeing nothing but curiosity on the boy’s face, Berawald nodded. “’Tis a strong home, which gets neither too cold nor too hot. Light some candles if ye can, lad.”

As David hurried to obey, Berawald laid Evie down on a table set before the fireplace. He hurriedly lit a fire in the area he had hollowed just below a natural tunnel in the rock that served as an excellent chimney. Filling a bucket with water from his storeroom, he poured most of it into a large pot hung over the fire. He then gathered a blanket from his own bed and set it down on a bench near the table. Even as David moved to stand next to him, Berawald began to strip the wet clothing off the young woman, silently praying she would remain unconscious until he was finished tending to her wounds. He also prayed that he had the strength to hide all the fierce, confusing emotion she stirred inside him.

“Evie willnae like ye taking off her clothes,” said David as he took Evie’s wet boots and set them near the fire to dry.

“Weel, I cannae tend to her wounds as needed unless I do so,” replied Berawald.

“I ken it, but she still willnae like it.”

“Then we willnae tell her.”

“I be thinking she will ken it when she wakes up naked.”

Berawald briefly grinned. “True enough. We will just leave her alone for a wee while until she accepts the need of it.”

It was difficult not to laugh when David responded with a solemn nod, indicating that he thought the plan was a very good one. Berawald’s good humor faded quickly, however, when he finished stripping Evie of her clothes and removing the rough bandage he had put on her earlier. The wound at her side was long, ragged, and ugly. It would leave an equally ugly scar no matter how well he tended to it or how neatly he sewed it up. The sight of her bruised and battered body was almost enough to still a sudden rush of desire as well.

Covering her to just below her tiny waist with the blanket and laying a strip of cloth over her full, rose-tipped breasts aided Berawald a little in fixing his concentration on her wounds. A few of the larger bruises she wore would require watching to see if they worsened, indicating some unseen injury, but at the moment, all he could tend to was the slash on her side. Occasionally ordering a pale, silent David to hand him something, Berawald carefully cleaned the wound, even washing away all the blood and dirt in a wide area around it. He stitched it closed using the smallest, neatest stitches he could. She would still have a scar, there was no way he could change that outcome, but he was determined to make it as small a one as possible. As he worked, he returned to silently and continuously praying that she would not wake up until he was done.

The moment Berawald finished bandaging Evie with a clean strip of linen he dressed her in one of his shirts. With David’s help he made her a bed near the fire. Next he scrubbed off the table, poured himself a tankard of wine, and served David one filled with cider. Setting the drinks on the table, he gathered what food he had on hand and set it on the table as well. There were not many foods he ate aside from meat, but he could see that David had no complaints about being served bread, cheese, and fruit.

“Will Evie get better now?” asked David as he sat down at the table.

Seating himself across from the boy, Berawald nodded. “Oh, aye, I believe she will. As soon as I am certain she is resting easily, I will go and gather your belongings.” Seeing the look of worry the boy tried valiantly to hide, he added, “Ye will be safe here, lad. The way into these caves and tunnels isnae easily found. We only got in here easily because I ken the way so weel.”

David nodded and returned all his attention to his food. It was evident that the boy had gone a long time since his last meal, and his last meal had undoubtedly been a meager one. He was obviously finding it a struggle to recall his table manners.

Turning his attention back to Evie, Berawald felt that surge of desire yet again and inwardly shook his head. There were many good reasons why he should have ignored young David’s plea for help. He had the sinking feeling that Evie might well be the biggest one of all.

Evie woke to pain and had to clench her teeth against a moan. Her mind hazy, she struggled to understand why she felt such a compulsion to keep silent. Her memories of the past three days slipped back into her mind in little, scattered fragments, slowly stirring a fear inside her that briefly made her forget her pain. Then she realized that David was not at her side and that fear rapidly became panic until she heard his laughter. He was close at hand and he sounded content, safe. The need to see that for herself made her ache to look for him, but she continued to hold herself still. She forced herself to relax as much as her pain would allow and began to try and judge just how badly she had been injured.

The worst of her pain was low on her right side. She suddenly remembered barely escaping being cut in two by Duncan Beaton’s sword. She had feared that the slow, continuous loss of blood from that wound would kill her. However, it appeared that someone had tended to the wound well enough to keep her alive. As far as she could tell she had no broken bones, but there were a lot of bruises that would keep her in pain for a while longer.

One thing firmly grabbed her attention despite her concern over her injuries. She was not wearing her clothes. Moving as little as possible, Evie stared down at her body and had her worst suspicions confirmed. She was wearing a man’s shirt and nothing else. Evie sincerely hoped some plump, graying shepherd’s wife had cared for her, giving her the old shepherd’s only clean shirt. That calming hope was just taking root when a low male chuckle kicked it in the teeth. That was not the laugh of some old, gnarled shepherd.

There was no longer any time left to ignore her surroundings. David sounded content and safe, but now that she knew a man was with her brother, Evie had to make certain of her brother’s safety herself. For weeks now, no man had been safe—for her or for David. After cautiously testing that she could move all her body parts, even though too many of them protested the movement, she began to turn her head toward the sound of David and the man talking softly.

It took all of Evie’s willpower to smother a gasp when her gaze finally settled on David and his companion—his tall, dark, and incredibly handsome companion. They were seated across from each other at a table set only a few feet away from her, a chessboard set between them. The strange urge to warn the man that playing chess with David was a waste of time swept over her. Then she noticed that David seemed to be studying his pieces with a knowledge he had never revealed before.

Pushing aside a pinch of jealousy that made no sense, she decided to ask for two things she desperately needed—a drink and a privy bucket. Evie was startled when all that emerged from her open mouth was a hoarse croak. It proved enough to catch the attention of David and his companion, however. Before she could more carefully study the man, David cried out in delight and rushed toward her. One soft-spoken but concise command from the man was all that kept David from hurling himself upon her bruised and aching body. David stumbled to a halt, knelt by her rough bed, and very cautiously leaned forward until he could give her the gentlest of embraces.

“I feared ye were going to die and then I would be all alone,” David said, his voice uneven.

Evie felt the damp of tears where her brother nestled his face against her neck. She winced as she moved her hand up to stroke his bright curls, but ignored the pain. David needed comfort. He had just lost his father. Evie swallowed her own grief over that loss, wondering when and if she would ever have the chance to face it, release it, and then put it aside. Silently scolding herself for being selfish, she forced her mind back to her grieving, frightened brother and, much more importantly, the man who now stood next to David and watched her with the darkest eyes she had ever seen.

“Hush, David, I will heal,” she said, and then looked up at the man. “’Tis ye I owe my life to, is it?”

“I think ye would have survived anyway,” he said. “The bleeding was easing and it was a shallow cut.”

David sat up, keeping his hand on Evie’s arm as he shook his head. “He did a lot, Evie. He got me all dry and warm and then we went back to the burn where I had left ye and he stopped the bleeding, then carried ye back here and stitched ye all up and e’en cleaned ye up a wee bit and he has been taking care of ye for three days.”

All thought of reminding David yet again that he should not string so many words together without at least taking a breath fled Evie’s mind as his last words finally sank into her mind. “Three days?” She looked at the man still watching her so closely. “Did I have a fever?” Even as she cursed herself for the sin of vanity, it took all of her willpower not to reach for her hair to make certain she still had it.

“A wee one but mostly ye just slept.” Berawald clasped his hands behind his back to stop himself from giving in to the strong urge to touch that hair she was so obviously worried about. “I am Berawald MacNachton.” He noticed so sign of alarm over the name and so continued. “And e’en if ye had been taken severely ill, I wouldnae have cut off your hair. Ne’er understood the need for it and ne’er saw that it did much good.”

“He didnae put leeches on ye, either, Evie,” David assured her, casting a brief look of awe at Berawald. “Didnae bleed ye at all. He said ye had already bled enough.”

“Something I wholeheartedly agree with and nay just because I am the one in need of healing this time,” Evie murmured, and then tried to hold out her hand to the man. “I am Evanna Massey.”

“I already told him that.”

“I am sure ye have, David, but ’tis still a courtesy that should be followed.”

Berawald took her faintly shaking hand in his and kissed her knuckles. “Pleased to meet ye, Evanna Massey.”

“I thank ye for helping me and my brother.”

“’Twas my pleasure.” He noticed her surreptitiously glancing around his cave. “Is there anything ye need?”

“Do ye need a pot, Evie?” asked David.

Evie did not need the fleeting grin that passed over Berawald MacNachton’s too handsome face to tell her she was blushing over David’s question. She could feel the heat of it on her face. David was too young to understand how badly a woman needed to preserve some scrap of modesty before a grown man, especially when that man was such a handsome stranger. She doubted it was a lesson she would be able to teach him for quite a while, either. Before she could make any response, however, Berawald picked her up off the bed, blanket and all.

“If ye would just show me where to go,” she began.

“Ye would stagger there yourself?” Berawald asked. “Ye have been abed for three days, even lost a lot of blood ere I stitched ye closed. Ye might make it to where ye need to go, but ye would use up your entire strength to do so. I might then have to come and get ye because ye are too weak to rise up from where ye are squatting.”

That was blunt, Evie thought, feeling her face heat up with yet another blush. It was also true, but she wished he had spoken with a little more concern for her modesty. She also wished she had the strength to get down and walk, for being held in his strong arms, her cheek resting against his broad, hard chest, was making her feel decidedly twitchy.

He set her down and Evie realized they had reached their destination. She looked around in amazement. The room resembled a garderobe, one that might be found in a very fine castle. A wooden boxlike bench with two holes in the top was against one of the stone walls. Stone slabs covered most of the floor and a thick sheepskin was laid out on the floor directly in front of the bench. Evie turned to say something to Berawald only to find him gone, and that made her frown. Surely she had not been so caught up in her thoughts that she had missed hearing him leave.

Shrugging her shoulders and softly cursing the pain the movement caused, she moved toward the bench. She was already weak, her knees trembling with each step, but she felt sure she could manage to do what she needed to do without his help. As she settled herself on the bench she began to pray that she would not need to call for help to get off it. Noticing a bucket of lime next to where she sat as well as a bucket of water to clean herself with, Evie decided her savior was a very meticulous man. It was even more reason to avoid needing his help. A meticulous man would not be one who would allow her to keep her secrets.

After she was done, had washed up, and then thrown some lime into the hole, Evie leaned against the cool stone wall of the small room to catch her breath. It annoyed her beyond words that doing so little could make her feel so weak. She finally looked at the room she was in more carefully and frowned. It resembled a cave, yet that made no sense. People did not usually make their homes in caves.

“Do ye need help?”

That deep voice echoing down the small passage leading to her pulled Evie out of her confusing thoughts. “Nay, I can come to you.” Keeping one hand on the wall and clutching the blanket around her shoulders, she started to walk down the passage, praying with every step she took that she was not mouthing an empty boast.

Berawald picked her up as soon as she inched her way out into the main room. He ignored her muttered protests as he carried her back to bed. She was pale and covered in a light sheen of sweat, her slender body trembling with the effort of walking only a few feet. He knew she did not need to be told that she would never have made it back to her bed on her own. Tempting though it was to say it, it would be a little like rubbing salt into her wounds.

Once she was settled back in her bed, he helped her drink some cider that he had mixed a few herbs into. He ignored her grimaces and silently pressed her to drink it all down. Just carrying her that short distance had stirred him so much, and so fiercely, that he was very eager to put some distance between them.

“Herbs to strengthen my blood?” she asked after she finished the cider and settled her aching body more comfortably on the bed.

“Aye.” Berawald moved to stir the pot of broth he was brewing for her. “Are ye a healer, then?”

“I have done some healing work.” She sighed as she saw what he was doing. “’Tis broth, aye?”

He had to bite back a laugh over the heavy tone of disgust in her voice, and that surprised him, for he rarely laughed. “’Tis indeed broth for you. David and I shall dine on something much heartier later.”

“Cruel mon. I shall try to be asleep by then, I think.”

“Sleep is the best medicine.”

Her voice was soft, a little husky, and Berawald felt as though it caressed him each time she spoke. He had long ago accepted that he was not a passionate man, not like so many others in his clan. He was no virgin, doubted any man who had lived as long as he had could be, but he had never felt any true craving for a woman. He felt one for this woman and it worried him. His kinsmen would undoubtedly urge him to seduce her, to satisfy the need knotting his insides, but his every instinct told him that would only make the craving worse. He needed to get her healed and strong as quickly as possible and send her far, far away.

That thought had barely finished passing through his mind when he cursed himself for a heartless bastard. She and David were in danger. He had not pressed the boy too hard for information about that danger, but he was certain that some dire threat was dogging the heels of the pair. It was the only explanation for why they were in his woods; in the midst of MacNachton lands—lands most other people avoided—and for why she had been so badly wounded. As soon as she had the strength for a long interrogation, he intended to get some answers. Only then could he make any real decision about her and her brother. And he would not let those big green eyes of hers make him falter in getting the information he needed. For now, however, he would simply work hard to help her regain her strength.

Evie looked around the large chamber. The man’s home definitely looked like a cave. That made no sense to her, for he was clean, well spoken, and handsome enough to make a woman’s heart skip. He was the sort of man one expected to find living in a fine manor house or even a castle.

Before she could stop herself, she asked, “Are we in a cave?” She knew it was probably rude to ask such a question and felt herself blush, but she did not apologize.

Berawald looked at her and smiled faintly. “Aye, we are.”

Since she had already crossed the line into rudeness, she decided she would keep right on walking. “Ye live in a cave?”

He heard only curiosity and a touch of surprise in her voice. “Aye. ’Tis spacious. As I told young David, ’tis also never too warm or too cold.”

“It can be damp.”

“I dinnae think there are verra many abodes in this land that arenae a wee bit damp.”

She smiled faintly. “True, but I have ne’er heard of any but hermits or outlaws who lived in such places.”

“None live in ones as comfortable as this. Hermits prefer ones that are nay more than niches in a hillside. This place wouldnae allow them to enjoy the suffering they often crave. And, I am nay an outlaw. Nay, I found this place several years ago and decided to make it my home. My clan owns the land and the keep was getting rather crowded. So I worked to make this cave more comfortable and moved into it this past spring. ’Tis safe here,” he added quietly. “The entrance is nay easy to find, I can hear if anyone approaches, and since the path into this place is long and narrow, ’tis easy to defend.”

“Is it easy to flee from if ye are attacked?” she asked, unable to bury her fear of being trapped by her enemies.

“Aye, and the ways out are even harder to find than the way we came in.”

Evie tried to hide her relief, but the sharp look in his dark eyes told her that he had noticed it. He asked her no questions, however, and that pleased her. She was not sure yet if she could trust him with the answers. If only her life was at stake, Evie had the lowering feeling she would need only one long, soulful look from his beautiful dark eyes to tell him all he wished to know. The fact that David’s life was also at risk was all that gave her the strength to keep silent.

“Good. ’Tis always best to have a way out.”

“Time for your broth.”

“How delightful,” she muttered.

“’Tis good broth, Evie,” said David as he knelt by her bedside.

She smiled at her brother and then dutifully consumed the broth Berawald fed her. It was good and, in truth, it was probably a great deal heartier than many another meal she had had in her life. By the time she was done she felt pleasantly full, warm, and very tired.

“Are ye going to sleep again, Evie?” asked David.

“Aye, I believe I am,” she replied even as she closed her eyes and had to smile when David proceeded to tell her a bedtime story.

Beneath the shelter of her lashes, however, she watched Berawald MacNachton, her savior, her mysterious healer, and a man who lived in a cave. He was—without question—an astonishingly handsome man. Tall, leanly muscular, and graceful as only a skilled warrior could be. His features were cut in clear precise lines, barely escaping a look of frightening harshness. A well-shaped, slightly full mouth helped soften those sharply cut lines as well. His nose was straight, neither too long nor too wide, his chin was strong, his ears well shaped. Even his eyebrows were perfect, nicely arched and not too thick. Worse, he had long thick lashes she envied and admired so much that she might need to go to confession. He had long black hair that hung down to the middle of his broad back and was tied back with a strip of leather.

Much too fine a man for her, she thought sadly as she let the need for sleep start to conquer her. She would regain her strength and leave as soon as possible. Not only could she bring danger to his door, but she could all too easily bring it to her own heart. A man like Berawald MacNachton was one who could sorely tempt a woman, and she had no time to deal with temptation. She and David were being hunted and they had to keep moving. Her last thought was to wonder why the thought of leaving should cause her heart to twist painfully in her chest.

Seated by her bed, Berawald waited patiently for Evanna Massey to finish waking up. It had been a week since he had found her and her brother. It was past time for him to get some answers to all the questions he had. During his hunt last night he had come across signs that indicated men were tracking along the border to the MacNachton lands. He strongly suspected they were the men David and Evanna were running from. It was time to tell his clan about his guests and that they could well be bringing a threat their way, one that was approaching all too swiftly. When he did speak to his kinsmen he wanted to be able to tell them why the threat was drawing so close, why it sought out two apparent innocents, or even that his guests were not so innocent and that he had sent them on their way.

At the mere thought of casting Evanna and her brother out of his home, Berawald felt a pinching pain in the area of his heart. Despite his best efforts, both Masseys had wormed their way into his affections. Evanna had such a tight grip on his heart and his lust he was not sure he could push her out of his home even if she was guilty of some heinous crime. And each time he considered the possibility that she was guilty of something, it was only a fleeting consideration. He feared his opinion was being influenced far too strongly by soft green eyes, sweet smiles, and a beautiful voice.

No matter what he decided to do with the Masseys in the end, he still needed answers. It was all right for him to make an error in judgment when only his own life was at risk, but he would not share that risk with his whole clan. There were men hunting his kinsmen, men who wished to put every MacNachton in a grave. Berawald had seen what those men were capable of and he could not allow sentiment or lust to cloud his thoughts.

There was also something a little strange about David and Evanna Massey. In the week they had lived with him he had seen few spirits. Since the day when he had begun to change from a boy to a man he had had little peace from the visitations of the dead, yet he had known it from the moment the pair had entered his life. He could still see the occasional ghost, but the constant noise of them, the constant rattle of voices in his head, had gone away. It was as if the Masseys had brought some shield with them, one that thickened the wall between the dead and the living. He had never experienced such a thing before, or even heard of it, but he wanted to know the secret of it. Such a skill could help him to finally live as normal a life as any MacNachton was capable of.

Unlike many other Outsiders he had known, the Masseys did not seem to crave the sun. Evanna did not bemoan her inability to go outside, and David never did more than watch the sunsets, and occasionally the sunrises, with him. That a boy of five would be so content inside for day after day did not seem right, not when he was one of those who could go out and enjoy the summer sun the few times it deigned to show itself. Berawald knew fear could be keeping the boy close and hidden, but he could not shake the suspicion that it was more than that.

There were other things that he had noticed that troubled him. The Masseys did not even blink an eye when he ate his meat barely seared; David had even requested some for himself and Evanna. Berawald doubted that was because they had had so little meat in their lives that they had no idea how it should usually be served. He felt sure both Masseys caught sight of the occasional spirit that still wandered through the cave, yet they said nothing. And Evanna was healing at a very rapid rate for an Outsider. With their red hair and bright eyes, he could not believe they were MacNachtons, and yet he began to wonder if there was some of his clan’s blood in their veins. The problem would be in trying to verify his suspicions without exposing the secrets of his clan.

Berawald was yanked from his thoughts by a soft noise from Evanna, and he turned his head to find himself staring into her sleepy green eyes. The slow smile she gave him made him ache to pull her into his arms and join her on that bed. He crossed his arms over his chest to keep himself from giving in to that urge. She was a weakness with him, and until he knew the truth, he could not allow himself to give in to it.

Evie’s smile faded away. For the first time since she had met the man, Berawald’s beautiful face had a predatory cast. She felt a tickle of fear but smothered it. He was not her enemy; enemies did not save their prey and heal the wounds of the ones they were hunting. Something was troubling the man, however, she decided as she struggled to sit up.

“Is David all right?” she asked as a sudden fear for her brother swept over her.

“David is fine,” Berawald replied, feeling a little guilty for frightening her and fighting to not allow that guilt to make him back off from demanding some answers. “I have been waiting for ye to wake up. ’Tis time to remove your stitches. In truth, I think they could have come out soon after ye woke up several days ago. Ye heal verra quickly.” He noticed the way she briefly glanced to the side, fleeing his gaze, and suspected she was about to lie to him. He wondered why that should hurt him as it did.

“I have always been a fast healer and ’twas but a shallow cut,” she finally replied. “Ye said as much yourself.”

“Aye, I did. ’Twas a sword cut.”

She sighed. “Aye. I was a wee bit slow to move aside, I fear.”

“Evanna, why would someone try to kill you?”

She could tell by the look on his face that he would not cease to question her until he had an answer to that question. Evanna knew he deserved at least some of the truth. He had aided them and now sheltered them. She was afraid to say too much, however. The truth was why she and David were running for their lives, why both their mother and their father were now dead. She did not think Berawald would ever try to kill them simply because they were different, but she knew he might turn away from them. Just the thought of his dark eyes looking at her with disgust, with even a hint of fear, turned her heart into a cold stone in her chest.

It astonished her that, after so short a time, she could feel such a strong, deep need for him to look upon her with favor. Evanna thought it a little cruel of fate to deliver her into the hands of the first man to stir her interest now, when she had no time to play flirtatious games or see if the feelings he stirred within her were reciprocated. She wanted Berawald MacNachton, liked everything she had seen and learned about him so far, but she could not allow herself the luxury of learning any more. Her brother’s safety was all she could think about or act on, at least until their enemies no longer hunted them.

“We are different from them,” she answered softly. “’Tis all that is needed sometimes, aye?”

“Aye, but just how are ye different? E’en the most ignorant need some reason to fear or hate ye enough to want to kill ye, to want to kill David who is naught but a bairn.”

“As ye have seen, I heal quickly, quickly enough to rouse suspicion.” Pleased that her bed now rested against the wall near the fire, Evanna sat up and leaned against the cool stone.

“David is the same?” Hearing a slight rasp in her voice, Berawald rose to pour her a tankard of cider.

“He is. Thank ye,” she murmured, accepting the drink and taking a deep swallow before continuing. “’Tis so plain that such a gift must be a blessing, nay a curse, yet it troubled people. We tried to hide it, but ’tis nay always possible to hide such a gift. Once when my father was gone away, my mother was badly injured in a fall. The village healing woman cared for her.”

“And your mother recovered from her injuries with a suspicious speed.”

“Aye. The whispers began then and soon superstition began to stir in the hearts of the villagers. In the end the verra gift that helped my mother survive such a hard life as we had, killed her. They came in the night intending to kill all of us and caught my mother outside fetching water. Our father got me and David to safety, but I think he left his heart with my mother’s body. We moved away to another village and enjoyed a few years of peace, but it soon began all over again. This time superstition killed my father. He stood firm when the attack came, giving me the chance to get David away from there.”

“But ye are still nay safe, are ye? Moving away willnae stop it this time, aye?”

“Nay, we arenae safe. I am nay sure we will e’er be safe, but I must try. For David. As ye said, he is naught but a bairn.”

“’Tis hard to think that a healthy body and a quickness of healing could set a mob at your heels.”

He was not exactly calling her a liar, but Evanna barely subdued a flinch of shame nevertheless. She truly hated lying to this man, to see in his fine eyes the knowledge that she was lying to him. Even assuring herself that she was not really lying, was just omitting a few facts, did not ease the guilt she felt. She also knew she would have to give him more, enough to satisfy his curiosity and his doubts, but not enough to rouse fear or superstition. It would not be easy, especially when she was so loath to lie to him.

“Weel, there is all this red hair,” she said.

Unable to stop himself, Berawald reached out to stroke the thick, deep red braid that was draped over her slender shoulders. “True, but I havenae heard of many who were killed simply because of the color of their hair. Red hair isnae so verra rare in this land as to cause immediate alarm.”

“True. Weel, ye do ken that redheads have fair skin.” The way he moved his long fingers from her hair to lightly brush them down her cheek made her insides clench with the need to touch him back, with what she suspected was a fierce, white-hot lust. “This fair skin is, weel, easily damaged by the sun. ’Tis nay just slowly darkened as so many others’ skin is; it burns. David and I try to stay out of the midday sun, as my mother did. For reasons I cannae e’en guess at, some people felt all those things, all those wee differences, marked us as demons.”

Berawald said nothing for a moment, just nodded and tried to look sympathetic as he clasped his hands together in his lap and savored the lingering feel of her skin against his fingertips. He knew superstition well, and the fear it bred could indeed be stirred by such small things, but he also suspected there was a lot more to it all. His clan was being hunted, the hunters gaining strength and becoming more organized every year. It was very possible that one of those hunters had discovered the Masseys, seen their differences, and realized how closely those differences matched those of the MacNachton clan. That would be enough to set those dogs on the heels of the Masseys. In finding the Masseys they would be very close to finding the MacNachtons.

It was certainly enough to make him think that, somewhere in her lineage, Evanna would find a MacNachton. He needed to talk to his kinsmen. Several of them were diligently searching for all who might have a connection to or knowledge of their clan. A few instances in the past had revealed that some MacNachtons had bred children with Outsiders and, either uncaring or not knowing, left those children unclaimed. Being that their clan was very small, few children being born, the laird was calling on every MacNachton to search out all who might have some blood tie to their clan. The existence of the hunters had made it even more important to gather all their kinsmen into the fold. Berawald could not shake the feeling that the Masseys were some of those unknown and distant kinsmen. It would be tricky to gain the information needed to ascertain that without telling Evanna more than he wanted her to know right now.

“Weel, ye and David will be safe here,” he said, deciding it was time to seek some advice on how to proceed now that she had healed. “I believe I will remove your stitches now.”

Evanna grimaced. “I hate the feeling of that.”

Carefully arranging the hem of the shirt she wore and the top of her blanket so that only the bandaged wound showed, Berawald gently removed that bandage. “I ken. I have always thought it just felt odd, that there really wasnae any word to describe it.” Not that he had had stitches more than once, for his own ability to heal quickly meant there was little need for them.

“Aye, odd is a verra good word for how it feels.” When he just frowned down at her uncovered wound, Evanna began to feel a little uneasy. “Is it all right? It hasnae putrefied or the like, has it?”

“Nay, ’tis completely healed and verra clean.”

“Weel, then best to get the stitches out.” She was pleased that he had not made any comment on how unusual that was and closed her eyes tightly. “I am ready.”

Berawald had to smile, for she looked like a small child about to be forced to swallow a particularly revolting potion. Each time he tugged a stitch free, she grimaced. He would have felt bad about that except that he knew he was not really hurting her. It was amusing, however, that the woman who had remained strong through so much thus far would now whine and complain over something so simple and relatively painless.

“There, ’tis done,” he said, and smiled when she opened one eye to peek down at the reddened scar that marred her fair skin. “The redness will fade soon.”

At the same moment that Berawald finished tugging her shirt back into place, Evanna reached down to pull the blanket up higher. That movement brought her face close to his, her mouth within inches of his sinfully tempting lips. She met his gaze and saw a flare of interest in their dark depths. Her whole body responded with a keen interest of its own. Her lips tingled as if he had already touched them, the heat in his gaze enough to warm them.

Berawald was not sure which one of them moved first, but suddenly his mouth was on hers. He trembled faintly as the warmth of her full, soft lips soaked into his body, raising a heat he had never felt before. When her small, soft hand touched the back of his neck, he felt that light caress fly straight to his groin. That heedless part of him rose in full salute and demanded that he take more of what she seemed so willing to give. The gentle, closemouthed kiss they were sharing was no longer enough; he needed to taste her.

Nipping gently at her lower lip, he took quick advantage of her soft gasp that caused her mouth to open slightly. The taste of her, the sweet heat of her mouth, killed all rational thought and control. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with all the hunger he could no longer hide, from her or from himself.

Evanna was briefly shocked when Berawald thrust his tongue into her mouth. No man had ever done that to her before. The way he stroked the inside of her mouth with his tongue and the feel of his strong body pressed close to her as he pulled her into his arms quickly dimmed that shock. Desire throbbed inside her with each stroke of his tongue. She reveled in the taste of him, in the way he made her feel. She wanted to wrap her whole body around his and never let him go.

It was not until the warmth of his hand curled around her breast that she was able to regain any of her senses except for need and desire. Her surprise over such an intimate touch, the slight tensing of her body, passed quickly beneath the heat of that caress, but he had noticed her brief withdrawal. A heartbeat later she found herself freed from his embrace and she nearly cried out in protest.

He stared at her in horror for a moment and then muttered an apology. Before Evanna could say a word, he fled the room and disappeared down a deeply shadowed passage. For a moment all Evanna could do was stare after him in stunned amazement before uncertainty began to taint the wonderful feelings he had left her with. She huddled beneath the blanket as a chill quickly replaced the heat his kiss had filled her with.

Despite her efforts to just forget his odd behavior, her mind began to sort through all the possible reasons for his sudden abandonment and none of them made her feel very good. Had she been such a terrible kisser? she wondered. Had her total lack of skill turned him away? Perhaps he had suddenly recalled what few truths she had just told him and realized he could not abide them.

Evanna shook her head, trying to force such thoughts from her mind. She did not know Berawald well enough to guess at his reasons for his actions. Perhaps when he returned she could find out what had sent him running off into the night. She could only pray that when he returned, she would either hear an explanation that soothed her doubts and hurts or see by the look in his eyes that he had not fled her arms because he had suddenly realized he was kissing a demon.

Berawald cursed himself with every step he took toward Cambrun, his kinsmen’s home. He had given in to temptation, something his body still ached for, and nearly devoured an innocent maid. And there was little doubt in his mind that she was innocent. Her kiss had been one of a woman who had rarely, if ever, been kissed. That should have gentled him. Instead, for some inexplicable reason, it had stirred his lust to new heights. What was even more alarming was that, with every beat of his pounding heart, the word mine had echoed in his head.

She was not his. He was not sure she could ever be his or would ever want to be. That knowledge did nothing to silence the primal cry of possession in his heart, however. Berawald had to face the fact that he wanted to claim Evanna Massey in every way a man could claim a woman. It made no sense, for, although she was beautiful enough to stir any man’s passion, he did not really know her. The feelings tearing through his body ought to be inspired by far more than a beauty of face and form. Surely a man needed to really know a woman, know her mind, and her heart, before he became so needy and possessive.

Shaking away his confusion, he entered through the gates of Cambrun, grunting a response to the calls of welcome he received from the guards, many of them his cousins. The sight of spirits clustering near him and the murmur of their voices in his head did nothing to improve his mood. He had quickly become accustomed to the quiet he enjoyed around the Masseys. What he needed to concentrate on was getting some advice and maybe even some answers to all the questions he still had. He also had to tell someone about the men he had seen creeping around the edges of MacNachton land. Since the laird and his lady were off visiting one of his sons, Berawald headed down into the bowels of the keep to find his cousin Jankyn.

When he entered Jankyn’s chambers, Jankyn’s wife took one look at his face and swiftly excused herself from the room. Berawald realized that he must look as bad as he felt, but she gave him no time to offer an apology for his foul mood. When he turned back to Jankyn that man handed him a large tankard of wine. One sniff was enough to tell Berawald that it was some of the specially enhanced wine and he gulped it down, savoring the strength it gave him.

“Sit,” Jankyn ordered, pointing to a chair by a table set close to the fire. “What has the usually distracted but cheerful Berawald looking as if he wants to kill someone?” Jankyn poured himself some wine, refilled Berawald’s tankard, and sat down facing him.

“I apologize for scaring Efrica,” Berawald said.

“I doubt ye frightened her. She but sensed that ye needed to speak with me about something of importance and that ye would probably prefer to do that alone. So, speak.”

“I have guests.” Between sips of wine, Berawald told Jankyn about David and Evanna.

Jankyn frowned in thought for several minutes after Berawald had finished his tale. “She heals quickly?”

“Aye, verra quickly. It was a shallow cut on her side only in that it didnae go deep enough to damage her innards, but it was long and bled freely. Isnae a week too soon for an Outsider to recover from such a serious wound?”

“’Tis completely healed?”

“Aye, naught but a faintly reddened scar is left. The bruises and scratches she was covered with faded within two, three days.”

“That is unusual. And for that someone cried her a demon or a witch?”

“She claims the charge was born of that and having such red, red hair as well as having pale skin so delicate that it cannae bear being touched by the midday sun. Her brother is the same. Neither of them was troubled when I ate some barely seared meat and David e’en took some of it for himself and Evanna. I wondered if they might have some MacNachton blood.”

“It seems verra possible to me. I shall see what I can find in all of the available papers. It also makes it more alarming that she is being hunted.”

“Ye think that these men might be more than simple, superstitious villagers, aye?” Berawald had begun to suspect that they were, but he wanted someone to agree with him.

“Again—verra possible. The ones who mean to eradicate us ken a lot about us, far more than I like. Each thing ye have told me about the Masseys would certainly be enough to stir up their dangerous suspicions.”

“E’en though they are both redheaded, one with green eyes and one with blue?”

“I am nay sure these men would realize the rarity of that. Or, and this is even more alarming, they ken weel that our kinsmen have spread their seed far and wide.”

“’Tis what I fear,” Berawald murmured. “There is one other thing—I think they ken about the spirits.”

“They see them, too?”

Berawald nodded. “They havenae said anything but I am absolutely certain that they do. E’en more curious, ’tis as if they shield me from the spirits simply by being close to hand. In the week they have been with me, I have been little troubled by the spirits that seem to crowd this land, and the voices in my head have been almost completely silenced. ’Tis as if, by their verra presence in my home, they have strengthened the walls between the living and the dead. The moment I reached Cambrun, the spirits and the voices in my head were all back as if they had never left me.”

“That is verra interesting, verra interesting indeed, and it must be verra pleasant for you.” Jankyn smiled faintly. “And this Evanna—she is beautiful with her red hair, green eyes, and delicate skin?” He laughed softly when Berawald blushed.

“Aye, she is beautiful, and, aye, I ache for her. But she hasnae told me the truth, nay all of it.”

“The truth comes hard for one who has learned the need to remain silent simply to stay alive. Who kens that better than we do, aye? She must also strive to keep her young brother safe. If she tells ye all, is she risking him as weel? That is what preys upon her mind and will continue to do so until she feels completely safe, or as safe as any of us can feel in this dangerous world. She might weel trust ye with her own life, but hesitates because her every action affects David as weel.”

Sighing, Berawald dragged a hand through his hair. “I understand that. I do. But right now what I truly need to decide is what to do with them. I saw signs that men had been tracking along our borders, but cannae be sure if they are the same ones hunting her and David or enemies of our own.”

“I will tell our laird when he returns and will see that the borders will be watched much more closely immediately, although we watch them verra closely now. Whether these men are the hunters who plague our clan or simply foolish, superstitious men hunting the Masseys, they are, in the end, a danger to us all. My instincts tell me that her hunters are of the same group of men as ours are. Ignorant, superstitious villagers wouldnae trail the Masseys for so long or so far. They would be weel content with the fact that the pair had left the village.”

“That is what I thought. So, will ye let me ken if ye find any connection between the Masseys and the MacNachtons?” Berawald asked as he finished his wine and then stood up to leave.

Jankyn stood up, moved to Berawald’s side, and lightly slapped him on the back. “I will. The search would go much faster, though, if ye could gather a wee bit more information for me. Her mother’s name, where they have lived, grandparents’ names, and such as that. Since ye said that she told ye the gift of healing quickly had come from her mother that would imply that the mother was the carrier of the MacNachton blood and thus the name Massey may do me little good.”

“Ah, of course. I hadnae considered that.”

“Talk to the boy if ye can. It sounds as if he has full trust in ye and will speak more freely. He is too young to fret o’er everything he says or be weighted down with fear that any secret he may let slip could hurt his sister. And, Berawald?” Jankyn asked as Berawald opened the door to leave.

Pausing in the doorway, Berawald looked back at Jankyn. “What?”

“If ye want the lass so badly, then take her.”

“She may nay want me,” Berawald said, voicing aloud the fear that had lodged itself so firmly in his heart. “Nay when she learns the truth about me.”

“It seems to me that her truths are verra similar. Ye havenae been so heated o’er a lass since, weel, for as long as I have kenned ye. That means something. Dinnae ignore it.”

As he made his way home, Berawald considered Jankyn’s advice—all of it. If he could get no more information out of Evanna, then he would overcome his reluctance to take advantage of a child’s naïveté and get some out of David. He had taken them into his home and there was danger following them. He had a right to know all about them and what he might soon face in order to keep them safe.

Jankyn’s advice to just take what he wanted, to just take Evanna, was a little harder to decide on. It was tempting and it filled his mind with some very heated ideas of just how he could do that, where he could do it, and how often he would. He was not sure he ought to give in to that temptation, however. He was the man who had saved her and her brother, had healed her, and was now protecting her. Somehow it did not seem right to take advantage of that. Even worse was the thought that, while he was caught up in an emotional turmoil and heart-pounding lust, she might just be feeling grateful. To reach for what he wanted only to discover that it did not really exist could leave him with a wound that might never heal.

For a moment he stood at the mouth of his cave and considered that. That he would even feel such a fear confirmed his opinion that it was already a lot more than lust that made him want Evanna. She had been with him for a week but had only been awake for about four days of that time. They had talked, even played chess a few times, but he knew very little about her or her life before he had found her at the side of the burn. What he felt made no sense at all, but he could not deny that he felt it, deeply and fiercely.

As he prepared himself to go inside and face her again, Berawald realized many of the spirits he had been seeing had faded away as had all the noise in his head as he had drawn close to his home. Here was proof that the Masseys had more than the gift of healing quickly from their wounds. For just a moment he savored the renewed silence. Berawald suspected that any spirits who had a true grievance, a real need to be heard, would still be able to reach him or he could reach out to them if he chose to, but this quiet was a gift he was loath to give up. Perhaps it was a sign that Evanna Massey was destined to be his, that she completed him, he thought as he entered his home.

 

“Where is Berawald?” David asked.

It took Evanna a moment to push aside her increasing despondency and smile at David. “I am nay sure, but he will nay doubt return soon. I could play chess with ye if ye want.”

“It can wait.”

Smothering the pinch of hurt and jealousy she suddenly felt, Evanna got out of bed. She was not accomplishing anything by lying there feeling sorry for herself. After donning the plaid Berawald had given her to act as her skirts, she began to walk around what she thought of as his great hall. Now that her stitches were out she could begin to wear her own clothes, although, sad to say, they were not as comfortable or as fine as the ones he had given her. Her strength had nearly returned in full and she tried to take some pleasure in that. The fact that it meant she and David could soon leave Berawald made that difficult, however. She knew she should leave, should no longer burden the man now that she was better, but she really did not want to go.

And why should that be? she asked herself as she marched around the room, a humming David skipping along behind her. She really did not know the man, and despite her complete inexperience with men, she knew a strong lusting in a man often meant no more than that—a strong lusting. The heat in his gaze could be coming from just one part of his body, his mind and heart not being involved in it at all. Unlike her own, she thought with a grimace.

“Did ye just hurt yourself?” David asked as he trotted along beside her. “Ye just made a face.”

Slowing her pace a little to match his, Evanna shook her head. “Nay. I was just thinking.”

“Oh. I like it here, dinnae ye?”

Evanna suddenly realized that her brother had settled in for a long stay with Berawald and nearly cursed. “’Tis a cave, David.”

“Aye. A really nice cave. I e’en have my own sleeping chamber. I like Berawald and he is teaching me chess.”

She stopped, crouched down before her brother and grasped him by the shoulders. “David, m’love, this isnae our home. As soon as I am strong enough for traveling, we must leave here.” And take our troubles with us, she added silently.

“Why? Berawald has a lot of room.”

“But that doesnae mean he wishes to fill that room with a woman and child, ones who arenae e’en his kinsmen.”

“I dinnae want to live on the streets and eat rats!” he wailed.

“What are ye talking about? I ne’er said we would do that.”

“We cannae go home e’en if we have one still. That means we dinnae have a home, and people without a home live on the streets of smelly, dirty towns and eat from midden heaps and eat rats and get all dirty and have fleas and I want to stay warm and dry and eat good food. We can stay. Berawald will keep us safe.”

Evanna used the billowy sleeve of the shirt she wore to dab at the tears streaking David’s angelic face. “We cannae ask that of him. The mon saved us, healed my wounds, and has sheltered us for a week. It wouldnae be fair, or right, to abuse that kindness by lingering here and putting his life at risk. I certainly dinnae want to see him get hurt. Do ye?”

Berawald lurked in the deep shadows of the entry passage and shamelessly eavesdropped. He had to beat down the urge to rush over to the weeping David and assure the child that he would not be left to starve in the streets. The craving he felt to hold fast to Evanna and her brother was growing stronger by the hour. What Evanna told the boy about not wanting to see him hurt eased some of his concerns. She might not have told him the truth about herself, but she was not intending to ensnare him in any way. Maybe Jankyn was right; he should just take what he wanted. The secrets and the troubles that stood between him and Evanna could be sorted out later, perhaps even in bed.

“He would fight for us,” David protested, hiccoughing a little as he struggled to control his tears. “He is a good, brave mon.”

“And ye think we should thank that good, brave mon for his help by leading killers to his door?” Evanna asked softly.

“Nay,” David mumbled, “but we dinnae have anywhere to go. We dinnae have Da to find us a new home, either.”

When her brother began to cry again, Evanna sat down on the floor and pulled him onto her lap. She struggled to control her own urge to weep. Her father had been a good and loving man, even though he had lost a lot of his thirst for life when their mother had been killed. He had never harmed a soul or committed even the smallest of crimes, yet those men had cut him down on his own threshold, calling him a demon. Her father’s last act in life had been to give it up to save her and David. The fact that she could not even give him a burial worthy of such a sacrifice would always grieve her.

“Is something wrong?”

Evanna looked up at Berawald and slowly shook her head. “Nay, ’tis but a moment of grieving for our father.”

Before she had even finished speaking, David had torn himself from her grasp and thrown himself against Berawald, wrapping his thin arms around the man’s waist. Evanna stood up, ignoring the fierce need to do the same, and turned her thoughts to David. Her brother was becoming dangerously attached to Berawald and that would make it all the harder to leave. She hated to bring the little boy even more grief, but they could not stay here much longer. Not only had they not been asked to stay, but it was wrong to bring a man, one who had shown them nothing but kindness, into their troubles.

“I miss my fither,” David said, his face pressed against Berawald’s taut stomach. “I miss him a lot.”

Berawald eased the boy’s tight grip and then crouched down so that he could look him in the eye. “Of course ye do. Ye didnae e’en have time to say fareweel, did ye?”

David shook his head. “And now I have to go live in the streets and pick through midden heaps and eat rats.”

“David,” Evanna began, not wanting the boy to try and wheedle any promises out of Berawald.

“Nay, ye willnae have to do that,” Berawald said, cutting off the scolding he could see Evanna wanting to give the boy.

“But we havenae got a home now,” David said.

“Ye will have a home.”

“Berawald, ye must nay promise such things,” Evanna protested even as her heart leapt with the hope that the home he offered would be with him.

“I must and I can,” he said in a voice that broached no argument. “Nay matter what else happens, I will ensure that ye have a home, David. A safe home. One with a big cat to eat any rats that venture too close to your door,” he added with a smile, and was pleased to see the tearful smile that curved David’s mouth. “Now, shall we play a game of chess ere we eat and ye have to seek your bed?”

Evanna watched Berawald and David move to the table where the chessboard was set up. The look in Berawald’s dark eyes when he had made his promise had stolen her breath away. He meant every word of it. The way he had glanced at her, including her in that promise, had made her heart leap about in her chest like a wild thing.

Careful, lass, a voice in her head warned her. He had not said it would be his home he offered them. Holding on to that warning to control a giddy hope she could not fully tamp down, Evanna moved toward the fire. Cooking always calmed her and she definitely needed calming now. The very last thing she wished to do was reveal her growing feelings for him when he had yet to give her any real hint that he might, someday, return them.

“Where is David?”

Berawald looked up from the ledgers he had been blindly staring at for far too long and blinked away the blurriness in his eyes. Evanna stood by his chair, her small hands clenched so tightly in front of her that her knuckles shone bone white. She had been quiet, a little nervous, and somewhat evasive in the two days since he had kissed her, but he had been unable to think of what to do or say to break this new awkwardness between them. Now, however, she just looked worried, very worried.

“He went to the burn to try to catch us some fish for dinner,” Berawald replied, and watched as her worry rapidly turned to alarm.

“It isnae safe for him to be out alone.”

“Be at ease, Evanna. I check for signs of strangers and threats each and every night, and no one has drawn near.” He decided it would be a very bad time to tell her that there was a good possibility her enemies were lurking at the borders of his land. They were still too far away to pose any immediate threat, but he suspected she was not in the mood to accept any assurances about that.

Evanna tried to calm her fears but was not very successful. It had been quiet around the cave and Berawald did diligently go out and check for signs of her enemies every night, but that knowledge did nothing to make her fears about David ease. Everything inside her was demanding that she find David immediately and drag him back to the safety of Berawald’s unusual home. She did not have the sight but she had learned long ago to trust in her instincts. Those instincts had kept her and David alive as they had fled from their enemies. She could not ignore them now. Nor could she ignore the ghostly apparition of a young woman standing near the passage out of the cave who kept jabbing her finger in the direction of the burn, although she would not mention that to Berawald. He did not seem to notice all the spirits that wafted through his home.

“I ken it,” she said. “I ken that all ye say is the truth. Howbeit, I feel a true need to find David and see for myself that he isnae in any danger.” When she saw how closely he was studying her, she gave him a trembling smile. She hoped he had not seen her glance toward where the ghost floated, still jabbing her finger and now stomping one wispy foot in impatience. “Nay, I dinnae have the sight, if that is what ye are thinking. I dinnae ken what ye would call it, but something inside me demands that I find David. Now.” And the ghost at your doorway looks as if she wishes she had body enough to come and kick me into motion, she added silently.

Berawald chanced a brief glance in the direction Evanna kept peeking and tensed. A spirit stood there, and if her finger pointing and foot stomping were any indication, Evanna’s instincts were being strengthened by that spirit. He attempted to open his mind to the spirit and nearly jumped to his feet when a loud Go now! Get the laddie! pounded in his head. Even though he was sure Evanna and David could see the spirits, they still had not told him so and now was not the time to discuss the matter.

“Then we shall go and find David,” he said, keeping his voice calm although he was beginning to feel his own fear for the boy.

It was only a moment later when they had their cloaks on and were walking swiftly toward the burn. Evanna suddenly wondered why Berawald never questioned David’s need to go fishing now, after the sun had gone down, or wonder why the boy was not troubled by walking around by himself in the dark. Few children could be so calm outside after sunset, and certainly not when alone. She kept her need to go racing to the burn screaming her brother’s name tightly leashed by chewing over that puzzle as they walked. When Berawald suddenly grabbed her arm and yanked her to a halt, alarm shattered her thoughts and she barely stopped herself from crying out.

“David,” she whispered.

“Quiet,” Berawald said, his mouth close to her ear. “Someone is with him.”

It took every scrap of willpower she had not to break free of his hold and race to her brother. Common sense told her she would only get herself killed if she did that, but David was like her own child, the last of her family. The very thought of anything happening to him made panic seize her in a tight grip, and common sense did nothing to ease its chokehold.

“He is in danger,” she whispered as Berawald gently but firmly shoved her toward some thick bushes growing at the base of a huge tree. “He needs help.”

“And he will get it. But if ye go racing to his rescue without kenning the who, the how many, or the how weel armed, ye will just get yourself killed. And David as weel. Sit here and be quiet.”

She sat. “Ye may need help.” A cry came from the direction of the burn and she started to get up only to be shoved back down.

“Nay, I will need no help, lass.” Berawald gave her a brief, fierce kiss and then strode away.

Evanna was still touching her mouth and struggling to clear her head of both desire and surprise when she realized Berawald was gone. He had disappeared into the shadows as if he owned them. Hard as she tried, she could see no hint of his movements or hear any sound of his passing through the wood. And she had very keen sight and hearing. Suddenly, she knew that Berawald might well have been speaking the simple truth when he said he would need no help. He moved as swiftly and silently as the spirits that surrounded him so often. Berawald obviously had a few secrets of his own.

Despite his skill and his orders, she began to creep toward the burn. She knew she could offer him little aid in the battle he would soon face, but she could grab David and run if the opportunity presented itself. Getting David out of the way of any fighting that occurred would give Berawald a chance to act more freely. It was just an excuse to see what was happening to her brother and Berawald and she knew it. But it was a good one. She fully intended to use it mercilessly if, when the fight was over, Berawald felt any inclination to scold her for her disobedience.

 

Berawald felt a snarl scrape through his throat as he watched the scene on the banks of the burn. Three men stood over a crying David. It was obvious that one of the men had struck the boy, and he would pay dearly for that. The rage that consumed Berawald surprised him a little, for it went a lot deeper than simply anger over seeing a large man abuse someone so much smaller and weaker than he was. The dark beast that lurked within every MacNachton demanded the freedom to seek revenge, but Berawald fought to keep it under control. When one of the men grabbed David by the front of his shirt, lifted him off the ground, and shook him hard, that control disappeared. The beast roared and snapped all the tethers Berawald had placed on it. Growling loud enough to cause all three men to look his way, Berawald leapt toward the man holding David.

A sound echoed through the wood that made Evanna look around for some huge, enraged beast charging through the trees. She suddenly realized it had come from the burn. She ceased to creep along and started to run. The sight of Berawald snapping a man’s neck like a twig and hurling him through the air as if he weighed nothing brought her to an abrupt halt. When another man raced toward Berawald she started to cry out a warning, but Berawald moved out of the way of the man’s thrusting sword so quickly he was behind the man in the blink of an eye. He dispatched the swordsman by hurling him against a tree so hard Evanna doubted there was a single bone in the man’s body that was left unbroken. When he yanked the third man up by the front of his filthy shirt she could not help but gasp softly. Berawald held the big, muscle-heavy man by only one hand and shook him. She realized then that the growl she had heard had come from Berawald.

When David suddenly ran up to her and clutched at her waist, she shook herself free of her shock and checked him for any serious injuries. Once she was assured that he had little more than a nasty bruise or two, her gaze was immediately drawn back to Berawald. She could not see his face, but the man he held was staring at it in wide-eyed terror. Evanna was finding it difficult to believe what she was seeing. The strength and speed Berawald revealed were not just extraordinary; she was sure they were an impossibility for a normal man.

“I kenned it,” the man babbled as he dangled from Berawald’s grasp. “I kenned Duncan was right about them.”

“What was the fool right about?”

Evanna frowned, for Berawald’s smooth, deep voice had changed into a deep, rough growl.

“That the Masseys were demons. The bitch has run back to her own kind. Duncan means to send ye all to hell!”

“Ye will see hell ere I ever do.” Berawald snarled out the words and then bent his head to sink his teeth into the man’s throat.

A weak scream of pain and terror escaped the man dangling from Berawald’s hand, followed by a gurgling noise that sent chills down Evanna’s spine. She pressed David’s face against her belly so that he could not see anything and tried to look away, but she could not turn her gaze from the sight. The thought that Berawald had just sunk his teeth into that man’s throat plunged into her mind. She told herself that was impossible, that men did not do that sort of thing, but the sound she heard in the otherwise still forest told her differently. When Berawald lifted his head, snapped the man’s neck, and then tossed him aside, she saw the ragged wound in the dead man’s throat, a wound that bled very little.

For just a moment Berawald stood, his fists clenched at his side, and stared up at the moon. He savored the feel of the blood singing in his veins, enjoying the renewed strength and power it brought him. A soft noise yanked him free of that personal satisfaction and the beast in him rapidly drew back. With the clearing of his mind, he realized he had forgotten that David had been close by, that the boy could easily have seen everything. He took a deep breath to further calm himself only to have his nose filled with an all too familiar scent. Evanna was there and she, too, must have seen everything. He slowly dropped to his knees. Suddenly his victory did not taste as sweet as it once had, for in winning the battle, he feared he had just lost the only prize he wanted.

“Is David unharmed?” he asked without looking at her.

“A wee bit bruised but nay more than that.” Evanna had tried to speak calmly, as if watching one man rip out another man’s throat with his teeth were something she saw every day, but she could hear the faint quiver of fear in her voice.

“Take him back to the cave.”

“But, weel, are ye hurt?”

“Nay, I am weel. Just, just go.”

“My fish,” David protested.

“I will bring them,” Berawald said. “Please. Just go.”

He heard them leave and bent over until his forehead nearly touched the ground. The woman he desired, the one he wanted so badly he could barely sleep, had just seen him tossing men around as if they were no more than thistledown, breaking bones, and snapping necks. Worse, she had seen him feed. That was the trouble with letting the beast rule, with releasing the creatures that had been the dreaded Nightriders of old. Those men had never caged their beasts but had ridden out at night hunting down anyone they could so that they could feed the dark hunger that could so easily rule a MacNachton.

She will never want me now, Berawald thought as he slowly climbed to his feet and numbly went about the chore of ridding MacNachton land of the bodies. He had heard the fear in her voice. If she was even still at the cave when he returned, he knew what he would find. She would look at him with fear and revulsion. Evanna would finally believe that there truly were demons in the world.

 

Evanna sat David down on a stool near the fire and began to clean and treat the bruises and scrapes he had suffered at the hands of their enemies. She wanted to deny all she had seen by the burn, but she could not. Neither could she forget it. The problem she faced now was what to do about it. She still felt some fear over what Berawald had done, over what it could mean about the man she had come to care for, but she simply could not make herself believe that he would ever be a danger to her or to David. The beast in the forest was Berawald, but so was the kind, gentle man who had taken her and David into his home and cared for them.

“Berawald is different,” said David. “Just like us only bigger.” He frowned. “Nay, I mean more.”

Or worse, Evanna thought, but quickly bit back the words. “There do seem to be many similarities,” she said gently, noticing that there was no fear in David’s eyes when he spoke of Berawald.

“Do ye think I will be able to toss men about like that when I am grown?”

“I have no idea.”

She supposed she should not be surprised that a small boy would find such a skill admirable. David had not seen Berawald bite that man, nor seen the man tossed to the ground, his throat torn yet bleeding very little. Even telling herself it could not possibly have happened, she could not shake the feeling that Berawald had feasted upon that man’s blood. While she felt no sorrow for the deaths of those men, was even glad that Berawald had ended their lives, the manner in which he had killed the last man really troubled her. What troubled her even more was that she had not grabbed David and run, screaming, as far and as fast as she could.

“Is he all right?”

Since she had not heard him approach, Evanna was a little startled to look up and find Berawald standing just behind David. In his hand three cleaned and gutted fish dangled from a length of thick twine. A pained look briefly crossed his handsome face and she knew she had not hidden her fear very well. Most of that fear was born of being startled, but she could not deny that some of it was of him.

Yet where was that man who had growled like a beast, snapped necks, tossed men around, and ripped out throats? Before her stood a tall, handsome man holding fish ready for cooking, a look of uncertainty in his eyes, and no sign of the vicious battle he had just been in. When he gently caressed David’s hair she felt no urge to yank her brother out of his reach. It made no sense and she was not sure it ever would.

“I am fine, Berawald,” David said. “Thank ye for saving me and for cleaning my fish ’cause I really dinnae like doing that myself, ye ken. And do ye think ye can teach me how to throw men about like ye did?”

Evanna took the fish from Berawald’s hand and moved toward the fire. She would cook them a meal. Cooking would help her think, would help her put some order into her tangled thoughts and feelings so that she might finally make some sense of them. She refused to be one of those who condemned someone who was different, as she and her brother had been condemned. And, she realized, as she recalled all too clearly what the last man had said, there might be some connection between her enemies and the ones the MacNachtons had.

If not for David’s chatter their meal would have been a silent one. Berawald tried to take comfort in the fact that Evanna made no move to keep him away from her brother. The very fact that she was still in his home, that she allowed him to be so close to David, seemed to imply that, although she might be afraid of what he had done, she did not believe he would harm her or David. He would not make the mistake of thinking that meant she would accept him or let him touch her as he ached to, however.

They were going to have to have a talk, he decided as he ate the fish she served. He knew the food would not give him the sustenance he needed or craved, but he liked the taste. She would undoubtedly have questions, and after all she had seen him do to those men, he supposed it would be best to answer them truthfully. Perhaps the truth would ease the lingering fear he could almost scent in the air, but he did not hold out much hope for that.

Leaving Evanna to clean up after the meal, Berawald took on the task of putting David to bed. By the way the boy acted he had to assume that David had not seen him feed on that man. All the child wanted to talk about was how he could learn to toss men through the air. Berawald was relieved to see that he had not frightened the boy. He just wished he could take the fear out of Evanna’s beautiful eyes, for it cut him to the bone to see it.

He shook aside that concern and told David a tale about a battle the MacNachtons had fought many years ago, careful to leave out all the more gruesome parts. The boy had come through the experience at the burn unscathed. Berawald did not want to be the one to give him nightmares now.

When David finally went to sleep, Berawald sat beside the bed for a little while longer. He knew he was avoiding the confrontation with Evanna, but there was more to it than that. The moment he had seen that David was in danger, he had realized that his affection for the child had sunk its roots deep into his heart. He felt as if the boy was his own flesh and blood even though he knew that was impossible. He had never bedded down with any woman outside Cambrun and had not bedded many of them, either. David was the son of his heart and Berawald feared that he would soon lose him.

With a sigh that felt as if it was pulled up from his very soul, Berawald lightly kissed the boy’s bruised cheek and decided it was time for him to meet his fate. He had no doubt at all that Evanna would be stunned to learn that she held it in her small, pretty hands, but she did. It did not make him feel one bit better to know that, no matter what she thought or felt about him now, he would always have her gratitude for saving her and David’s lives. That was not going to do much to fill all the empty nights ahead. He stepped into the main room, saw her staring into the fire, and braced himself for the blow to his heart he knew was coming.

“Evanna? We have to talk.”

That deep smooth voice pulled Evanna out of her deep thoughts and she nearly cursed aloud when it also felt as if he had just stroked her skin and warmed her insides. After all she had seen, she did not understand how just the sound of his voice could move her so. For all the thinking she had just done, she had come up with no solutions or answers. The biggest question she had kept asking herself was why she was still in his home, had even let him tuck her little brother into bed. That made no sense at all and that in itself frightened her.

She nodded in agreement and sat in a chair near the fire. She was too cold to move any distance from its heat. Whether that chill came from a fear of Berawald or a fear of her own inability to leave his side she did not know. When she finally looked at him she inwardly sighed. Even knowing what he had done, she still found him beautiful. Worse, she still felt everything that was womanly inside her reach out for him. Evanna began to wonder if getting wounded had somehow scrambled her wits.

Berawald stared at her and wondered how to begin. There was still a hint of fear in her eyes, but mostly he saw confusion and uncertainty in her expression. He wondered if she had been trying to convince herself that she had not seen what he had done. It was tempting to try to help her along that twisted path of denying all she had seen, but he knew that would not work in the end. Not only was she too sharp of wit to delude herself for too long, but also they faced a battle against a murderous enemy. Her enemies were near at hand and he would undoubtedly unleash the darkness in him again in his attempt to keep her and David safe.

“Ye saw what I did, all that I did,” he said.

“Aye, all of it,” she replied softly. “I made certain David didnae see it, but I couldnae seem to stop myself from watching it all, right up until ye bit that mon’s neck. Ye truly did that, didnae ye?”

“Aye, I did.” He winced when he saw the fear in her eyes flare up, but she wrestled it back down, proving that she was willing to listen to him. “For ye to understand I have to begin at the beginning.” He placed a stool in front of her and sat down, clasping his hands on his knees. “MacNachtons have lived here, on these lands, for hundreds of years. In truth, they hide here. Ye see, my clan has a few of what ye like to call differences.”

“Oh, aye, I should think so. Most men dinnae end a fight by ripping out their enemy’s throat with their own teeth.”

Berawald wondered if he could take her sharp words as a sign that she was not as afraid or repulsed by him as he had feared. “Let me finish telling ye who the MacNachtons are, please. We arenae exactly certain where we began or why we are different. We still search for the answers to that. After so many years ’tis difficult to tell truth from legend. ’Tis the way for many clans, I think. In the past, the verra distant past, we were known as Night Riders. I fear our people had little care or respect for those who were nay of our ilk. We hunted in the night, hunted anyone who was fool enough to be out after the sun had set. Some e’en in their own homes. If even some of the tales are true, we made the Norsemen look like innocent bairns. Those ancestors probably deserved to be called demons.

“The change in our ways began with one wise laird and continued with each of his sons until now, until all we wish to do is to be left in peace. The mon who is our laird now wishes us to try to breed out the differences, to have as many of us as possible wed Outsiders—those not of MacNachton blood.”

Evanna thought about that for a moment and nodded. “It grows more difficult to hide what ye are.”

“Exactly. And to keep our secrets.”

“Do ye have a lot of them?”

She studied him as he carefully weighed his answer. Her fear was almost gone, although she was not sure it should be. Yet all she could see when she looked at Berawald was the man who had helped her and David, the man who had healed her wounds, a kind man who made her blood run hot. Every instinct she had told her that he would never hurt her or David, but for the first time in her life, she wondered if she should heed those instincts. She feared emotion might be twisting them into what she wanted. In her heart there was a strong reluctance to turn from him simply because he was different, no matter how shocking those differences were. After all, she and David had suffered dearly because they, too, were different, and she refused to act as her enemies did.

“I am nay sure I would say there are a lot,” he said finally. “’Tis just that they are of the kind that makes it verra difficult to mix in easily with others, the kind that seem to breed only fear in others. We are, in most part, of the shadows. The sun can kill us. ’Tis as if it drains us of all life. The truer a MacNachton ye are, the more deadly it is. We are stronger and faster than Outsiders. We can see clearly in those shadows we must live in.” He hesitated to speak of the last two differences, the biggest of all, for they could easily shatter her current state of calm and her acceptance of him.

“Ye drank that mon’s blood, Berawald,” she said when he fell silent. She was still surprised that the mere thought of that did not send her rushing for a bucket to empty her belly into. “I saw ye bite him and I saw his wound when ye let him fall. Such a wound should have been flowing with blood, soaking the ground all round the mon, but there was barely a trickle.”

“Aye, I fed on him. We are, by nature, predators. My ancestors gloried in the taking of blood, in the kill. That is what the old laird changed. We may nay longer treat the Outsiders as naught but cattle, havenae done so for a verra long time, but we are still predators.”

“But if ye have changed, why drink of that mon?”

“Because we still need blood and dinnae ask me why, for I dinnae ken the why. It just is. If we dinnae get some, we die, slowly and painfully.”

“Yet I have seen ye eat proper food. Ye just dined on fish with us.”

“I can do that. Many of us can. It just doesnae give us the nourishment we need to live or keep strong. But there are those of us who simply like the taste of some foods. When we are badly wounded, have lost too much blood, or have suffered beneath the heat of the sun for too long, the blood of another is all that will save us. A mate or a kinsmon usually gives us what is needed. Most of the time we exist upon animal blood and verra raw meat.”

“Unless ye are fighting an enemy.”

He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “Aye, just so. But only if he has left us no choice but to kill him. Those men left me no choice. ’Twas them or ye and David.”

“I ken that. I think ’tis the only reason I brought David back here. I kenned ye wouldnae hurt us.”

“Never.” He grasped her hands in his, pleased when she did not immediately try to pull free of his hold. “I would ne’er hurt either of ye. Tell me ye believe that if naught else.”

Evanna stared into his dark eyes and knew he was telling her the truth. The air of desperation that clung to him only enhanced her conviction. It was a little unsettling to think there was an entire clan of people like Berawald, but she suspected she would soon cease to be troubled by that. And when all was said and done, was it not a good idea to keep such a warrior close to hand? He fought for her and her brother. Who was she to question how he did so?

“I believe you,” she said quietly, and could see the relief that flooded him. “E’en after seeing what ye had done, e’en while fear still gnawed at my heart, a large part of me kenned that David and I were nay in danger from you.”

“There is one last thing of great importance,” he said after clearing his throat of the lump of emotion that filled him at her words.

“Ye arenae going to tell me that ye can change into some beastie, are ye?”

“Nay, why should ye think that I could do that?”

“I heard ye. I heard ye snarl, growl, and roar like some huge beast. I e’en looked around for one until I realized the sounds came from you.”

“Ah, that.” Berawald knew he should release her hands, ought to cease caressing the backs of them with his thumbs, but since she made no move to pull them back, he held fast. “I dinnae change although there is a, weel, a feral look that comes o’er my face when the darkness rules.” He took a deep breath to steady himself. “And my teeth grow a wee bit longer and sharper.”

Unable to stop herself, Evanna began to lean closer to him. She did not understand how the light stroking of his thumbs over the backs of her hands could make her feel so warm and needy, but she was sure that she liked it. Just the way he spoke, the way he watched her as if searching for some sign that she would push him aside and was dreading it, made the last of the fear in her heart burn itself out. The space left behind was quickly filled with the heat he could so effortlessly stir within her and the ache that never seemed to leave her.

“I would think they must or ye wouldnae be able to do what ye did,” she said, struggling not to lose herself in his dark eyes and not being very successful.

“Does it trouble ye that I have a need for blood?”

She could feel him tense for her answer and chose her words carefully. “It does, but nay so much as I thought it would. As ye have said, your people nay longer hunt down people, e’en innocent ones. I cannae e’en feel the slightest pinch of sorrow or regret for the deaths of those men. I was just shocked by what ye did. I kept wondering why I brought David back here, back to the lair of a mon who could do what ye did.”

“And what answer did ye get?” he asked softly as he slowly lifted his hands to clasp her face and pulled her closer to him.

“I decided it was because I trust ye. As I have said, I simply couldnae make myself believe that ye would ever hurt us.”

The relief he felt, the utter joy her acceptance brought him, snapped what few restraints he had kept on his desire for her. He kissed her, reveling in the taste of her. When she wrapped her slim arms around his neck, his kiss grew fierce with his need, with the overpowering urge to claim her as his own. He stood up with her in his arms. The only clear thought in his head was that he needed to get her naked and beneath him. His entire body throbbed in agreement with that plan and he headed for his bedchamber.

Evanna felt herself dangling from Berawald’s arms and wrapped her legs around him to better balance herself. He groaned softly and staggered just a little before he swiftly steadied his pace again. She knew where he was taking her and what he wanted, but she felt no reluctance or fear. Now she knew the other reason she had not fled from him—it was because she knew this was right where she belonged—in his arms.

Her descent to his bed was so swift and abrupt it left her dizzy. She stared up at him as he removed his shirt and nearly growled in appreciation of the sight of a bare-chested Berawald. He had a broad chest, his skin dark and smooth and stretched over taut, strong muscles. Her hands itched to touch him.

“Evanna?” he asked, pausing at the side of the bed, his breathing heavy and fast.

She knew what he was asking with that one word. The fleeting thought that this was wrong, that she was about to give him what she should only give her lawful husband, went through her mind and was quickly banished. She wanted this, needed it, and for once she would take what she wanted and worry about the consequences later. In truth, with such deadly enemies at her heels, there might not even be a later. Evanna answered his question by simply opening her arms to welcome him.

Berawald groaned and nearly fell into her arms. He fought to regain some hint of control as he pulled and yanked their clothes off as fast as he could, and threw them aside. Every touch of her small hands, each taste of her skin, made even the slimmest strand of control difficult to cling to. The way her full breasts filled his hands made him tremble. The soft warmth of her skin beneath his hands and his mouth had him hardening to the point where he feared he would burst before he ever got inside her. Every soft sound of delight she made was pure, sweet music to his ears.

Evanna felt wild with need. When he drew the hard, aching tip of her breast deep into his mouth, she arched up, desperately trying to touch as much of his body with hers as she could. She doubted she would ever get enough of his kisses or the feel of his warm skin beneath her hands. Even the feel of his hard, hot manhood brushing against her did not dim her passion. It felt big and some small, still cautious part of her mind shied away from that, but mostly she wanted to touch him, to learn each and every part of his body. When he slid his hand between her legs to stroke her where the ache of desire was at its worst, she barely flinched.

“Berawald,” she cried out when the intimate caress made her feel as if she would shatter into small pieces right in his arms.

“Och, lass, I ken ye are untried and it pleases me, but right at this moment I dearly wish ye werenae.” He pressed his forehead against hers and fought for just a little more control, just enough so that he did not slam into her like some barbarian. “I fear this may hurt ye a wee bit.”

Her eyes widened until they stung her a little when she felt something large start to enter her body. Evanna could feel herself begin to tense as if rejecting the invasion. Instinct told her that was the wrong thing to do.

“Kiss me,” she ordered him. “Kiss me blind and then, weel, then just get the hurting part of this over with.”

“I dinnae want to hurt ye.”

“I dinnae want to be hurt, but I do want what comes after that. So kiss me.”

He kissed her, struggling to keep the kiss soft and seductive, to lull her virginal fears and restore her passion. As he kissed her, he rocked slowly into her until he felt her maidenhead. Praying that it was a very thin shield and easily broken, he drew back and thrust into her, pushing right through that shield until he was buried deep inside her heat. He caught her startled cry of pain with his mouth. Despite his need to keep on thrusting, to savor her tight heat, he held himself still until he felt the tension caused by the pain begin to ease out of her body. As soon as she was once again soft and welcoming in his arms, he lifted his head to look at her.

“The pain has eased?” he asked, praying that it had, for he was not sure he could remain still for one more minute.

“Oh, aye. It was a quick one, nay more, and it faded just as quickly.”

Evanna was bemused by how odd it felt to be joined with him, odd but very good as well. The memory of the quick glimpse she had once caught of a pair of lovers told her that they were not finished, however, as did her body. She was certain the taut stillness Berawald still maintained was not the way this should be done. The lovers she had glimpsed had been moving. Idly wondering how she could get Berawald to move, Evanna ran her fingers down his back and nipped his shoulder.

A soft growl escaped Berawald and he began to move—hard and fast. Evanna gasped as passion raced through her like a rain-swollen river. She clung tightly to Berawald, quickly learning to meet his every thrust, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. Her world narrowed to this one act, to the feel of him in her arms, in her body. She shattered, fire racing through her body from the place where they were joined. Even as she tried to pull him deeper into her arms and her body, she felt a sudden sharp pain in her neck. In some small sane part of her mind she decided that must be part of the loving and so she bit him on the shoulder again. Berawald roared as his body bucked and his seed flowed into her. Evanna finally sank completely beneath the blinding pleasure sweeping over her.

Berawald collapsed in Evanna’s arms, retaining barely enough of his wits to ease his body a little to the side as he fell so that his weight did not crush her beneath him. When he finally had the strength to open his eyes, he found himself staring at a bite mark on her slender neck. He grimaced as he realized he had marked her and feared it was the mating mark. Now there was yet another thing they needed to talk about, he thought, and sighed. Later, he told himself. For just a little while he was going to savor the peace after the storm of loving He was going to thoroughly enjoy that sweet moment when it felt as if all was right in the world.

“How do ye feel about older men?” Berawald asked.

Berawald ignored her quizzical frown as he climbed back into bed and pulled her into his arms. She settled against his chest a bit limply and he grinned with masculine pride. After cleaning them both up from her loss of innocence, he had let her rest for a little while and had then made love to her again. Not only had he made her cry out his name several times, but he had not bitten her. Glancing at the mark on his shoulder, he wondered if he was worrying unnecessarily about telling her about that bite. She had some pretty sharp teeth herself.

“Ye cannae be that much older than I am.” Evanna rubbed her cheek against his warm skin, loving the feel of him and the bone-deep pleasure that still tingled through her body. “I am three and twenty. What are ye? Five, mayhap six years older?”

Deciding blunt was best, Berawald did a little adding of numbers in his head and replied, “I am older than ye by four score years.”

It took Evanna a few moments to understand what he had just told her. She raised herself up just enough to look at him and scold him for making such a poor jest, but then frowned. He looked perfectly serious. In fact, he was watching her warily as if he was awaiting her reaction to yet another shocking MacNachton difference.

“Nay,” she mumbled, “ye cannae be that old. Ye look thirty or less.”

“I ken it and I probably will for a long time yet. MacNachtons live a verra long time. The purer their blood, the longer they live. In truth, we arenae all that sure just how long we can live, for all too often, the elders reach a point where they are simply sick of life and end it.”

“They kill themselves?” The thought of anyone committing such a grave sin briefly broke through the shock that held her in such a tight grip. If one could believe all the priests said, such people put their very souls at risk.

“A few. Most just hurl themselves about recklessly until they are killed. They lose all sense of survival because, we assume, they no longer wish to survive. It mostly happens when they lose their mate. As far as I ken, I am a Pureblood MacNachton.” Noticing that she was staring at him in wide-eyed shock again, he decided to just keep talking until she shook herself free of it. “My cousin Jankyn isnae so sure, for he has no record of any Pureblood having a gift like I do.”

Aware that he was about to tell her that he saw ghosts and he did not think it was a good time for that, he hurried on, “MacNachtons are verra alike, as twins can be. I dinnae ken if that was so in the beginning, but ’tis certainly the way of it now. Too often wed and bred within our own clans. Least-wise that is what our laird says. He believes that is why we can nay longer breed. My cousin was the last child born to a MacNachton, and by your thinking, he is verra old but he is a wee bit younger than I am.”

Evanna rolled off him to sprawl on her back at his side and stare up at the ceiling. All of her little dreams were crumbling about her feet. There could be no future for her with this man. She could accept all the other differences between them, but not that he would stay young and strong as she grew old and weak. Not that he had asked her to stay with him, she thought as he turned on his side and looked down at her. She quickly buried her pain and disappointment, not wanting him to think it was because of the sort of man he was or, worse, make him start asking her what troubled her.

As she tried to think of something to say, anything that would help her keep her heartbreak hidden, she reached up to rub at a slightly sore spot on her neck. Shock raced through her as she gently ran her fingers over what was definitely a bite mark. Scattered memories of their fierce lovemaking passed through her mind and she suddenly recalled that brief sense of a sharp pain on her neck before desire had fully engulfed her body and mind. The way Berawald paled a little, looking both worried and afraid, eased her shock and smothered her rising anger. He had bitten her but she felt sure it was in the throes of passion, something she found somewhat flattering. The only weakness she had felt at the time had come from that wild lovemaking, so she knew he had not truly fed on her.

“Ye bit me,” she said, trying to look cross as she stared at him.

“Ye bit me, too.” He pointed to the mark on his shoulder, feeling quite pleased with it until she grew pale. “’Tis naught, Evanna. ’Tis but a wee love bite.”

“Are ye sure, Berawald?” While part of her was thrilled that she might be enough like Berawald to have some future with him, another part was appalled that she could well be far more different than she had believed. “David and I are different, too, ye ken. The sun doesnae burn us. Weel, it might do, but we wouldnae be aware of it or care, for by then we would be unconscious and dying. It weakens us. One reason I collapsed after carrying David across the burn was that we had been forced to flee our hiding place while the sun was still verra high in the sky. I used my own cloak to cover David and protect him. For us it is exactly as ye say, the sun drains all the life out of us. I wasnae in it so long that it could have killed me, but I was also wounded and so verra tired that any added weakness was dangerous.”

He brushed a kiss over her mouth. “I already suspected that. Aye, ye might even have some MacNachton blood in ye. My cousin thinks so as weel, for ye also heal verra quickly, far too quickly for any Outsider. As I told ye, I could have removed the stitches from your wound before I did so, but I simply couldnae believe what my eyes told me. And both ye and David dinnae think anything odd about eating meat that has been barely passed over a flame. Ye see verra weel in the dark, too. David has none of the usual child’s fears of the dark, acts as if it is right and proper to play or fish in the dark.” He winked at her. “And ye bite whilst caught up in the heady grip of passion.” He laughed when she blushed. “Now, tell me, how old was your mother and what was her maiden name?”

“Bell and I dinnae ken how old she was. Two score, mayhap two score and ten.”

Berawald gently grasped her by the chin. “Think of her now, Evanna. Think of her with the clear eyes of a woman and nay the eyes of her child. Ye have seen other women of that age. How did your mother compare?”

It took Evanna only a moment to find the answer to that question. She felt excited, for it meant there really could be a chance of some future for her and Berawald. An equal sense of unease plagued her, however, for she had suffered for her differences all her life, had lost both of her parents because of them, and did not truly wish to be burdened with even more.

“She didnae look much older than I do,” she finally replied, hiding the unease she felt about accepting such a truth, for she did not wish to burden him with it. “But, Berawald, she had red hair. Much darker than my father’s but still red. MacNachtons dinnae have red hair, do they?”

“Nay, but she wasnae a Pureblood. I do think her family got a dose of Pureblood MacNachton nay so verra far back in her line, however. Some of us do travel still. We have refuges scattered all over this land so that we might travel in safety if we choose to. We ne’er considered the possibility that any of our blood survived outside of Cambrun, especially since we have apparently lost the ability to breed, but we have recently had proof that there are some of our kin out there. A search has begun for them not only because our clan is in need of new blood, but also because they are most certainly in danger. As ye weel ken, the differences they will have make them a target for superstitious people or the ones who hunt down MacNachtons. I dinnae e’en want to think of how many have been killed or have had to spend their whole lives in hiding.”

Evanna wrapped her arms around him. “It was the duty of the one who sired them to see to their safety, to tell your clan that there was a child somewhere.” She kissed the hollow of his throat and had to bite back a smile of pure feminine pride when she heard him catch his breath. “Ye search for them now. Let that be enough.”

“It has to be, doesnae it?” He stroked her back, certain that he would never get enough of feeling her smooth, soft skin beneath his hands. “I think I may have found two of our Lost Ones.”

“Aye, I begin to think ye may have. Is that what ye call us? Lost Ones?”

He looked at her face and frowned slightly. “It seemed to be a fitting name. Ye dinnae seem to be verra sure about wanting to carry MacNachton blood. I thought ye had accepted what I am.”

She gave him a quick, hard kiss. “I have accepted what ye are. Never doubt that.”

“But ye dinnae wish to be of my kind.”

“Ah, Berawald, that isnae what troubles me. I have spent my whole life hiding what I am, fighting to conceal all that is different about me. Ye have lived amongst your clan, concerned about what ye are only when ye left it, something ye did as rarely as possible. Hiding what I am, feeling the scorn and fear of others and the threat of that, has taught me that being different isnae safe. Being different cost the lives of both of my parents. Now ye tell me that I may be e’en more different from those I lived amongst than I thought I was. It shall take me some time to accept that without fear and I am so verra tired of being afraid.”

“Ye can be safe at Cambrun. Ye can live amongst those who are like ye and David and ne’er have to hide again.”

Before she could ask him what he meant, he kissed her. Evanna felt the hint of desperation in his kiss and immediately wanted to soothe him. When he began to make love to her again, she welcomed his every touch, his every kiss. The way he made her burn should have frightened her, but she reveled in it. Confusion dimmed her passion for one moment when he urged her over onto her hands and knees. Then he entered her with one swift thrust and she cried out each time he thrust again. This time when she felt his teeth against her neck she did not even tense. The pleasure and pain of his bite sent her tumbling headlong into desire’s sweet abyss. A small part of her mind heard Berawald growl out her name as he joined her in that delirious fall, and knowing he was with her only sharpened her pleasure.

“I think we need some sleep,” Berawald murmured as, once he had freshened them both with a cool damp cloth, he rejoined her in his bed.

She was in his bed, he thought as he pulled her into his arms, and he grinned with a satisfied pleasure that came straight from his heart. This was where she belonged. The heady taste of her blood still lingered on his tongue, and even though he had taken only a small sip or two, the way it filled his body with need told him that she was his mate. Berawald did not know that much about women, but he felt certain that getting her into his bed did not ensure that she would stay with him.

He bit back the urge to demand that she swear herself to him. It was not a good time for that. She was still reeling slightly from all he had told her even though she had accepted him for what he was. Once her enemies were vanquished, he would tell her that he wanted her to stay with him as his wife, as his mate, and, if God blessed them, as the mother of his children. He would take the time until then to woo her and to try to gain a place in her heart as he had gained the precious gift of her desire.

“Berawald, ye can see the spirits, too, cannae ye?” Evanna asked, needing to know despite the sleep weighting her body and her eyelids.

For a moment Berawald was reluctant to answer that question, not wishing to burden her with yet another thing that was strange about him. Then he realized that she had said too. She was, in a word, confirming all he had suspected. This time it was Evanna who sought assurance that he could accept a gift of hers.

“Aye. I have been able to see them since I began the change from boy to mon,” he replied. “I see them and I hear them in my head. I can e’en see when the spirit finally leaves. For the ones who are good, they simply walk away and disappear into a light that begins to shine as they walk toward it. Some wait a long time before they do that.”

“Why do ye think they linger here?”

“I am nay sure. My belief is that some linger to watch o’er a loved one, such as a child, or there is something left undone, some crime done to them that they need to have resolved. The spirit that insisted we go to David is of a woman who was murdered by her lover, tossed into the burn when it was running high and fast. Tossed in with the child she had borne him.”

“How sad. Is the child’s spirit still here?”

“Nay, I suspicion he was quick to go to that light. I believe she stays because she waits for her lover to pay for what he did to her and her child. I fear I may never be able to help her and hope that someday she will simply leave to be with her child.”

“Do the bad ones linger? The spirits of the evil?”

“I have seen none, but I dinnae go verra far from here, do I? The few I have kenned and seen die were claimed by hell verra quickly. Something dark rises up from the ground the moment death is certain and grabs hold of the spirit. I have heard it scream as the darkness closes round it and takes it down. To hell, I suppose.”

Evanna shivered. “I pray my sight and David’s are never that precise. We dinnae hear voices in our heads all the time, either. ’Tis rare that we hear them at all.”

“That is because there is something about ye and David that strengthens the wall between the living and the dead.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.” He ran his fingers through her thick, soft hair and knew she would soon be asleep. He could hear it in her voice. “Since ye have joined me here I have kenned a peace, a quiet, that I havenae kenned since I became a mon.”

“I am glad. Ye need your rest.”

Berawald felt her grow heavier against him and knew she had finally fallen asleep. Her voice had been tantalizingly husky, but there had also been the hint of a slur to her words. She badly needed to rest. He knew he should sleep but his heart was too full of hope and pleasure. His mind was also too full of plans to make her love him, to make her and David his family.

He thought about his laird, about Jankyn, and about the others who had found their mates. Berawald had not fully understood the bonds they appeared to share, but he had felt the pinch of envy at times. He had envied them the pleasure of having a woman in their bed every night, of having one that was more than just a bedmate to ease an itch, and he had certainly envied them for the children they had. Now he understood what else they had found. He understood the depths of the bonds he had seen, how they twined around a man’s heart, mind, and soul. He felt all of that with Evanna and desperately wanted her to feel the same.

How to accomplish that was the question. Berawald’s experience with women was not much to brag about. He was often so lost in the world of the dead, his mind so clouded by the voices he heard day and night, that he did not even think about women and the bedding of them. Although he knew that the way Evanna’s presence silenced the noise and cleared his mind was not all that bound him to her, he did not want to lose that. He did not want to lose her at all.

Closing his eyes and reaching out for sleep, Berawald prayed he could learn the trick of wooing a woman’s heart. He needed Evanna as tightly bound to him as he was to her. Precious as her passion was to him, he craved her love. If it became necessary, he would swallow his pride and seek advice from Jankyn about how to woo a woman. His pride would be a small price to pay if it meant he could keep Evanna at his side.

The men are coming.

Berawald was jolted awake by that sharp voice, his heart pounding with alarm. He looked around but saw no one except the spirit who had urged them to go after David, and he realized the voice had been in his head. It took him a moment to clear the last vestiges of sleep from his mind. She had forced herself into his head, urgency cracking the wall that now sheltered his mind from the constant chatter of the dead, and he was not sure he liked that.

“Where are they?” he asked, hoping she would give him a reasonable, clear answer, something spirits were not usually very good at.

They are near the outside opening. They will find it soon. Save the lad.

“How many of them are there?”

More than ye can fight. Save the lad, she urged again before she faded away.

As he leapt from the bed and began to dress, Berawald suddenly realized what was holding the spirit of the woman here, or at least part of the reason she lingered. She had been unable to save the life of her own child. Guilt was but one of the tethers holding her in the land of the living. He hoped that by helping to save David’s life she would finally find some peace, but he began to doubt it. She had already saved David’s life once and yet she remained, haunting him.

Grabbing up Evanna’s clothes, he shook her awake. “Get dressed. Our enemies are close to finding this place.”

“Ye have seen them?” she asked as she took her clothes from his hands and hurried to dress herself.

“Nay, our ghostie told me. She watches over the lad.” After buckling on his sword, he grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her a brief, fierce kiss. “Gather a few of your things and wait for me at that passage I showed ye. I will get David.”

Evanna nodded, forcing herself to obey as he ran from the room. It was hard to leave David’s safety in someone else’s hands, even Berawald’s. Every part of her cried out to run to her brother and get him to safety herself, but she resisted that call. She would only get in the way, and, even more dangerous, slow them down in their attempt to escape. Having become painfully knowledgeable about the need for a swift escape, she knew Berawald’s orders were the ones she had to follow. It did not stop her from praying for success with every step she took, however. She also promised herself that if she heard even the faintest sound of trouble before David and Berawald joined her, she would go to help them. When Berawald had first shown her the way out, he had told her that no matter what else was happening she was to get herself to safety and never look back. That was an order she knew she could never obey.

 

Berawald was not surprised to find the ghost at David’s bedside. She looked both frightened and frustrated. He suspected she was cursing her inability to just pick up the boy and run. He did not care to think of the many ways she might haunt him if he did not get David away from the men about to invade his home.

“David, wake up,” he said, gently shaking the boy. “We must leave now.”

The speed with which the boy woke, fear darkening his eyes, pinched at Berawald’s heart. He knew life was hard for nearly everyone, that one could not always keep the innocent safe from death, pain, or hunger, but he wished he could banish the fear in David’s eyes. He would, however, make the ones who put it there pay dearly.

“Have the bad men found us?” David asked as he climbed out of bed and began to dress.

“Aye, I fear they have,” Berawald replied as he shoved a few of David’s things into his small bag. “I had thought that I had hidden the other bo—men—weel, but something has brought their companions here.”

“Mayhap they came looking for the other men.”

“Verra likely. Ready, lad? We have to move quickly and quietly.”

“I can be quick and verra quiet.”

Berawald suspected he could be and that thought made him sad. As he led David out of the small bedchamber he had given him, he pretended not to see the boy wave farewell to the ghost. At some time David would have to learn the truth about him and the MacNachtons. Berawald could only pray that the boy took the news as well as his sister had.

“I think we need to move faster,” whispered David. “I can hear the men in the passage coming this way.”

Sharp hearing, Berawald mused. Yet another MacNachton trait. “They willnae find us, lad. Trust me.”

“Aye, I do.” The moment David saw Evanna he ran up to her. “They have found us again, Evie.”

“I ken it. Be brave, lad,” Evanna said, quickly hugging her brother and kissing his cheek. “Berawald has a way for us to get out of here unseen. They willnae get us.”

“Ye and the lad go first,” Berawald said, keeping an eye on the entrance to the tiny room they now stood in. “I will take up the rear. There are no turnoffs so ye dinnae need to fear ye will take a wrong turn or get lost if I fall behind and cannae tell ye where to go. Just move quietly and carefully. There are loose stones upon the path that could trip ye and a few low spots.”

Taking David by the hand, Evanna moved to the far end of the little room where the bolt-hole was cleverly hidden by the angle of the walls and Berawald’s supplies. “Dinnae fall too far behind,” she said, and then slipped into the passage that would lead them away from their enemies.

Berawald waited until he was certain the pair were well inside his escape route. He then began to quietly back toward it himself. He was just inching into the opening when he heard the men enter his great hall. Holding himself as still as the stones surrounding him, he fixed all of his attention on their voices and hoped he would hear something useful before he had to flee. Any hint of what the men sought, planned, or knew could prove helpful.

“Curse it!” bellowed one man. “They arenae here!”

“But where could they go? This is a cursed cave,” growled another man. “They didnae come by us as we came in.”

“They cannae do that, can they, Duncan?” asked yet another man, unease creeping into his slightly boyish voice. “They cannae make themselves like the mist or the fog, can they?”

“Dinnae be any greater fool than ye already are, Will,” said the first man who had spoken, one Berawald assumed was Duncan. “There has to be another way out of here. Start looking.”

“But where could they go?” asked Will, repeating the question the second man had asked. “He is one of them. Ye saw what he did to our men. Jesu, Duncan, he ripped out poor Robbie’s throat. He must be one of the stronger demons, one of them MacNachtons.”

“Of course he is, lackwit. I am nay surprised the women wouldnae be as strong as the men. Women are weak by nature. And the wee lad isnae grown yet. I mean to see that he ne’er reaches his manhood. And that lass has to pay for cutting me. I dinnae mean to let the bitch die easy once I get my hands on her.”

It took all of Berawald’s willpower to stop himself from rushing out there to confront Duncan. That man was definitely the leader and the greatest threat, but most of Berawald’s rage was because of what the man had threatened to do to Evanna. When a man said he would not let a woman die easy, there was only one thing he could mean. Duncan meant to debase Evanna, to force himself on her, and for that thought alone he would die.

“Are ye sure she is even still alive? Ye caught her good with your sword, nearly gutted her.”

“Nay good enough, for she kept running with the lad, didnae she? Weel, soon she will have too many wounds to heal from, just like her cursed mother had.”

“There may be others of their ilk on this land.”

“Fine, then we will be able to cull the herd. Find that cursed bolt-hole! Now!” he yelled at the men Berawald could hear moving around his home.

Berawald slipped farther into the passage and then hurried after Evanna and David. As best he could judge from all the sounds and voices he had heard, there were at least twelve men tearing apart his home. There would be others standing guard outside, perhaps even a few searching the area all around for signs of a bolt-hole. Far too many men for him to deal with. The wisest thing he could do now was to get Evanna and David to Cambrun. Then his kinsmen could help him rid their lands of this scum.

 

“The ghostie is with us,” whispered David.

Struggling to move as swiftly and silently as she could, Evanna glanced behind her. The ghostly woman stayed close behind David. The spirit was obviously trying to protect this child as she had not been able to protect her own. Touched by that though she was, Evanna would rather have seen a broad-shouldered Berawald with his sword and all those knives she had seen him tuck into his clothes.

“Aye, I see her. She frets o’er ye, I think,” she said.

“I wish Berawald would hurry.”

“So do I, loving. So do I. If only because the only place he told me to go after getting out of here is Cambrun, his clan’s keep. I have ne’er been there and dinnae ken them at all.”

“They would help Berawald if he was in trouble.”

“Which is exactly why I will do just as he told me to.” That and the fact that David was still in danger, but she would not add to her brother’s fear by saying so. “Now, we had best hush.”

“But we are talking verra softly.”

“E’en a whisper can carry a long way in places like these.”

Evanna kept leading David along, thanking God that they could both see so well in the dark and wondering just how long this passage was. At times it narrowed and at other places she had to bend down to clear the low ceiling. She suspected Berawald nearly had to crawl through such places and that might be why he had not yet reached them. Such things would also slow down any enemy who followed them into the passage. They were also slowly climbing upward, which meant that they would come out somewhere above Berawald’s cave. She could only hope there were none of her enemies waiting up there for them.

“The lady says someone is coming,” whispered David.

Even as she turned, drawing her knife from the sheath she had strapped to her arm, she asked, “Ye can hear her?”

“Aye. I decided to let her talk to me and so she does. She whispers in my head. She says Berawald comes.”

“Thank God. I had begun to fear he had decided to face those men on his own.”

A moment later Berawald appeared and Evanna sighed with relief as all the tight fear inside her eased. It was foolish, for they were still in a lot of danger, but seeing Berawald alive and unharmed gave her the strength to keep the fear of their enemy at bay. She idly wondered if David noticed how Berawald eased his body past the ghost, but the boy just smiled at him.

“There are near to a dozen men searching for our wee bolt-hole,” Berawald said, keeping his voice soft. “With so many looking they may weel find it soon. We must keep moving.”

She nodded and started moving along the passage again. Compared to how silently Berawald moved, Evanna began to think she sounded like a herd of oxen stomping over the rocky floor of the tunnel. He did not urge her to be any quieter, however, so she decided she must not be doing as poorly as she had feared.

“Do ye think there are more outside the cave?” she asked.

“There is a verra good chance there are, but we will worry about that if and when we meet up with them,” Berawald replied.

“The sun hasnae set yet.”

“I ken it, but it is close to the time it does so. If no one is outside when we reach the end of this passage, we will judge how bright the sun is before we step outside. We may have to hide in here for a wee while. After all, we gain naught by going out into it too soon and making ourselves too weak to run or fight.”

“True enough. Is it Duncan?”

“Aye. Ye didnae tell me ye had given him a good wounding. He was complaining about that.”

Evanna grimaced. She could tell by the hard anger shading Berawald’s voice that Duncan had been bellowing out his usual threats. Trying to fulfill them had been his downfall the last time he had grabbed her. It had allowed her to stab him. Unfortunately, after being in the sun for so long that day, she had been too weak to take swift advantage of that and it had given him the chance to cut her with his sword.

“He nearly caught me that time,” she said, “but he was alone so I still had a chance to save David. I took it.”

Berawald could all too easily picture what had happened and it made him ache to kill Duncan. He admired Evanna’s courage and her skill with a blade, but he did not want her to have to depend on either for her safety. Not anymore. Whatever else happened, he would make sure that Duncan did not survive this time.

When they finally reached the end of the passage, Berawald cursed. Even with all he had placed in front of the opening to hide it, the light seeping in told him that the sun had at least an hour before it had set enough for them to go outside. He could tolerate that last half hour of sunset without becoming too weak to fight, but he would become almost useless if he spent a full hour in it. He had been hoping that they would at least discover some thick, dark clouds had swept in to cover the sun.

He moved as close to the opening as he dared and listened carefully. Assured that no one waited outside their bolt-hole yet, he waved Evanna and David back into the deep shadows. For a moment he considered sending Evanna and David ahead, for they could endure the late afternoon light, but he quickly cast that idea aside. The sun might not weaken them as it did him, but it would make them both all too visible to their enemies. He sat down, his back to the wall, and silently signaled for them to do the same.

“How long do we wait?” Evanna asked as she sat down next to do him.

“I can venture out in a half hour or so, when the sun is but peeking o’er the horizon,” Berawald replied, silently cursing the weakness that held him back and put them all in danger.

“Then we will wait.” She took his hand in hers and closed her eyes, slowly caressing David’s soft curls when he settled down beside her and put his head in her lap. “I dinnae understand why they come now or came last night when they are so certain that we avoid the day because we are demons.”

“Either they dinnae ken how the sun affects us, that it actually could be used as a weapon against us, or they are fools.”

“’Tis probably a wee bit of both.”

“Aye, and when Outsiders fight Outsiders, attacking in the dead of night can give the attacker a big advantage. These men may nay be able to change their ways.”

“What will happen if they follow us to Cambrun?”

“My kinsmen will kill them.”

Evanna winced but did not protest. It would be a bloodbath if all of his kinsmen fought as Berawald did, yet she could feel no true remorse for what she might be leading Duncan and his men into. They had killed her parents and wanted to kill her and David. The only way to stop them was to kill them. She just hoped she did not have to watch.

“I think they have found the passage,” David whispered into Berawald’s ear.

Berawald looked at David but did not ask the boy how he knew that. He could see the ghost pointing at the doorway out of the passage, silently ordering him to move. It took only one glance toward the opening to know the sun had not yet fully set, but he had no choice. He had to get David and Evanna away from here as soon as possible. He shook Evanna awake.

“We go now,” he said as he helped her to her feet.

“’Tis too early. The sun has nay set,” she protested as she tried to shake free of the weariness that gripped her so tightly. “Ye cannae go out there.”

“I can and I must. ’Tis close to the time that it would be safest for me and we arenae so verra far from Cambrun.”

“They have found your bolt-hole.”

“Aye, and I willnae risk ye and David by trying to stand and fight or buy myself a wee bit more time ere I have to leave here. We leave now.”

Evanna did not bother to argue with him. If it was just herself at risk, she would urge him to wait until the sun set or their enemies were too close; she would even fight as his side. There was David to think of, however. He could not fight and his life was as much at risk as hers and Berawald’s.

She stood holding David’s hand as Berawald carefully but swiftly removed the brush and rocks from the opening and then looked around for any sign of their enemy. She winced as they all stepped outside and her fear for Berawald’s safety returned in full force. Although she and David could bear standing in the sun when it was so low in the sky, she knew that every minute Berawald stood in it his strength ebbed. There was not even a cloud in the sky to help shelter him. She all too clearly recalled how it felt to have the strength slowly leave your body, and shuddered.

They began to make their way down the small hillside. Evanna helped David over the uneven ground and kept looking toward the trees. At least there Berawald would be able to find some shelter from the sun, and she was determined to get there as quickly as possible. At this time of day any shadow, any piece of shade would be enough to give Berawald some protection and help him hold on to enough strength to fight if he had to.

By the time they reached the shelter of the trees, Evanna was not sure she had the strength to go on, and this had nothing to do with the rapidly waning light of the sun. She was tired, tired to the bone. As she leaned against a big tree, she watched as Berawald stared up at the opening of his bolt-hole. She could barely see the place where it should be but knew that his eyesight was much sharper than hers.

All her differences, the ones she had struggled to hide all her life and had caused the death of both of her parents, were pale shadows of the ones he had. Now, as they tried to outrun an enemy intent on killing them, she could see how those differences could easily be considered a gift. Right now those differences could very well be all that kept them alive.

“There they are,” muttered Berawald, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. “Bastards.”

“Do ye think they will ken which direction we are going in?” she asked as she straightened up and struggled to gather what few scraps of strength and willpower she had left.

“I think it would be wise to assume that they do or can easily guess,” he replied. “Come, I ken ye are tired, but ’tis just a wee bit farther.”

“I am nay so tired that I will do anything to let those men catch me, nay e’en a wee stumble.”

Berawald nearly smiled at her words, for she was swaying on her feet, but he knew she meant what she said. “Good. If we move fast we can be safe inside the walls of Cambrun before they even discover which path we took.”

Evanna truly doubted that but did not disagree. She could see that the hearty words had given David some much needed strength and courage. Still fighting to find enough of her own to keep on moving and fulfill her boast, Evanna started off in the direction Berawald pointed her in. She ignored the icy chills on the back of her neck that told her Duncan Beaton was stalking her. She suspected she would feel that chill even if Duncan were skipping through the vineyards in France and just happened to glance toward Scotland. Until the man was dead, she doubted she would ever feel truly safe.

“There is Cambrun,” Berawald said nearly an hour later.

Evanna stumbled to a halt and stared at the huge, dark castle. It appeared as if it had risen straight out of the solid rock that seemed to cover all the ground around it. She had not seen many castles in her time, but she had the suspicion that Cambrun had to be one of the most threatening ones in all of Scotland, perhaps in several other kingdoms as well. This was to be her haven? Safety and kindness were not the first things that leapt readily to her mind at the sight of that dark, foreboding pile of stone.

“There is an awful lot of open ground to cover ere we reach the gates,” was all she could think to say.

“Aye, but my kinsmen have sharp eyes and can move verra fast.”

“So cry out verra loudly if I think we are about to lose this race?”

“A verra sound plan. Ready?”

“As ready as I can be. I am a wee bit tired.”

Berawald smiled at her and brushed a kiss over her forehead. “As am I. As is poor David. I will carry him from here on,” he said even as he picked David up into his arms.

Evanna almost said something in protest of that plan, but one look at David made her bite back her words. The moment Berawald settled the boy in his grasp David rested his head against his broad shoulder and closed his eyes. He was exhausted and even though Berawald would be hindered some by carrying him, it was better than being slowed down even more by dragging a completely exhausted little boy along by the hand. She felt a little guilty for not noticing how weary the child had become, but her own blind determination to keep on going no matter how tired she was had held all of her attention.

They had just reached the edge of the cleared area around the keep when a cry rose from behind them. Evanna turned to look behind her in horror as men began to rush at her and Berawald through the trees. She recognized the brutish figure of Duncan Beaton and reached for David. To her surprise Berawald shoved the child into her arms and pushed her in the direction of Cambrun.

“Berawald, we must run,” she said.

“Ye run and get the boy to safety,” he said, arming himself with a sword in one hand and a knife in the other.

“But e’en with all your strength and speed ye cannae beat so many men all on your own.”

“I willnae have to. I only need to hold them back until ye and the boy can get to safety. My kinsmen have already seen us and will soon join me.”

“But—”

“Trust me, Evanna. I will nay be alone for long. Now—run.”

She gave him a fast, hard kiss and then began to run. It astonished her that she could find the strength to do so, but suspected it was the feel of her little brother’s trembling body in her arms that gave her that strength. He was terrified and this time he was too exhausted to try and run and hide without her assistance.

The gates to Cambrun were close enough for her to see the heavy carvings on their iron-banded surface when she felt as if she could not run another step. Her whole body shook from the effort it took to keep on moving and she knew that at any moment her legs would simply collapse beneath her. When the gates to the keep opened and a horde of dark men rushed out, her mind told her to run in another direction, but her body simply did not have the strength to obey. She had the chilling feeling that she had just run from one death right into the arms of another.

She tensed and held David more tightly when a tall, impossibly handsome man with golden eyes stopped right in front of her. Evanna had the wild thought that there did not appear to be such a thing as an ugly MacNachton. When he reached for David, she staggered back a step and drew her knife even though she knew she did not have the strength to stop him from doing whatever he wished to.

“Be at ease, lass,” he said in a voice that was as golden and smooth as honey. “I mean ye no harm. I am Jankyn, Berawald’s cousin. He has told ye about me?”

Relief swept through her and she almost fell to her knees. “Aye. Berawald needs help.”

“Oh, he is getting quite a lot of it at the moment.”

She shuffled around just enough so that she could look back to where she had left Berawald. One look was enough. Duncan and his men would never escape alive. All she cared about at the moment was that Berawald still stood, alive and apparently unharmed. She turned back to Jankyn.

“That is good, for I really am too tired to go back and help him,” she said, and knew she was tired when the man’s beautiful smile did nothing at all to her.

“Let me take the lad,” Jankyn said.

“Thank ye. He almost made it here on his own.”

The way the man took David into his arms and gently brushed a lock of hair from the boy’s brow made the last of Evanna’s doubts about him disappear. She was about to thank him for his help when he glanced behind her and began to reach for her. Even as his hand touched her arm a fiery pain ripped across her back. She clutched at his arm, hearing a chilling scream from behind her as she fought to stay on her feet. A little wildly she decided that Jankyn MacNachton had an admirable skill with curses as she heard him spitting out a whole river of them.

“Curse it, lass, I should have seen him coming up behind ye,” he said. “How bad is it?” he asked the man who was standing behind her.

“’Tisnae pretty. He swiped that cursed sword clear across her back. If I hadnae been already trying to pull him back he would have cut her in two.”

The words being said in the deep raspy voice did not really sink into Evanna’s mind. She heard a movement behind her that told her whoever the man was, he was about to move away from her back. If the wound was bad, Berawald would be able to see it from where he was and she could not allow that, not when he was in the midst of a battle.

“Nay, dinnae move,” she said. “Dinnae move away from my back.”

“I was going to lift ye up so we can take ye inside and see to that wound.”

“Dinnae do that, either. Is Berawald still fighting?”

“Aye,” replied Jankyn. “He is facing some hulking brute he is cursing and calling Duncan. He is the one that tried to cut ye in half from the front, is he?”

Jankyn, she decided, was one of those men women probably adored even while they wanted to slap him. “Aye. Ye cannae let Berawald ken that I am wounded, nay while he still fights someone.”

“Berawald could defeat that fat fool with both hands tied behind his back.”

“Nay if he is distracted because he sees that something has happened to me. He had to walk in the sun for longer than he liked today. We had to leave the safety of his bolt-hole ere it had fully set and it took us a while to make it to the shelter of the trees. He may nay be at his full strength. E’en if he was, it wouldnae be a good idea to let him see that I am wounded until all of our enemies are dead or disarmed.”

“Oh, there willnae be any disarming,” Jankyn said in a voice that sent chills down her spine and briefly interrupted the searing pain she was fighting against.

“Then help me to walk into the keep and, whoe’er that is behind me, ye walk so that none can see what has happened to my back.”

“’Tis Raibert,” came the raspy voice, “and we had best get moving then or ye willnae be able to get inside ere one of us has to carry ye.”

Jankyn moved to her side and wrapped his arm around her waist. The strength he revealed as he nearly carried her to the door that way astonished Evanna. All the while they walked along as if she was not leaving a trail of blood along the ground, she heard him murmuring soft, comforting words to David. Her brother had obviously seen that she had been hurt and Jankyn appeared to be doing an excellent job of calming him down.

The moment they stepped inside the keep and Evanna heard the heavy doors shut behind her, she felt the last shred of her strength give out and she began to collapse. Strong arms caught her up against a huge chest. She glanced up and through a fog of pain saw yet another dark, handsome man. A little wildly she thought it might be best for the women of the world if the MacNachton men continued to stay hidden behind the walls of Cambrun.

“I need to be cleaned up ere Berawald comes looking for me,” she told him as he carried her up a flight of stairs.

“Ye worry too much o’er the mon.”

“Nay, ye see he will blame himself,” she whispered, and finally gave in to the pain and weakness that swamped her.

Jankyn stared down at the woman in Raibert’s arms and shook his head. “She kens our Berawald verra weel. He will blame himself. Let us get some women up here and a healer and then go and make sure that fool hasnae gotten himself killed.”

By the time Jankyn and Raibert reached the battle it was over. The bodies of the hunters were already being taken away to be hidden or destroyed, whichever was easier. Jankyn frowned as he saw a rather pale Berawald slumped against a tree.

“Have ye gone and injured yourself?” he asked as he walked up and crouched down in front of his cousin.

“A wee bit,” said Berawald. “It wasnae a good time for me to fight. Nay enough sleep and too much sun. But I won and I will heal.” He winced as Raibert knelt by his side to look at the wound there.

“He still bleeds,” said Raibert and, without another word, bent his neck toward Berawald.

“Are ye certain, Raibert?” Berawald asked, deeply touched by the gesture.

“Aye, ye are going to need your strength.”

It was not until Berawald had taken all he needed from Raibert and was sitting back letting the magic of MacNachton blood do its work that the words his friend had said finally sank into his mind. “What did ye mean when ye said I will need my strength?” He saw the serious expression on the men’s faces and tensed. “Evanna?”

Jankyn caught him and held him still when he jumped up and would have raced to find Evanna. “Where is she? What has happened to her? And where is David?” He suddenly realized that it was strange that neither of them had come looking for him now that the battle was over.

“The boy is clean and fast asleep in a soft bed,” Jankyn said.

“And Evanna?”

“She was wounded.”

Berawald cursed. “How? She should have been far away from the battle.”

“She was. She was just a few feet from our gates when one of those bastards somehow managed to escape the melee, get up behind her, and slash her with a sword.” Jankyn watched all the color fade from Berawald’s face. “Dinnae swoon on me like some frail lady; she isnae dead. Badly wounded, aye, but nay dead. She made us walk her into the keep and be sure ye didnae see that she was hurt, for she feared it would distract ye and mayhap put ye in danger as ye were in the midst of a battle.”

Berawald could still hear the venom that had poured from Duncan Beaton’s mouth as they had fought. Even as his men had died screaming all around him, Duncan’s eyes had continued to gleam with hatred and fury. Berawald knew that, even a little weakened from the sun, he could have disposed of the man in a few quick moves but he had wanted to make him sweat. He had gained a few bloody wounds from the battle, but in the end he had been able to see that insane gleam turn to fear and then he had finished it, doing to the man all he had so feared. He had fed from him. Not enough to heal his wounds, for he had found the taste of the man foul, but enough to have Duncan screaming in terror before he snapped his neck. The price of that grim enjoyment now seemed too high. While he had played his game with Duncan, Evanna had been nearly killed.

“He is doing just what she said he would,” murmured Raibert.

Scowling at his friend, Berawald demanded, “What are ye talking about?”

“She said ye would blame yourself when ye found out she was hurt,” said Jankyn, easing his hold on Berawald but keeping one hand on his arm. “If it is anyone’s fault it is mine. I wasnae watching for an attack so close to the verra doors of the keep and I didnae react fast enough when I saw the mon swing his sword.”

“Nay, I—”

“Ye were in the midst of a battle and had sent her to our doors where she should have been safe. She wasnae. Now, we can all stand here and decide who is most at fault or accept that it was just one of those things ye can ne’er plan for and get ye inside and cleaned up.”

“I have to see Evanna.”

“Ye will as soon as the women are done doing whate’er it is they do. It would also be best if ye were looking less like ye were cut to ribbons when ye do.”

Berawald knew it would be a waste of time to continue to argue with Jankyn, so he followed his cousin into the keep. He bathed and put on clean clothes, even had something to drink, before he made his way to the bedchamber where Jankyn had said they had put Evanna. Afraid of what he would find, he entered the room slowly.

Evanna was lying in a huge bed, pale and asleep. He nodded at Efrica and moved to the side of the bed to brush his hand over Evanna’s forehead. She felt cold, and after listening closely, he realized her heart was not beating with the strength it usually did.

“She is verra weak,” he said.

Efrica moved to his side and handed him a goblet half-filled with wine. “Ye ken what she needs, Berawald. We felt ye wouldnae want another mon to give it to her, nay after we saw the mark ye left on her neck.”

“She isnae going to like this.”

“If ye dinnae do it, someone else will, for I fear she will die without it. And none of us will allow that. She is of MacNachton blood, Berawald. Her and the lad. I have nary a doubt about that.”

“So this should work,” he said even as he bit into his wrist and added his blood to the wine.

“Like a charm.”

“She still isnae going to like this.”

“I am sure ye can make her see the need of it.”

Berawald just snorted with a mixture of amusement and resignation as he lifted Evanna up enough so that she would not choke on the wine as he poured it down her throat.

Evanna slowly opened her eyes. She frowned, for she had expected to awaken to pain as she had the last time she had been wounded, but there was none. Cautiously, she reached around to touch her back and felt only the remnants of a scar. Had she slept through the healing?

“So ye are finally awake?”

The way that deep, smooth voice made her feel told her exactly who was there and she turned her head to look at Berawald. He sat sprawled in a chair pulled up to the side of the bed and had his arms crossed over his chest. The fact that the very sight of him looking handsome and unharmed had her wanting to yank him into the bed with her, made Evanna realize that she did not even feel weak. She just felt as if she had had a very good night’s rest.

“How long have I been asleep this time?” she asked.

“Just one night.” Berawald waited to see if she would guess what had happened to make her recover so swiftly.

“One night? How can that be? There is naught but a rough scar on my back and I was cut verra badly.”

“Ye were cut more than verra badly. Yet again someone tried to cut ye in half. Ye werenae only because Raibert had already started to pull your attacker away.”

“Then how am I so weel healed? I have ne’er healed that quickly and I dinnae e’en feel as weak as I did from my last wound.” She suddenly noticed that there was a look of unease in his eyes. “What was done to me to make me heal as quickly as ye do?”

He sighed and leaned forward to take her hand in his. “I gave ye some of my blood.”

“Ye made me bite ye?”

“Nay, I put some in a tankard, mixed with wine, and poured it down your throat. Efrica, Jankyn’s wife, said that ye would die without it. Ye were cold as death, Evanna, and your heart was fluttering like some wounded bird. Efrica also said that, if I didnae do it, someone else would and she felt ye would prefer it to be me.”

She could not argue with that. “And just a wee drink of your blood in wine was enough to make me feel as if I had ne’er e’en been wounded?”

“It appears so. Can ye sit up on your own?”

Checking to be sure she wore clothes and deciding the white linen night rail she had on was decent enough, Evanna braced herself for any pain and sat up. There was not a twinge aside from a slight sense of stretching skin on her back. Shocked, she slumped back against the pillows. Then she suddenly wondered what else drinking some of his blood might have done to her. “It only healed me, right?”

“Ah, I see what has ye frowning now. Aye, it only healed ye. Ye willnae grow very long, sharp teeth like I have, although”—he idly rubbed his shoulder and grinned when she blushed—“I think your teeth are sharp enough already.” The way she scowled at him almost made him laugh, and he knew some of that was from sheer relief that she had recovered so well. “Do ye want something to drink?”

“Just a wee bit of cider, aye. Thank ye.”

As he fetched her some cider, Evanna considered the miracle of her rapidly returned good health. She knew without even testing it that she could get up as if it were any other day and not suffer for it. It was no wonder the MacNachtons lived for a very long time if their blood was so powerful.

“I cannae believe it,” she said as she accepted a tankard of cider and had a long drink. “’Tis as if there is magic in your blood.”

“Your blood, too,” Berawald said as he sprawled on the bed beside her.

“Weel, we cannae be sure of that yet.”

“Aye, I think we can. Efrica said it was so and she has a way of kenning such things. Also, the way just a wee bit of my blood caused ye to heal almost before our eyes was more proof. An Outsider can be helped in the same way, but it ne’er works as swiftly as it did with ye. Jankyn will still search for the true connection in all of his ledgers and scrolls, but none here doubt that ye and David are Lost Ones who have returned to the fold, so to speak.”

For a moment she was overwhelmed with the knowledge that she and David were not alone, but then hard, cold reality set in. She could not stay here when Berawald lived so close at hand. Nor could she live with him just because he felt some passion for her and a sense of responsibility. Now that Duncan was dead it was probably time to cut Berawald loose from the chains of responsibility she had wrapped him in. She did not need to go far away, just off on her own enough so that she did not have to see him every day and know how much she had lost. Or, if she was very lucky, close enough so that he could come and woo her if he felt he wanted to.

“Then I gather it is time for David and me to let ye have your freedom back. We can find a wee cottage near Cambrun. I think it would be good for David to grow up near ones who understand and accept him, dinnae ye? There may be some work I can do to support us as weel. Perhaps ye will allow David to come and visit ye from time to time as he has grown verra fond of ye and—” She shut up when he clapped a hand over her mouth.

Berawald stared at her. When she had first begun to speak of leaving he had felt as if his heart had simply stopped beating. Then he began to listen to her and realized several things. She was babbling and she was not looking him right in the eye. Hope started his heart beating again as he began to think that she was just doing as she thought she ought to. That was followed by annoyance over what he saw as her idiocy. Could the woman not even guess at his feelings for her?

“Do ye truly wish to go away and live on your own with David?” he asked but did not remove his hand, for he wanted a simple yea or nay answer and she could do that by nodding or shaking her head.

Looking into his eyes, Evanna thought she saw something there, something far more than a sense of responsibility or simple manly desire for a woman in his bed. Bracing herself for the possibility of pain, she decided to take a chance that she was right, that he did feel more for her. Slowly she shook her head. One should have the courage to grab for what one truly wanted.

“Good, then ye and David can stay with me,” he said as he removed his hand from her mouth.

Evanna rolled over and pressed him down onto the bed, rather pleased with her strength. It was as if none of the last few weeks of pain, fear, and exhaustion had ever happened. She stared into his eyes and caught that glint of uncertainty she had come to know so well. Berawald was no more sure of himself than she was of herself. Someone had to take a firm stand to untie the knots they were so busily tying. She was in the mood to be the one. By the time he left this bedchamber he would either be pledged to her or he would be finding her a cottage where she and David could live in peace and she could try her best to mend her crushed heart.

“Berawald, tell me why ye want me and David to come and live with ye.”

“I want ye to be my family,” he said quietly, and began to stroke her back, unable to keep himself from touching her.

“That is verra nice, but there is a lot more to being a family than the sharing of a home.”

“There is this,” he whispered, and kissed her, trying to tell her with his kiss all he could not seem to put into words.

“Also verra nice,” Evanna said, not surprised to hear the huskiness in her voice, for that kiss had curled her toes and left her fighting the urge to stop talking and start tearing his clothes off.

Berawald sighed. “Evanna, I am nay verra skilled with women. I havenae had that many in my life and none that I have wanted to come and live with me.”

“And I am heartily flattered by that, but it still doesnae tell me why ye want me to share your home. Is it only for a wee while until ye decide ye cannae abide the company anymore? Is it because David and I give ye peace from all the ghosts? It certainly cannae be because I can cook, as ye dinnae need the food I make. So why, Berawald? If I am to give ye my life, put myself and my brother in your care, I need to ken why.”

“Because I need ye. Because I cannae bear the thought of nay seeing ye when I wake or holding ye as I sleep. Because I want to teach David so many things and listen to ye laugh and hear your voice and hold ye when ye feel sad. Because I love ye.”

Although her eyes stung with tears, Evanna forced them back, for she knew Berawald would not understand that she could cry simply because she was full to bursting with sheer joy. “That wasnae so verra hard to say, was it? I bet it didnae hurt a bit.”

“Nay, but it might start to if I dinnae hear something similar from your lips.”

“Fool.” She kissed him. “I think I have loved ye from the moment I woke up and saw ye. That was why I stayed nay matter what ye did or what ye told me. I am three and twenty and have ne’er had a mon. Did ye think a woman like that would bed down with a mon just because he is beautiful? Of course I love ye.”

She was not surprised to feel him tremble faintly as he held her tightly in his arms. She was trembling as well. Such strong emotion, the baring of one’s heart, should have a profound effect on a person.

“How healed are ye?” he asked in a thick voice.

“I feel as if none of the last few weeks have ever happened. I am rested and strong and there isnae a twinge of pain in my entire body.”

“Good.”

Evanna was not sure who started taking whose clothes off first, but they were soon strewn all over the room. The loving was fierce and fast and Evanna reveled in it. When Berawald ceased his loving on her body and thrust inside her, she nearly screamed out his name. She did it again when her release swarmed over her and she felt that fleeting pain of his bite that only sent her higher. The bellow in her ear told her that he was flying right alongside her.

Berawald stayed deep inside her until he softened so much he slipped out. Still holding her in his arms, he rolled onto his back. He felt the unmanly urge to weep with the sheer joy he felt. Never would he have believed it if anyone had told him that he would find a mate like Evanna. She was passionate, loving, and beautiful. He suddenly grinned. And she could bite almost as well as he did.

“I am sorry for this,” he murmured as he ran his fingers over the long scar on her back.

She lifted her head from his chest enough to frown at him. “Ye have nothing to be sorry for. Ye werenae the only MacNachton there and yet the fool still managed to get to me. Everything we did once we saw Duncan and his men coming was right. Things just go wrong sometimes.”

“That is what Jankyn said.”

“Weel, he is right. Ye must cease to blame yourself for all that goes wrong, Berawald. Sometimes ye can plan and plot each move until your head aches and something still just goes wrong. Everything that has happened to us since we met has brought us here, together, ready to make a future. Surely, it couldnae have been all wrong.”

“The fact that such danger brought ye into my arms is something I shall never regret. There is one thing I have to tell ye now,” he said, and lightly stroked the mark on her neck.

“Another difference?”

“Mayhap. This bite I gave ye the first time we made love?”

Evanna touched his fingers where they lay across the faint mark. “’Tis odd that it hasnae healed as the others ye gave me did, but I think that may be because I was still a wee bit weak after being wounded and chased halfway across the country.”

“Nay, that isnae why the mark stays. ’Tis what we call the mating mark.” He nodded when her eyes widened. “I couldnae believe I bit ye the first time. We all have better control than that and I had just fed enough to last me for a verra long time. But there is one time when that control can slip and ’tis when we find our mate. Everything within us pushes us to mark our mates.”

“So ye kenned from the first that I was your mate?”

“Obviously.”

“Why didnae ye tell me?”

“I didnae want ye to come to me because ye felt gratitude or even some obligation or mayhap even just the need for somewhere to live. I wanted ye to come to me because your heart demanded it.”

“Then we are where we are supposed to be, my brave dark hero.” She grinned when he blushed. “So easily undone by flattery.”

“I am nay a hero, Evanna. I stepped wrong so many times and both ye and David nearly lost your lives whilst I was supposed to be keeping ye safe.”

Evanna shook her head and then kissed him. “The word to note in that humble speech is nearly. We are both alive and I willnae hear ye demean your part in accomplishing that again. So, do ye mean to marry me, then?”

“Aye, as soon as we can drag a priest here.”

“Nay too soon as I mean to have a bonnie dress ere I stand before a priest.”

“Ye would look verra pretty in sackcloth.”

She felt herself blush and lightly swatted his arm. “Ye are getting verra good with pretty words, sir.”

“Good. Ye deserve them. I am about to make ye share my life in the shadows, more shadows than ye and David have ever lived in.”

“I would share anything with ye, Berawald, and be happy. I can still see the sun if I have a mind to. Although I will grieve a wee bit that ye arenae by my side when I do.”

“Dinnae grieve, my Evanna. I dinnae need the sun. I hold all the sunshine I need right here in my arms.”

Evanna felt tears clog her throat and knew she had two choices. She could weep like a bairn over those beautiful words or she could thank him for the sentiment by making love to him until his eyes crossed. Knowing full well what her dark hero would prefer, she kissed him.