“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. Leastwise 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.