Chapter Seven
Aedan must die? Blackness threatened, but Rowan clung to consciousness—barely.
Grief ravaged the faces of the vampires below, as whispers rumbled amongst the crowd. But as the moments passed, Rowan could see their struggle with doubt fade. One by one, in unspoken agreement, they accepted Breac’s lie that Aedan could no longer continue as their laird.
Sir Wayrn stepped forward, the weight of this grave matter lining his face. “Breac, will you lead us?”
Breac drew himself up to his full height, scanned the crowd, his face hewn in a somber cast. “Aye, ’tis my honor, one I take with a heavy heart.”
Rowan fought to break free, glaring at Aedan’s cousin when her every attempt failed. Damn him, somehow she had to stop him.
As the crowd’s vile cures tainted the air, Breac shoved her before him. “The witch will pay for her treachery. Before the oncoming dawn, she will die!”
“There is no need to wait,” a vampire with a scar across his jaw said, his fangs lengthening. “Toss her down. We will see to her death.”
Cheers rose from the throng, and hunger burned in their eyes.
“She has made us suffer by cursing our laird and friend, and suffering will be her fate,” Breac stated. “Have a fire built within the center of the bailey.”
No! Rowan struggled against Breac’s hold; one of his fingernails dug deep into the pulse at her neck. She stilled.
“Is it your wish to die now?” Breac hissed. “I assure you, if I slashed your neck and cast you into the crowd, my people would gladly feed upon you. I believe ’tis their wish.”
Heart pounding, Rowan shook her head.
Wood clunked.
She glanced across the bailey. Vampires piled branches at the center. Small limbs were quickly covered with sturdy logs, which would burn for hours.
“You see your penance ahead, a death that will be painfully slow,” Breac said with a laugh, the boom of his voice echoing out to the crowd. “Let me keep you waiting no longer.” He shoved her down the steps.
The vampires parted before them, cursing her, yelling inventive tortures to add before her death.
The stacked wood grew as they closed in on her. Tremors rippled over her skin at the thought of flames scorching her.
Strong arms eagerly claimed her from Breac’s hold. “Bewitching our laird,” Sir Wayrn charged. “A fitting death for you.” He slid ropes around her wrists, her legs, jerked tight.
Hemp bit into her flesh. Focus. Aedan!
Silence.
No, their blood connected them. He had to hear her! Aedan, help, they are going to burn me!
Where are you? Rage echoed within his voice as it burst into the mayhem swirling in her mind.
Caorann Castle!
Mist exploded a pace away. Aedan stood within the fade of white, his face carved in furious outrage. Striding forward, he tore off Rowan’s gag.
Air, fresh, cool, slid down her throat.
Breac whirled, cursed. “Guards, light the fire!” He dove onto Aedan.
Pain tore through Aedan’s body as his cousin drove him against the ground.
Straddled atop him, Breac reached toward his chest.
Outraged his cousin would dare attempt to tear out his heart, Aedan caught Breac’s wrist. Bones cracked, shattering beneath his raw force. “Bedamned your betrayal!”
“Aedan!” Rowan screamed.
Aedan glanced over.
Vampires had cast torches at the base of the wood stacked below Rowan. It caught, roared to life. The stench of smoke filled the air.
By the sword’s blade! He catapulted his cousin back, shoved to his feet, and lunged toward her.
In midair, Breac tackled him. With a powerful force, his cousin hurled him against the keep.
Shouts of warning echoed through the bailey as their clan encircled them, creating an arena for them to spar.
With a curse he glanced toward Rowan.
Her face paled against the growing flames, her eyes betraying the belief she would die.
Nay! Aedan shoved Breac away, bolted toward the flames, the crowd parting before him. Heat singed the air; smoke billowed around him, the stench of it thick. Aedan severed the ties holding Rowan and leapt with her well away from the dangerous spew of flames.
“You are safe,” he whispered, cradling her against his chest.
“Aedan,” she whispered, her body trembling, “I-I thought I was going to die.”
Unease rippled through the throng as the vampires watched them.
Aware that until he’d dealt with his cousin, she was far from safe, Aedan set her down. “Stay here. I must—”
Feet plowed into his chest. Aedan stumbled back.
Breac’s lengthened nails dug into Aedan’s flesh as they rolled upon the earth. His blood and Breac’s melded with dirt.
“You will nae save her!” his cousin yelled.
Using Breac’s momentum, Aedan rolled him onto his back and pinned his arms. Chest heaving, he glared at him. “She has done naught!”
“Aye, she has tainted you,” he spat, “left you crazed and unfit to be our laird.”
Several vampires nearby watched Aedan with suspicion, and sadness poured through Aedan. In his lust to become laird, his cousin had become twisted, lost in his greed for power. Worse, Breac had poisoned the minds of their people, with lies he must dispel.
Regardless of their bond of blood, as long as Breac remained at Caorann Castle, he would seek to undermine Aedan’s position if not attempt to kill both him and Rowan. Though they had spent their youth together, lads who had played tricks on others as they’d grown, then men who’d turned to each other for advice, it changed naught. However much he loved his cousin, Breac must leave.
“You are forbidden ever to return to the Highland Coven,” Aedan commanded. “And fortunate that I have not killed you for your attempt on Rowan’s life, or for the lies you have spoken.”
Breac hesitated, then tears blurred his eyes. “God’s teeth, Aedan. What have I done?” He looked away. “You are my blood, yet . . . Shamed I am. More than you will ever know.” Several tears fell. “Please, I beg you, give me one more chance.”
Aedan remained silent. Before this day he would have. Nae any longer.
Breac’s body grew limp as if he’d given up, as if he understood the travesty he’d committed. However much Aedan detested Breac’s banishment, ’twas his cousin’s actions that had made it imperative. He released his cousin, shoved to his feet. “Be gone.”
Without comment, Breac dragged himself to his feet. After one last look of regret, he stumbled toward the portcullis.
Exhausted, tired of the treachery from his own kin, Aedan turned to Rowan. At her tired smile, his heart warmed. She would—
Air burst from his lungs. Breac’s elongated nails sliced his back. Furious, Aedan turned.
The blur of his cousin flashed past.
Rowan screamed.
Aedan whirled.
Breac stood before the roar of flames, his body marred by cuts and bruises, a malignant smile deforming his face. At his feet, Rowan’s body lay twisted, her neck slashed, her blood pumping upon the earth.
Aedan stared in disbelief at the woman he loved, the woman who moved him like no other, the woman his cousin was trying to kill. Anger so hot, so feral it held its own life, filled him. He lifted his eyes to Breac.
“For this you will die!” With a roar, Aedan attacked his cousin, each slash of his flesh satisfying, the burn of betrayal guiding his every swing.
“You are unfit to lead us,” Breac seethed as his blow sent Aedan stumbling back.
“Nay,” Aedan snarled as he sprang forward, damning each second lost before he could reach Rowan. “That honor belongs to you!” He slashed his cousin’s chest, reached in, tore.
Shock fragmented Breac’s face as he looked down. Blood, dark and ugly, spilled from the ragged flesh. Inside, an empty cavity gaped where once had lain his heart.
As if in slow motion, Breac lifted his head, stared at the pumping red mass upon Aedan’s palm. “What have you done?”
“Killed a traitor.”
A feral smile wavered upon his cousin’s face. “I may die, but so will the lass and your child.”
With a curse, Aedan threw his cousin’s heart into the air. He focused. A swirl of mist enveloped the heart, and then it exploded in flames. The stench of blood permeated the air. Sickened, damning what must be done, he turned to the body of his cousin. Breac’s eyes were now empty, staring at nothing.
Aedan focused.
Mist swirled over Breac’s body, then flames ignited, the heat intense, the smoke thickening to a dense haze. The flutter of a cool breeze tumbled past, and the churn of white cleared. Where once his cousin had lain, only a blackened outline remained, all that was left of a man he had loved since they were young lads.
Rowan! Aedan ran to her, knelt at her side. Her wheat blond lashes flickered open.
A frown shimmered upon her face. “Ae-Aedan?”
Her pain-filled whisper cut deep. On a rough swallow, he took in the gash across her neck, her blood congealing upon the earth, her eyes growing pale as she struggled to breathe. His body shook as he drew her into his arms.
She was dying.
Nay, he could not lose her now! He stared at the sky bright with the pulse of stars, at the heavens so filled with life. Whoever he needed to beg to spare her life, he would.
He stroked his thumb across her brow. “I am here.”
“I-I love you.” Her lids wobbled as she struggled to keep them open. “If I do not—”
“Do nae speak. You must save your strength.”
Rowan closed her eyes, fought the wash of agony, the lure of blackness that offered relief. It would be easy to give in, but to do so would be to embrace death.
Death?
Nay, immortality.
Hope spiraled. “Aedan, co—convert me into a vampire. It is the only way to save me, to save our child.”
Strain etched his face as he took her hand, pressed a kiss upon its palm, his own shaking. “If I try,” he whispered, his voice raw with self-condemnation, “you may die.”
“What?”
“There might be another way,” he said. “ ’Tis possible you can heal yourself.”
Heal herself? Another wash of pain rolled through her. Rowan rode the tide until it ebbed. “You ar-are making little sense.”
“At the cave,” Aedan explained, his words rushed, “when we made love, I discovered you are part fey.”
“Part fey?”
“Aye. Your ancestors are from the Otherworld. Your ability to heal is more than a gift, but a consequence of your heritage. Fairy blood holds the ability to heal.”
Her eyes widened. “I am a fairy?
“Half.”
“Ho-How . . .” She fought the meld of confusion and pain, but clung to his impossible claim. “How can one be half fairy?”
“Rowan, at this moment ’tis unimportant.” He brought her hand to his cheek, pressed his own atop. “You must look within yourself, draw from your inherent strength, from your ability to heal and repair your wounds.”
“I . . .” Her world blurred. She gasped, struggled to breathe.
“Rowan!”
Aedan’s voice echoed from a distance. She clung to his outrageous claim. Her lifetime of difficulties trying to fit in with her clansmen, her instinctive knowledge of where a person was wounded and the herb to heal all made sense now. ’Twas simple: How could she fit in when she was not of this world?
“Rowan!”
From far away, a desperate voice echoed. Hands rubbed over her skin, and then the coolness of a cloth swept across her neck.
Use the powers of the fey to heal yourself!
Murky blackness weighted her chest as she fought to breath. Could she heal herself? Rowan focused on points within her body where the pain built, discerned what must be done.
Heat grew within her, a slow spiral that sent waves of tingling along her skin. The sensation of tissue weaving together filled her.
“Aedan?” she whispered.
At her feeble words, Aedan’s heart stumbled. “Rowan?” Though she’d embraced her fey powers, had begun the healing process within, he sensed her body’s struggles. She was bleeding out faster than she could repair the damage.
She could not die!
As if to mock his wishes, her skin grew deathly pale, and the heartbeat of their child became pathetically weak.
Regardless of her fey blood, she was not strong enough to repair her damaged body. In but moments, Rowan’s and his child’s lives would end.
The crowd edged closer, their whispers rising to an uneasy murmur.
Furious, Aedan glanced up, surveyed their belligerent eyes and scowling faces. His people held doubts of his lucidity, were unsure because of the lies spewed by his cousin suggesting that he was caught beneath Rowan’s spell.
Why had he not suspected Breac from the start? He exhaled. Because he’d thought of him as a brother, had never believed his cousin capable of such treachery. And like those around him, he’d been wrong.
Aedan quelled his anger. His people had questions; How could they not? The laws under which they lived and their belief in their laird’s sanity had been cast into doubt.
He clasped Rowan’s hand within his own, scanned his people. “I am nae bewitched.” He kept each word steady. His people needed a confident voice, to hear the laird they knew, one who had served them with all his heart. “Breac lied to you in his attempt to become laird of the Highland Coven. Several days past, he poisoned me with foxglove, then left me in a stone circle to die.”
Whispers filtered through the crowd, and they glanced toward his cousin’s charred remains.
At Rowan’s rough breath, Aedan glanced down. “There is no time to explain. You must trust me in my decisions.”
“The woman is nae a witch?” asked an elder vampire close by.
“Nay,” he replied. “She saved my life. Now, I must save hers.”
“But . . .” Sir Wayrn stepped forward, stroked his long, white beard. “You told the lass she was half fey.”
Aedan nodded. “She is.”
The elder paused. “ ’Tis forbidden to try to convert a fairy into a vampire.”
And no one knew whether trying would kill her, Aedan silently added. “Her human side will change. As for the rest, I am unsure.” He held Sir Wayrn’s gaze. “If the ancient law proves true, and my trying to change Rowan brings Ysenda, the Queen of the Otherworld, ’tis a risk I will take.”
“You would give your life for a human woman?” Sir Wayrn asked.
Aedan nodded. “Aye.”
Another gasp shuddered through his people.
When faced with losing the woman he loved, he did not give a damn about his own life. Aedan focused on Rowan. She was his world; without her his days meant naught. “Rowan will live and bear my son.”
The pulse at the base of Rowan’s neck grew erratic.
Stilled.
On a curse, Aedan sank his fangs deep within her neck. Her rich blood sang through his body, a force unlike any he’d ever known. Within the cave she’d dripped her life-giving essence upon his tongue. He’d experienced the power, the healing properties of her blood, but ’twas only a pittance compared to his drinking straight from her.
With each swallow, his body strengthened.
With each swallow, she and his child died.
Her heart, his son’s, ceased.
His mind a maze of terror and determination, he slashed his fingernail across his chest, pressed her mouth against him and willed her to drink.
She lay unmoving.
Drink!
Her body shuddered.
He would not lose her! Rowan, drink from me now!
She gasped, the slightest sound, but to him it was a miracle. Her lips, unsure in their innocence, drew unsteadily as they sought his lifesaving blood. Her throat worked. Swallowed. Seconds later, she took another drink.
Within the fragile quiet, her heart stumbled, then began to beat. A second later, their son’s shuddered to life.
Hands shaking, Aedan cupped her head, guided her as she fed, continued to mentally encourage her. Soon her body would begin its change. Because his son already held vampire blood, odds were their child would live through the conversion.
Naught but time would tell if Rowan’s body would endure the transition. Would her fey side reject the advance of the vampire blood?
If so, she would die.
Shaking, Aedan smoothed his hand through her rumpled hair. Rowan’s feeble efforts shifted into a steady draw, but the paleness of her face exposed her struggle.
Confident she’d taken enough for the conversion, he lifted her mouth away, laid her gently back, then sealed the cut. Gently, he lifted her in his arms. “Rowan, I am—”
The air exploded around them with an angry boil. A pulse of energy, raw with fury, threw him. Hewn stones quaked as he slammed against the castle wall.
With a roar, he sprang to the ground in search of his attacker.
Another blast tossed him back. Cursing, he stood. Stilled.
Paces away, from within the vortex of power, stepped a woman, her alabaster skin flawless, her stature regal. The air around her churned with luminescent shimmers like diamonds.
Ysenda, the fairy queen.
The ancient law was true!
Outraged violet eyes narrowed, focused on Aedan. Her every movement carved with fury, the Queen of the Otherworld strode forward. A pace away, she halted. “Aedan MacGregor, Laird of the Highland Vampire Coven, you dare try to convert one the fey!”
Frustration mixed with anger as Aedan held the queen’s gaze. He gave a slight nod. “Ysenda, Fairy Queen of the Otherworld. ’Twas never my intent to bring harm to one within your care, nor to challenge ancient laws.”
Rowan’s body shuddered within Aedan’s arms, and her breathing grew weak. By the sword’s blade, her conversion had begun!
“Rowan was dying,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “ ’Twas the only way to save her.”
“Save her?” Disbelief took over Ysenda’s expression as she examined Rowan. Her gaze riveted on him. “Well is it known such an act is forbidden by ancient law, that such an attempt could lead to the fairy’s death. And”—she raised her arms, her eyes as stormy as the swirl of night—“it is an act that will now lead to yours!”