"He knows they're there. He's hunting them."

Michael snorted. "Do not worry for Devlin and Justine," he said but there was something in his eyes that hadn't been there a minute ago. Not worry exactly but concern, restlessness. He wanted to be out there hunting and I didn't blame him. I watched him pace the room.

"Talk to me." I said. "Keep my mind off of him. It might help."

He stopped pacing and ran a hand through his dark blond hair. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Legend has it that you died at Culloden. Is that true?"

He sat at the foot of the bed. "No, I didn't make it that far. 'Twas Falkirk."

"They say you're an excellent swordsman. Were you always a soldier?"

He sat there and looked at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. At first I wasn't sure he was going to answer me. Then he said softly, "No. I was a gardener, actually."

My eyes flew to his face. I hadn't expected that. The Devil's Archangel had been a gardener? Surely not. "I'd wanted to be an apprentice to the blacksmith but he wouldn't take me because I wasn't big enough or strong enough. My father was dead and there wasn't enough food to feed my mother and sisters and my little brother. The head gardener at the big estate down past the village had known my father. He took pity on me and gave me a job. It didn't pay much but it kept us from starving, mostly."

"How old were you?" I asked.

"Eight," he said. "The laird's son was about my age. He used to practice fencing in the gardens. He caught me watching him one day and asked if I'd like to try it. Before long we were practicing every day. I don't think he'd have given me the time of day if he'd had anyone else to practice with, but I didn't mind. The gardeners were more than happy to give us a blind eye because if the wee devil was fencing with me then he wasn't attacking the roses. Eventually his instructor even allowed me to take part in their lessons.

"I was good at it and I learned everything I could. When I was sixteen I went to Edinburgh. I trained with all the best swordsmen, known masters, street toughs, anyone who would teach me. At night I would work at the pubs or the docks, anyplace I could earn some money to send home."

"And your goal was?"

"My goal was to learn enough, to be good enough, that rich aristocrats would pay me my weight in gold to teach their sons."

"Did it work?"

"I'll never know. The war came. I signed on to fight for the Jacobites. I figured with my skill I could make a name for myself," he laughed bitterly.

"And Falkirk?"

"The battle started late in the afternoon. It was raining and so dark and gray, you know how it gets in Scotland in January?"

I nodded.

"We won the battle, didn't last more than half an hour I expect, but there was such a ma.s.s of confusion, some saying we won, some saying we lost. By dark there were still stragglers. I was one of them. In my youth and arrogance I thought to take a few prisoners back with me. I had it in mind to be a war hero, if you can believe that," he shook his head ruefully and sat quietly for a minute.

I waited patiently, afraid if I said anything he wouldn't continue.

"There were three of them, English, alone, turned around in the dark just like me. I engaged them. The rush of battle, the feel of the sword in my hand, it was better than whiskey. I would have taken all three of them, it was nearly over, and then a fourth redcoat came out of nowhere.

"I never heard him, never saw him. I had disabled two of the Englishmen in front of me and was making quick work of the third when all of a sudden," he looked down like he was seeing it, "there was a sharp pain, not really anything like I would have expected, shock I guess, and I looked down and there was this sword sticking out of my stomach. b.l.o.o.d.y coward crept up behind me and stabbed me in the back. It still amazes me that no matter how many battles you fight, no matter how many men you see die and you know that you could be next, it still comes as a surprise when it's you. I almost wish I could have seen the look on my face when it happened."

"What happened then?" I asked. Sebastian was being strangely quiet and I wanted to hear the end before he started up again.

"I lay there on the ground, curled on my side with my hands over the wound like I could somehow stop the blood from flowing out onto the ground. The English soldier was laughing and helping his mates to their feet. Then I heard this growl and this giant of a man came out of the darkness, stronger than anything I'd ever even heard of. In a matter of seconds he ma.s.sacred the four Englishmen and then he knelt by me. I'd heard him speak; I knew he was no Scot. I thought he was going to kill me," he laughed. "I guess you could say he did. He said something to me about fighting well but I was too weak and too near unconsciousness to understand. I remember him lifting me in his arms like I weighed nothing and when I next woke I was healed and I was strong and yet I was still very, very dead."

Dulcinea, avoiding your a.s.sa.s.sins is getting tiresome. Come out, my dear, because if I have to make you, you will be a very sorry little girl.

"You can't make me and you know it!" I shouted.

Michael c.o.c.ked a brow at me.

"Not you," I said, my breath coming quickly from the pain in my head. "Sebastian keeps interrupting."

"Devlin will find him soon," he said, and laid a hand on my knee. "Is there anything I can do to help? To take your mind off of it?"

I looked at that hand, only a sc.r.a.p of silk between it and my bare flesh. "Yes," I breathed. "Hit me or kiss me."

He looked up sharply. "Kiss you?" he asked.

And yet he didn't move. He just sat there staring at me, me staring at him, tied to the bed, wishing I could take back my words.

And then he shifted. Bringing his other leg up onto the bed he crawled toward me on hands and knees. Muscles that I'd never imagined existed moved under his clothing. He hung there, hovering over me, a lock of hair falling across his face. I reached up a hand to brush it back but the cord wasn't long enough. He tucked it behind his ear and then ran his fingers down my face to cup my chin.

"My G.o.d," he breathed, "you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Are you sure?"

I stared at that sensual mouth, his lower lip slightly fuller, slightly parted. Waiting for my answer. He wouldn't take advantage of the fact that I was tied to the bed, helpless. No, he was going to make me ask for it.

"Please," I whispered. I'd never wanted anything more.

His mouth swooped down and my eyes drifted closed, all thought of anything but Michael fled from my mind. His lips were like the silk cords that bound my wrists, smooth and strong. His tongue ran across my lower lip. I moaned and he moved inside.

I'd been kissed before but nothing could have prepared me for this. It was as if we were both dying of thirst, drinking of each other and never getting enough.

One hand ran down the side of my breast, past my waist and over the swell of my hip. He grabbed the fabric of my skirt and pulled it up past my knees. I was shaking but I didn't stop him, couldn't have even if I'd wanted to. He settled between my thighs, his hand moving up to cup the back of my head. Something innately female inside of me understood what he wanted. I raised my legs and wrapped them around his waist. He groaned and pressed into me. I could feel him against me, nothing between us but the fabric of his breeches. I pulled at the cords binding my wrists. Lord and Lady, I wanted my hands free. I wanted to feel every inch of him. I was quivering when he finally pulled free of my mouth and ran his tongue down the side of my neck. I stiffened when I felt the sharp brush of teeth against my pulse.

I'd forgotten. For a few brief, shining moments I'd forgotten what he was. He laid his head on my chest, breathing heavily, shaking.

"Don't worry," he said, his voice so hoa.r.s.e it was almost unrecognizable. "I won't do it. G.o.d help me, I want to, but I won't."

He sounded like he was in so much pain that for an instant I nearly offered myself to him, let him taste me. Would I have done it? I don't know. At that moment pain ripped through my chest. I arched my back and screamed. Michael jerked back, staring down at me in confusion. I looked down myself, half expecting to see my chest ripped open the pain was so real. I screamed and twisted, trying to break free, to claw at whatever was ripping at my chest.The door to the bedroom flung open. "What the devil do you think you're doing?" Fiona shrieked.

"Come here," Michael yelled. "Something's wrong."

Fiona's worried face bobbed into view. They both gasped and Michael, still kneeling between my legs, moved back, his hands brushing the skirt of my dress down as he moved.

"What is that?" his voice hoa.r.s.e with fear now. "What's happening?"

What indeed? They were both staring at me in such horror that I pushed down the pain and turned my face toward my hand, trying to feel what they were staring at. My hair was in the way.

Ah. I knew then.

"The glamour," Fiona said in awe.

"What do you mean, la.s.s? What's happening?"

Fiona shook herself. "It's the glamour, the first spell she ever learned. Aunt Lora, er, her mother, said her hair color was unnatural, said people would talk, so she taught her to hold the glamour and hide the color. It's as natural as breathing to her. When we were young I once saw her fall from a tree and break her arm and she never dropped her glamour. I can't imagine the pain she's in to not be able to hold the spell. I haven't seen her true hair color since we were small children." She looked into my eyes, saw my ragged breathing. "I'd better get the laudanum."

She ran from the room. Michael reached out and took a lock of my hair in his hand, staring at it in wonder. Gone was the natural, coppery color I'd seen every day of my life. In its place was my true color, a deep scarlet red like fine rubies. Michael c.o.c.ked his head as if listening and then moved off of me, pulling the bedspread up to my chin. I thrashed and moaned. He pinned my shoulders down with his palms.

"Easy darling, we'll get you something to take the pain away and make you sleep. Devlin's found your vampire and that's probably what you feel."

"Did you know?" I choked out.

"That you would feel Montford's pain? No, la.s.s, I swear it. I'd have given you the laudanum first thing if I'd even suspected. I'd never intentionally cause you pain. If you believe nothing else of me, believe that."

There was a clamor of noise in the antechamber and Mrs. Mackenzie and Fiona rushed in, followed closely by Archie and Mr.

Pendergra.s.s. They all stopped and stared. Mrs. Mackenzie recovered first, pouring out a spoonful of the drug and putting it to my lips.

"Sleep now, baby," she said, "where he can't hurt you."

My head was getting fuzzy. I saw Michael spin around as if in slow motion.

"They come," he said. He inhaled sharply. "Something's wrong."

He moved swiftly to the door and everyone cleared a path. A moment later Devlin came striding in carrying Justine. Her white blouse was soaked with blood but she was conscious, clinging to his neck. Like some avenging demon he stalked to the side of the bed and drew the big sword from its sheath along his spine. In one fluid movement he sliced through the drapery cords that bound me. A collective sigh of relief washed over the room. Maybe it was the influence of the drug but I hadn't thought for a second that he meant to harm me. I pulled my arms under the covers, rubbing my wrists and used every last ounce of strength to scoot to one side of the bed so he could lay Justine down.

She turned her head to look at me and smiled weakly. Devlin grabbed her face in both his huge hands and with his nose inches from hers shouted, "You willful little b.i.t.c.h! When I tell you to run, you run! Do you understand?" "We... do not... run," she said, defiantly.

"We b.l.o.o.d.y well do when I tell you to. You have no idea what you were fighting. It's sheer luck and stupidity that you're not dust and bone right now," he yelled, shaking her as he did so.

"Devlin," I whispered, "is this really productive right now?"

His head snapped around and the pure menace in his glare would have made me jerk back if I'd thought I could move. The room was starting to spin. Devlin turned back to Justine with a growl, kissed her hard on the mouth and pushed away from her in a swift, angry movement.

"She needs blood," he said, glancing at the clock on the mantle and then at Michael. "We have just enough time to make it to the tavern in the village and back again."

"You won't find anyone there," Mrs. Mackenzie said. "Sebastian has been leaving bodies scattered about the countryside and the magistrate's ordered a curfew for the entire village."

"Dammit!" Devlin roared.

"She can drink from me," I said weakly. "The laudanum already in my blood might even help her rest."

"No," Michael said.

"It's fine, Michael. She risked her life for me. It's the least I can do. Please."

"You're too weak," he said.

"I am not weak," I said fiercely. "I'm drugged, there's a difference."

"How much blood does she need?" Archie asked, stepping forward, his gaze on the blonde beauty lying next to me.

"You'll feel lightheaded when it's over but that's the worst of it," Michael said. "She can't take enough in one feeding to kill you."

Archie nodded. "I owe her for avenging my cousin. I'll do it."

"You... do not owe me... anything, mon ami," Justine said.

"It would be an honor," Archie replied, loosening his cravat.

Devlin looked at him, jealousy etched across his handsome features for a brief moment, and then he nodded.

I closed my eyes. It was too much trouble to keep them open anymore. So, what did you do when the cavalry retreated, broken and b.l.o.o.d.y?

d.a.m.ned if I knew.

Chapter Twelve

I woke to Fiona slapping me lightly, and then a bit harder, on the cheek. How long had I slept? Not long, not nearly long enough. I could just barely open my eyes and focus on her face.

"Wake up," she said, her voice sounding as if she was speaking to me from down a long, dark tunnel. "We don't have much time before the others return. I've brought a nightgown and I'll hide this dress if you'll just help me get it off."

For a minute I couldn't remember where I was or why. Then I turned my head and saw Justine lying on the bed next to me, her pale face lifeless. Was she dead? They'd removed the b.l.o.o.d.y shirt and, I a.s.sumed, her breeches and slipped her into one of my nightgowns.

"She's fine," Fiona said, impatiently. "Can you sit up?"

I nodded; it was too much trouble to try and speak.

"Do you need help?" came a deep, masculine voice across the room, rough and gravelly. Devlin.

"What I need," Fiona said, "is for you to keep your back turned as you promised."

He grunted.

Fiona unb.u.t.toned the dress with ease. It had taken me half an hour of twisting and turning to get those b.u.t.tons latched without help.

I was still almost certain I'd missed several of them but my long hair hid those that were hardest to reach. Fiona slid my legs over the side of the bed. For some reason I couldn't get them to work properly.

"Ok, here we go." With that she grabbed my arms and pulled me to my feet. My knees buckled and I fell into her. I tried to reach out to the nightstand to steady us but only succeeded in clipping Fiona in the jaw with my elbow. She grunted and we tumbled into the nightstand with a heavy thud.

"Oh b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, woman," Devlin growled and moved across the room. "All this fuss over a silly dress. She's a grown woman, isn't she? She should be able to wear what she wishes."

Fiona snorted and shoved at me. I was trying to help, truly, but my body felt like lead.

"You tell that to my mother," she grunted.