just makes him some strange creature, doesnae it. Mayhap more animal than mon, for many a predator drinks the blood of its kill. It still doesnae prove he is a demon.”
“Ye dinnae think he stole Peter’s soul?”
“Nay. Peter shows signs of recovering and I see little difference in him from what he was ere ye cut his throat and handed him to the prisoner. And, dinnae forget that ye had to nearly force the mon to do what ye wanted him to, shoving a bleeding Peter right under his nose several times e’en though MacNachton was crazed and near blind with pain from the torture ye had inflicted upon him. Do ye truly think a demon would show such restraint? Nay, a demon would have drunk Peter dry and laughed as the poor fool died.”
“If MacNachton isnae a demon then what is he?”
“I am nay sure. As I said, just a different breed of mon, mayhap. Who kens. But, nay, I dinnae think he is some spawn of the devil. We couldnae hold him if he was, nay e’en with silver and iron. There havenae been any signs of a witch’s or demon’s tricks about Rosscurrach, either. No curdled milk, no sickening animals, naught but the usual. The mon does have strengths and skills we dinnae have, but ’tis said the whole clan has such things. I cannae believe the devil would make a whole clan his minions and then allow them to stay hidden away within their own lands. No one creates such an army without intending to put them into battle.”
“He has fangs, Angus.”
“But nay any horns, aye? And, though he is a strong, weel-set lad, he doesnae really have much more than ye and I have. I have often heard it said that the devil’s minions have massive rods and bollocks as big as apples.”
Brona grimaced in disgust as both men laughed. She was beginning to think she was wasting her time. They were not telling her any more than what she already knew and it was hardly worth standing so close to the heat of the fireplace. She was drenched in sweat and beginning to feel a little un-well. The heat was stealing all the strength from her body.
“Actually, I begin to think ’tis something to do with the blood,” Hervey said just as Brona decided to leave and she quickly halted, pressing herself against the wall again.
“Ye may just have the right of it,” agreed Angus. “The mon did heal and grow visibly stronger after drinking of Peter’s blood. Mayhap we err in allowing so much of it to drip into the floor. We may have been wasting something as precious as gold.”
“Aye, mayhap we should collect it and drink it. A disgusting thought, but it could hold the answer to the secret.”
“Weel, he will have to recover a wee bit first. He lost too much blood this time. Nay sure we ought to let him just feast on another prisoner either, so we shall have to leave him be for a wee while. Once he gets his strength back, we will take some of his blood and see if the secret of what he is lies within it.”
“A good plan. After all, if it is the blood that makes him what he is, it just might work for us and then we shall have to keep the MacNachtons alive, or at least some of them. I but wonder how we can ken that it works.”
“If it is his blood that makes him what he is then ye will feel some change, I am certain.”
“Any wounds we had would heal faster. Mayhap giving ourselves just a wee cut and watching how fast it heals itself will be enough to tell us. It might be that we need to drink of his blood several times before we can be sure whether that holds the secret or not.”
“Agreed. We will take a potion made of his blood each day for a fortnight. If we see naught changing in ourselves by then, then we must decide if he is worth keeping alive.”
“He will be worth it only if he begins to tell us what we need to know.”
“True. Mayhap if the arrogant bastard realizes that he is now the prey and nay the predator, he will start telling us all his secrets in some vain attempt to save his worthless hide. And now let us speak of Brona.”
“Ah, aye, my sweet wee cousin whom ye have been sniffing around for years. Are ye sure ye still want her?”
“Aye, I do and I want her soon. She is two and twenty now and ripe for a mon.”
“She doesnae seem verra interested in ye, Angus.”
“She will learn to be. She just needs to be ridden hard a few times. So? When can I marry her?”
“Soon, my friend. Verra soon. Just allow me to finish with the MacNachton first. Either the blood will hold the answer I seek or he is useless to me and I will be rid of him.”
Angus cursed. “What does that business matter? How does my wedding Brona possibly affect that?”
“Because I think my cousin willnae come to the marriage willingly and we will need to be able to watch her verra closely until the deed is done. Come, dinnae look so fierce. Ye ken that I want ye to wed with her. ’Tis the perfect answer to both of our problems. Ye will get the woman ye have been lusting after for years and I will get her dowry to fill my empty purse. I dinnae think ye will need to wait too much longer. MacNachton will soon be dead or he will become our own source of the potion that will bring us superior strength and long lives.”
Brona heard the clink of two tankards knocking together and knew the men were giving each other a silent toast to the success of their plans. Numb with shock, she decided she had heard all she could stomach for now and she started on her way back to the solar. It was not only MacNachton she needed to worry about now. Her own life was in danger for she had no doubt that marriage to Angus Kerr would kill her, if not in body, certainly in mind and spirit.
She reached her bedchamber without anyone seeing her, much to her relief. Brona was sure that anyone meeting her would have immediately seen that something was wrong and she doubted she could have given them a plausible excuse for her obvious upset. Washing up and changing into her night shift, she crawled into her small bed. Thor immediately curled up on the sheepskin rug by the side of the bed and Havoc sought his usual place at her feet, but she did not find the comfort she usually did in their presence. She needed to think about all she had heard and make some very hard decisions.
Sir Heming MacNachton concerned her first. He truly had drunk Peter’s blood. It was hard to believe that a man would do such a thing, but she doubted Angus and Hervey were mistaken. They had obviously expected MacNachton to do just what he had done. And yet they did not think MacNachton was a demon. Despite hearing what he had done, Brona could not make herself believe it either. But what could he be if not a demon?
She thought of the man she had seen in the cage, of his wild beauty, and hoped she was not being swayed by his appearance. It was said that the devil tempted men and women with all they desired and any woman would desire a man like Sir Heming MacNachton. Brona knew she should be horrified that he had fed upon the blood of a man, and a part of her was, and yet she could not bring herself to condemn him for it. All she could keep thinking of was that he had not killed Peter, that he had not even sought out the man for his blood but had it forced upon him. If Sir Heming needed such sustenance then having a bleeding Peter shoved under his nose in the time of his greatest need must have been no more than another torment. She sincerely doubted the man had wanted others to see him do something like that.
As if sensing her agitation, Thor sat up and rested his head on the edge of the bed. A moment later she felt Havoc curl up against her back, his deep rumbling purr sounding quite loud in the silent room. Brona smiled faintly as she scratched Thor’s ears and softly commanded him to lie back down.
