Desire in Tartan: 2 (Highland Vampires) by Suz deMello Read Free Book Online Page B

scavengers ’til the remains of his fallen cousin could be retrieved and taken home.
    He stood for a moment, with Archie quiet by his side, in respect for Malcolm, wondering how Malcolm’s mother would receive the news of her son’s death. Failure lay as bitter as bile on his tongue, roiled his belly and tightened his muscles with anger. He had failed to keep his men—and one fragile woman—safe from the dangers of travel.
    He dreaded explaining the whole to his laird. However, milaird well understood the dangers of the road. Better than anyone, Dugald reckoned.
    He sighed, shook himself a bit and said to Archie, “Let’s go. There’s no time to be lost.”
    * * * * *
     
    Every bone and sinew ached, and she was cold unto her soul. Alice stirred. Chill rock beneath her, small stones jabbing through her…her what?
    She shivered violently, and no wonder. Her lovely warm riding habit had been removed along with her cozy quilted petticoats. And she was lying partially in a puddle, her hair sopping.
    She blinked. Where on earth was she?
    Darkness, lit only by one torch, its flickering light glistening on myriad wet surfaces. Most of the reflections were of rough rock, but others…there were bars a foot or so away from where she lay.
    She was in a cage. Or rather an oubliette, a small nook that was gated with rusting metal webwork. She tucked her sore legs beneath her and tried to stand, promptly whacking her head on stone above.
    Rubbing her wet head, she whimpered and coughed. The smell was appalling, a thick miasma of rotting seaweed, her stinking fear and…and what? Decaying meat.
    What kind of meat? She didn’t know. She didn’t want to know.
    She remembered what she could about the story of Sawney Bean, a tale she’d dismissed as fancy, like redcaps and kelpies, when she’d heard it.
    The tutors had gathered in a local coffee house one evening after exams, and she’d been there with her father. She’d lingered quietly in a corner away from the firelight, afraid she’d be sent away from this otherwise all-male gathering. As the ale and whisky flowed, tongues had loosened and the Scots among the group had begun to tell stories. The night wore on and their brogues deepened as the tales grew more fantastic. Stories of strange beasts that dwelt in the deepest lochs. Caves that sang. Frightening legends about redcaps, creatures whose hats had to constantly be freshened by new blood lest they died, and banshees, female witches whose appearance meant death.
    And the most horrifying story of all, one that the Scots claimed was true, was the history of Sawney Bean, a villain who’d found a woman as depraved as himself. They’d denned in a sea cave and spawned an extensive clan who lived on the flesh of unwary travelers. When they’d been captured, their family had numbered about fifty—many the products of incest—and their victims had been innumerable. The Beans’ cave had been filled with human remains—some fresh, some pickled in brine—with the possessions of the murdered hung from the walls, a grotesque wardrobe.
    The Beans had been taken to the Tolbooth in Edinburgh and, after a summary trial, executed, the men dismembered and the women burned.
    Apparently some of them had escaped or, more likely, evaded capture. And now Alice was their prisoner.
    She rubbed her head and cautiously remained in a half-lying position. She scooted forward out of the dampness, propping herself up on one elbow so she could see.
    She was in a small caged cave off the main cavern. The torch showed little, but she could discern other little grottoes lining the walls, detectable only due to the glint of the torchlight on wet metal bars. In the center of the main cave, decaying garbage and seaweed, piles of old clothing… Was her riding habit there? Her boots?
    The only sounds were her frightened breaths, which mingled with the sighing of the sea. Was she the Beans’ only prisoner? If so, she’d not last a week. How long would