Girl Desecrated 1984: Vampires, Asylums and Highlanders, page 15
“Ye ur such a mishmash of sweet and sharp,” his nostrils flared. “I cannae wait tae husk yer layers and see who’s below.”
My lips felt swollen and tight. I needed to lick them, but I didn’t dare release my tongue.
Seeing me turn the corner from my rebuke to near surrender, darkened his pupils until they eclipsed the green of his eyes. I was desperately close to lifting my mouth.
“Might take me all week tae sift through ye.”
Seven days with the Scottish bull? I almost swooned at the thought.
Seven…
Something about seven was important… I needed space to think.
I yanked my hand from his chest and immediately felt the loss.
“Keep your hands off my layers, if you please, Scotsman,” I said, but not unkindly.
He barked out a laugh, and then stepped away, giving me room to scoot.
“Calm yerself, Kit.” He picked up one of my granny’s once-white, vinyl chairs and flipped it around with a twist of his wrist. Lowering his bulk into it, he crossed his arms over the back. “Tae kin a woman like yerself takes time, and time Ah have.”
I put my hand on my hip and raised an eyebrow. “Oh that’s what you’re after… understanding.”
He wiped his moustache with the back of his knuckles. “Ah just want tae ken ye a little better before….”
“You do?” I squinted at him. What guy had ever wanted to get to know me?
“An’ why nae?” Now he was teasing me again, his face threatening to break into a smile.
“Because there’s not much to know,” I lied.
He dropped his glance down my body and back up again. “Oh, there’s more tae ye than meets the eye, lass.”
He’d run for the hills if he really knew. “And how do you know that?”
“Uirs is nae a meeting of chance.”
“Are you talking about fate, again? Is that your excuse for stalking me?”
“Ur ye runnin’ from me?” His eyes were sparkling with amusement. “Dae Ah have tae stalk ye?”
All I could do was look at Angus with something close to adoration. With his elbow on the back of the chair, he rested his chin on his hand, studying my worship-paralysis.
“Run if ye wish, but ye cannae get away from me, Kit….” There was a second’s pause.
He was suddenly serious.
“Ah cannae let ye.”
Then, he winked.
THE GERMAN OCEAN: HE WHO LET HER OUT
~
TWELVE YEARS BEFORE WILLIAM CAIN planted his seed in the heaving, clutching beauty beneath him, Erland McNab paid for passage on a trade ship leaving the Swedish port of Stockholm. The ship was carrying timber and unfinished metals, and was bound for Scotland. After almost a year of convalescence, Erland McNab was finally healthy enough to go home.
He was travel weary, having crossed the German Ocean and half of Sweden to fulfil his destiny, but he knew it could have been worse. Many of his ancestors had tracked her further: Muscovy, Wallashia, Bavaria. No place was too far, when the threat of death hung over the entire clan. Erland knew, had he not kept to the bargain his ancestors had made with The Fergus She centuries before, a harsh punishment would have befallen them all. Sweden was not so very far to go, and lucky for him, there had been many Scottish merchants who had provided shelter and food along the way.
At 23, it seemed as if Erland had spent half of his life waiting for the She to demand him at her side. Ever since his 16th year, the other lads his age had wed women, participated in clan raids, and secured their futures with crops or trade. Yet, all the while Erland, first born son of The McNab, had waited.
The wind snapped the sails above his head, pulling him into the present. The descending orb of the sun set the water to shimmering as if a thousand stars were dancing just below the surface.
Erland considered how like the ship he was. She was like the wind, compelling him to her, and in his rush to obey, he had left a wake behind him, just as the ship creamed the waters behind the stern.
The sun dropped beneath the line of the horizon, leaving behind an orange sky that glittered on the dark, rippling waters. Erland shivered and drew his plaid close as he remembered the same glitter in the She’s dark eyes. Those same eyes, before the She had risen behind them, had been the soft, injured brown of a hunted deer. But they had turned to black at the moment of her changing.
Chewing a dry piece of skin on his lip, the young Scott’s mind wandered to when he had first arrived at the thatched-roof cottage in Sweden. The draw had been so strong he’d only had to follow it to find her. It called him across the ocean, through towns and villages, over hills, across rivers, and through it all, the thought of meeting her kept him in a state of excitement.
All through his short life, he had dreamed of the day they would meet. He had imagined the beautiful home and the fine woman he would find there. He had expected a powerful beauty. On the final day of his journey, he’d been disappointed to arrive at a peasant’s hut, its sod roof crumbling dirt over the doorway.
Erland had needed to duck his head to get through the small opening. But once inside, his eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and he had spied the girl. She was tossing and mumbling on a filthy matt, feverish… unconscious. Her clothes had been no more than rags, and her body was unclean, its scent filling the cottage with a cloying stench that forced Erland to breathe through his mouth.
The squalor and her condition had shocked him, and he had suffered a moment of doubt. It wasn’t her age, for he knew she had to be eighteen for the change to begin. It was her frailty. Boney knots pressed under the pale skin of her thin wrists.
He had paused there, his bulk filling most of the hut. Unsure of what to do, he continued to stand, looking down on her soot-smudged face surrounded by matted, black hair.
So shocked at the reality of the task before him, the young Scot failed to notice the old crone sitting in the shadowed corner of the hut until she rose from a twisted wooden chair. Her age was impossible to tell, but she was very old, her face scored by deep lines, her lips disappearing into a toothless mouth. Her lids pinched eyes the colour of steely flint that considered him warily.
“Death will be your reward if you don’t take her,” the old witch cackled. “Death to you and yours.”
Erland tried not to stare at the humped back bulging beneath the old woman’s rough woolen cape.
The crone thrust out her gnarled fingers, holding her shaking hand in the air between them.
Erland gulped against the dryness in his mouth, then dropped a few coins into the old woman’s palm, as he was sure many men had done before him. The twisted fingers closed upon the coins, and the hand was pulled back beneath the cape. The hag gave him a heartless sneer and shuffled out. The wind slammed the stick door shut with a rattle.
He was alone with the girl, alone with the memory of the instructions the men of his clan had sent him off with.
“Woo her first,” his father had said.
“If thae heart of thae host loves ye, then thae She won’t harm ye when herself rises in yer arms, lad,” Uncle Sheamus had promised.
“Put goose grease on yer dick, and thae fires of hell won’t burn yer balls off,” his younger brother had counselled, with all the somberness of a prophet.
But how does one woo an unconscious woman? Erland wondered, as he pushed at the girl with the toe of his shoe. She did not seem to feel his prodding, for her eyes remained closed. Erland decided he would do this thing quickly and then flee back to Scotland where he belonged.
The Scotsman slid the long ends of his plaid to the back of his belt and knelt, not bothered by the rough mat beneath the thick callouses on his knees. Carefully, he braced himself above the frail body and used his leg to push hers apart, for he loathed the idea of touching her soiled body with his hands. With a silent prayer that she was not infected with any disease that might kill him before he got to live his life, Erland brought to mind the prettiest girl in the clan. Holding that tantalizing image in his mind, he carried out his duty, while trying not to breathe through his nose.
It was almost a mercy when the She rose to take control of the girl’s half-starved body. Erland felt new strength cause a shudder through the slight form beneath him. The eyes had opened, the pupils locked on his own. He was taken with the velvety chestnut of her irises, and the gentle soul he had a quick glimpse of, before the dark centre bled ink and her eyes turned black.
The girl had struck him with unnatural strength, and he had fallen onto the dirt floor, his legs splayed out before her. Standing in her rags, her posture triumphant and proud, the She had raked her gaze from his face to his short hose. Her brazen stare shocked Erland who had never seen a woman act so boldly.
He had been warned that he would journey far to couple with this creature who held his clan to a debt. But nothing could have prepared him for the exquisite, yet terrifying night that had come.
Erland drew the sea air deep into his lungs and tried to halt the memories before the She could leap upon him in his mind. He was not ready to recall the rest, the blood, the pain, the journey to death’s door, and his own timely resurrection.
The young Scot brushed his hard-skinned fingers against his neck, feeling the welts of scars poorly healed. The scars would be his proof to the clan that he had paid the debt he had been born into. He had kept the McNab’s word with The Fergus She.
The only duty left to him, now, was to find a woman and make a son and pass to him the promise that in a few more generations, his sons would receive the call. Erland wondered if he would be alive when the next McNab was beckoned by the She.
Erland looked up at the stars and thought about how life was just a cycle. Just like the sun would rise, a first-born son of the line McNab would be called upon. And when that time came, his descendant would have to answer. He would travel to wherever She was, and release the She devil from the constraints of the body it was inhabiting, forever burying the true owner of the body in a tomb of her own flesh.
Such was the price of oaths.
CHAPTER 15: A GENTLEMAN’S KISS
~
ANGUS HADN’T TAKEN HIS EYES from mine, and I was tumbling backwards into a hopeful and foolish belief that maybe, this time I could have a real relationship. Then the kettle let out a half-hearted whistle of warning, busting through my fuzzy moment, and freeing me to turn the element off.
My back to Angus, I wrestled with conflicting emotions. What was I, twelve? I was acting like a groupie, hanging on his every word, melting away inside until I was a puddle of stupidity.
I could feel his eyes on my back, as I fumbled with the tea bags.
Red Rose tea, a man, a woman, and a little chitchat. It should have been a comfortable moment. Yet, like a virgin about to be sacrificed at the volcanos’ edge, I could sense the precipice dangerously close to my feet.
Did I dump the tea and tell him to leave? I was no different than a humble village girl. When faced with the hot, mesmerizing lava below, a simple girl would forget about escaping back to the village. Gods were like that. They hooked you in. Made you think you had control until you were free falling into the flames.
I convinced myself I was in control. The meds were making a huge difference. Instead of sabotaging myself by jumping right into the sack, I was making Angus work for it. Almost as if I was worth more than just sex, maybe even worthy of a relationship. Was I ready for a relationship? Sex I could do, and hell, I could do it well. But nursing “togetherness” outside of the bedroom? I didn’t even know how to make conversation that wasn’t flirty, teasing, or caustic.
Chewing on my fingernail, I decided I was medicated enough to try.
Picking up the pot and a cup, I turned to face him with false cheer. “Only in Canada”.
To my surprise, he hadn’t been looking at my ass. He was looking at his watch, which was a little insulting. He lifted his eyes and said, “What?”
“You know, only in Canada.” I put the teapot down onto the 1930s, grey linoleum table. “Red Rose tea? The commercial?”
I poured a bit of steaming, rich liquid into my cup to check the colour.
“Is that why the wee rose?” He traced the red rose painted on my table top.
“There’s a rose on the table because my granny liked roses.”
Angus tipped his teacup and drained the cold tea from breakfast, then held out his cup for a hot refill. After pouring, I sat opposite him, wedged in between the table and the fridge.
“An’ what dae ye like?” he asked.
I checked to see if he was mocking me, but he looked genuinely interested. I couldn’t recall any man ever asking me what I liked, at least not outside of the sheets. I didn’t have an answer.
“Ye like reading,” he said, as if it were a great secret.
I succumbed to flirting. “I like it when you trill your tongue like that on your ‘r’s.”
His eyes darkened, and he rubbed his thumb across the tips of his fingers. “Dae ye now, lass?”
A hot flush coursed through my body. I put my head down and mentally slapped myself. Tucking my hair behind my ear, I told myself I could not do that again, not if I was going to attempt normal conversation.
“How long are you here for? In Canada?”
“How long dae ye want me tae stay?”
That sounded dangerously like commitment, and I was seized by an impulse to run.
“Don’t,” I shook my head, patted my pockets for my smokes and not finding them, scratched at my hair. “Don’t play with me, Angus.”
“Ah get the impression ye like tae play, Kit.”
I tapped my nails on the table. “I can’t …” I cleared my throat. “I can’t flirt with you. I can’t handle it.”
He was burning me with those smoldering eyes, and my temper flared because I couldn’t do anything about it.
“What do you want from me!”
“Ye’are a cannie one tae notice Ah have an underhanded purpose.” His tone was sarcastic.
I raised my chin, readying myself. “Did Lene put you up to coming here?”
He looked earnest as he leaned forward, sliding his hand across the table towards me. I didn’t pull away when he placed his hand over mine.
“Ah had fun last night, and Ah like ye.” He gave my hand a little shake. “Is that sae hard tae kin?”
I pressed my lips together. He shook his head back and forth, giving me a disapproving fatherly look.
After a few minutes of silence, he nodded, “Awrite. If ye cannae tell me what ye like, tell me what ye dorn’t like.”
“I …”
He put his fisted knuckles against his lips, as if he knew the answer, and was barely holding it in.
I shrugged, feeling painfully awkward.
“It’s awrite lass, Ah already ken what ye dorn’t like.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Ye dorn’t like people getting close tae ye.”
I pulled my hand from his. “Screw you.”
Where were those damn smokes?
“Why dae ye think that is, Kit?”
He was trying to tease me, but I saw a flicker of sadness cross his face, and I suddenly wished I had something stronger than tea to drink.
“I don’t need another psychiatrist. One’s enough, thank you very much.”
The look he gave me was more than I could take. My pride boiled up over the meds.
“I know what you like! You like to touch everything. You drag your greasy fingers all over my books and my furniture. Stop touching my stuff! Better yet, get out!”
He scowled at me and put down his cup with a bang. “Yer nae makin’ this easy.”
“Making what easy?”
He sighed and rubbed his hand down his face. This was the part where he should have figured out I was more trouble than I was worth and got up and left. If I’d been thinking straight, I should have let the silence hang until it got unbearable and forced him to leave, but I couldn’t cut him loose, not yet.
I scrambled for something to say, “What did Lennox mean, at the Albion, when he said he wouldn’t go through with it?”
Angus adjusted his features into a neutral expression. “Ah dorn’t recall.”
“He was talking to you, standing by the wall when Lene was on the phone.”
A tic jumped in Angus’ jaw before he answered, easily, “Och, some bet he had with the boys.”
“But this was about a woman. I heard him say so.”
Angus laughed deep in his chest. “All betting ‘tween men is aboot women, lass.”
He was quick to come back to his good nature, his smile so warm and generous, he melted away my agitation. I was becoming hooked on that humorous sparkle in his eyes, and I didn’t really want to be prickly. I offered a flag of truce.
I stuck out my hand for a shake. “My name’s Rachel.”
His teeth flashed as he gave me a nod, closed my hand in his and said, “And sae it is.”
He leaned across the table, cupped my face with his hands, and pulled me up to his mouth. I grabbed at his wrists becoming steady when his lips covered mine. His kiss was short, but it tugged a warmth from my centre that threatened to melt away all resistance.
Angus stood and pushed his chair out of the way with his boot. A cocky smile revealed his white teeth. Pulling on my hand, he drew me out from behind the table until I was standing in front of him.
He bent down and before I could say a word, his lips were on mine again. The kiss was dangerously loving. It tugged at my scarred heart with promises of tenderness. And then he tilted his head to the side and deepened the promise. In his arms, I was changing, becoming a different girl, soft and sweet and high on his attentions.
I moaned in disappointment when he pulled away.
“Open yer eyes, lass.”
My hazy focus found his face, just as he nodded.
“Scottish honey,” he whispered.
His thumb stroked my cheek.
I wanted his mouth back on mine, but I didn’t know if I could control myself and stop when I needed to. My eyes darted nervously to the bed behind him. He followed my gaze.
