Tamed By Your Desire Part 1

Tamed by Your Desire.

Jen Holling.

PROLOGUE.

Annancreag, West March, Scotland, 1482

ANORA MUSGRAVE WAITED in the shadows for opportunity to present itself. She'd been in and out of this bedchamber for hours, keeping guard over the Clachan Fala, the Blood Stone she was sworn to protect with her life if necessary. Musgrave witches had always been the keepers. Anora had been chosen for this duty as a child and had never known aught else-had never known the touch of a man, the love of children-and never would. And still her calling was unusual. She was the first in hundreds of years to seek the Blood Stone and remove it from hiding.

But it was wrong, Anora knew that now. She'd watched the bride, Elizabeth Maxwell, the new Lady Annan, giddy with excitement as her women dressed her for her wedding night. The Clachan Fala had been on the bedside table then, at rest. Anora had receded deeper into the darkness when Elizabeth's brother, Richard Graham, entered. They'd argued. Richard wanted the stone. Elizabeth threatened to tell her husband, so he left. She was angry then, slamming things around, muttering to herself. The women serving her shrunk away, afraid.

Another man entered. He made threats and slapped her. She tried to run, so he bound her hand and foot, and forced her to lie in the bed with the furs up around her neck. He told her if she stopped fighting, they'd let her husband live. Anora slipped away then, to warn the husband. But he was like the rest, frightened of an old woman and greedy for power, so she returned by the castle's secret ways to protect the Blood Stone. Elizabeth Maxwell lay silently in the bed, her eyes frantically sweeping the room. The man had not left; he was hidden in the folds of the bed hangings.

Anora's heart pounded with terror. She knew what was coming-she'd carried the Blood Stone close to her heart for a fortnight and its effects lingered in the Knowing. It wasn't the same as when she held the Blood Stone-then she could hear others' thoughts as if they whispered them in her ears. This was only a feeling, but she knew it belonged to the hidden man-it was dark and murderous. Elizabeth was desperate, afraid. Anora wished she could help. But it wasn't her place. She was only the keeper.

She heard men coming, laughing and shouting. Drunk. As soon as they entered, Anora knew there was no hope, that they'd failed yet again. The brother, Richard Graham, was with them. His eyes were sly and knowing-his heart was black, seething with hate and envy. Anora pressed hard against the wall, waiting. She wished again she could stop this, but it was not possible. Her sole purpose in life was to guard the Clachan Fala. Nothing else mattered.

Anora closed her eyes, turned her face away when Richard Graham plunged his sword into Elizabeth's husband, but she couldn't shut out Elizabeth's cries of horror and disbelief. When Anora opened her eyes, Richard Graham stood over the dead body of Malcolm Maxwell, Lord Annan. Another Graham yanked the sword from the door that held Malcolm's brother, Kinnon, impaled, and he, too, slumped to the ground. Richard nodded and one of the others swung the door wide.

"A Graham! A Graham!" he shouted and rushed through the door as shrieks and sounds of death filled the air.

Anora's body shook with sobs, her hand clamped hard over her mouth. Must it always end this way? With death? Her heart was not strong enough-she feared she would die here, her duty unfulfilled. Elizabeth, still p.r.o.ne on the bed, seemed to have turned to stone. She stared blankly ahead, her skin sickly pale, her eyes round and sightless. That's when Anora noticed the Clachan Fala was gone.

Richard strode over to his sister, his gaze moving to the empty bedside table and back. "Where is it? It was just here!"

Elizabeth did not speak, only stared like a dead person, eyes glazed, mouth slack.

Richard grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "Tell me! Where is the Blood Stone? Did one of my men take it?" When her head only bobbed with his shakings, he thrust her away, against the bolsters. Anora looked away as he ran his hands over his sister's body, looking for the Clachan Fala. Elizabeth made no sound.

Finally he swore and after staring about the room, strode to the door, muttering, "That old witch..."

Anora heard no more, but knew herself to be the old witch he cursed. If he found her, he would kill her. Moments after he was gone, the blank look disappeared from Elizabeth's eyes.

"You-hiding in the shadows. Come. Quickly."

Anora stepped forward, relieved. Elizabeth did have the stone, otherwise she'd be as ignorant of Anora's presence as the others had been. Another lingering effect of the stone: to become Unseen. If the keeper wished to be un.o.btrusive, then those around her failed to notice her-unless she spoke, or touched them.

Elizabeth threw back the bedcovers and slid off the bed. It had been beneath her body. Anora had not seen her hide it. There it lay, like a s.h.i.+vering drop of blood. The Clachan Fala. The Blood Stone. The cause of nearly a thousand years of hate and murder between the Maxwell and Graham clans.

"Untie me first-then take it," Elizabeth said, her gaze resting on the dead men. "So long as I live, Richard will never possess it."

Anora loosened the cord binding Elizabeth's wrists slowly, her gnarled and aching fingers clumsy. The tall young woman had no patience and untied her ankles herself. Anora gathered the stone in its bag and slipped it into the folds of her cloak. She turned to thank the woman. Elizabeth was on the floor, clutching at the b.l.o.o.d.y corpse of Lord Annan. It had been a love match. Anora knew this because it was the only way the stone could be brought from hiding. A love match betwixt a Maxwell of the Annan grayne and a Graham of the Eden grayne.

"Malcolm," the woman whispered, his face between her hands, his blood staining the pristine white of her s.h.i.+ft, the silver blond of her hair. Her tears soaked his beard.

Anora hovered about, uncertain what to do. Now that she possessed the stone, she heard the whispers of others' thoughts all around her, like ghosts. But strongest was Elizabeth's pain. Though Elizabeth grieved silently, her mind screamed No! She couldn't accept it, even with his body before her, cold and lifeless, her mind refused to believe they'd been given such joy, only to have it ripped from them by her own brother. Anora couldn't bear to watch, knowing Elizabeth touched him, stared at him, somehow believing she could get through to him, bring him back.

Anora backed away, disliking the black void of nothing that emanated from the dead men. Malcolm Maxwell was long gone from his bride. Anora murmured her thanks, even though the dowager Lady Annan was beyond hearing.

The carnage outside Lord Annan's chambers turned Anora's stomach. Men and women were being beaten and tortured to reveal the Blood Stone's location. Anora clutched the stone to her heart, sickened that she could end it by turning the stone over to Richard, but also knowing that would only bring greater misery to many more people than these Annan Maxwells. She had a duty, and sentiment must not interfere.

Why me? There was another one, her successor, waiting outside the castle gates. She must know by now that all had gone wrong. She must be frightened, thinking Anora dead and the gauntlet fallen to her. She would be relieved to see the old woman emerge quite alive and in possession of the Blood Stone.

Anora groped along the wall, asking the stone to make her Unseen. At the door, she nearly walked right into Richard Graham. He held a torch and a dripping sword. Anora shrank back, pain numbing her arm, radiating across her chest. His face was splattered with blood, his lips drawn back from his teeth. He halted just inside the door, his head swiveling toward her, as if he smelled her.

Anora bit her lip until her teeth broke the skin, trying not to cry out as her heart convulsed. Her heart was dying! She panted, eyes squeezed shut, praying to hang on long enough to make it through the gates. When she opened her eyes, Richard was gone.

She staggered out of the keep and across the bailey, stepping around the corpses that littered the ground. The portcullis was down and the heavy door beside it shut. The porter was dead. A single Graham knight guarded the door. He wore a breast and back plate, no mail or shoulder coverings. Anora removed a short sword from a dead man's grasp. She moved to the side of the knight, who was oblivious to her presence, and slid the tip of the blade into the armhole of his armor. He tensed, as if he sensed something amiss, but before he could act, Anora plunged the sword into his chest, putting all her weight behind it.

He fell against the wall-seeing her now. Eyes wide with shock quickly glazed over as he slid down the wall. The door was not barred or locked and Anora slipped through, into the night.

Merry waited in the woods, her limbs frozen from the cold, her throat tight with fear. She'd seen the army of Grahams enter, had heard the screams from her hiding place. Where was Anora? Merry tried to remember everything she'd been taught. She'd been apprenticed to Anora a year ago. It had happened by chance. Anora's apprentice was murdered and the old woman had been frantic to find another, fearing she would die and the secret would die with her. Merry was a Musgrave and so had offered herself, eager to escape an unsavory marriage to the toothless tanner. Even living in the woods with an old witch-and eventually becoming one herself-was better than that.

Anora was a merciless taskmaster, too conscious of her own mortality. Merry had spent days and nights reciting the history of the Blood Stone, as well as its hidden location. These things were never to be written down, Anora had said, they remained always in a Musgrave's head. It mattered little, as Merry could not read or write. She was to choose a successor upon Anora's death and train her. It was like a river, constantly flowing, never dying, never ending.

Until tonight.

Or so they'd thought. When they received word of the wedding between Malcolm Maxwell and Elizabeth Graham, Anora had hoped their reign as keepers had finally come to an end. After tonight, their duty would be to watch until a son was born. But when they had arrived, Anora had sensed danger and instructed Merry to wait. The old witch had also advised that if she didn't return, Merry was charged with entering Annancreag and recovering the Blood Stone.

Merry's gaze sharpened, her mind returning to the task at hand. Someone stumbled away from the castle, down the winding dirt track. A small hunched figure that Merry immediately recognized as Anora. The old woman left the track, staggering through the tall gra.s.ses toward the trees where Merry hid. She hurried forward just as Anora collapsed.

"Anora! Are you hurt? What has happened?"

Anora didn't respond. Merry rolled her over. The black eyes stared back at her, the mouth turned down in a grimace of pain.

"Are you wounded?"

Anora shook her head, impatient. "I have it... take it..."

The blood roared in Merry's ears as she stared at the old woman, too terrified to move, to act. This was it. The duty had finally fallen to her and all she could think was that she was not ready. She was not competent enough to be the keeper. After a thousand years of keeping the Clachan Fala safe, she would be the one to muck it all up.

A gnarled hand came up and smacked her, hard.

"This is no time for fear!"

Merry found the Clachan Fala in the folds of Anora's cloak and clutched it to her belly.

"The iuchair..."

Merry removed the small curved beads strung on a cord about Anora's neck. The map. She fingered the smooth beads, unable to resist. Each was in the shape and color of a specific landmark. Merry sought out her favorite-a circular bead, red brown and pointed at the top. Its hole was larger than the rest-wide and gaping. Immediately images filled her mind. Heather-covered mountains. Standing stones. Wind-swept cliffs. Wind blasted her skin. The taste of salt water was on her lips. A standing stone loomed before her, just like the one in her fingers, but enormous, taller than a large man. She could see through the cleft as if she were before it, could nearly feel the heather beneath her feet...

Anora's gnarled hand clamped over Merry's, forcing her back to the present.

"Go-make haste, they'll soon be after you."

"I can't leave you," Merry said, pulling the old woman's head onto her lap.

Anora shook her head. "I'll be fine. I'm just tired. I'll be at home when you return."

The breath left Merry in a whoosh. The Blood Stone seemed to pulse against her belly-and she knew that Anora lied to her. Anora's heart was dying. She did not think she'd live through the night. But Merry also knew she was determined to die in her own bed.