Lured to the Night (The Brotherhood 4)

“Nothing is free of risk.” Leo’s stark warning woke him from his musings. The marquess focused his attention on Isla. “I must caution you. You will experience pain, an agonising discomfort that could last for hours, perhaps even days. There is nothing we can do to help ease your torment.”

A heavy silence pressed down upon them. No doubt the visitors were recalling the horrendous suffering they had experienced during their cleansing. If Lachlan could take the dratted potion on Isla’s behalf, he would. Isla stared into her lap, toyed absently with her fingers, and he wished he had her ability to read minds.

“Would it be such a hardship to remain as you are?” he asked, a sudden sense of loss clawing away at him when he considered all the things that could go wrong. “Is this life not more preferable than no life at all?”

A dull thud against the door captured their attention and Douglas backed into the room, his arms laden with refreshments. Carrying a silver tray supporting a decanter and glasses, the old man took slow, measured steps towards them in a bid to prevent the rattling vessel from tipping off onto the floor.

“Here, allow me to help you.” Leo rushed over before Lachlan had a chance to offer.

Douglas conveyed his thanks. “These hands were once steady enough to bring down a stag with a single shot.” He sighed and shook his head. “I’ve asked Malmuirie to make tea for those who would rather nae pa

rtake in the good stuff.”

Leo placed the tray on the side table near the fire. He raised an empty glass and shook it. “Ivana. Will you take tea or whisky?”

The lady screwed up her nose. “I can’t recall ever drinking the spirit. I’ve heard it can be quite potent.”

“I suggest we all have a dram. On a cold night like this, it’s best nae to get a chill on yer chest.” Douglas put his fist to his mouth and coughed as though already anticipating the fiery fluid scorching his throat. “I’ve known Malmuirie to add a drop to her tea, or a drop of tea to her whisky when her nerves are in tatters.”

While the guests discussed whether the combination of such distinctive tastes ruined good tea or good whisky, Lachlan stared at the tray. The china teacup, with its delicate flower pattern and gilt edging, contained blood. The burgundy pool was just visible beneath the rim. His stomach recoiled at the thought of drinking it down. He assumed it had come from an animal, imagined a complicated daily ritual, a shelf in the larder lined with full flagons.

He did not need to glance to his left to know Isla was watching him. Her penetrative gaze bore into him like the tips of hot pokers piercing his skin. He knew why. Gauging his reaction to the sight of her blood tea would reveal his true feelings. To show disgust would only serve to place a barrier between them.

Reaching for the dainty cup and saucer he passed it to her, conscious that he had no excuse to explain the reason for the slight tremble in his fingers.

She struggled to meet his gaze as she accepted the drink. “Thank you.” Her words were only fractionally louder than a whisper. The cup rattled on the saucer as she held it in her lap.

“I find it fascinating to see how those like us take their daily sustenance,” Ivana said, choosing words that roused a sense of fellowship. “Our friend and brother used to drink from a wine glass, his blood stored in a crystal decanter. I struggled to find any pleasure in the process and so chose to approach it as one would a medicinal tonic.” The lady smiled affectionately when Isla raised her chin. “There is something quite refined about drinking from a teacup.”

Isla gave a snort of contempt. “There is nothing refined about drinking blood.”

“Perhaps not.” Ivana inclined her head graciously. “But when one deals with adversity with an air of elegance and poise, it conveys great strength of character.”

“Now get this dazzling beauty down yer necks,” Douglas said. In his eagerness to boast as to the quality of the beverage, he sounded more like a pirate from the high seas. The old man beamed as he distributed the glasses of whisky. “There’s nothing as fine this side of the border.”

Lachlan swirled the amber liquid around in the glass before taking a nip. The heat instantly warmed his cheeks, and he sucked in a short, sharp breath. “I hope this is less potent that Boyd’s latest concoction.”

“Ah, yer man Boyd has a lot to learn about whisky,” Douglas said as he relaxed back in the chair. “And ye should know better than to drink something distilled away from prying eyes by a bunch of slovenly fools.”

Leo gave a satisfied hum as he swallowed down what some referred to as the water of life. “There is a certain smokiness to it that is quite irresistible.”

Ivana’s sudden splutter and cough captured their attention and revealed her lack of experience when it came to drinking spirits. With a grimace, she thrust the glass at her husband. “As you seem so enamoured with it, you are more than welcome to drink mine.”

“It will warm yer bones on a night such as this, my lady.”

Ivana visibly shuddered. “Please do not be offended Mr. Douglas, but I would rather drink a teacup full of blood than take another sip.”

The mere mention of blood drew Lachlan’s attention to the lady at his side. Isla had sat silently throughout the lively exchange. He glanced covertly at the teacup, noting with some surprise that it was empty. As his gaze travelled up to the full lips tinged a burgundy red, his heart skipped a beat. Not because he found the sight of blood on her lips abhorrent. More that they looked red and swollen as though a man had taken a great deal of time and effort to ravish her sweet mouth.

She looked up at him, shrank lower in the chair. The luscious lips he admired were now stretched long and thin, a sign that she felt shame or perhaps embarrassment for sating her craving whilst in company.

“Shall I take your cup?” Lachlan held out his hand. It was a gesture of support, of acceptance and he hoped she read it that way.

A weak smile touched her lips as she handed him the blood-stained china. Their fingers brushed, only for a second, but the tug in his chest made him want to take her in his arms and soothe her fears. From the soulful look in her eyes, he wondered if she was attempting to use her talent to read his mind.

Did he really want her to know what he was thinking?

I wish we were alone together on the banks of the burn. I would take your hand in mine and tell you not to worry. I would love you as I once promised. I would protect you so you’d need never shed a tear again.