Nature of the Beast Read online

  “Then we shall go and find David,” he said, keeping his voice calm although he was beginning to feel his own fear for the boy.

  It was only a moment later when they had their cloaks on and were walking swiftly toward the burn. Evanna suddenly wondered why Berawald never questioned David’s need to go fishing now, after the sun had gone down, or wonder why the boy was not troubled by walking around by himself in the dark. Few children could be so calm outside after sunset, and certainly not when alone. She kept her need to go racing to the burn screaming her brother’s name tightly leashed by chewing over that puzzle as they walked. When Berawald suddenly grabbed her arm and yanked her to a halt, alarm shattered her thoughts and she barely stopped herself from crying out.

  “David,” she whispered.

  “Quiet,” Berawald said, his mouth close to her ear. “Someone is with him.”

  It took every scrap of willpower she had not to break free of his hold and race to her brother. Common sense told her she would only get herself killed if she did that, but David was like her own child, the last of her family. The very thought of anything happening to him made panic seize her in a tight grip, and common sense did nothing to ease its chokehold.

  “He is in danger,” she whispered as Berawald gently but firmly shoved her toward some thick bushes growing at the base of a huge tree. “He needs help.”

  “And he will get it. But if ye go racing to his rescue without kenning the who, the how many, or the how weel armed, ye will just get yourself killed. And David as weel. Sit here and be quiet.”

  She sat. “Ye may need help.” A cry came from the direction of the burn and she started to get up only to be shoved back down.

  “Nay, I will need no help, lass.” Berawald gave her a brief, fierce kiss and then strode away.

  Evanna was still touching her mouth and struggling to clear her head of both desire and surprise when she realized Berawald was gone. He had disappeared into the shadows as if he owned them. Hard as she tried, she could see no hint of his movements or hear any sound of his passing through the wood. And she had very keen sight and hearing. Suddenly, she knew that Berawald might well have been speaking the simple truth when he said he would need no help. He moved as swiftly and silently as the spirits that surrounded him so often. Berawald obviously had a few secrets of his own.

  Despite his skill and his orders, she began to creep toward the burn. She knew she could offer him little aid in the battle he would soon face, but she could grab David and run if the opportunity presented itself. Getting David out of the way of any fighting that occurred would give Berawald a chance to act more freely. It was just an excuse to see what was happening to her brother and Berawald and she knew it. But it was a good one. She fully intended to use it mercilessly if, when the fight was over, Berawald felt any inclination to scold her for her disobedience.

  Berawald felt a snarl scrape through his throat as he watched the scene on the banks of the burn. Three men stood over a crying David. It was obvious that one of the men had struck the boy, and he would pay dearly for that. The rage that consumed Berawald surprised him a little, for it went a lot deeper than simply anger over seeing a large man abuse someone so much smaller and weaker than he was. The dark beast that lurked within every MacNachton demanded the freedom to seek revenge, but Berawald fought to keep it under control. When one of the men grabbed David by the front of his shirt, lifted him off the ground, and shook him hard, that control disappeared. The beast roared and snapped all the tethers Berawald had placed on it. Growling loud enough to cause all three men to look his way, Berawald leapt toward the man holding David.

  A sound echoed through the wood that made Evanna look around for some huge, enraged beast charging through the trees. She suddenly realized it had come from the burn. She ceased to creep along and started to run. The sight of Berawald snapping a man’s neck like a twig and hurling him through the air as if he weighed nothing brought her to an abrupt halt. When another man raced toward Berawald she started to cry out a warning, but Berawald moved out of the way of the man’s thrusting sword so quickly he was behind the man in the blink of an eye. He dispatched the swordsman by hurling him against a tree so hard Evanna doubted there was a single bone in the man’s body that was left unbroken. When he yanked the third man up by the front of his filthy shirt she could not help but gasp softly. Berawald held the big, muscle-heavy man by only one hand and shook him. She realized then that the growl she had heard had come from Berawald.

  When David suddenly ran up to her and clutched at her waist, she shook herself free of her shock and checked him for any serious injuries. Once she was assured that he had little more than a nasty bruise or two, her gaze was immediately drawn back to Berawald. She could not see his face, but the man he held was staring at it in wide-eyed terror. Evanna was finding it difficult to believe what she was seeing. The strength and speed Berawald revealed were not just extraordinary; she was sure they were an impossibility for a normal man.

  “I kenned it,” the man babbled as he dangled from Berawald’s grasp. “I kenned Duncan was right about them.”

  “What was the fool right about?”

  Evanna frowned, for Berawald’s smooth, deep voice had changed into a deep, rough growl.

  “That the Masseys were demons. The bitch has run back to her own kind. Duncan means to send ye all to hell!”

  “Ye will see hell ere I ever do.” Berawald snarled out the words and then bent his head to sink his teeth into the man’s throat.

  A weak scream of pain and terror escaped the man dangling from Berawald’s hand, followed by a gurgling noise that sent chills down Evanna’s spine. She pressed David’s face against her belly so that he could not see anything and tried to look away, but she could not turn her gaze from the sight. The thought that Berawald had just sunk his teeth into that man’s throat plunged into her mind. She told herself that was impossible, that men did not do that sort of thing, but the sound she heard in the otherwise still forest told her differently. When Berawald lifted his head, snapped the man’s neck, and then tossed him aside, she saw the ragged wound in the dead man’s throat, a wound that bled very little.

  For just a moment Berawald stood, his fists clenched at his side, and stared up at the moon. He savored the feel of the blood singing in his veins, enjoying the renewed strength and power it brought him. A soft noise yanked him free of that personal satisfaction and the beast in him rapidly drew back. With the clearing of his mind, he realized he had forgotten that David had been close by, that the boy could easily have seen everything. He took a deep breath to further calm himself only to have his nose filled with an all too familiar scent. Evanna was there and she, too, must have seen everything. He slowly dropped to his knees. Suddenly his victory did not taste as sweet as it once had, for in winning the battle, he feared he had just lost the only prize he wanted.

  “Is David unharmed?” he asked without looking at her.

  “A wee bit bruised but nay more than that.” Evanna had tried to speak calmly, as if watching one man rip out another man’s throat with his teeth were something she saw every day, but she could hear the faint quiver of fear in her voice.

  “Take him back to the cave.”

  “But, weel, are ye hurt?”

  “Nay, I am weel. Just, just go.”

  “My fish,” David protested.

  “I will bring them,” Berawald said. “Please. Just go.”

  He heard them leave and bent over until his forehead nearly touched the ground. The woman he desired, the one he wanted so badly he could barely sleep, had just seen him tossing men around as if they were no more than thistledown, breaking bones, and snapping necks. Worse, she had seen him feed. That was the trouble with letting the beast rule, with releasing the creatures that had been the dreaded Nightriders of old. Those men had never caged their beasts but had ridden out at night hunting down anyone they could so that they could feed the dark hunger that could so easily rule a MacNachton.

 
She will never want me now, Berawald thought as he slowly climbed to his feet and numbly went about the chore of ridding MacNachton land of the bodies. He had heard the fear in her voice. If she was even still at the cave when he returned, he knew what he would find. She would look at him with fear and revulsion. Evanna would finally believe that there truly were demons in the world.

  Evanna sat David down on a stool near the fire and began to clean and treat the bruises and scrapes he had suffered at the hands of their enemies. She wanted to deny all she had seen by the burn, but she could not. Neither could she forget it. The problem she faced now was what to do about it. She still felt some fear over what Berawald had done, over what it could mean about the man she had come to care for, but she simply could not make herself believe that he would ever be a danger to her or to David. The beast in the forest was Berawald, but so was the kind, gentle man who had taken her and David into his home and cared for them.

  “Berawald is different,” said David. “Just like us only bigger.” He frowned. “Nay, I mean more.”

  Or worse, Evanna thought, but quickly bit back the words. “There do seem to be many similarities,” she said gently, noticing that there was no fear in David’s eyes when he spoke of Berawald.

  “Do ye think I will be able to toss men about like that when I am grown?”

  “I have no idea.”

  She supposed she should not be surprised that a small boy would find such a skill admirable. David had not seen Berawald bite that man, nor seen the man tossed to the ground, his throat torn yet bleeding very little. Even telling herself it could not possibly have happened, she could not shake the feeling that Berawald had feasted upon that man’s blood. While she felt no sorrow for the deaths of those men, was even glad that Berawald had ended their lives, the manner in which he had killed the last man really troubled her. What troubled her even more was that she had not grabbed David and run, screaming, as far and as fast as she could.

  “Is he all right?”

  Since she had not heard him approach, Evanna was a little startled to look up and find Berawald standing just behind David. In his hand three cleaned and gutted fish dangled from a length of thick twine. A pained look briefly crossed his handsome face and she knew she had not hidden her fear very well. Most of that fear was born of being startled, but she could not deny that some of it was of him.

  Yet where was that man who had growled like a beast, snapped necks, tossed men around, and ripped out throats? Before her stood a tall, handsome man holding fish ready for cooking, a look of uncertainty in his eyes, and no sign of the vicious battle he had just been in. When he gently caressed David’s hair she felt no urge to yank her brother out of his reach. It made no sense and she was not sure it ever would.

  “I am fine, Berawald,” David said. “Thank ye for saving me and for cleaning my fish ’cause I really dinnae like doing that myself, ye ken. And do ye think ye can teach me how to throw men about like ye did?”

  Evanna took the fish from Berawald’s hand and moved toward the fire. She would cook them a meal. Cooking would help her think, would help her put some order into her tangled thoughts and feelings so that she might finally make some sense of them. She refused to be one of those who condemned someone who was different, as she and her brother had been condemned. And, she realized, as she recalled all too clearly what the last man had said, there might be some connection between her enemies and the ones the MacNachtons had.

  If not for David’s chatter their meal would have been a silent one. Berawald tried to take comfort in the fact that Evanna made no move to keep him away from her brother. The very fact that she was still in his home, that she allowed him to be so close to David, seemed to imply that, although she might be afraid of what he had done, she did not believe he would harm her or David. He would not make the mistake of thinking that meant she would accept him or let him touch her as he ached to, however.

  They were going to have to have a talk, he decided as he ate the fish she served. He knew the food would not give him the sustenance he needed or craved, but he liked the taste. She would undoubtedly have questions, and after all she had seen him do to those men, he supposed it would be best to answer them truthfully. Perhaps the truth would ease the lingering fear he could almost scent in the air, but he did not hold out much hope for that.

  Leaving Evanna to clean up after the meal, Berawald took on the task of putting David to bed. By the way the boy acted he had to assume that David had not seen him feed on that man. All the child wanted to talk about was how he could learn to toss men through the air. Berawald was relieved to see that he had not frightened the boy. He just wished he could take the fear out of Evanna’s beautiful eyes, for it cut him to the bone to see it.

  He shook aside that concern and told David a tale about a battle the MacNachtons had fought many years ago, careful to leave out all the more gruesome parts. The boy had come through the experience at the burn unscathed. Berawald did not want to be the one to give him nightmares now.

  When David finally went to sleep, Berawald sat beside the bed for a little while longer. He knew he was avoiding the confrontation with Evanna, but there was more to it than that. The moment he had seen that David was in danger, he had realized that his affection for the child had sunk its roots deep into his heart. He felt as if the boy was his own flesh and blood even though he knew that was impossible. He had never bedded down with any woman outside Cambrun and had not bedded many of them, either. David was the son of his heart and Berawald feared that he would soon lose him.

  With a sigh that felt as if it was pulled up from his very soul, Berawald lightly kissed the boy’s bruised cheek and decided it was time for him to meet his fate. He had no doubt at all that Evanna would be stunned to learn that she held it in her small, pretty hands, but she did. It did not make him feel one bit better to know that, no matter what she thought or felt about him now, he would always have her gratitude for saving her and David’s lives. That was not going to do much to fill all the empty nights ahead. He stepped into the main room, saw her staring into the fire, and braced himself for the blow to his heart he knew was coming.

  Six

  “Evanna? We have to talk.”

  That deep smooth voice pulled Evanna out of her deep thoughts and she nearly cursed aloud when it also felt as if he had just stroked her skin and warmed her insides. After all she had seen, she did not understand how just the sound of his voice could move her so. For all the thinking she had just done, she had come up with no solutions or answers. The biggest question she had kept asking herself was why she was still in his home, had even let him tuck her little brother into bed. That made no sense at all and that in itself frightened her.

  She nodded in agreement and sat in a chair near the fire. She was too cold to move any distance from its heat. Whether that chill came from a fear of Berawald or a fear of her own inability to leave his side she did not know. When she finally looked at him she inwardly sighed. Even knowing what he had done, she still found him beautiful. Worse, she still felt everything that was womanly inside her reach out for him. Evanna began to wonder if getting wounded had somehow scrambled her wits.

  Berawald stared at her and wondered how to begin. There was still a hint of fear in her eyes, but mostly he saw confusion and uncertainty in her expression. He wondered if she had been trying to convince herself that she had not seen what he had done. It was tempting to try to help her along that twisted path of denying all she had seen, but he knew that would not work in the end. Not only was she too sharp of wit to delude herself for too long, but also they faced a battle against a murderous enemy. Her enemies were near at hand and he would undoubtedly unleash the darkness in him again in his attempt to keep her and David safe.

  “Ye saw what I did, all that I did,” he said.

  “Aye, all of it,” she replied softly. “I made certain David didnae see it, but I couldnae seem to stop myself from watching it all, right up until ye bit that mon’s neck. Ye truly did
that, didnae ye?”

  “Aye, I did.” He winced when he saw the fear in her eyes flare up, but she wrestled it back down, proving that she was willing to listen to him. “For ye to understand I have to begin at the beginning.” He placed a stool in front of her and sat down, clasping his hands on his knees. “MacNachtons have lived here, on these lands, for hundreds of years. In truth, they hide here. Ye see, my clan has a few of what ye like to call differences.”

  “Oh, aye, I should think so. Most men dinnae end a fight by ripping out their enemy’s throat with their own teeth.”

  Berawald wondered if he could take her sharp words as a sign that she was not as afraid or repulsed by him as he had feared. “Let me finish telling ye who the MacNachtons are, please. We arenae exactly certain where we began or why we are different. We still search for the answers to that. After so many years ’tis difficult to tell truth from legend. ’Tis the way for many clans, I think. In the past, the verra distant past, we were known as Night Riders. I fear our people had little care or respect for those who were nay of our ilk. We hunted in the night, hunted anyone who was fool enough to be out after the sun had set. Some e’en in their own homes. If even some of the tales are true, we made the Norsemen look like innocent bairns. Those ancestors probably deserved to be called demons.

  “The change in our ways began with one wise laird and continued with each of his sons until now, until all we wish to do is to be left in peace. The mon who is our laird now wishes us to try to breed out the differences, to have as many of us as possible wed Outsiders—those not of MacNachton blood.”

  Evanna thought about that for a moment and nodded. “It grows more difficult to hide what ye are.”

  “Exactly. And to keep our secrets.”