Laird of Darkness by Nicole North Page A

nightmares come to life.”
    “What sort of nightmares?”
    “Vile creatures from Otherworld. They attack me. One day they may devour me alive.” He shrugged as if it were naught. “Sometimes now they even come in the daytime. When they attack, I wake with bloody scratches and bite marks.”
    “How terrible. You mean they are real?”
    “Aye.”
    “Why does this happen to you?” She started to slide from the bed.
    “You were right. I’m half Fae.”
    Alana halted, her whole body chilling. She had suspected…but to hear him confirm it was another matter entirely. The Fae were not sweet or compassionate creatures. They were more like mischievous demigods who could unleash havoc on human lives if they so chose. With naught more to spur the decision than a bad mood or wicked whim. Her family, indeed all Scots, sought to appease them and stay out of their way.
    “My mother was Fae,” Duncan said. “She died at my birth and was not able to gift me with a golden bow and a protection spell against the Otherworldly creatures. At least ’tis what an old wise man told me.”
    If Duncan was only half Fae, mayhap he retained enough humanity to have a bit of rationality and consideration. Aye, even though he’d taken her hostage, he had treated her with kindness. Then something alarming occurred to her.
    “Does that mean MacClaren is half Fae too?”
    “Indeed.”
    “Nay! I do not wish to marry a half-blood Fae.” Why had her father arranged such a horrid marriage?
    Duncan glared. “You’re like all the others.”
    “Pray pardon. ’Tis naught against you.”
    “You detest the Fae, and I’m one of them.” His voice was hard, biting.
    Suddenly chilled, she crossed her arms over her chest. “’Tis not that I detest them.” Nay indeed, she liked Duncan more than was proper. “But you must admit your mixed blood causes you trouble.”
    “Aye, but I’m told MacClaren’s troubles are considerably less than mine, so you have little to worry over if you marry him.” A bitter smirk contorted his lips.
    “Why?”
    Duncan shrugged. “Because he has the protection of the magical bow our mother gave him. He is able to sleep peacefully at night.”
    How unfair that was. “Could you not obtain a faerie bow someplace?”
    “’Tis what I’m attempting.” He sent her a meaningful look.
    “Oh! You mean to trade me for MacClaren’s bow.”
    “Aye,” he said in a subdued tone, then crouched again before the fire.
    Alana stared down at her fingers in the pale dawn light, remembering the erotic pleasures they’d shared earlier. It had meant naught to him. She was a stupid and wanton lass.
    She wasn’t even certain she wanted to marry MacClaren now that she knew him to be half Fae. Had her father known? Surely not.
    Anyway, her future was not in her hands. Men had the power to decide her fate. If she escaped Duncan and didn’t marry MacClaren, her brother would find another man for her to wed. A man not of her choosing—a tyrant perhaps. Maybe Fae blood was not the most vile thing in the world. She would wait until she met MacClaren to form an opinion of him. ’Haps she could marry him after all.
    Duncan focused on the fire before him until the brightness of the flames stung his eyes. But naught could sting as much as the bite marks on his wrists and shin. Damned hellish creatures. He had been lucky to wake when he did and escape them. He could not go on in this torment. He must have the bow.
    Why had he bedded Alana? He shouldn’t have touched her. Even with his injuries, he craved her again. Naught could tamp down his intense desire for her. Not even pain. One part of him said he could tolerate the living nightmares if only he could have her in his bed every night. But another part of him rebelled against the thought. Was he mad?
    MacClaren would want his bride, and he would trade his bow for her. It had to be. Duncan had desperately wanted the bow for many years, since the old druid told him of its existence.