Bound By Sin (A Cin Craven Novel) Page 2

  “I don’t even need to ask what you’re thinking, lass,” Michael said as he leaned across the carriage and scooped me up, settling me comfortably in his lap.

  I rested my head in the crook of his neck and breathed in the scent of him. “I’m worried about Fiona,” I said. “She looked so frail when we were last here.”

  “She is nearly seventy now, mo ghraidh,” he said softly. “But she seemed in good spirits.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t understand why I’m being summoned home and, moreover, who would be powerful enough to do it. Fiona has no magic.”

  “Don’t worry so,” Michael said. “We’ll be at Ravenworth in a few hours and then we’ll see.”

  Ravenworth, I thought as I closed my eyes and settled against the hard wall of Michael’s chest. I wondered, when they were all gone, if it would still feel like home.

  ———

  All three stories of Ravenworth Hall were lit up like a beacon in the night. It was a welcoming sight, even if the reason I was here still bothered me. Before Devlin had the chance to pull the horses to a complete stop, I flung the carriage door open and bounded to the ground. I heard Justine call my name as I rushed up the front steps. Without bothering to knock, I opened the door and stepped into the foyer. The house was silent and empty except for the dark gray cat with white markings that sat on the steps of the grand staircase and watched me with interest.

  I rushed through the house, knowing instinctively where a witch would cast such a spell. I knew because I had done it once myself. When I reached the closed double doors of the ballroom I paused, waiting for the others to catch up to me. Glancing behind me at my companions, I shook my head and smiled. I hoped that Fiona had prepared the witch for the sight of us because we looked like what we were—The Righteous, four of the most feared vampires in the world.

  My masculine attire perhaps made me look more threatening, though that hadn’t been my intention. It wasn’t that I didn’t have trunks full of beautiful dresses; it was simply that I preferred to wear my boots and breeches these days, if I could. Unlike the less complicated fashions of my youth, today’s gowns with their corsets, crinolines, hoops, and petticoats required more dressing time than I thought was reasonable. Tonight I was wearing all black, from my silk pirate’s shirt with its falls of lace, to my leather breeches and boots. My pale skin and blood-red hair made a startling contrast against the dark garments. Dressed like this I would never be mistaken for what I once was, a viscount’s daughter. I was now Cin Craven, the Red Witch of the Righteous, though some simply called me the Devil’s Witch in deference to Devlin, the leader of our group.

  I couldn’t help but feel his massive presence behind me, nearly six and a half feet of solid muscle. Devlin, the Dark Lord, with his black hair and eyes, his chiseled features, had once been one of Edward III’s champions. He truly had been a knight in shining armor and I would always think of him as such. When I had been a scared human, hunted by vampires, he had helped save me.

  Justine moved silently to my left. She was my closest friend and Devlin’s consort. The vampires called her the Devil’s Justice, and not without reason. She had a face and figure that would turn any man’s head, but that was only part of her appeal. The former courtesan was sex and danger incarnate—a beautiful woman who was never without a weapon. Even now I wondered how many blades were hidden beneath the voluminous folds of her cloak.

  Michael’s hand reached out to touch my shoulder and I turned my head. The Devil’s Archangel they called him, for none in the vampire nation could match his skill with a sword. He nodded toward the closed doors of the ballroom and my mind briefly raced back to the last time a summoning spell had been worked in that room.

  I remembered well the look on his face as he’d shoved open the terrace doors and his eyes had met mine. “Witch,” he’d growled in frustration, and I smiled at the memory. Though they’d initially been irritated at my summoning, the three of them had done everything in their power to help me. I looked back at Michael, my husband, my heart, and soul. Perhaps things had not turned out as any of us had expected, but he truly had saved me. I laid my hands on the ballroom doors.

  And it had all started here, just like this, I thought.

  Taking a deep breath, I pushed open the massive double doors and strode inside, the clicking of my heels echoing sharply in the empty, cavernous room.

  CHAPTER 3

  Well, the room wasn’t entirely empty. Two women stood at the far end, in front of the circle of candles that had been laid out for the summoning spell. For a moment my steps faltered and my breath caught in my throat.

  Aunt Maggie.

  Michael had often said that my aunt was too mean to die. I believe his phrase was, “Heaven wouldn’t have her and hell would be afraid she’d take over.” But she had died, hadn’t she? Ten years ago next spring. I walked slowly to the woman until I was standing mere inches from her. Without speaking, I simply stared. By the Goddess, she looked just like Maggie had the last time I’d seen her, back in ‘28. The same gray hair and faintly lined features, the same iron will shining through her beautiful cornflower blue eyes.

  “You’re the very image of my Aunt Maggie,” I whispered.

  The woman blinked and then smiled sadly. “I am her granddaughter and your second cousin. My name is Raina Macgregor Mahone.”

  “Raina,” I murmured. “Yes, I remember you. Mahone? You married Tristan, then?”

  Tristan Mahone was a necromancer who had once caused considerable trouble for the vampires of Edinburgh.

  She nodded. “I did.”

  “Is he . . . here?” I asked.

  She shook her head and I could feel the tension ease from all the vampires in the room, myself included.

  “I wish he were,” she said, “but, as you know, he gave his word never to leave Glen Gregor.”

  I nodded. “I’m glad he’s kept his promise.”

  Raina shrugged. “Having the king and queen of the vampires angry with you is very powerful motivation.”

  Indeed, I thought. MacLeod and Marrakesh had promised him swift death if he ever set foot on their lands again.

  I turned to the other woman in the room.

  “Hello, Janet,” I said to Fiona’s only daughter.

  “Welcome home, Cin,” she replied with a genuinely warm smile.

  Gods, she certainly had the look of her mother.

  “Which begs the question, why am I home?” I asked, turning back to Raina. “Only an extremely powerful witch could have called me here from France. I assume that would be you. Now I’d like for you to tell me why.”

  Raina swallowed hard and for the first time I noticed the fear in her eyes. “My youngest daughter is in grave danger,” she said. “I need your help.”

  I closed my eyes and might have laughed if it hadn’t been completely inappropriate. When I had been a young, scared human I had stood exactly where she was and cast a spell to call The Righteous to my aid. The irony was not lost on me.

  I opened my eyes and looked back at Raina. I wondered what my aunt, who had wholeheartedly disapproved of vampires in general and me in particular, would think of her granddaughter asking for my help.

  “I’ll do whatever I can,” I replied. “But first I’d like to see Fiona.”

  CHAPTER 4

  I stood in Ravenworth’s small chapel, staring numbly at the plaque in front of me. Reaching out with one shaking hand, I traced the letters with my fingers.

  FIONA MACKENZIE BASCOMBE

  1793–1861

  BELOVED WIFE, MOTHER, AND FRIEND

  I pressed my other hand to my chest, feeling as though there were a gaping hole there that would never be filled. I’d always known this day would come, but it was still hard to believe that she was truly gone. Leaning forward, I rested my forehead against the cold stone wall. The soft whisper of Janet’s skirts broke the silence as she moved up behind me, placing her hands gently on my shoulders.

  “I loved her like a sist
er,” I said brokenly.

  “And she loved you just the same,” Janet replied.

  “Why didn’t she tell me she was sick?” I asked. “I would have stayed.”

  “She didn’t want you to have to watch her die, Cin. She said that she remembered how hard her mother’s death was on you and she wouldn’t put you through that again.”

  I closed my eyes, remembering the night that Fiona had smuggled me into her mother’s bedroom on the neighboring estate, so that I could say goodbye. Jane Mackenzie Bascombe had contracted a particularly violent strain of influenza and it had been torture to see her lying there, just a few ragged breaths away from death. She had always been so strong and vibrant, the backbone of our family. She’d been my nanny when I was a child and later our house keeper, but the inheritance I’d left Fiona upon my “death” had bought them both respectability and good marriages.

  “Cin?” Janet said and I realized that I hadn’t heard a word she’d been saying.

  “Was she scared?” I asked.

  “Of dying?”

  I nodded.

  “No,” Janet replied. “She wasn’t scared. She was very tired . . . and she was ready.”

  I smiled sadly. “Of course she wouldn’t be scared. Even when we were being hunted by vampires she was so brave and fearless. I wish you could have seen her back then, Janet. Do you know she once cracked me over the head with a vase and tied me to a chair? All in an effort to protect me from myself, you understand, but I think she enjoyed it just a little too much.”

  Janet laughed. “Yes, I can very well imagine her doing that.”

  “She had a warrior’s heart.”

  “And an excellent sense of humor,” Janet said. “Mother told me that if you got too morose I should ask you what you thought of the new addition to your own marker.”

  I had avoided looking in that direction. Visiting the final resting place of a friend is one thing, but visiting your own grave is just morbid. I hadn’t wanted anything elaborate, just a simple plaque with my name and dates of birth and death. I turned my head slightly to the left and glanced at the spot next to Fiona’s where my empty casket rested beneath the ground. It had always said:

  DULCINEA MACGREGOR CRAVEN

  1793–1815

  However, at some point over the years Fiona had added:

  SHE WILL LIVE FOREVER

  IN OUR HEARTS

  The script of the last line was so small that it was hard to read, even for me, in the dark chapel. I threw my head back and laughed and, somewhere, I knew Fiona was laughing with me.

  CHAPTER 5

  We all assembled in what had formerly been known as the green drawing room. Several years ago Janet had redecorated many of the rooms in the house and the green drawing room was now predominantly peach with white moldings and accents of mint green. The new color scheme was lovely but tonight it made my heart ache, just a little. It seemed that everything around me was changing while I remained the same. Well, one thing hasn’t changed, I thought as I stared at the portrait Michael had painted of me shortly after I’d become a vampire. I still hate that painting. And for some unfathomable reason Janet had decided to move it from my bedroom and hang it next to the portraits of Rainy Macgregor and great-grandmother Charlotte.

  Wearily, I sat down on one of the newly upholstered chairs. Justine walked up behind me and laid her hand on my shoulder in a comforting gesture. I reached up and placed mine over hers. She knew what I was feeling right now because she had been there. Over 130 years ago Justine had buried her only sister. She had warned me long ago that this day would come. When I was still human and considering the ramifications of becoming a vampire, she’d told me that I would have to be strong enough to watch those I loved die while I remained young forever. At the time, though, the prospect of that happening had seemed such a long way off.

  “Cin, I want to thank you for helping me,” Raina said, dragging my attention back to the situation at hand.

  I nodded. “Even if she weren’t family, I do owe you a debt,” I replied.

  She frowned, looking at me as though she didn’t comprehend my meaning.

  “Back in ’28 when Tristan was in Edinburgh foolishly helping Belladonna try to steal the queen’s throne, you sent Drummond to help me,” I explained. “A necromancer has power over the dead, but not over a were-wolf. Drummond quite handily saved the day. If you hadn’t insisted he come to Edinburgh, there’s no telling what might have happened to us, or Aunt Maggie.”

  Before Raina could reply, Devlin interrupted. “Please tell us what’s happened here,” he said. “From the beginning.”

  Raina turned her attention to him and nodded. “Claire is my youngest,” she explained. “I know that mothers aren’t supposed to have favorites among their children, but Claire has always been special to me. Perhaps it’s because she just required so much attention. From the day she was born, trouble has followed that child. Nearly every day of her life there’s some new drama and, well, things happen to her that just don’t happen to other people. If she said she was late for supper because she was swimming with kelpies in the loch, I’d believe her.”

  We must have had similar looks of skepticism on our faces because Raina added, “Do you want an example? The summer she turned seven Claire wandered off and got lost in the hills. My magic couldn’t find her and I feared that she was dead. We searched for two days before we happened upon her, frolicking in a small glen with some rabbits and a baby deer while the doe patiently stood guard. She was clean, didn’t seem to be hungry or thirsty, and told us fantastic tales of the faerie lady who had watched over her. That is not an isolated incident. It’s only one story out of many.

  “Claire is well-loved in Glen Gregor but the people watch her with a wary eye, as if she were a changeling child. She has such a good heart, but most people only see her eccentricities. It was not unreasonable for her father and me to think that she might never marry. All I ever wanted for her was that she one day find a man who would love her and take care of her, a man who would be strong enough to share her life. She thought she’d found that man in Alastair Gordon, the new gamekeeper I hired when she was seventeen.”

  Raina closed her eyes and shook her head.

  “I take it he was not all you’d hoped he would be?” I asked.

  Raina’s mouth settled into a grim line. “He was not. Oh, he was a bonny lad and quite charming as well. He came to Glen Gregor with excellent recommendations and I didn’t have a single cause to worry about his character that first year he worked for us. Claire completely lost her head over the boy, of course. We all thought he loved her too. And maybe he did, in his own way. But scarcely a month after they were wed I visited Claire and found a large purple bruise on her cheek. She laughed it off, saying that she’d tripped over a chicken and fallen against the well.”

  I arched a brow at her.

  “I know, I know,” Raina said with a sigh. “But you have to understand that, though she’s rarely injured, Claire is incredibly accident prone. Especially as a child, if there was a river to fall into or a tree to fall out of, she’d find it. And her tale was just so detailed and convincing that I believed her. Over the next few months, however, she seemed to acquire bumps and bruises at an astonishing rate and I began to fear that Alastair was beating her.”

  “Was he?” Michael asked in a cold voice.

  I glanced up at him. His jaw was clenched in anger, his blue eyes as hard as steel. My husband could not abide a man who would strike a woman.

  “Oh, yes,” Raina said. “Alastair was so sweet and courteous to her in public, so Tristan and I hid outside their house one night, watching, waiting to see how he treated her when no one was looking. He was late coming in from the hills. It was nearly midnight when he finally stumbled through his front door, drunk as a fish, and demanded to know why his supper wasn’t hot and waiting on the table. He’d split her lip open and bloodied her nose by the time Tris broke the door down.”

  “I’d have ki
lled the bastard,” Devlin growled. “But what did you do?”

  Raina looked at him for a long moment, then continued. “Tristan dragged him outside and beat him bloody. And when he was finished, I shot Alastair Gordon through the heart.”

  Janet gasped. “Raina!”

  Raina shrugged, as if it were of little consequence. “We told everyone that he’d been waylaid by poachers in the hills.”

  “But a gunshot at night would have been heard in the village, non?” Justine asked.

  “I’m sure it was. No one really believed the story about the poachers, anyway. There was no way to hide Claire’s broken nose, two black eyes, and cut lip at the funeral.”

  “Weren’t you afraid someone would tell the authorities that you’d murdered a man?” Janet asked, her eyes wide with astonishment.

  I knew the answer to that question already. Raina turned to Janet, arching one silver brow. She looked so much like Maggie in that moment—the same regal bearing, the same utter confidence in her own power—that I could almost believe it was my aunt sitting in front of me.

  “I am the Macgregor Witch,” Raina said. “In Glen Gregor, my will is law. No one would question it.”

  And that was that. Glen Gregor was our family estate in Scotland. It had been established by my English great-grandfather as a refuge for my Scottish relatives after Bonnie Prince Charlie’s defeat at Culloden. Over time, those who lived in the castle and those who populated the village had evolved into something of a voluntary feudal society. For generations the eldest female of my family, the one thought to possess the strongest of our hereditary magic, had been the matriarch of the glen. As isolated as they were in the wild western highlands of Scotland, the Macgregor Witch had always ruled with the authority of a queen.