night. His family was starving, like so many others in his village, the result of failed harvests, illness and the indifference of the few who held rents over the heads of the many.
Though it was dark, Niall—Evan had learned his name during these past few weeks of watching him—wasn’t willing to give up yet. He’d apparently been trying to get a fish interested in biting, despite the cold. Evan maneuvered up into the cradle of a tree overlooking the glen, a good perch to watch the desperation mount on his face. Niall was a big man, even though he was barely past twenty.
“Well, piss on ye, then,” the Scot snarled, leaping up from the bank and throwing his fishing gear away from him. “If ye cannae provide me any help, maybe the Devil is listening.” He shouted out a few more things in Gaelic. It was probably a good thing Evan was here, because no telling when English dragoons might be on a patrol. They’d cut down a strapping male like this no questions asked, assuming right off he was a Jacobite.
Unlike many of his fellow villagers, Niall was no Jacobite. But he didn’t support the current English rule, either. Evan had been in the village shadows the night of a community bonfire, when talk had led to politics and hunger, matters closely linked for men trying to care for their families. Pushed a little too hard for his viewpoint, Niall had tartly remarked that not all Scottish problems were to be laid at English feet. “Our landlords can take their fair share of the blame. Ye dinnae need tae English to starve and beat us down, when the sons of the auld clan chiefs will do it.”
Like most of them, Niall and his family worked their rocky land and scraped together what living they could to barely cover the rents on their crofts. But unlike most, he had a keener grasp of where to lay the blame. It wasn’t the first time Evan had been impressed by the man’s intelligence.
Though most didn’t see the appeal of the rocky Scottish terrain, Evan saw a harsh beauty in the unforgiving land. He saw the same in the grooves of the young Scot’s face. In the privacy of this glen where Niall didn’t have to put on a brave face for kin or stranger, Evan watched the rage and frustration build into sorrow, helpless incomprehension . . . Every emotion strong men experienced when they confronted a terrible possibility: that scraping on the edge of survival was likely the most they would ever be able to do, for themselves or their families.
Many in his village had already accepted that. Evan had seen the hopeless resignation in their faces. Niall didn’t know what that was. No matter what the morrow brought, he wouldn’t come home to his family empty-handed, even if he had to cut up a dragoon and call his edible parts venison. Evan would lay money on it.
Ripping off his plaid and ragged shirt with another oath, Niall discarded his worn boots and plunged into water that Evan knew had to be frigid. The man disappeared beneath the surface. With his vampire hearing, Evan could hear him screaming his rage. Perhaps he’d become mindful of an English threat. Or, in the slim hope that a higher power might help him, he’d tried to at least muffle his invective toward it.
He shot back up, water sluicing off the broad chest and wide shoulders, his hair whipping back like an angry lash as he tossed it out of his flashing eyes. When Niall slogged back to the water’s edge, his jaw showed granite resolve.
“Bollocks on all of it,” he spat. Then he froze, his gaze snapping up to pin Evan where he perched in the crotch of the tree.
Remarkable. He hadn’t given away his position with even a twitch. Dropping to the ground from the ten-foot height, light as a cat, he moved toward the water. Niall’s attention went to whatever he could use as a weapon, but they both knew it was too late if Evan had a pistol or sword and was any good with either. Evan could have told him he meant him no harm, but he had other priorities. Making them clear, he stopped and gave the Scot a thorough perusal.
Skin of pale marble, bluish from cold. Though he needed feeding, his knotted muscles were ropes along his arms and thighs, his chest powerful and deep, the stomach a