The Killing Moor

Part 12
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Months had rolled by on the moors, brining with them changes to the clans,
unsettling many a hearth and home. Riddick had warred with the McTeirnan's over Duncan for the turn of six months and upon that hardship a mysterious illness has befallen the clans, none were to be speared. Graves began to abound, fresh reminders that something new and deadly had come among their midst. Tales came to the moors of the illness reaching as far at the highlands, and even as as as York.

Riddick himself had lost two families in the recent weeks, bloodless corpse
were the only thing left of the vibrant people that he had known. Now he
stood outside his chamber arms braced against the door, forehead dropped against the rough wood. Inside, his wife had lain for hours, moaning with
the pains of the coming child.

Inside Guenivere's bottom lip was swollen, the indention of her teeth
embedded in the soft flesh. She wanted to scream for him, have him break
through the barrier of the door and save her from the searing pain. But she
was nothing if not a warrior's woman. He'd not hear her scream her torment.
She'd not embarrass him. And so, as the next heated, excruciating ache
arrived, her fingernails dug deeply into the wrist of the midwife, an
agonizing groan erupting from the deepest parts of her being. She could
vaguely hear the midwife's voice urging her on, encouraging her.

The next few moments were a rush of intensity, pain and joy as the midwife
threw open the heavy door, a mock stern expron oon on her face betrayed only by the brightness of her eyes.

"Ach, how you look, mi'lord. And me about to introduce ya to your wee
daughter."

She pulled the door opened even more giving him a glimpse of a very tired
Guenivere holding a writhing bundle to her breast. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"She's strong and healthy, My lord Riddick." The love in her eyes warmed the room. "Made from our love."

Riddick stalked into the room, a relieved sigh poised on his lips. "She's a
Riddick for sure." He grinned, as she wrapped a wrinkled pink hand around her father's finger.

Guenivere nodded, her eyelids falling as a long red lock lack plastered to
her face which was still wet from the exertion of childbirth. "Aye, mi'lord..
And she knows her laird." She looked at their daughter and then her eyes
met his. "What shall we call her, my lord husband?"

Riddick stared in wonderment at his daughter, never having felt the rush of
emotions that a new life could invoke. Johns had been more than five months birthed when he laid eyes upon him, but not this one, not this work of love. "She'll carry the name of my mother, Jaqueline."

Tears of happiness shone brightly in Guenivere's eyes as she nodded. "It is
as it should be. I can think of no finer name for her to be blessed with."
She pressed dry lips to the downy soft head and sighed lovingly. "Welcome to the worly day darling Jaqueline." She turned loving eyes to her husband as her head began to swim slightly from fatigue. "You are well pleased, my
love?"

Riddick nodded, seeing the exhaustion in his wife's slight form. He lifted
the now sleeping infant from her arms. "Sleep well, woman. I'll take our
daughter to meet our clan."

Guenivere's eyes were mere slits now, a contented smile caressing her strong, yet delicate features. "Will you not kiss the mother of your daughter, dear husband?" She nestled deeper into the bed, her body relaxing. A sweet and loving kiss from her dearest love would make this moment perfect and cause her dreams to be sweet.

He leaned down and gave her mouth a gentled caress, his lips playing along hers. "If you're in need of something more, my love, speak it now..." He
teased, straightening as a soft sigh came from the babe in his arms.

A contented chuckle came from deep inside the new mother as she exhaled a cleansing breath. "Give me but a little rest, my lord, and if it please
you we shall work toward a brother for our lady." Her eyes opened briefly
and melted into his gaze. "I love you more than words can say, Riddick."
And her eyes slid closed as she began to give in to slumber.

"And I you, wife," he said, watching her tumble toward the restful arms of
sleep.

The warm, rich timber of her husband's voice and the soft mewing sound of
their daughter caused Guenivere to willingly fall into the blissful state of
dreams.

Riddick strode proudly from the room holding his daughter in suddenly gentled arms. "Aye, you'll make a fine warrior, you will." He smiled as he took the stairs to the great hall.

Burying her head into the depths of the down pillow, the lady of the manor
smiled contentedly, visions of her husband and daughter tumbling merrily
around in the midst of her sleep induced meditation.

How peaceful her slumber appeared, how content in mind she was. But that was all to change in the minutes that followed, change as the lone figure slinked gracefully into her chamber. He'd waited, plotted, dreamed of this moment for the months that he was exiled from his human life. "Come to me, my wife, and forget all your earthly cares. Forget a husband that loves you not, and the babe sired in a stable where you were bedded as a whore."

Eyes that were only seconds ago ensconced in sleep snapped open, a scream dying deep inside her being. "That's not the way it was!" But the words sounded pitiful even to her ears as she inched her way to the opposite side of the bed, a slight groan of pain escaping her, an adamant reminder of childbirth only moments before. "He'll know you're here," she whispered, fear coursing through her. "He'll save me from you."

"Oh, you're right about one thing, lass. He'll know I was here. But I'd not
count on him taking up the sword in your defense. He has what he desires from your union, a babe," Duncan spat, moving with the prenatural grace and speed of his kind, of the undead that he now was. His hand tangled in her
shimmering locks and he dragged her across the bed to him.

Her eyes grew even wider, round with fearful anticipation as he heart slammed inside her heaving breasts. She tried to fight him, but her exhaustion was too great. Her fingers went to his wrist trying to scrap the skin only to be met with the cold, smooth surface of epidermis. "He loves me," she insisted, his eyes draining a small amount of resolve from her soul. "Riddick loves me. The babe is a blessing of our union." She had to believe that. Her very life depended upon it.

"The babe is no blessing, wife. She's a curse upon Riddick's clan." He
hissed, opening his mouth wide and displaying the needle like protrusions
inside his mouth. "A curse that will follow his clan until the end of his
line."

Her tongue moved across suddenly dry lips as she tried to shake her head.
Her head swam and she closed her eyes to try and block out the foreboding
inside, she feeling that somehow he was right. NO, she screamed inwardly
trying to fight the horrid thoughts intruding beinbeing. "How can love be a
curse?"

He moved in shoving his face close to her, a stale dead breath fanning her
face. "Love is a curse, lass, when it destroys kin and clan around you.
What's come of your love for him? How many deaths? The plague that's swept the moors is yours, love. You created it." He momentarily moved away and swept his hand down his body, as if to display the perfect harbinger of death.

A shiver was left in the wake of his touch that chilled her body to the core, and yet it felt vaguely familiar. The pain in her body dulled as she
listened to his words, her heart trying to expel them for lies, yet her mind
falling slowly under their spell. Her head slowly shook as the very walls
seemed to close in. "I? Created the plague?" Tears burned at the corners
of her eyes. "It's not possible, Duncan! It's NOT."

"Oh, but it is..." He crawled with feline like grace onto the bed, pulling
her roughly to him. "Riddick did me death because of you. Should I not see
vengeance done now? Should I walk the earth ever more and watch as Riddick's line go about their lives never knowing the treachery from whence they were born? I think not." His pale, marble like hand wrapped around her head and drew her head to the side, preparation, a moment of toying with his prey.

Hands moving to his chest, Guenivere planted as much strength into them
drawing on every fiber of her being, and yet it was not enough. The tears
that threatened finally spilled and only one through sli fro from her lips.
"Riddick, help me!" Why did he not come? Why could he not sense that she
needed him? And then Duncan's words returned to her, cold as ice and as
smooth as glass. He has what he wanted from you, the babe. Her eyes
squeezed tightly and a sob ripped from her throat as she fought the internal
battle.

"Meet death with quieted lips, Guenivere. Meet it with the strength you
should have possessed through you life," he snarled as the spikes inside his mouth descended to the porcelain like skin of her neck, driving him, tapping
the life force that flowed through her. Duncan's eyes rolled back with the
heady sweet taste of her blood pumping into his waiting mouth.

The icy sensations where his flesh met hers were surpasses only by the fiery heat that flowed through her veins as the life giving blood from her
vivacious body was transported to his cold, undead frame. The color from her perfect skin yielded to his pale, pallid flesh, her life force transferring
to him.

With great regret, he pulled his vampire teeth from her lifeless neck and
lay the body carefully upon the bed. Standing, he simply stared at her
corpse. "It's only the beginning, Riddick. This I swear to you."