"Well," she hedged, "their natures are violent. But I did most thorough research. No one has died of loss of blood due to a wound in the neck for over five years."
Ian snorted. "A vampire is supposedly a most villainous creature. I have read some of the stories written about them. They enjoy torture. Every one is a predator. Someone is bound to get eaten. What do you think they will do to a human who dares expose them?" His bays moved restlessly, and Ian tightened his grip on their reins and got them moving again.
Clair looked everywhere except at his vibrant green eyes. "I imagine they might be a tad irritated."
"A tad irritated," Ian echoed sardonically, wanting to yank her into his arms and shake some sense into her. He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless. She was many things, but he had to admit faint of heart was not one of them. "I would say it might just be a bloodbath. Yours!"
Clair paled, pulling her cape tightly around herself. "True scholars of the sciences must go forward. We can't stand back because we are afraid, and let the truth be buried. Besides, you don't believe in such nonsense."
Ignoring her words, Ian reached over and touched her cheek. "I don't want to see you buried, Miss Frankenstein."
His touch was tender, sending a shiver of excitement through her. "Clair. Please call me Clair."
"And name is Ian."
"It is a fine name." Then she laughed. "But not much of a name for a vampire."
Ian shook his head and grinned tiredly. "No, I don't think I have heard of a single vampire called Ian."
Clair released his arm. Gazing into his eyes she said, "I thought you said you didn't believe in vampires."
Ian's patience snapped. "Clair, if there is a possibility of supernatural beings living in London, a slight possibility, I don't want to see you hurt by trying to discover who they are and where they are. I can't stress this enough!"
Clair looked down at her hands in her lap. "Thank you, Ian. I appreciate your concern. But I cannot stop my scientific studies. It would be cowardly and wrong. What would happen to the world if we gave up when the going got difficult? What would happen to man's spirit if he let his dreams die?"
She gazed at him steadily, trying to help him see. "Thoreau wrote, 'If you consistently advance in the directions of your dreams and endeavor to live the life which you have imagined, you will meet with success in common hours. If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost. That's where it should be. Now put the foundation under them.'" She glanced away, emotion stark on her face. Her dreams and goals were who she was and what she lived for.
Ian was deeply moved. For too long he had lived in a gray area between dusk and dawn. He had lost his youth, his father, and almost his mother to her morose grief. Yet he had gone on, anticipating neither the journey or the journey's end. "I have heard Thoreau read before, but never have I heard words put so beautifully and to such purpose."
Clair blushed. "So you understand this is my destiny, to follow the star that only I can see?"
"Ah… a believer in the Fates."
She laughed. "You have to be if you're of Frankenstein ancestry. Uncle Victor always says there's no escaping destiny. It's like a runaway train, hurtling us to our unknown destination. We can get off the train for a bit, but ultimately we must always reboard or be left behind in obscurity."
"You will continue on this path you've set yourself, even if you know it will get you killed?"
Clair wanted to make him understand. It was important to her to know that he accepted who and what she was. "How can I do less than the legions of Frankensteins before me? Uncle Tieck was laughed out of university for his novel on vampires. And look at Uncle Victor. The villagers tarred and feathered him for creating Frederick. But their travails never stopped my uncles from their scientific or artistic quests. How can I give up? How can I be less than I was raised to be? It is who I am, a Frankenstein. she finished modestly.
Scowling, he knew he was going to have to do some serious thinking to try and change her mind. She was a woman of strong convictions. Even worse, she had a quest. "I don't suppose you are interested in the Holy Grail?" he said.
"Why, Ian, what a strange question." Clair chuckled.
"Forget it. It was only a passing thought," he replied glumly. "Well, I'll be deuced! I thought he was still in the Highlands."
"Who?"
"See that giant coming toward us? The one in the dark green riding jacket?"
She nodded, studying the figure who was approaching at a fast clip. The man was large, not heavy but stocky. And he appeared to be very tall and wide of shoulder like Ian.
"My cousin, Galen McBain, my father's sister's son. Someday he'll be laird of the McBains."
Ian pulled his bays over and onto the unbeaten path, out of the way of the promenading curricles, as Galen McBain arrived on his tall roan mount. He dismounted lithely for such a big man. He stood holding the reins of his steed, a friendly smile on his face.
Galen studied the enchanting woman with his cousin, while Ian made the introductions from where he sat. Although Clair Frankenstein was a lovely lass, Galen couldn't help but be curious, since she was in a far different league from his cousin's usual chères amies, who mainly consisted of widows, opera singers, or courtesans, with a bawd or two thrown in for good effect. But this was a Frankenstein, and Frankensteins were trouble, with their manic ideas and unshakable curiosity.
Clair was delighted by the unexpected meeting of a relative of Ian's; however Galen McBain was a little intimidating. When Ian was tall, Galen was well over six feet by at least four inches. He had arms the size of small tree trunks and his shoulders were formidable. His hair was a pale wheat color, his eyes a stormy dark blue. They reminded Clair of dusk, after the oranges and pinks of the sky made their appearance and signaled night fall.
Soon she forgot his size and concentrated on what the two cousins were saying. She could tell by their attitudes and tone of voice that they were close.
The conversation flowed easily, since each had a sharp wit, but Clair made a blunder which took the conversation to a more somber tone. Mistakenly she inquired if Ian's mother had remarried. Ian's features seemed to contort as he told her most emphatically his mother had not and would never remarry.
"My mother almost died of grief when my father was killed in a freak fire. If not for my sister and myself, I believe my mother would not be alive today. She loved my father dearly. Theirs was a great love story and, as with all great love stories, it ended quite tragically."
"I am so sorry. I lost both my parents when I was quite young also. I do understand the sense of loss and aloneness," Clair responded. She leaned over and tenderly patted Ian's arm.
It was a move which did not go unnoticed by Galen. The man wasn't sure how he felt about the attraction between Clair and his cousin. Ian was a hard man, but even hard men had been known to break, especially when a lovely lass was involved.
Clair's sympathy touched Ian. He squeezed her hand. "Thank you. It has, been a long time."
"Grief knows no hourglass," Clair added.
Galen broke the spell by saying they were all growing maudlin, and he began regaling Clair with a few stories of he and Ian growing up. She learned that Ian had been quite the mischiefmaker, slow to learn a lesson and passionate in his pleasures. One of the best stories was of questing for honey after seeking the bees' nest for two days.
Galen's eyes sparkled with mirth as he related the tale. "Both Ian's parents had warned him repeatedly not to attempt to rob the bees. But Ian knew best. He conceived a plan to distract the bees so he could gather the honey. He wore a bee disguise that he had created with false wings, and painted his shirt yellow and black."