Fun Fact: While writing this part my computer crashed and deleted my work twice!
by Jessica French (Midnite363@aol.com)
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There was no denying it, the dream had shook Shannon up. She had never had dreams, prophetic ones at that. The messages in the dream had been nothing good, but she was not one just to accept fate. She made her own destiny and she would have a say in this one as well. Nevertheless, she wanted to see her father.
When she awoke, after sleeping heavily for a whole day and a half, she dressed herself in a dark blue dress and pinned her hair into a tight bun at the back of her neck. She went to her father's chambers to find him writing out bills and papers. She smiled at him. He was an adorable man. He was a few inches taller than Shannon and twice her weight, but his weight was mainly of muscle and he did not let size inhibit his duties to their people. His face was covered in a thick, slightly greying beard and mustache. His deep blue eyes peaked out under fuzzy dark eyebrows, and crinkled when he smiled. His voice a deep song, melodious and rich which always had softness in it for his only daughter. She could not remember a time when his voice had been raised in anger at her.
He was dressed in their clan's colors. A dark, almost blood red tartan and plaid with only the thinnest strips of emerald green and a lighter red. When she went to his side and bent, to kiss him lightly on the cheek and wrap her arms around his broad shoulders, the fabric of his plaid was the rough scratch that only wool had. His shirt under the plaid was a crisp white that was soft and light. He looked distinct and important dressed so formally. She ran a slim finger over the engravings in the brooch that held the fabric together.
"Shannon," he set the pen he was writing with down and leaned back against her, "have you been ill? Gretchen said you slept all of yesterday away and a good portion of today. Your brothers and I worry about you."
She smiled, "And how are my wonderful brothers? They are gone so much, I hardly recognize them when they return." Two of her four brothers, John the eldest and Jacob, the second youngest, had gone to Edinburgh on duties for her father. James the youngest was in France and Darvin, one year younger than John, was riding through the Drake lands, collecting the annual taxes. "Have you heard any news on the situation in England? Has James returned anything on Charles Stuart from France?"
Her father's gruff reply had her frowning into his shoulder, on which her chin was propped, "Charles is petitioning the King of France, Louis, for money to fund the rebellion. There will be a rebellion now, I am sure. I can smell it in the air."
Shannon smiled sadly, "If so, would you go to fight? Would the boys? What of our estate and the women and their children? What would become of them, if you and the men left? I do not think a rebellion is something to be so joyous of. Rebellions cause death and hardships for all parties involved. No matter what our cause is and how worthy and right it is, rebellion will only hurt us in the end." The answers to these questions were more important than Lord Drake could ever realize. If he answered them the way Shannon feared, it would affirm her dream, and her family would die. She would die. Would she die defending her home? she wondered vaguely.
"I will ride with my people, and your brothers will follow of course. You would be the Drake heir if anything were to happen to us, which it may. You are strong, my only daughter. You have your mother's will, you will survive our clan, and protect our remaining people. When we win the rebellion against the bloody English, our lands will reign free. We will be free."
"At what price?!" Shannon declared desperately. "Father, I beg you withdraw from this foolishness..."
Her father only shook his head, "Daughter you have a sweet heart and a kind soul. I know you do not approve of this rebellion, but... to return the Stuarts to the throne would be...." He shook his head, "The rebellion is the only way, and if I can help out this worthy cause I will in anyway I can. I only ask for your support if not your understanding."
"Very well Father, " she sighed wearily. "You have my support, I will do whatever you ask to help preserve this family and Scotland."
Damon stood in the central courtyard of the main Drake estate with his hands on his narrow hips. He was wearing a pair of breaches a dark brown rust color. His shirt was white and open halfway. He was pissed. His stubborn excuse for a mare had thrown him from her saddle .... again.
A shuffle from behind had him turning smoothly, picking up the scent of his Lady Shannon before he even saw her. He had not seen her in the past days, his bite proving most potent. "Shannon," he bowed almost mockingly. "This horse is on my last nerve." He smiled and drew her into his arms, kissing her lightly on the mouth and was rewarded when she tightened her hold on him. She burrowed her face in his neck, sigh in the scent of horse, hay and male. Damon only become concerned when she just stayed that way, holding onto him tight enough that, if he were mortal, would bruise his ribs surely.
"What is troubling you?" he murmured into her ear, rubbing her back gently to sooth.
She shook her head slightly, not ready to answer him. They stood like that, their forms throwing long shadows over the deep brown dirt in the Drake courtyard as the sun moved across the sky, gradually getting ready to set for the night. The sun warmed them, but Shannon still felt very cold. Her stomach was full of ice and her hands were clammy and damp. She was about to alter Fate, change her destiny. She was going to save the lives of her family, and this was the only way. She was not sure the technicalities of the procedure, but damn it all to Hell, this was the only way. When Damon shifted his weight from boot to boot, she withdrew herself and with her chin high and proud she said, "I want you to make me a vampire."