Highland Hunger Bundle with Yours for Eternity & Highland Beast

by Hannah Howell, Alexandra Ivy, Michele Sinclair, Jackie Ivie, Kaitlin O'Riley

Genres: Romance Anthologies & Collections; Scottish & Highlander; Paranormal Romance

Synopsis

New York Times bestselling author Hannah Howell, Victoria Dahl, and Heather Grothaus offer three unforgettable stories set in the Scottish highlands, where forbidden longings take over. . . "The Beast Within" by Hannah Howell Gybbon MacNachton spends his days searching for the Lost Ones--demons with the powerful MacNachton bloodline who are being hunted by those who want to destroy them. When he stumbles upon Alice Boyd, living like a wild animal in the forest, she stirs a primitive lust deep within him--a lust that can only be sated by their explosive union. . . Hidden in the shadowy caves and caverns of the Scottish Highlands, secret vampire clans wage dark battles both deadly and passionate. . . "Dark Embrace" by Hannah Howell While searching for his clan's demon Lost Ones, Raibeart MacNachton encounters an ethereal beauty running for her life. The decision to play hero is easy; fighting the urge to ravish the enchanting Una Dunn is more difficult—especially when Raibeart learns they share a powerful connection. "The Guardian" by Michele Sinclair In this sizzling new collection, three women fall under the spell of three irresistible vampires who promise to satisfy their every desire. . . "Highland Blood" by Hannah Howell When Adeline Dunbar finds an abandoned baby on her doorstep, she sets out to find his clan. Attacked by a group of demon hunters, Adeline tries to flee her rescuer, vampire Lachann MacNachton. But escaping Lachann proves useless--as does denying the primal hunger he stirs deep within her. . .

Release date: October 1, 2011

Publisher: Kensington

Print pages: 777

Sample

“Bleeding bitch! That witch is cursing us!”

Raibeart frowned at the words cutting through the predawn quiet. He had already paused in his ride to the caves because of the noise of people thrashing their way through the woods. Whoever the fools were, they were stumbling their way all over the path he had chosen to get to his shelter. That could cause a delay, and time was not something he had much of. He moved his horse deeper into the shadows of a small stand of trees fighting each other for space.

“There she is!”

Just as he wondered if he could slip around the men, Raibeart caught sight of their prey. Her pale hair was a beacon for her enemies. Even men without the keen sight of a MacNachton could see that hair in the dim gray of approaching dawn. Slender, her skirts hiked up high to make running easier and revealing strong slim legs that swiftly stirred his interest, she did not look much like the women men usually decried as witches. She was young and buxom. The slender form he grew more interested in by the moment suddenly stilled. He watched as she caught sight of her pursuers and then she bolted.

“Wheesht, Tor, the lass can run,” he muttered to his horse as he watched the woman race through the trees, leaping over every obstacle with nimble grace. “Shame she is doing naught but running in circles.”

Despite their clumsiness, the five men chasing her managed to herd her into the center of the small clearing and soon encircled her. Raibeart studied the way the woman crouched slightly, moving with care to keep each man in her sight. There was something about the way she moved, the way she so skillfully evaded each lunge of a man, and the way the men approached her as if she were some dangerous animal that sharpened his interest in her beyond mere physical appreciation of her beauty. Her hands were curved in a way that resembled claws as she slashed out at the men, and he could hear her growl softly. If not for the waves of fair hair hanging to her slender hips, he would think she carried MacNachton blood.

He looked up at the sky. A rapidly approaching dawn had already lightened the dark of night into a paler gray. The sun would begin to climb into the sky soon. The safety of the caves beckoned but he shrugged. He had time to rescue a fair-haired woman. Raibeart secured the reins around his left hand, studied the ground, and touched the sword sheathed on the saddle.

“Ready, Tor? I am thinking we have a few moments to be gallant, aye?” He began to walk his horse closer toward his target, wanting to be just a little nearer to the woman before he charged. “A little fun before taking our rest. Mayhap our journey will then be less of an utter failure.”

Una struggled to catch her breath. She was not as strong or as fast as she needed to be to fight these men. Blood loss and months locked in a cage had sapped her strength. The thought that she was failing the ones who depended upon her to help them only added to her growing weakness, stirring a weariness that went to her soul. She had such hope in her heart when she had first fled Dunmorton, but that hope was rapidly turning to ashes at her feet.

“Ye are more trouble than ye are worth,” said Donald, the one Una considered the meanest, ugliest, and most slack-witted of the laird’s venal minions. “I dinnae ken why the laird wants ye back.”

She suddenly recalled that not all of the laird’s men knew why the laird held her and the others captive, except to give the old man a ready supply of young women to force to his bed. That did not explain the two youths or the two children, but the men of Dunmorton were not known for their deep thoughts. She wondered if telling them the truth would turn them against the man. These men were already jealous of their laird and his favorites, angered that they did not share the women they kept caged. That jealousy could be turned to rage if they discovered what else the old man was not sharing.

Then she met Donald’s narrowed eyes and cast aside the thought of stirring dissent in the ranks. It would probably work but would be of no help to her. Donald would do his best to kill her before he raced back to the keep to demand his fair share of the laird’s bounty. Una did not think the knowledge that Donald and the lackwits with him would be swiftly killed would offer her much joy, for she would be dead. And, she thought, if these men learned the truth, the people she had hoped to save would soon die as well.

“I dinnae believe the laird would appreciate his lackeys questioning him,” she said.

“And he doesnae appreciate his game escaping its cage, either.”

“Tsk, it seems disappointment must be the madmon’s lot this day, aye?” She turned her head to hiss at the man trying to creep up on her side. “Back away, ye wee bastard, or I will rip ye open and strangle ye with your own innards.”

She could tell by the way Red Rob narrowed his eyes that her reference to his short stature would cost her. From the moment she had been dragged to Dunmorton and he had realized that she was several inches taller than him, he had loathed her, taking what few chances he got to add to her misery. If these men caught her, Red Rob would make sure that she suffered every step of the way back to captivity.

If? Una almost laughed aloud. There was no uncertainty about her fate. She could not stop the men from capturing her. The only thing in question at the moment was how much damage she could inflict upon them before they brought her down. Una prayed it would be a lot.

Failure was a bitter taste on the back of her tongue. She had tried so hard, planned so carefully, that it struck her as monstrously unfair that she should fail. Even worse, Una knew she would never find a chance to try again, nor would any of the others. They would all spend what remained of their pitiful lives locked in cages, the women dragged to the laird’s bedchamber whenever he demanded it, and all of them bled repeatedly to make the laird and his chosen men strong. The thought of the youngest of the laird’s captives suffering such a fate made her want to scream out in rage.

Una was just thinking that she would put an end to the game by going on the attack when the sound of hooves thundering over the ground made her and her enemies tense. The way her attackers’ eyes widened and they all stepped back, scurrying away until she had no one at her back, caused Una to glance in the direction of the approaching sound. If whatever came their way frightened her enemy, it could only be good for her.

Her glance turned into an open-mouthed stare. A huge black horse was galloping their way, but it was the man seated on the impressive beast that fully grasped her attention and held it. He was big, big enough that he needed a horse that size just to carry his weight. Long black hair, broad shoulders, and a wide grin on his handsome face—a wide grin that revealed a glimpse of what looked like fangs.

She did not flinch when he leaned down, holding out a hand as he drew near yet barely reining in his mount. Una weighed her choices in that heartbeat of time it took for him to reach her. Five men to battle or one big one. The choice was clear. She grabbed his wrist and leapt up, noting his strength as he easily drew her up behind him.

The men who had encircled her scattered before the charging horse. She wrapped her arms around the man’s waist as he rode around the clearing twice, driving her enemy farther away. When he then kicked his mount back into a full charging gallop, riding away from the laird’s men, she hung on tightly and tried to decide what she should do next.

Una frowned when the first thought to enter her head was that the man smelled good. His thick black hair brushed against her face as they rode, and she liked the feel of it touching her skin. Cursing softly, she forced such strange thoughts from her mind. Men had proved to be nothing but a threat to her from an early age, and she refused to allow such womanly thoughts to distract her from the most important thing—escape.

Leaping from the back of a galloping horse was not a good idea, she decided as she looked down at the ground, which passed by beneath the animal’s hooves at an alarming speed. If she did not break her neck, she would certainly break something else, making escape impossible. She glanced up at the brightening sky and knew it would be a clear, sunny day. By the time the sun was at its zenith, she would have to find shelter or be too weak to get away from anyone. It appeared that her only chance to escape would come when her rescuer slowed down enough for her to leap off the horse and run, but he showed little inclination to do that.

She frowned even more as he headed straight toward the hills. There would be shelter there but only if she stayed with or near this man. Una was not sure why he would take her into the hills, but she doubted that his reasons were ones she would like. She inwardly cursed, knowing that she would soon have to make yet another quick decision, whether to run or stay and take the chance that this man was truly intent upon saving her. He could be, but she knew how quickly that could change if he discovered what she truly was.

Life had not treated her fairly, she thought, allowing herself to wallow in the mire of self-pity for a moment. She had lost her family to a fever that had never touched her. That had only added to the villagers’ suspicions that there was something different about her. As if being blond, blue-eyed, and taller than most women, even some men, was not enough. Still grieving for her family, she had been driven away from the village, forced to survive on her own for years. Then she had found herself caged and bled to fulfill the dreams of a madman who wanted a long life. That made all she had already suffered to stay alive pale into insignificance.

Una shook aside her maudlin thoughts. She was still alive and, at the moment, still free. That was all that mattered now. She still had a chance to help her fellow prisoners.

Idly studying the wide shoulders and strong back of the man she rode behind, and ruthlessly smothering the spark of interest such a sight stirred within her, Una tried to decide if she could trust him. Even more importantly, could she take him down if he proved to be untrustworthy? She was strong, she was fast, and she had very sharp teeth. All had kept her alive and freed her from many a man’s attempt to take what she did not wish to give. None of those men, however, had been as big and strong as this one.

She briefly considered immediately ending whatever threat the man who had pulled her out of the trap she had been imposed. It would be easy to wrap her hands around his neck, strangle him or simply snap his neck. The mere thought of doing so, or of using her teeth to inflict a mortal wound, turned her stomach. He had rescued her from certain capture, from a return to the cage the laird had waiting for her, whatever his reasons might be for such an act. It would also be cold-blooded murder, and she had never stooped to that. Una quickly smothered a sigh. She would have to wait to see what he would do next before she acted.

The woman pressed against his back was thinking so hard Raibeart was surprised he could not hear her. From the way her tempting body had tensed, slumped, tensed again, and then straightened, he suspected she was trying to decide if he was friend or foe. Obviously rescuing her from those men had not been enough to win her trust. Considering she had just been chased down by five men acting like hounds on the scent of a hare, he was not surprised.

“What is your name?” he asked as his mount made its careful way up the rocky slope of the first hill, toward the cave that would shelter him from the sun’s killing light.

“Una Dunn,” she replied after a brief hesitation.

“I am Raibeart MacNachton, Sir Raibeart MacNachton.”

“Weel met, sir.”

“Truly? Ye dinnae appear certain of that.”

Una scowled at the back of his head. She struggled to ignore how his long thick black hair tempted her with the urge to touch. There was no way the man could know all the doubts she was suffering from. She had learned to hide what she felt very well over the years.

“I have no doubt that I needed to be rescued,” she said.

“Just about the rescuer.”

“I dinnae ken who ye are, sir. I would be a fool not to be wary about a mon I dinnae ken, have ne’er met, nor have heard even the smallest rumor about.”

“True. Ye can come to ken who I am as we rest.”

“Rest? But the day has only just begun. The sun isnae even fully risen yet.”

“And I have been riding through the night so I must rest for a wee while. I suspect ye didnae get much rest, either.”

Una was not sure why, but she suspected he was not telling her the whole truth, that he was hiding something. But, then, she was holding fast to a few secrets herself. She would welcome a rest after her ordeal as well as shelter from the rising sun, but she would not openly admit to that. Sheltering from the sun for a large part of the day had been one habit that had marked her, and her family, as different, stirring whispers of witchery and Satan. Not everyone had swallowed the lie that it was because the women of her family were so fair; the sun easily burned them. Una doubted this man would believe it.

The man reined in his mount and Una looked around. It took her a moment to see the opening in the rocky hillside. Her rescuer planned for them to seek their rest within a cave. Her mind sought fruitlessly for a decision about what step to take next. Go with the man into the cave or try to flee. The laird’s men were nowhere in sight, but she needed rest and shelter. It was not a need she could ignore for much longer, not if she was going to have the strength needed to go on. She struggled to make up her mind as he dismounted, and idly noticed that he kept the reins clasped tightly in his hand.

Then she looked into his dark brown eyes and all clarity of thought fled. Thickly lashed, set beneath straight dark brows, they were the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen on a man. There were faint specks of amber decorating that dark brown that fascinated her. The way he looked at her with both amusement and understanding touched something deep inside her, something soft and womanly. Una abruptly realized that she had a lot more to worry about than whether or not this man was truly her rescuer.

Raibeart needed only one look at her beautiful face to know that Una was ready to bolt. He was not sure what he could do to calm her fears, to win at least enough of her trust that she would come into the cave with him. A quick glance at the sky told him that he did not have long to accomplish that before he had to seek shelter from the sun, with or without her.

He knew horses not women. Unlike many of his brethren, he had little experience with women. He was renowned throughout his clan for his skill with horses, however, and being able to make almost any horse accept and trust him despite the scent of the predator he knew he carried. Raibeart was proud of that, but at the moment, he heartily wished he had learned more about women. He doubted that a few pats on Una’s flank, soft words, and a handful of oats would calm the wary-eyed woman still seated on Tor.

“Come, we need to rest and this place will be safe and easily defended,” he said.

“I do not need to rest,” she said, knowing it was a lie, for her entire body ached for rest. The way he cocked one dark brow told her that he knew it was, too. “It would be best if I just continued on.”

“To where?”

Una silently cursed, wishing he had not asked that question. She had no idea where she would go. All she knew was that she needed help, an ally who would assist her in freeing the others held hostage by the laird. Instinct told her that she could trust this man, that he could prove to be the very ally she had been looking for, but Una had tasted the bitterness of betrayal too often to trust in her own instincts.

“I can find a place when I need to,” she said. “I am nay helpless.”

“Ah, nay, ye certainly are nay helpless.” He smiled. “Took five men and a long hard run to corner you.”

The approval in his deep rough voice stroked her vanity in a pleasant way, but she tried to ignore that. “Which proves that I can take care of myself.”

“Lass, I have no doubt ye can, but against five men? I could see that they were verra determined to catch you and didnae plan to be gentle in the doing of it. I heard them decry ye as a witch and ken weel the threat behind such accusations. I can see the bruises on your wee face and arms, see the hunger and weakness ye suffer. I also think ye have the wit to ken that those men willnae cease to hunt ye down, aye?”

“Aye,” she agreed and wondered why she did because it told him far too much about her situation.

“Then trust me, if only for a wee while. I swear that I mean ye no harm.” He held out his hand. “Share my poor shelter and mayhap ye will tell me why ye are being so avidly hunted.”

“I could be a murderer,” she said even as she clasped his hand and allowed him to help her dismount.

“Nay, I think not, and I will trust my instincts in that.”

It occurred to Una that Raibeart had as little reason to trust in her as she did in him. Less, actually. His instincts could be wrong as easily as hers could. She could be a murderer, one who used her smaller size as an excuse to creep up on a man at his weakest and cut his throat. She knew she would not hesitate to do so to that mad laird who had kept her prisoner and still held the others caged, not if she knew it would free them all. Sir Raibeart MacNachton might be big and strong, but he was also taking a very large risk. Not as great a one as she was, but still a risk. That realization eased some of her wariness.

Una was deep inside the cave before she realized she was looking around as if she could see easily in the dark, which she could, and she tensed with alarm. It was something she had always taken the utmost care to hide. A quick peek at Raibeart revealed him settling his mount in at the rear of the cave, moving about as if he, too, had no difficulty in seeing in the dark. Nor did he reveal, by look or action, that he had noticed her ease of movement.

The way he walked right to the hollowed-out, shallow pit in the middle of the cave, gathering wood from a pile in the back¸ made Una frown. His every step was sure and steady. Not only could he see well in the dark, this cave was very familiar to him, an obviously well-used shelter. She sat down opposite him as he worked to light a fire. She knew without asking that he was not doing so because he needed the light but because he wished some warmth or because he thought she needed the light.

Her heart began to pound with a rush of fear and excitement. Then she recalled that she had thought she had glimpsed fangs in his mouth when he had ridden to her rescue. Could he be one of the cursed, akin to her and the ones she hoped to save? Una rubbed her suddenly sweaty palms against her skirt as she frantically tried to decide what step she should take next. Ask him bluntly if he was one of the cursed or wait to see if there were more clues to be even more certain? She could not allow her desperate need for an ally make her act with a dangerous haste.

“Did ye bring your whole larder with ye?” she asked after watching him chop a rabbit carcass into pieces, toss the pieces into a pot of water set over the fire, and then begin to chop up some leeks.

Raibeart grinned. “Nay, but I ne’er miss a chance to gather food as I travel.”

A smile so fleeting he would have missed it if he had not been staring at her mouth like some lovesick fool crossed her face, but the shadows quickly returned to her eyes. Raibeart had the oddest urge to tell her that he did not really need the meal he was making, that what he needed to survive flowed through that vein he could see pulsing faintly at the side of her long, graceful neck. He never felt such an urge. Every MacNachton learned the value of holding fast to such stark truths in the cradle. Something about Una Dunn made him reluctant to hide behind the lies that came so easily to him and all the others in his clan, the lies that meant survival.

“So, lass, why were those men trying to capture ye?” he asked as he searched through his pack for a few more things to add to his stew. The food might not provide him with what he needed to survive, but he had always had a liking for the taste of a hearty stew, for a lot of the foods Outsiders ate, in fact. “Nay because ye committed some crime. I cannae believe that.”

“Nay, I committed no crime.” She took a deep breath and considered what she could say that would help her decide if he was the ally she so desperately needed. “I am but different and their laird collects people who are different.”

He tensed as he tossed a few wild mushrooms into the pot, sensing a tension behind each of her words, as if she sought something from him even as she told him what he wanted to know. Raibeart thought back over the first few moments after they had entered the cave, the very dark cave, and a deep darkness he had sought to alleviate for her by making a fire. She had shown no hesitation in moving around in that thick dark, had not even revealed a hint of the fear most Outsiders had of such darkness. Then he recalled the feral noises she had made when she had been cornered by the men trying to chase her down, her grace and speed while running through the woods in the near dark of approaching dawn, and even the way she had curled her hands until her fingers were curved like the claws of an animal. He had dismissed the fleeting thought that she had MacNachton blood because she was so fair, but he now wondered if he had been wrong to do so.

“How are you different?” he asked in what he prayed was a gentle yet coaxing voice, a voice that would prompt her to be completely honest.

“Weel, I can see verra weel in the dark.” When he just nodded, his expression one of calm and interest, she gathered her courage and continued. “I am verra strong and fast for a lass, stronger and faster than many a mon even. I also heal very quickly if I am wounded, and I rarely get sick, even when all around me are felled by some fever.”

“And?” he pressed when she fell silent and just stared at him, her brilliant blue eyes glowing in the fire’s light, her unease so strong he could almost smell it on her skin.

“Is that nay enough? Why do ye think there is more?”

“I sense it. I could almost hear the and in your voice even though ye then ceased to speak. So, what else makes ye different ?”

“I have verra sharp teeth.”

Raibeart studied her for a full moment, adding up all that made her different, and then asked, “Sharp like these?” He smiled wide enough to reveal his fangs, which, although not lengthened by the scent of blood, were still very noticeable, and readied himself to catch her if she grew too afraid and tried to flee.

Una bit back a gasp. He did have fangs. She had not imagined seeing them. They were not as long as some beasts’, but much more sharp and deadly than any man’s. When he closed his mouth, she looked into his eyes and saw no fear of her. He looked intensely curious and as if he ached to ask many more questions of her but hesitated, just as she did. There was only one thing left to reveal, one thing that could easily turn him against her or prove, beyond any further doubt, that she had stumbled upon someone burdened with the same curse she had been born with.

“Do ye like your meat barely seared?” she asked, unable to keep all of her rising fear, and hope, out of her voice.

“I do. And, because of these differences, ye think ye are what? Cursed? A witch as those men called you?”

“Nay, no witch, but, aye, I am cursed, as was my mother and her mother. Grandmother was the first of the women in our family to be burdened with this curse.”

“Ye are nay cursed, lass. S’truth, I think our families may have joined together at some time in the past. Do ye ken who sired your grandmother?” He frowned when she blushed.

“Nay. My grandmother was a bastard child. She told my mother that she was born of darkness and violence, that her sire appeared out of the night, took her mother by force, and then disappeared. He ne’er returned.”

“So, nay even a name for her mother to curse at.”

“Nay, but Grandmother said that her mother was terrified of the night from that time on and that, when she realized the child born of that night was cursed, she wept. I gather from Grandmother’s tales that the woman wept a lot. But she eventually wed a good mon and Grandmother did as weel. The curse has waned some.”

“ ’Tis nay a curse.” Raibeart sighed when he caught the glint of fear in her eyes, for he knew he had nearly snarled the words at her. “What did your grandmother eat and could she bear the light of day?” He could see her fear in her eyes, and it was even a light scent upon the air, but he did not know how to ease it. “Nay, dinnae fear. I willnae condemn ye for the truth. ’Tis verra important to me that ye tell me the full truth.”

“Blood,” she whispered. “Grandmother drank the blood of any slaughtered animal, and she couldnae step outside once the sun rose, but spent the day in the darkest part of the cottage.”

“She was of my clan then. She carried MacNachton blood.”

“Are ye saying that your whole clan is cursed?”

“ ’Tis. Nay. A. Curse.”

Una lightly bit her bottom lip to suppress the sudden urge to smile. The way he bit out those four words and scowled at her should have frightened her, but it did not. Not even a little.

“Then what do ye call it?” she asked. “I cannae think it some wondrous gift or blessing, nay when it stirs others into a dangerous fear, causing them to decry one as a witch.”

Raibeart sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “Nay, although it should be seen as a gift. There has to be some good reason for the MacNachtons to be what they are.”

“But ye dinnae ken what that good reason is yet, do ye?”

“Nay, but that doesnae matter now. What matters is that ye are of our blood, our kin, a MacNachton. Our laird has been sending us out to hunt for ones like you. Our ancestors were a brutal lot, arrogant in their strength and power. For a long time they harried all the nearest villages, taking what they needed or wanted. There are still whispers about them, tales of the Nightriders used to keep the bairns close to home at night. It was recently that we were shown that they had left behind more than pain, destruction, and dark tales. We found ones of our blood, ones bred of that dark time, and now we search for more of them. We call them the Lost Ones.”

“How could ye nay ken that bairns could have been born of such raids, of the taking of the women?”

“Because MacNachtons breed few children. Our laird believes that is because we have been too much alone, breeding only amongst our own kind. That begins to change.”

He looked at her, studying her expression closely but seeing only curiosity and just a hint of disbelief. The latter was no surprise. The truth about his people was difficult for most Outsiders to believe, and she had been raised as an Outsider.

“But that is of no importance now,” he continued. “What matters now is what ye were running away from and whether that trouble has aught to do with the MacNachtons.” He handed her his wineskin. “Drink this. It will make ye grow stronger.”

It took but one taste for Una to know that the wine was enriched with blood. She almost tossed it aside, her fear of revealing her dark hunger to anyone deep and old. Her body demanded the sustenance, however. She drank deeply, her injured body welcoming the needed nourishment, and then handed the wineskin back to him.

“And now tell me your tale so that we may ken the best way to free ye of the trouble dogging your heels,” he said.

“I escaped in the hope of helping the others who are still held prisoner at Dunmorton,” she said. “My plan was to find someone to help me free the others, but something went wrong, for I was not gone from the place for very long before the laird’s men were fast on my heels.”

“Mayhap one of the other prisoners told them.”

“Nay. They all ken that they are trapped until they die unless someone helps them. And they all ken that nothing they do will gain them any ease from their torment or mercy.”

“Why?”

“The laird began merely hunting ones like us for sport, killing us, or sending us to another who undoubtedly killed us. He caught poor Allana and decided he would rape her first. They fought, for Allana is no meek lass, but she lost that battle. In the fight, however, the laird swallowed some of her blood. It healed the wounds she had given him and made him feel stronger, younger even than his fifty years.”

She frowned. “Considering how he looked when I first set eyes on him, he must have had a hard life or lives hard and unwisely, for he looked far older than that.” She shrugged. “I think Allana was saved from execution at first simply because he wished to abuse her a few more times, but he quickly saw that she might have more use than as a reluctant leman. He did not need much time to discover that he was right, that Allana’s blood healed him, made him stronger, and he began to make potions of it to share with the five men closest to him.” She nodded toward his wineskin. “Much like ye have in