chapter Nineteen
Alec sat across from the Marquess of Eynsford in the carriage and struggled to hear what the pair of witches were talking about. He caught a word here and there, but not very many. And what he did hear didn’t mean much.
“Your wife is a cunning woman,” Alec tossed out into the silence of the coach.
“If cunning and conniving mean the same thing, then yes, she is,” Eynsford replied. “Can you hear what they’re saying?”
Alec shook his head. “Very little of it.” He listened for another moment, but all he could hear was Cait’s shocked gasp. “Sounds like they’re arguing.”
“Heaven help us if they are,” the marquess grumbled.
“I have my own coach,” Alec informed him. “I can take Sorcha and we can separate them.” He’d like nothing better than that anyway. Harmony be damned. He wanted his little witch all to himself.
“Have you ever seen them really argue? Any of the witches? They’re scandalous.” Eynsford shivered dramatically.
“I’ve seen them do it my whole life,” Alec reminded him.
“That’s why I volunteered to take Sorcha to my own coach. It’s terrifying.”
“Finally, something we agree upon,” the marquess said drolly.
“That your wife and my fiancée are forces to be reckoned with? Aye, we’re in agreement. But do me a favor and don’t tell them that.”
Eynsford inclined his head slightly.
“While we’re speaking so openly, if you ever find yourself outside my door again and decide to intervene, I will do you bodily harm,” Alec warned. “You know I’m capable, and you should know I won’t hesitate next time.”
“You can try.” The marquess raised one amused eyebrow. “But my wife threatened to do me bodily harm, along with several other most severe punishments, if I didn’t intervene. Unfortunately for you, her proclamations frighten me more than yours do.”
From nowhere, a comment popped out of Alec’s mouth.
“You love her, don’t you?” He wanted to bite it back immediately. But what was done was done.
Eynsford laid his head back on the squabs and regarded Alec for a moment. “With all my heart,” he finally said.
There was nothing to say to that, so Alec simply nodded once. He was glad Cait had found happiness, even if it was with the overgrown dog sitting across from him. And Eynsford seemed the most smitten of men. Still, he’d rather not have to endure the man, if given a choice.
Devil take it! What was keeping the lasses so long?
Argument or no argument, how could they possibly think to abandon Eynsford and himself to each other’s company?
Alec tossed open the coach door and quickly exited, only to find Sorcha headed in his direction.
She wore an impish smile that made all of Alec’s annoyance drain right from him. She was so full of life; she almost made him remember what it felt like to be human.
He wanted to wrap her in his arms and revel in the energy that coursed through her. It still wasn’t too late to toss her over his shoulder and make a run for it, was it? Probably.
But he wouldn’t rule that out for the future.
“Everything all right?” he asked, as he closed the distance between them.
Sorcha nodded and gestured toward Cait a few paces behind. “A little travel sick is all.”
Behind them, Alec heard the coach groan as Eynsford alighted from the conveyance and then rushed past to take Cait’s arm. “I’ve never known you to get travel sick, angel.”
The marquess caressed his wife’s cheek. “Is there anything I can do?”
Alec towed Sorcha closer to the carriage and lowered his voice. “And the argument?”
Sorcha shrugged. “That’s how we always talk ta each other. Ye should ken that, Alec.”
Oh, he knew it. “Worse than sisters,” he agreed.
Sorcha’s brown eyes twinkled with joy. “That’s how ye ken we love each other. We only get worked up because we care.”
“And is that why you argue with me too?” He couldn’t help but ask, though he bit his cheek as he waited to hear her answer.
She nodded emphatically. “Of course. I’ve cared about ye my whole life, Alec.”
Her admission warmed him from the inside out, and he softly pressed his lips to hers. “The feeling’s mutual, Sorch.”
Somewhere behind them, Eynsford grumbled, “If I have to watch that the whole way to Edinburgh, I’ll be travel sick myself.”
“Hush,” his wife complained. “I think young love is adorable.”
Alec almost took a step back. Young love? He couldn’t love Sorcha. He adored her; he cherished her; and he wanted her beside him always. But he couldn’t love her. He didn’t have a heart anymore.
Sorcha blushed a bit, but thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice Alec’s distress as she stepped from his arms toward their traveling companions. “After watchin’ ye moon over Cait, I think ye’re the last person who gets ta complain, my lord. Now, where is my green travelin’ valise?”
“Should be with MacQuarrie’s coach,” Eynsford replied.
Sorcha glanced up and down the road. “Are they in front or behind us?”
“Why does it matter?” the marquess asked.
“Because,” Sorcha turned to stare at the man as though he was an imbecile, “I have my herbs in there. A bit of ginger will help settle Cait’s stomach.”
“Ginger would be just the thing,” Cait agreed.
“Renshaw!” Eynsford barked, stalking to the coach with newfound purpose.
“Yes, sir?” The coachman spun in his box to answer his employer.
“Has MacQuarrie’s coach passed us?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Very good.” Eynsford turned back to the small group.
“Then why don’t we wait for them here? We’ll snatch your little valise up and keep it with us from now on. How does that sound?”
Sorcha agreed with a nod. “Perfect, my lord.Thank ye.”
“No thanks necessary. Just help her, lass.”
“I may no’ be as good as Elspeth at this sort of thing, but I’m better than Blaire or Rhiannon. So if ye canna have El, ye’re very fortunate ta have me along for this journey.”
Cait snorted. “I’d rather have ye instead. El doesna go anywhere without that annoyin’ lapdog of hers anymore.”
Eynsford coughed in surprise. “Caitie!” He gestured to his person, as though reminding her she’d married a man of the same breed as Ben Westfield.
“I would never say such a thing about ye, my love. But Benjamin canna help but get on my very last nerve with all the hoverin’ and dotin’ and—”
“He’s much better,” Sorcha began, “ever since Rose was born. Now he dotes on the little bairn like…” Then her face nearly turned scarlet and she turned away from the group.
What was that about? Why should talk of Ben and his daughter cause such a reaction in Sorcha? Alec glanced from Cait to Eynsford, wondering if his fiancée’s response made any sense to either of them. And that’s when it hit him.
Cait was expecting. He could see it in her bluer than blue eyes.
The travel sickness. Sorcha’s instant embarrassment at the mention of a bairn. A slip of the tongue, obviously. Still Eynsford didn’t seem to have figured it out. His concern for Cait might as well have been etched across his brow for all the notice he paid to Sorcha’s words.
So Cait was to be a mother. Would she birth a little witch or a litter of Lycans? He discovered it didn’t really bother him either way. If he’d stumbled upon this news a month earlier, it would have sent him into a downward spiral of self-pity and anger he was sure; now he was simply happy for her. After all, this life was apparently what she wanted.
Alec followed Sorcha toward a line of trees so they would be closer to Alec’s coach when it approached. He tapped her shoulder, and she nearly leapt out of her skin.
“Oh!” She spun around and then smiled when she saw it was him. “I thought ye were Cait.”
Alec laughed. “I’ve never been mistaken for her before.”
Sorcha’s adorable nose scrunched up. “Nay, I’m just certain she’s furious with me.”
Alec grasped her hand and pulled her into his arms.
“Eynsford is dense, lass. He didn’t realize what you said.”
Her mouth fell open, and instant regret flashed in her eyes. “Ye mean—”
“It was just a matter of time, wasn’t it?”
“I-I suppose.” She looked so concerned, so worried for him.
Alec adored her all the more for it, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “There’s no reason to worry about me, Sorch. I’ve told you time and again that I’m over Caitrin. It’s true. You don’t need to try to protect me.”
Her hands slid around his waist, and she pressed her head to his chest. “Ye canna tell a soul or she’ll boil me in a cauldron of oil.”
Cait’s temper was legendary, but Alec doubted cauldrons of oil would be necessary in this case. “Why doesn’t she want him to know? I’m sure he’d be over the moon.”
“She wants ta ken for certain,” Sorcha said against his chest. “She canna see her own future, ye ken.”
“Is that what your argument was about?” Alec tipped Sorcha’s chin up so she had to look at him. “You thought she should tell him?”
Sheepishly, Sorcha shook her head. “I was tryin’ ta blackmail her. I told her I’d keep her secret if she’d call off the marquess, if she’d let us just be and let us make our own decisions.”
Alec nearly roared with laughter. “My conniving little witch!” Here he thought she’d taken the high moral road, wanting to keep everything open and honest, but she was actually blackmailing Cait! Or trying to. He wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. Sorcha was priceless. “Oh, lass, you do make life interesting.”
She frowned at him. “I canna believe ye’re laughin’ at me, Alec MacQuarrie!”
“Not at you, Sorch,” he amended, bringing his levity back under control, “at the situation. You—” The sound of an approaching carriage caught Alec’s attention, and he looked over Sorcha’s shoulder. “There’s my coach now!”