chapter Twenty-Two
Alec saw a flurry of skirts rush from Eynsford’s room and into Sorcha’s. Then the door slammed closed with a thud.
What the devil? If that Lycan had hurt Sorcha, he wouldn’t live to see the next full moon. Alec stomped down the corridor, but before he could even knock, soft sniffling from inside halted him.
“Sorcha,” he called through the door. “What’s wrong, lass?”
The sniffling stopped with an abrupt gasp. A second later, she said with feigned cheerfulness, “Nothin’.”
But nothing wouldn’t have made her bolt into her room as though the devil was chasing her. And nothing wouldn’t make her cry like this. “Sorch, tell me what happened.”
Not a sound came from within the chamber.
Damn it to hell! What the devil had happened? She’d been perfectly fine when she’d left his arms. Obviously something had transpired since their interlude. Sorcha was so sweet and sympathetic to a fault. Alec racked his brain, searching for an answer. “Did something happen with the tea? Is Cait all right?”
“Please just go away, Alec,” Sorcha begged, her voice sounding constricted and anguished.
The hell he would. Alec wouldn’t move from this spot for all the blood in London. “Sorcha, open the door.”
Another sniffle, and Alec’s chest hurt. He rubbed at it absently. He didn’t really need her to open the door, not with his strength. He could reduce the door to a pile of splinters with one well-aimed hit. Alec lifted his arm… “Sounds to me,” came Eynsford’s arrogant voice from the staircase, “as though the lass would like some time to herself, MacQuarrie. Can you not take a hint?”
Damn Eynsford! Alec looked over his shoulder as the Lycan ascended the final step. “Mind your own affairs.”
The golden-haired Lycan stalked toward Alec, his dark amber eyes filled with fury. “I told you once before that I’ll look out for Sorcha’s best interests.”
“No need any longer.” Alec glared at his onetime rival.
“As she’s my fiancée, her interests are mine, Eynsford. Now do be a good dog and go lie down out of my way.”
The Lycan snorted like an indignant wolf. “I don’t care,” he said so low that no one other than the two of them could possibly hear his words, “that she wears your mark like a brand. And I don’t care how many of them she sports. Until your ring is on her finger, Miss Ferguson is under my protection. And in the meantime, should she come to her senses where you’re concerned, I’ll do everything in my power to help her extricate herself from your hold.”
Wasn’t it enough that the Englishman had already stolen one lass from Alec? Certainly, he didn’t think he could take Sorcha from him too. She was sunshine and happiness and everything the remains of Alec’s soul needed. At the very thought of losing her, his vision turned red at the edges.
“Perhaps I should remind you of what my kind is capable of. Sorcha is mine for now and for always. If you make one move to spirit her away from me, your wife will find herself wearing widow’s weeds in the blink of an eye. Black is not Cait’s color. She’d be very put out with you.”
“Threats again, MacQuarrie? Don’t you tire of making them?”
Where Eynsford was concerned? Hardly. “Leave my fiancée alone, unless you want to find out whether or not the threats are empty.”
“Dash!” Cait’s voice filtered into the hallway. “Is that ye?”
Eynsford’s eyes flashed to his own doorway. “Yes, lass, I’ll be right there.” Then he turned back to Alec. “We are supposed to be making an attempt at getting along.”
Alec hadn’t yet ripped the Lycan’s head from his shoulders. As far as he was concerned, he was making an attempt to get along with his old nemesis. “I believe your wife awaits you. Considering her coloring in the carriage all day, I’d hasten to her side, were I you.”
Eynsford shot Alec a fierce look before he turned the handle to his own door and escaped inside the chamber, presumably to the bedside of his wife.
Alec turned his attention back to Sorcha’s door and knocked softly. “Sorcha, let me in.”
It seemed like forever before she said, “I doona feel quite like company right now, Alec. Please leave me ta myself.”
Well, he wasn’t going to force himself on her. Alec leaned his head against her door, missing the sparkle that was normally in her voice. How had things gone from bliss to… this in so short a time? Somehow Sorcha Ferguson had the ability to tie him up in knots like no else ever had. He’d spent the previous evening tossing and turning because of the lass, and he wasn’t anxious to repeat the ordeal. “You know where to find me.”
A sniff was her only reply.
~*~
Sorcha sent her regards for dinner. She still didn’t feel quite like socializing with anyone, at least not until she could sort through her own thoughts. Alec was destined to be hers.
Cait had apparently always known that. So why didn’t he love her? Shouldn’t he love her? After all, she loved him.
She wasn’t quite certain when that had happened or when she had realized it—but it was most definitely true.
She wouldn’t feel so despondent otherwise. In fact, she probably wouldn’t have concocted that outrageous Banbury tale about Alec spending every night in her room back in Castle Hythe if she didn’t love him. There was no probably about it. She most definitely wouldn’t have done something so foolish if she didn’t love him. She hadn’t given any thought to the one-sidedness of their situation until now.
She supposed it wasn’t Alec’s fault that he didn’t love her. One didn’t get to choose whom one loved. You either loved someone or you didn’t. Wishing the situation was different wouldn’t change the fact. Crying her eyes out over the matter wouldn’t change the fact. Pounding her fist over and over into the lumpy inn bed wouldn’t change the fact.
Things simply were what they were.
So what if all of her coven sisters had found men who loved them more than life? Two of them, in fact, loved their wives so much that they had physically changed from immortal vampyres to mortal men as a testament of that love. Most marriages weren’t love matches. Her friends were abnormally fortunate in that regard. All four of them.
Sorcha tried not to grimace at the thought. She didn’t wish unhappiness on any of her coven sisters; she just wanted a little for herself. That wasn’t so bad, was it? Even if the odds weren’t in her favor.
Look at their mothers, for example. Of the previous generation of Còig witches, only three of the five could point to happy, love-filled marriages. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending upon how one looked at it, Sorcha’s parents had been among the lucky ones. It had been fortunate for them. But perhaps it had been unfortunate for Sorcha because she’d always assumed she’d be loved and cherished as much as her mother had been.
A lec did care for her. She knew that. She’d always known that. She could feel it when he held her and kissed her and pleasured her. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t what she truly wanted. Though she’d made her bed as far as that was concerned. She’d made outlandish statements to the Duchess of Hythe that would ruin her if she didn’t marry Alec, and she had let him pierce her flesh with his teeth. He’d marked her, and she was his.
No, she was most definitely past the point where she could change her mind about all of this. And she did love him. And he was destined to be hers. Could her love for him be enough for the both of them?
~*~
For the second night in a row, Alec slept fitfully, if one could even call tossing and turning and pounding his pillow all night “sleep.” He’d even paced the hallway for at least an hour, but that was different. That was so he could be closer to Sorcha, as he hadn’t laid eyes on her since the brief flurry of her skirts when she’d dashed from Caitlin’s room into her own.
Did Sorcha’s crying have something to do with Cait?
Had Cait seen what had transpired between Alec and Sorcha and blistered the little wood sprite’s ears over it?
Caitrin always was a little high in the instep. Certainly she didn’t think to lecture his bride, not after the way she’d conducted herself with Eynsford on that blasted journey last winter.
That couldn’t be what she was upset about, could it? Or did it have something to do with Cait and the bairn she carried? Could that be it? Was Sorcha already regretting the fact that she’d be marrying a man who couldn’t give her children? That she’d be wasting her life on a dead man and giving up all she’d ever held dear? Everything she’d ever dreamed about for her future? That must be it.
It wasn’t too late to set her free, was it? He could free her from her promise to marry him and tell the Duchess of Hythe that the lass needed a husband who loved her much more than she needed to prevent a scandal. That was it.
He’d go to her and tell her she didn’t have to live up to her end of this fool’s bargain.
Alec dressed quickly, putting on his trousers, pulling a shirt over his head, and then stuffing his feet into his boots.
It was the middle of the night. Very few people would be about. He slipped out the door, skulked quietly down the corridor, and quickly found himself outside Sorcha’s chamber door.
He stood at her door and listened to her soft breathing through the crack in the doorframe. She was sound asleep.
So, she’d obviously found some peace, or at least enough to let her rest. Should he bother her? He’d just look in on her. If her cheeks were wet with tears or her face blotchy from crying, he’d never forgive himself for making her suffer through the night. But, if she rested peacefully, he’d wait until the morning to free her from her promise to marry him.
With a hard turn of his wrist and a jerk to the door, he opened the door with a nearly silent click. He slipped inside and crossed to the side of the bed where he could look down at Sorcha’s sleeping face. She looked like a little angel. She’d looked like a siren that afternoon when she’d ridden his lap in the throes of passion. And now she looked like a fresh-faced lady. The collar of her frilly white nightrail nearly covered the mark he’d left on her neck, the only evidence of their encounter aside from the one that was indelibly burned into his memory.
The look on Sorcha’s face when she’d offered herself up to him had very nearly been his undoing. She’d quite naturally assumed that the prominence of his teeth meant he was hungry. And he had been. But he was hungry in more ways than one. Even looking down into her sleeping face made him want her. But he also saw more when he looked at Sorcha.
He saw long evenings by the fire with her cuddled in his arms. He saw long walks in the woods. He saw himself devouring her on every surface within the orangery he’d have to build for her after they were married. He could make her happy. He’d buy her anything she could ever want. And he’d even tolerate her coven sisters and their husbands, within reason.
Sorcha stirred and rubbed the side of her face into the pillow. Then her eyes suddenly blinked open. She smiled softly at him. “Alec?” she mumbled, her voice husky with sleep. “What are ye doin’ here?”
He sat down on the side of the bed. “I just came to check on you. I was worried when you didn’t come down for dinner. You made me suffer through a meal with Eynsford.”
He brushed a lock of hair from her forehead with gentle fingers.
“Where was Cait?” She reached up to rub the sleep from her eyes and rolled to her back.
“She was there,” he said with a shrug.
“She’s feelin’ better?”
“Much better, apparently,” he informed her. “Eynsford was grinning from ear to ear. It was purely sickening to watch the two of them.”
“She told him?”
“She must have. I certainly didn’t.”
“They must be very happy,” Sorcha said with a pleased sigh.
“He didn’t stop touching her all night,” Alec pretended to grouse. “It nearly spoiled the lamb for me.”
“It still bothers ye ta see them together,” Sorcha said quietly. She scooted away from him in the bed, moving as far to the other side as she could. Then she rolled to her side to face him and tucked a hand beneath her cheek.
“It doesn’t bother me at all to see them together,” he said.
And it didn’t. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, but he no longer felt the same about Cait as he once had. “Why would you say that?” Alec reached down to tug his boots from his feet and then slid beneath the counterpane to join Sorcha. She didn’t move. She barely blinked. But she didn’t roll into his arms, either. He stayed to his side of the bed, tucked the pillow beneath his head, and just looked at her.
She regarded him quietly. Waiting. Waiting for what, he wasn’t certain. But he could lie there in the quiet with her all night and not complain.
When she didn’t respond, he continued, “Things between Cait and me were complicated for much too long. Eynsford is the one she was destined to be with. And she obviously knew that long before I did. I’m all right with it. I’m not brokenhearted over her anymore.”
That was a contradiction if there ever had been one. He didn’t have a heart to break. So, of course, he couldn’t be brokenhearted. He couldn’t fall in love, either.
He reached out and took her hand in his, the one that lay flat on the bedclothes. He covered it with his own and just looked at her. Finally, he broke the silence. “Why were you crying, lass?” he asked and then he watched her face closely.
“It’s nothin’,” Sorcha replied, and she tried to tug her hand from his.
“Don’t,” he warned. He held on to her fingertips until she gentled again and let him thread his fingers through hers. “I only came in here to be sure you were all right. I should probably go.”
“Eynsford is probably already aware ye’re here. It’s too late ta sneak out now.”
“I do not sneak,” he said, mildly offended by the suggestion. He took a deep breath to fortify himself, although he didn’t need one to live. “I came here for another reason too,” he confessed.
Her eyebrows lifted marginally.
“I want to free you from your promise.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Which promise would that be?”
“The one where you offered yourself up like a sacrificial lamb to save me from the certain agony of being married to that Overton chit.” He watched her expression closely. “If you want to back out, Sorch, I’ll tell the duchess you had a change of heart and that nothing happened between us that is outside the bounds of propriety.”
“But it did,” she whispered. And tears shimmered on her lashes again, building up like a dam that was about to overflow. He let her pull her hand back and watched as she laid her palm over the bite mark on her neck. She held her hand closely there against her pulse. “Somethin’ outside the bounds of propriety did happen.”
“Nothing that irrevocable,” he reminded her. “You’re still an innocent.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I sincerely doubt that anyone would consider me an innocent at this point. I certainly doona think so.”
“You could do better than me,” he said quietly. Then he watched her face.
“Aye, I could.” That was all she said. And she didn’t smile. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t show remorse. She just yawned widely.
“Then why do you want to settle for someone of my ilk? You could have children. And a husband who doesn’t need to feed on the life source of others. Particularly yours.”
“If ye think ye can stop offerin’ me pleasure that way, now that I’ve tasted it,” she whispered, “ye better think again.”
He couldn’t keep from smiling at her.
“And yer heart could wake.” She scooted closer to him in bed and laid a hand over his chest. “Just like Kettering’s and Blodswell’s did.”
“That’s not going to happen for me, Sorcha. Don’t go into a marriage with me assuming that will be the outcome. Marry me because you want to spend your days by my side and your nights in my bed. Marry me because you want to spend your time with me.”
“What if I fall in love with ye?” she whispered quietly.
He reached out for her hip and tugged her closer to him.
“Then I will be the most honored of men.”
“But ye willna be able ta love me back, is what ye’re sayin’?” She spoke from where her head rested beneath his chin, so he couldn’t see her face.
“I’ll be a good husband to you. And that’s all I can offer.”
He waited, afraid to move. Afraid she would toss him from the room. Afraid she would cry again. Afraid she wouldn’t care enough to have any emotion at all.
“I’ll take it,” she whispered as she spun in his arms and pressed her bottom into the spoon his body made when he wrapped around her. She settled peacefully within moments, and he lay awake for not long after, listening to her breathe. This was how it would be for the rest of their life together. Sorcha in his arms. Sorcha in his life. Sorcha in his bed. But he couldn’t love her, though he wished he could. It was a shame to make the wood sprite settle, but he was just selfish enough to do so. And if Seamus Ferguson wouldn’t accept his offer, Alec wasn’t sure what he would do.