chapter Twenty-Three
A sleeping Sorcha burrowed closer to Alec on the bench, and he tightened his hold on the wood sprite. Over the last week, he had grown accustomed to having the lass at his side, and he smiled down at her. So peaceful, so trusting, so wonderful: he didn’t deserve her.
Across the coach, Eynsford shifted in his seat and Alec briefly glanced at the Lycan. After more than a sennight of traveling with Sorcha, Caitrin, and Eynsford, Alec wasn’t certain he liked the Lycan any better than he had before their journey began, but he could at least tolerate the man’s company now. Most of the time, anyway.
The marquess still kept a close eye on Sorcha and made Alec’s attempts at getting the lass alone more than difficult, but he also took the gentlest care with Caitrin. At one time, Eynsford’s doting would have been one more reason to hate the man, but Alec instead found himself quietly envious. Not of Cait’s affections, but of the Lycan’s mortality. Eynsford could be the husband Cait needed.
Eynsford coul d give Cait the children she deserved.
Eynsford could grow old with his wife.
Alec knew he was a scoundrel for going ahead with the plan to make Sorcha his wife, but as the journey had turned into days upon days, he couldn’t imagine letting her go. Of course, if Mr. Ferguson tossed Alec out of Ferguson house on his vampyre arse, he wouldn’t have a thing to say about it. And there was every chance Sorcha’s father would laugh Alec’s offer right out the door. Seamus Ferguson had more wealth than most Scots. He didn’t need Alec’s fortune or connections to ensure his daughter’s future. And he might not be keen on inviting a vampyre intohis family.
Every time Alec mentioned as much to Sorcha, she’d giggle and remind him that her father had always been fond of him. But that had been Alec the mortal. Alec the vampyre was an entirely different person. Of course, he didn’t have to reveal his true nature to the man who hopefully was his future father-in-law, but Alec couldn’t start his life with Sorcha by deceiving her sire. It wouldn’t bode well for their future, and they needed every bit of good fortune they could get their hands on.
Across the carriage on the opposite bench, Caitrin groaned slightly as she opened her eyes. At once, her husband offered her a flask of Sorcha’s special tea. “We’ll stop after we cross the border, lass. You can stretch your legs and get a breath of fresh air.”
Cait only nodded in response. Then she once again closed her pretty blue eyes and fell back asleep against her husband’s shoulder.
Alec somehow found himself smiling at his old nemesis.
“You certainly aren’t what I expected at our first meeting.”
Warmth twinkled in the Lycan’s golden eyes. “Our first meeting? You mean when I was covered in mud and dripping enough rainwater in that little inn that I had to pay extra for the mopping?”
That seemed like a lifetime ago. Alec had gone north to a friend’s hunting box. He and a couple of the fellows had headed off to a local taproom to quench their thirst in both spirits and wenches. They were there when a gust of wind blew Cait inside the warm tavern. Eynsford wasn’t five minutes behind her, all arrogant Englishman, using Cait’s Christian name and barking orders as though he was already her husband. “You looked like a drowned rat, an enraged one.”
Eynsford grinned. “Oh, I was furious that evening.” He gestured with his head toward his now-sleeping wife.
“She’d put a sleeping potion in a pot of tea and served it to me with the sweetest smile. I slept for two days, woke up with the worst headache of my life, and then nearly killed my driver with exhaustion to catch up to her.”
“She was trying to escape you?” Alec had never known that bit of the story. Why hadn’t Cait said something at the time? Probably because Alec had behaved like a most spectacular arse that evening. He almost cringed at the memory. He’d actually told Cait that if she wouldn’t marry him, he didn’t want her in his life at all. She’d nearly burst into tears at his pronouncement.
“She was trying to escape a future she couldn’t see,” Eynsford explained, breaking into Alec’s reverie. “Caitie is a stubborn lass when she sets her mind on something.”
Alec snorted. “Cait is a stubborn lass without even needing to set her mind on something. It’s just who she is.”
“Indeed,” her husband agreed, good-naturedly. “But it was fear that had her running from me back then. Fear of the unknown, which I imagine for a clairvoyant must be fairly terrifying.”
Fear of the unknown. Alec could relate to that feeling.
He’d been living with it ever since his life had been taken from him beside a freezing loch in the Highlands and he was transformed into the parasite he’d since become. And now that fear was even stronger. He had no idea what the future held for him and Sorcha, and that was more terrifying than he could have ever imagined. If only he could be assured that they were making the right decision.
“Luckily,” Eynsford continued, “she took that leap of faith, and I will be grateful for the rest of my life.”
“A leap of faith,” Alec muttered softly, but the Lycan, with his exceptional hearing, caught the words.
“I might have been a little boorish earlier, MacQuarrie. I hope you’ll let me apologize.”
“Boorish?” Alec echoed.
Chagrin settled on Eynsford’s face. “I can be a bit overzealous as far as Cait’s coven sisters go. Until recently, I never had a family of my own. These lasses welcomed me into their circle. Well, mostly anyway. And I can’t help but try and protect them. It’s my nature.”
Alec had thought he knew everything there was to know about the Còig. He’d known all of its members his whole life. Was there something he didn’t know? As he was about to marry one of them, he probably should find out if there was more. “What do you mean ‘mostly’?”
Eynsford frowned and then glanced back at his wife as though to make sure Cait was still sleeping. “There’s been a slight rift between Caitie and Elspeth Westfield.”
Westfield. Just the name was like a dagger in Alec’s nolonger- beating heart.
“It’s nothing they can’t overcome,” the Lycan hastened to explain. “At least I hope it’s not.”
At one time, Cait and Elspeth had been the closest of all the witches, nearly inseparable. Alec couldn’t imagine a rift coming between the two. “What happened?”
Eynsford sighed. “I did,” he admitted. “Suffice it to say there is no love lost between me and the brothers Westfield. Each lass is loyal to her husband, which means the two of them are not as close as they once were.”
Alec wasn’t as close as he had once been to Benjamin Westfield, either. “What about this harmony thing Cait keeps going on about?”
“You’d have to ask her. I know their powers are stronger and more predictable when the five of them are getting along with each other than when they’re not.”
This generation of witches did seem stronger than the previous one, now that Alec thought about it. “Sorcha’s and Cait’s mothers were not fond of each other.”
“That’s certainly a euphemism.” Eynsford nodded as though he was well aware of the fact. “From what I’ve been told, Fiona Macleod made a habit of overstepping her bounds and manipulating the others with faux visions. When Bonnie Ferguson learned the truth about Fiona’s deception, the two had a falling-out.”
Fiona Macleod had manipulated the others with untrue visions? What a horrible thing to do to one’s coven sisters.
Alec had never heard that, and he gaped at the Lycan.
Eynsford took pity on him and explained, “Mrs. Macleod was an enterprising lass. She managed to keep Elspeth away from her father and was responsible for Lord Kettering’s imprisonment. Apparently, she wanted to keep the coven pure of such mangy creatures as Lycans and vampyres.”
But Bonnie Ferguson apparently had felt differently, just like her cheerful and inviting daughter. Alec glanced down at the sleeping witch curled up beside him. Hopefully, Seamus Ferguson was more in line with his late wife’s way of thinking. He couldn’t lose Sorcha.
In an attempt to lighten the mood, Alec caught Eynsford’s eye once more. “I wouldn’t really call vampyres mangy. Lycans, on the other hand…” He let his voice trail off and shrugged. Then he chuckled at Eynsford’s feigned scowl.
At least Alec assumed it was feigned; there was no fury in the man’s eyes.
Once the four of them reached Edinburgh, Alec didn’t imagine he’d ever seek Eynsford out of his own accord. But should they end up in the same parlor or ballroom, the two of them might be able to behave as gentlemen. Maybe.
~*~
The motion Sorcha had become so accustomed to came to a stop, and she fluttered open her eyes. Beside her, Alec smiled the roguish smile she had quickly come to love.
“Where are we?” she asked and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“We are in Scotland, lass.” He tucked a curl behind her ear.
“Home?” she asked, unable to keep the smile from her voice. They’d made excellent time. She had thought they were still a few days away. But all the days on the road did tend to blend together after a while.
Alec shook his head. “Not home precisely, not yet anyway. We are finally off those Sassenach roads as we’ve just crossed the border into Gretna. And Eynsford promised Cait we’d stop for the night.”
Gretna! What were the odds that Sorcha could talk Alec into an anvil wedding? It would certainly keep the Marquess of Eynsford’s snout out of their affairs for the rest of the journey. And she could finally have Alec all to herself.
“Alec,” she tugged his jacket and brought his face closer to hers, “we could have a blacksmith marry us here. Today. Right now.”
He kissed the tip of her nose. “And have your father drive a stake in my heart once we reach Edinburgh? I’d rather not face his wrath, if you don’t mind.”
Sorcha giggled. Papa did not have a wrath to be feared.
He was the most kind and generous man in all of Scotland.
“He willna mind. I promise. Besides, ye dinna hear Mr. Crawford at Blaire’s weddin’. He was adamant about no’ performin’ any more irregular ceremonies. And I doona want ta wait another three weeks for the banns.”
This time Alec gently touched his lips to hers. “Crawford can be dealt with. And though you may not think your father would mind, I have to disagree with you, Sorch. You’re his only daughter and the light of his life. He will want to be present at your wedding, and I cannot take that away from him.”
Alec was right. She knew he was. Papa would be hurt if she married without him there to walk her down the aisle.
But… Wait! Alec couldn’t wait for her at the altar. Alec couldn’t step foot inside the church. Why hadn’t she thought of that before now?
“What is it, lass?” Alec tugged her from the darkened coach into the waning daylight as though to see her better.
“Your heart is pounding. Is something wrong?”
Everything was wrong, and he looked so concerned, so handsome. She didn’t know what to say. “Ye canna marry me in the church,” just tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop it.
Realization seemed to strike him too, at that moment, and Alec shook his head. “Nay. But we’ll figure a way, Sorcha. It just won’t be a Gretna wedding.”
Well, what other way was there? “But, Alec!” she complained. “How will we—”
He placed a finger against her lips to silence her. “There are other ways, lass.”
“But—” She tried to talk around his finger.
“We will talk to your father before we’re married. We will have his blessing. After that, if we have to come back to Gretna or declare ourselves publicly, we will do so.” He pulled her into his embrace and Sorcha sighed, loving the feel of his arms around her. “I’m just as anxious to have you all to myself, Sorcha. Don’t doubt that.”
She nodded against his jacket and wished that she could hear even the faintest beat of his heart. Foolish, she knew.
How many times did he have to tell her he wasn’t going to change? But she couldn’t let that bother her, not right now anyway. Alec was hers, after all. And she was only going to get married once. She should enjoy it.
Then his earlier words hit her and a giggle escaped her throat. “Did ye say we could declare ourselves publicly?”
Why hadn’t she thought of that herself? Because it was positively ridiculous. Such things weren’t done anymore.
Alec pulled back from her and seemed to search her face, for what she wasn’t sure. “Would that bother you?”
Sorcha grinned and shook her head, imagining their friends’ faces. “Nay. It just seems so unorthodox. Mr. Crawford would have an apoplectic fit.”
Alec’s dark gaze bore into hers. If she wasn’t mistaken, she’d think the blackness of his eyes had lightened just a bit. “Sorch, you’re a witch and I’m a vampyre. Unorthodox goes without saying.”
She supposed he was right. And the idea of marrying Alec by simply stating that they were married in front of everyone they held dear—no church, no clergyman, just the two of them and their friends—warmed her heart just a bit.
All things considered, it was a bit more romantic than marching down the aisle, more intimate in a way. “We could declare ourselves here,” she prodded, gesturing to the coaching inn. “Right now. Ta Cait, Eynsford, and whoever else is inside there.”
He laughed and tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as he directed her toward the open doorway. “Aye, and we could have a blacksmith marry us here too. But we’ll wait for your father, just the same.”
“All right, all right.” Sorcha rolled her eyes playfully.
“Stubborn vampyre.”
“Enchanting witch,” he countered.
The Marquess of Eynsford stepped from the inn, and his amber gaze shifted from Sorcha to Alec and back. “Do tell me I’m not going to have to sit guard outside your room again, Miss Ferguson. Please tell me as we are close enough to Edinburgh that the pair of you can be trusted for an evening or two more.”
Alec grumbled something unintelligible under his breath.
Whatever he’d said, Sorcha was certain Eynsford had caught it because the marquess’ brow furrowed and a scowl settled on his face.
“Perfect,” Eynsford growled. “Keeping a lass’ virtue intact is more difficult than sending a camel through the eye of a needle.”
“Not really the way that quote goes,” Alec drawled.
“Close enough.”