chapter Twenty-Eight
Sorcha watched closely as Alec frowned at the food on his plate. There was little she could do to help him. Ever since Wallace had made the unfortunate statement about Alec’s mortality, or lack thereof, her vampyre hadn’t quite seemed himself. She wished she knew why her brother would say such a thing. Who had he been talking to?
Alec made a good show of shoving his salmon from side to side to make it seem like he was eating. But she knew he wasn’t. He reminded her of a wee lad who would tuck brussels sprouts in his pockets to keep from having to eat them, only to have servants find a handkerchief of them in an odd place. What else was he to do? She’d ended up seated between her brother and father at the table. Alec couldn’t switch their plates from that distance. Although her family had been solely focused on her ever since they assumed their places.
Already she’d been asked to describe every aspect of Blaire’s home in Derbyshire. She’d had to detail her weeks in London and the entertainments she’d enjoyed with Rhiannon and Lord Blodswell. And she’d had to tell them all about the Duchess of Hythe and her new friend, Lady Madeline. Her jaw had begun to ache from all the talking.
“Sorcha, how was it traveling with Eynsford and Cait all the way from Kent? That’s an awfully long way. Were they terribly poor company for an unmarried lass?” her father asked as he speared a carrot from his plate.
“Ta be honest, Cait was a tiny bit ill. Aside from that, though, the trip was just fine.” She raised a sly glance at Alec. “But Alec traveled with us, Papa. He may have a different opinion.”
“How about it, MacQuarrie?” Her father finally turned his attention on Alec. “Were they sickenin’ with all that love babble? The pair of them nearly turns my stomach with their flagrant adoration for one another.”
“Must we discuss this at the table, Papa?” Sorcha interjected. Not only was it a touchy subject for Alec, but it was also impolite to discuss such things at a family meal.
Alec shoved a potato across his plate. Poor man. He must be terribly uncomfortable.
“No’ hungry, MacQuarrie?” Wallace asked. “Cook will be inconsolable if ye send back yer whole plate. Prides herself as the best in four counties.” He patted his stomach as though that was all the proof anyone needed to confirm such claims.
“Oh, no. It’s wonderful. But I only recently ate.” Alec’s gaze dropped to the neck of Sorcha’s gown and a warm rush washed up her cheeks, she was sure. He hadn’t recently eaten. But he would probably like to. And soon.
She’d like it quite a bit herself.
“Are ye all right, Sorch?” Wallace asked, his eyebrows arching together with concern. “Ye doona look well.”
Sorcha fanned her face. “It’s a bit warm in here, is all.”
“And we’ve been makin’ ye talk nearly nonstop.” Her father frowned. “So, let me tell ye what ye’ve missed…” As he began to drone on about all the things that had happened in her absence, Sorcha tried to figure out a way to help Alec with the food on his plate. Then she had a brilliant idea.
A nice potted plant sat in the middle of the dining room table, its vines and leaves trailing delicately over the sides of its container. Sorcha reached over and gently rubbed the plant, which woke beneath her fingers. She giggled as it rubbed itself on the back of her hand like a cat that’d missed her.
“Stop playin’ with the plant, Sorch,” her father grumbled.
“And eat yer dinner.”
“Yes, Papa,” she conceded with a small smile.
But with a quick mention in her mind, she told the plant exactly what she wanted it to do and then laughed inwardly at the reaction she expected from Alec. She watched out of the corner of her eye as a sneaky little vine slid across the table and tickled the underside of his palm. He jumped in his seat and then immediately looked up from his plate. His eyes met hers, a warning in their dark depths. He was so adorable when he was discomfited. She wanted to wiggle in her chair with excitement.
The tiny little vine sneaked across the table and under the edge of his plate, then reached over the edge and snatched a small potato with its greedy little grasp. Then it retreated into its container with its prize. One potato down, only three more to go.
Alec mouthed at her to stop her antics, adding a violent slash of his hand when her father wasn’t looking. But she was having way too much fun.
After the little vine had absconded with all of his potatoes, it moved on to his salmon. The fish proved to be much more difficult to grasp, however, so the vine had to enlist the help of a few leaves onto which Alec could rake the salmon from his plate. Then all of the bits disappeared.
Sorcha was positively delighted when dessert arrived.
Raspberry creams had always been one of her favorites.
But the cream would prove to be much trickier to remove from the dish. She gave it a lot of thought and smiled when she finally figured out what to do.
Soon the cream was delivered and Wallace, as she’d hoped, devoured two servings of the dessert before Sorcha could even put a spoon to her own sweet treat. Of course, Alec hadn’t touched a bite of his. A switch would be simple, especially as it looked like Wallace might steal the one in front of Alec right out from under his nose. So Sorcha encouraged a pretty little flower to slide over to Alec’s dish, drop itself directly into the gooey mess, and swish around so that its leaves were coated.
All the while, Alec looked positively mortified, but her father and Wallace were discussing the latest shipping investment and were much too engrossed to even realize she wasn’t paying attention to them, much less that she was tormenting Alec with her powers.
Alec shot her a storm-filled glance when the little flower, laden with heavy, creamy dessert moved up his waistcoat and bumped the end of his nose, leaving a blob of its gooey pink mess behind. Alec swiped at it with his napkin and grumbled beneath his breath. She asked the flower to do it again, only this time he moved his head to avoid the plant and it caught his cheek.
Sorcha covered her mouth as a giggle finally escaped her.
“Sorcha,” her father boomed from beside her.
“Yes, Papa?” she asked, forcing her gaze away from Alec’s disaster of a dinner.
“Why is it that Mr. MacQuarrie has been made aware of yer powers? Ye’ve plagued him with them the whole night. Is there somethin’ I’m missin’?”
Alec coughed delicately into his hand before he spoke.
His voice only quavered a little when he said, “It’s because I’d like to marry her, sir.”
~*~
All eyes were on Alec, and he swallowed uncomfortably. “I —uh—probably should have asked to speak to you privately, Mr. Ferguson.”
Seamus Ferguson glanced quickly at his daughter and then turned his attention back to Alec. “Is that what all yer inarticulate stammerin’ was about when ye arrived? I’ve never kent ye ta sound so sheepish, MacQuarrie.”
Sorcha gasped. “Papa!”
Her father frowned, which was something of a rarity for the man who was generally the epitome of jovialness.
“Wipe yer cheek, lad. Then meet me in my study.”
Sorcha pushed out of her seat only to be rewarded by a stern glance from her father.
“Sit,” Seamus commanded.
Sorcha sat, but she pouted at the same time. “Papa, ye should at least hear me out.”
“It’s all right, Sorch.” Alec swiped the bit of raspberry cream from his cheek and rose from his seat. “Your father’s right.”
Seamus Ferguson didn’t even look back over his shoulder to make sure Alec was following him from the dining hall. Not that it mattered. Alec was right behind him.
This was the moment Alec had thought about ever since the stream of fabrications had fallen from Sorcha’s lips in her attempt to save him from the Duchess of Hythe’s wrath.
Well, he’d had other thoughts along the way, more carnally motivated ones, certainly. But this, asking for her father’s blessing, had stayed with him through the journey.
If her father had any sense, he’d refuse Alec’s offer. And if there was one thing Seamus Ferguson had, it was sense.
Actually, he had a number of things. A mind for business.
An ability to size a man up. A devotion to his daughter. And on top of all of that, Alec had to tell the man the complete truth.
As soon as Alec stepped into Seamus Ferguson’s study, the old gentleman shut the door to keep anyone else from overhearing their conversation. “Whisky?” he asked, keeping his now shrewd hazel eyes leveled on Alec.
“No need for liquid courage, Mr. Ferguson.”
A ghost of a smile lit the man’s face, but it was gone an instant later. “Sit down, lad.”
Alec complied, not wanting to do anything that would irritate Sorcha’s father. Not when he needed his approval.
“Finally got over yer infatuation with Caitrin Macleod, did ye?”
“Eynsford, you mean,” Alec corrected. Then he nodded his head. He wasn’t certain when his everlasting devotion to Cait had come to an end, but somewhere along the way it had. “I wish Lady Eynsford every bit of happiness.”
“Good.” Seamus Ferguson settled on the corner of his desk to look down his aristocratic nose at Alec. “Because I willna have my daughter playin’ second fiddle ta anyone.”
Alec shook his head. “There’s no comparing them, sir. Sorcha is…” What was the best word to use? What was the best thing to say to her father?
“Aye…? Sorcha is what?”
“Sorcha is the reason I look forward to the day. Who else would beckon flowers to smear cream on my face in the middle of dinner? Who else would bind footmen in ivy just to get her way?” Her father looked a little discomfited by that, so Alec rushed on. “I have no idea from one day to the next what she’ll do. And I want to know. I want to be there just so I can share some of her contentment. I want… her.”
Seamus Ferguson heaved a sigh and folded his arms across his chest. Then a broad smile spread across his face. “And does my daughter return yer affections?”
She loved Alec, which was more than he was capable of.
But he nodded anyway, hoping her father wouldn’t ask that specific question. “I believe she does, Mr. Ferguson.”
“And ye clearly ken about her powers.” He sighed. “I was supposed ta explain all of that ta her intended husband.”
Alec smiled at the man. “I’ve known for some time, if that makes you feel any better. I know about the whole coven.”
And they knew about him.
“Well, then, I guess there’s nothin’ left ta do except talk ta Mr. Crawford in the mornin’ about callin’ the banns.”
Relief swamped Alec. Seamus Ferguson had just given his permission. Yet, dread settled in his belly at the same moment. He couldn’t set foot in the church. “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to wait the three weeks, sir.”
Sorcha’s father laughed as he rose from the corner of his desk. “Aye, well, someday when ye have a daughter of yer own, ye willna be in a hurry ta see her married off and ye’ll understand.”
No. That would never happen, either. “I can’t wait, Mr. Ferguson.”
Confusion clouded the old gentleman’s eyes. “Why canna ye wait the three weeks, Mr. MacQuarrie?” He folded his arms across his wide chest. “Are ye in that much of a hurry?”
Well, he could wait the three weeks. It was the whole church thing that was impossible. And Sorcha’s father deserved the whole truth, or as much of it was Alec thought he could take. “Because of what I am, sir. Attending services is out of the question for me. I had hoped we could declare ourselves. Though Sorcha seemed keen on an anvil wedding. Truly, I’d be fine with either option.”
“Because of what ye are, attendin’ services is out of the question for ye?” A frown settled on Seamus Ferguson’s face. “Just what exactly are ye, MacQuarrie?”
Alec took a deep breath he didn’t really need. Then he looked straight in Sorcha’s father’s eyes. “I’m not your average man. And—”
“Well, I should certainly hope my daughter wouldna settle for an average man.” Mr. Ferguson rummaged in his desk drawer, more than a little distracted.
“That’s not exactly what I meant.”
“Ye can support my daughter, can ye no’?”
“Of course, I can. But—”
“But, nothin’, MacQuarrie. Do ye want ta marry my daughter or no’?”
“My wants are not in question.” I want her in every way possible.
Seamus Ferguson’s gaze finally rose to meet Alec’s.
“Forgive an old man for his stubbornness, but I’m fairly certain I doona want ta hear about yer other wants with regard for my daughter.”
A smile tugged at Alec’s lips. Mr. Ferguson went back to his desk drawer and finally pulled the drawer from the desk and upended it on the scarred and well-loved mahogany surface. He shuffled through scraps of paper, bits of memorabilia, and broken writing instruments until he finally located what he was looking for. He held up two small keys on a golden ring, one made of tarnished metal and the other gleaming copper. “Found them.” He grinned.
Alec wasn’t certain what to say to that, so he simply watched as Seamus Ferguson suddenly bounded to his feet and said, “Come along, lad. The day is wastin’.” Then he disappeared into the corridor, much more quickly than Alec would have expected from a man of his advanced age. Alec followed him down every twist and turn in the vast home until he finally stopped at the end of a corridor. He rapped his knuckles very lightly on the wall and continued down it until the knock began to sound hollow. Then he pressed hard and the wall moved.
Alec rubbed at his eyes, not quite believing what he was seeing. Had the wall actually moved?
“Doona stand there gawkin’,” Seamus Ferguson commanded. Then he lit a small taper from the lamp on the wall and slipped inside the concealed space. He held the door open wide for Alec. Once they were inside the secret room, Sorcha’s father lifted the candle high, illuminating another wooden door with a star carved into the middle.
“For the five of them,” he said, his voice distracted. “Though Sorcha’s mother used this room more than most.”
“It’s a hidden room.” Alec blurted out the obvious, still astounded by the fact that he’d slipped inside a wall and now stood at the threshold of a small room carved with a five-pointed star.
Mr. Ferguson chuckled. “Try ta keep up with me, lad. I ken it’s a lot ta take in at once. But, ye’ll get the idea of it soon enough.”
“I am trying,” Alec muttered.
Sorcha’s father fitted the key into the lock and turned it slowly, as though he was afraid he’d break the portal’s entrance. The click of the lock when he turned the key rang about the room like a harbinger of things to come. Be they good or bad, Alec was uncertain, but he was quite interested in what stood behind the second door.
“This was my late wife’s secret room,” the old man explained as he shoved the door open. Then he stepped into the dark alcove and lit lamps that lined the walls, casting the room in shadows, but at least Alec could see the contents. Large apothecary drawers lined one wall, each one marked in a bold but very feminine scrawl. Alec couldn’t even dream of pronouncing most of the labels.
Another wall was lined with shelves that held treasures of every kind.
Alec spun around slowly, absorbing sights he’d never seen before.
Mr. Ferguson held up a heavy piece of glass that shot out shards of light in every direction. “This is what happens when lightnin’ hits sand. It forms a most brilliant piece of glass. Kind of wild and uninhibited, would ye no’ say?” He raised his eyebrows in amusement.
“Did Rhiannon do that?” Alec asked.
The old man shook his head. “Her mother. It was a special talent of hers. I would imagine Rhiannon could do it too, if she was of a mind.”
Alec let the tips of his fingers trail over another item on the shelf, the cool surface of the stone taking all of his attention. “An enchanted mortar and pestle. For makin’ potions.” Seamus Ferguson shrugged. “I never understood how it became enchanted. But they made many a mess usin’ that thing, the five of them.” He chuckled again.
“Elspeth’s mother had a similar room beneath the floor of her old cottage, but it was tiny compared ta this one. This one consists of ages and ages of tradition.”
“Sorcha knows about this?”
“Aye, she learned of it last year when that first vampyre came inta their lives, no’ that she is aware of all it contains.”
What had the man just said? Alec’s head spun around quickly to face the old man.
But Seamus Ferguson just smiled and shook his head slowly. “Ye thought I had no idea of what ye are? Who my daughter would be marryin’?”
He looked so thoughtful that Alec wasn’t certain he was supposed to answer. So, he didn’t.
“Ye were doin’ a fine imitation of a suitor who was ready ta spill his life story ta an expectant father-in-law. But ye were about ta start flounderin’, lad, so I thought I’d help ye.”
He chuckled aloud.
Though what the man found so amusing had Alec completely floored. “You know what I am.” It wasn’t a question. Just a statement of fact. The man did know what he was. He could see it on his face.
“Aye. It’s all right here.” Seamus Ferguson moved to the corner of the room and wiped the dust from the top of a locked wooden box. Then he took the copper key and fit it in the lock. He removed several ledgers, the top one of which he flipped open on a long table that stood in the middle of the room. “Oh, I probably should no’ have read the books, but my Bonnie was gone and I missed her. Made me feel closer ta her.”
What exactly was the man getting at? “Are you saying there’s mention of me in those books? Of what I’ve become?”
Mr. Ferguson sighed. “They’re no’ filled with prose about ye, MacQuarrie, but there is some mention of ye, aye.”
Alec reached for the ledgers, but Seamus Ferguson placed a protective hand on the pile. “They’re no’ for yer eyes.”
“You’ve seen them,” he accused. If something about him was written inside those books, no one was going to keep him from seeing it, either.
“Aye.” Ferguson agreed with a nod of his head. “But I’ve already lived what has been foretold about me. Ye, lad, have a ways ta go.”
Alec frowned at his future father-in-law. “If you’re not going to let me see the books, why even bother showing them to me?”
“Because I think ye should ken that it has been prophesied that ye’d take my Sorcha ta be yer wife.”
Alec’s mouth fell open. All of those long-ago conversations with Caitrin echoed in his ears. Each time she’d refused his proposal. Each time she told him he’d find happiness with someone else. Each time she told him that his path lay along a different one than hers. Cait had known all along. What else had she known? “And it says I’d be a vampyre?”
Seamus Ferguson nodded. “Which was confusin’ ta me, I can assure ye, since I’d kent ye since ye were a wee lad, and I’ve watched ye grow inta the honorable man ye’ve become. But then Wallace overheard Kettering and Blaire discussin’ yer untimely death, and it all made sense.” He smiled sadly. “Sorry ye had ta go through all of that.”
What was Alec to say to all of this? He was supposed to become a vampyre? Hardly a future he would want for himself. It might have been nice to have a bit of warning or for Cait to not have sent him ta Briarcraig Castle in the first place.
“I see yer mind tryin’ ta make sense of things.”
“Why would Cait let me endure this fate?”
“It’s no’ her fault.” Seamus Ferguson frowned. “And, well, things havena actually taken place the way they were foreseen, lad.”
“Beg your pardon?” Hadn’t Ferguson just said he’d read everything in the old ledgers?
“It was foretold many, many years ago that this generation of witches would marry men not of their own kind, but Fiona Macleod wasna happy about the prophecy and did everythin’ she could ta keep it from happenin’.”
Which was something Eynsford had alluded to. “Is that possible?” Cait always made it seem that the future was etched in stone.
“Oh, aye. The future will eventually right itself, or so it seems, if the wrong path is taken. For example, Elspeth should have been raised with both her parents, followin’ the drum and Major Forster across the continent from one campaign ta the next. She should have met Benjamin through their fathers years ago. But Fiona made certain Forster was disposed of. She couldna have seen what would eventually bring Westfield ta Elspeth’s door because she changed the immediate future, just no’ the eventual outcome.”
“And me?” Alec muttered, not sure what to make of Ferguson’s tale.
“Well, I’m no’ certain how ye were supposed ta become a vampyre, originally that is. Most of the writin’ is about the witches, of course. Poor Kettering should have never been locked in that castle. But Fiona thought it would keep him away from Blaire’s destiny. And ye got messed up in all of that. But, like I say, the future has a way of rightin’ itself. And yer future has always been with my Sorcha. Vampyre and all.”Alec scrubbed a hand across his face. He still couldn’t quite believe that he was supposed to be a vampyre. This life had been his destiny. And, apparently, Sorcha’s. “And you’re all right with that. You’re all right with handing your daughter over to a man like me?”
Finally, Seamus Ferguson flashed him a toothy grin.
“Well, of course. Like I said, I’ve kent ye since ye were a wee one, MacQuarrie. I ken the sort of man ye are. And if I was ta try and let old prejudices keep ye from Sorcha, I’d be no better than Fiona, now would I? My Bonnie wouldna be very happy about that, I can assure ye.”
“So if Mrs. Macleod was still alive, you’re saying she’d try to keep me from Sorcha?” After what she’d done to Elspeth and Kettering, Alec didn’t even want to think about what the crafty witch would have come up with for him. The idea almost made him shiver.
Seamus tapped the old books with his fingers. “The Còig is an ancient entity. It served its purpose in past centuries, but the times are changin’. The world is changin’. Ye ken those locomotives they’ve been fiddlin’ with the last few years? Trevithick and the like?”
Alec nodded absently. He knew a little about the contraptions. Their usage seemed a little far-fetched, but his interest had always been more history related. Though he figured he’d see plenty of history happen in his neverending lifetime.
“Soon there’ll be a public railway takin’ people from one end of Britain ta the other.” Seamus touched his nose. “A smart man would invest in such ventures. It’s no coincidence the family of the seers has always done relatively well financially speakin’, if ye ken what I mean.”
Seamus Ferguson always did have his mind on business matters, yet Alec wasn’t certain how they’d ended up talking about locomotives and investments. “I suppose so.”
Sorcha’s father nodded as though he’d made a valid point. “Well, poor Fiona couldna see that. Human advancements were one thing, but changes within the coven were somethin’ else. She couldna let go of the past traditions long enough ta embrace the future. She wanted ta ensure that the strength and purity of the coven would always remain intact.”
Meaning that marriage to Lycans and vampyres would destroy the fabric of the coven. Ferguson didn’t have to say the words aloud; Alec could see the truth of that in the old man’s eyes. “Does Sorcha know all of this?” She certainly hadn’t let on if she had.
Her father shook his head. “Bonnie wanted ta make certain this generation of witches would meet their destinies without interference from any other seers. Luckily, Caitrin is a bit more forward thinkin’ than her mother. But Bonnie couldna ensure that was the case. So she took these books from Fiona and hid them away from everyone, except for Wallace, it seems. The lad was just as enamored with Bonnie as I was and sat at her feet, silently watchin’ everythin’. After she passed away, God rest her soul, Wallace showed me the books. And I kent she’d want me ta keep them safe.”
“These books were Fiona’s?”
“Oh, of course.” Seamus continued. “Traditionally, the prophecies were always kept with the seer. But Bonnie felt Fiona had misled the coven, and so she absconded with them.” He smiled wistfully. “She was pretty and soft as flower petals, but my Bonnie had a spine of steel and an innate sense of right and wrong. She dinna believe Fiona could be trusted with the relics any longer. After ye marry Sorcha, I’ll return them ta Cait. The lass has proven herself worthy in my estimation, and I think Bonnie would agree.”
Alec didn’t necessarily care who kept the books; only their contents mattered. “It’s a little hard to come to terms with the fact that my life is on a path over which I have no say. That one way or the other, the future will right itself, as you said. That I was supposed to be this way.”
“I ken it’s difficult.” Seamus Ferguson turned his back on Alec to reach up onto a high shelf in the room and retrieve a long wooden object. Alec watched closely until he realized what it was.
“Don’t make me disarm you, Mr. Ferguson,” Alec warned as his teeth descended.
“Ye mean take this little thing from me?” the old man teased as he tossed a wooden stake from one hand to another. “Sorcha made this little instrument. Well, so ta speak anyway.”
She had? Alec was certain he looked like a dolt with his mouth hanging open. The lass he was to marry had fashioned a wooden stake? That seemed like something a vampyre should be made aware of.
“It was for that vampyre, the one who showed up last winter tryin’ ta finish Kettering off,” Ferguson explained.
“Needless ta say, a slight battle ensured. In the midst of the brawl, Sorcha asked a nearby elm ta create this weapon for her.”
Alec hadn’t been present for that battle, but Rhiannon had told him enough about it that he felt as though he’d seen it with his own eyes. He hated that Sorcha had had to witness such a horrible event. After her close call with that malevolent vampyre, the same one who was partially responsible for Alec’s own death, it was still hard to believe Sorcha could accept him as he was.
“As I ken what yer kind is capable of, MacQuarrie, it seems hard ta believe that a little piece of wood can fell ye.”Except that the stake in Ferguson’s hand couldn’t really be described as little. “I’d rather not put it to the test, sir,” Alec replied, trying to maintain a casual air.
Mr. Ferguson tossed the stake to him, and Alec caught it in the air. “That was all that was left after the fellow burst inta flames.”
Just the thought of such an occurrence made Alec queasy. “Are you warning me, sir?” He tucked the stake high on a shelf behind him.
“If ye hurt my daughter, MacQuarrie, I’ll no’ have ta worry about buryin’ yer carcass. The Còig will do it for me.”
“They like me,” Alec muttered and was glad for the truth of it.
“Keep it that way. And put yer teeth away, damn it,” the old man growled. “They make me a little nervous.”
“Thank God for small favors.”
“Speakin’ of God, ye’ll marry my daughter properly in a ceremony. No declarations. No anvil wedding. Her mother would be furious if I allowed such a thing. It willna be in a church, but it’ll be legal and binding and holy. Do ye understand?”
“I’m still surprised you’ll let me marry her at all, considering my circumstances.”
“I’d be a fool ta stand in the way of destiny. Besides, ye are an honorable gentleman. Ye always have been. And that is why ye will marry my Sorcha.” His eyes bored directly into Alec. “And make her yer Sorcha.” He coughed as though trying to dislodge a lump in his throat.
“Aye, sir,” was all Alec could get out, because instead of a lump of emotion in his throat, he had a pain nagging in the center of his chest.
Then Seamus pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket.
“Special license with yer name on it. And Sorcha’s.”
A special license? Alec reached for the letter, and Mr. Ferguson handed it to him without the slightest delay.
“How?” was all he managed.
His soon-to-be father-in-law shrugged. “It was in with the letter Eynsford sent this evenin’, tellin’ me Sorcha had returned. Apparently that English duchess who seemed so enamored of my lass had this drawn up a month or so ago, from the date.”
Alec gaped at the license in his hand. Fate, or whatever it was that went about “righting” the future, sure had some interesting friends. The Duchess of Hythe had been in on this little charade with Cait from the beginning. Good God!
Who else had been conscribed to place him on his destined path? Miss Overton and her mother? Radbourne and his brothers? Bexley? The list made his head hurt. But he was a vampyre, and vampyres’ heads never hurt.