chapter Three
Alec’s hunter ate up the ground as he raced east, farther and farther from Castle Hythe. If only he could lead those flea-ridden wolves so far from Sorcha that they would forget the way back to her. Wishful thinking, he knew, but it was the only thought that calmed his nerves.
What the devil was wrong with the lass? She had actually leaned out her bedchamber window trying to catch the attention of Radbourne and his sycophantic pups. The littlest witch had to be the most difficult in her whole coven.
Elspeth was reasonable. Blaire was pragmatic. Rhiannon knew her own mind, but she made wise decisions. And Cait… Well, it was best not to think about Cait. Even so, Cait had never been as difficult to deal with as Sorcha.
“I say!” Bexley called from somewhere behind him.
“We’re not racing in the Ascot, MacQuarrie. A nice leisurely jaunt will do.”
Alec pulled back on his reins, slowing his mount to a more relaxed gait. “Sorry,” he replied over his shoulder.
“That thirsty, are you?” Radbourne’s mocking voice made Alec grind his teeth together.
If he tore the Lycan’s head from his shoulders, he could make Bexley forget the entire event, but then he’d still have to deal with the twin pups. He truly shouldn’t even consider the option. His old mentor had been very adamant that Alec not start some war…But Matthew wasn’t around any longer, was he?
Getting rid of the blasted wolfling would at least keep Sorcha safe. Alec hadn’t missed the way Radbourne had leered at the little witch. It had been enough to make his vision turn red at the edges. The damn viscount was lucky he hadn’t been within reach when it happened or he’d be missing an arm or a leg or something even more vital.
“Or just in a hurry to enchant a little piece of baggage?”
Weston Hadley asked as he rode up on Alec’s right.
The irksome twin most assuredly deserved the scar he wore on his face like a badge of honor. Alec hadn’t been present when a powerful vampyress had marked the pup for his impertinence, but he could certainly sympathize with the lady who had been driven to reprimand the young Lycan. He glared at the wolf at his side. “Callista sends her regards, Hadley.”
A satisfying look of fear flashed in the Lycan’s eyes, and Alec bit back a smile. It truly was a shame he’d missed that whole event the previous spring. And it truly was a shame that both of the wolf’s brothers hadn’t been punished in a similar fashion. Perhaps Sorcha wouldn’t find them so enthralling if they were all scarred.
“Callista?” Bexley asked as he rode up on Alec’s left.
“Who is this little baggage?”
Callista would not appreciate being referred to in such a fashion. Thank God she wasn’t in Kent. Alec aimed for what he hoped was an expression of ennui. “An acquaintance of Mr. Hadley’s. No one you’d be interested in.”
“Pretty name,” the earl added with a shrug. “Someone you’d care to tell me more about, Wes?”
“You wouldn’t want to meet her.” Alec chuckled more to himself than at Bexley. “She’s positively ancient.” In all honesty, he wasn’t certain how old the vampyre was, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d been with Caesar when his forces first entered Britain.
The earl frowned. “What a shame. I’ve cut my swath through Folkestone more times than I care to count. A new, pretty face would be most welcome.”
“Miss Ferguson has a pretty face,” Radbourne remarked from behind them.
Alec clutched his reins even tighter. Had blood flowed through his veins, it would have been pounding in his ears.
How dare the man even say her name?
“Indeed,” Bexley agreed. “I would love to taste a bit of Scotland myself.” Then he groaned a bit as though he imagined doing that very thing.
Alec cast the man an admonishing glare. “Your grandmother has warned you off of her,” he reminded the earl.
Bexley agreed with a nod of his head. “True. It really is too bad. Such a tempting little lass with the prettiest lips.”
Not bad at all, but good fortune for Sorcha even if she didn’t realize it.
“And so charmingly untried,” the earl continued. “There’s nothing quite as nice as an eager pupil.”
Alec pressed his hunter forward a bit more. If he had to listen to this all the way to Folkestone, every bit of patience he possessed would vanish. “How much farther to the village?”
“Not far,” Bexley replied, completely oblivious to the perilous rope on which he walked. One really shouldn’t go about provoking vampyres, certainly not to the extent the Englishman did. Not if one wanted to keep his head attached to his body at the end of the day.
Just in the distance, Alec could see the lights of what appeared to be a tavern. Thank God. He glanced over his shoulder at his companions. “I’ll meet you all there.”
The four men chuckled as Alec rode on ahead. “My, he certainly is eager,” one of the twins muttered, but Alec didn’t look back to see which one.
~*~
Night had fallen very quickly. Sorcha peeked out through the curtain of her pilfered coach. Certainly, they must be closing in on Folkestone by now. Sure enough, a warm glow emanated from a grey stone building up ahead. The Knight’s Arms. The hinged sign rocked back and forth, swayed by the ocean breeze. She’d noticed the tavern the previous day. Raucous male laughter filtered from the establishment and Sorcha shivered. What had possessed her to embark on such a foolish journey?
The Hadleys, Alec, and Lord Bexley must be in the tavern. It was the only place she could see or hear signs of life in Folkestone. But the Hythe carriage pushed farther into the village and finally stopped right outside the small bookshop she and Maddie had explored at length the day before. A moment later, Johnny opened the coach door and offered his hand to assist Sorcha from the conveyance.
“Nothing is open, Miss,” he said regretfully. “But you can still retrace your steps. We can come back in the morning, if you think your trinket is in one of the shops.”
Her item had turned into a trinket now. She really should have spent the drive into Folkestone deciding what exactly she had lost. “Thank ye, Johnny.” Her eyes glanced over his shoulder, back down High Street toward The Knight’s Arms. It really wasn’t so far away. She could be there within moments, if she could just get away from the helpful groom.
Then inspiration struck. Johnny would be left with a headache and she’d have to drive the coach back to Castle Hythe herself, but she was proficient with the ribbons. There were some advantages to having a much older brother who was easily persuaded to teach her things she had no business learning.
Sorcha opened her reticule and willed a valerian seed to find its way to the top. She smiled at the seed and clasped it into her palm. Within seconds, life began to sprout within her fist. She opened her hand and watched a white flower burst open. Its sweet scent tickled at her nose, which was the very last thing she wanted. “No’ me,” she whispered to the plant. Then she closed her fist again and the new flower disintegrated in her hold, leaving her the perfect amount of dried herb.
“Did you say something, miss?” Johnny stepped closer to her.
Only a tiny bit of guilt ate at Sorcha’s insides when she opened her hand and blew the herb right into Johnny’s face.
He collapsed in a heap at her feet. Sorcha gasped, even though she knew that had been bound to happen. She glanced down the street, making certain no one had seen the magical display, and dropped her reticule to the ground.
She stepped back, bent over, and tried to heft the young groom by his armpits to let him sleep off the effects in the coach. Havers! Who would have thought Johnny was so heavy? Did he collect stones in his pockets? What she wouldn’t give to have Blaire’s strength in that moment. Her battle-born coven sister would have easily dispensed with the groom and been halfway to The Knight’s Arms by now.
Sorcha tugged again at Johnny’s jacket and was relieved when she moved him half an inch. Still, at this rate it would be all night before she could get the groom inside the coach. “Next time, give him the valerian when he’s inside the door,” she berated herself.
“Did you say something, lass?” a deep voice asked, directly behind her.
With a gasp, Sorcha spun around to stare in the dark amber eyes of Viscount Radbourne. He was so devilishly handsome with his light brown hair illuminated in the moonlight that she struggled to find her voice.
“Now, Miss Ferguson,” the Lycan began as he took another step toward her and gestured to the groom lying at her feet. “Tell me, may I be of assistance?”
Sorcha bit her lip and racked her brain, trying to find a story that might be worthy of the Lycan. A story? That would be pushing it. A lie. That was much more appropriate. “It appears as though the Hythe’s groom is a bit under the weather?” she tried.
“Did you cosh the fool over the head, Miss Ferguson?”
He raised his eyebrows at her as he leaned casually against the side of the coach.
“What makes ye think he’s a fool?” she countered, trying to avoid his question.
“He’s on the ground at your feet,” Lord Radbourne said pointedly as he gestured toward Johnny. The Lycan bent and smacked the side of the man’s face. Johnny didn’t even flinch. He didn’t groan or make any sound at all.
“He won’t wake up for while,” Sorcha admitted. “At least I don’t think he will.” She fidgeted under Lord Radbourne’s heady stare. “I hear that’s the way of it when one has imbibed too much.”
Radbourne snorted. “He doesn’t smell like drink.”
Sorcha wanted to slap her own forehead. Of course a man with a heightened sense of smell would know whether or not Johnny had been imbibing. Foolish. Foolish. Foolish.
“Then perhaps it was something he ate?” she tried.
“Or some scheme conjured up in your mind?” he chuckled. “What shall we do with him?”
She searched around the darkness. “We can’t just leave him here in the street.” She looked up at Lord Radbourne with what she hoped was her most bewitching smile. “Will ye help me get him inta the coach?”
The Lycan groaned loudly as he hoisted the unconscious groom into the coach. Her mother hadn’t lived long enough to teach Sorcha the right way or wrong way to catch a Lycan, but something told her this was the wrong way.
“That was a bit like moving a dead body,” Lord Radbourne mumbled as he dusted his hands and stepped out of the coach.
“Ye’ve moved a dead body before?” Sorcha gasped.
He chuckled. “That’s a discussion for when I know you better, Miss Ferguson.” His gaze drifted slowly down her body. “Much better.”
Sorcha was certain that she would be ten shades of red if not for the darkness that hid them both. She took a deep breath. Then she blurted, “And how long will that take, Lord Radbourne?”
His eyebrows rose in question as the corners of his lips twitched. There was a very long pause during which Sorcha questioned the brashness of her words. He’d probably think her an untried youth out to snag a handsome peer. “It would take just long enough for Eynsford to realize my intentions. Then he’d trounce me. And Cait would feel obliged to come to my rescue. And then all hope would be lost for you and me.”
Sorcha giggled at his words.
“So, Miss Ferguson, what shall we do now?” he asked, appearing to be most intrigued by her plight. “I can escort you back to Castle Hythe.”
So close. She’d been so close to catching a Lycan. But by her own foolish actions, she’d forced the man to move a body, which in turn had probably made him lose any interest he might have had in her.
She motioned toward the closed carriage. “I suppose I’ll just wait for Johnny ta wake.” She kicked at a clump of dirt with her toe. “Ye should go back ta yer pursuits, whatever they may be.” Then beneath her breath she added, “Or whomever they may involve.”
“You make it sound as though I slay pretty lasses with my witty repartee on a daily basis, Miss Ferguson.”
Sorcha couldn’t hold back a groan. When would she remember that Lycans could hear every mutter she made?
Every comment she tossed out under her breath went straight to their ears. “Why do I always forget about their impeccable hearing?” she asked herself. Since she was already talking to herself like a ninny, she would probably be safe to continue. “He’s listening right now, in fact, though how he can hear me over that atrociously sized foot in my mouth, I’ve no idea. I had no idea Lycans were that astute.”
“Pardon me, Miss Ferguson,” Lord Radbourne said, standing taller as he appeared to sober before her very eyes. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t bandy that little fact about in such a cavalier manner. It’s a well-kept secret. One I was unaware you knew about.”
“Oh, doona worry. I have secrets of my own that I’d no’ like ta be bandied about. The fact that ye are what ye are is no’ somethin’ I would discuss with anyone else. Ye have my word on it.”
For some reason, she felt the need to reassure him.
Probably because he looked so discomfited by the fact that she knew. She reached a hand up to smooth his lapel. And let it linger there as her eyes sought his. She needed him to understand that she would never, ever tell.