by Lydia Dare
His tongue slid against hers, and she had no choice but to reach and meet him with her own. They played a game of catch and retreat, neither losing. This was a winning game for both of them.
Elspeth’s heart beat so hard she feared it would clamor so loudly he could hear it. His hand wrapped tighter around her waist, drawing her even closer. The length of him pressed against her belly.
She broke their kiss. “Ye have been with a lass, I’d wager.” Breaths heaved from her in gasps.
“What makes you think that?” he chuckled.
“Ye doona kiss like ye have problems with things workin’.” She glanced down his body.
He tugged her closer to him, if that was possible, and growled closer to her ear. “You make things work just fine.” His lips pressed against the sensitive skin beneath her ear just before he cupped her bottom and pulled her against his hardness. She yelped and swatted at his chest.
A loud cough drew her attention. It actually sounded more like someone was strangling Caitrin, but she assumed her friend meant for it to be a cough.
Ben allowed her to step back and turned to face the churchyard. “You go. I’ll follow along in a moment. I think we have some things to discuss.”
They certainly did.
Elspeth was sure her blush matched her hair, if the scandalized look on Caitrin’s face was any indication. Her friend hooked her arm with Elspeth’s and practically dragged her back toward the cottage. “Have ye gone and lost yer fool mind?” she hissed.
That was a distinct possibility. She thought she’d been in control of the situation, right up until his lips touched hers. “It was just a kiss, Cait.”
“Ha! And I’m Mary Queen of Scots.”
“Ye look rather good for yer age, and with the missin’ of yer head,” she countered. Though she knew Caitrin had a point. It was more than just a kiss. Not that Elspeth regretted it for one moment. The feel of his hands, of his body pressed so close to hers, made her shiver at the thought.
“I dinna tell ye this last night, what with yer grandfather, El, but Westfield’s the one. He’s the one from my vision.”
Elspeth shook her head as they neared the cottage. “Do ye think I’m daft? I saw the looks between ye and Sorcha. But ye’re wrong, Cait. He just has an ailment. He was lookin’ for my mother—”
“Aye, Sorcha told me. Doona ye think it strange that he came lookin’ for Rosewyth Campbell? The last beast that came ta these parts left her with a bairn ta raise and no proper name ta give either of ye.”
Elspeth ripped her arm from Caitrin’s. Never in all the years of their friendship had Cait spoken so vilely of the circumstances of her birth. If her friend had struck her across the face, she would have been less stunned. “I suppose I should thank ye for puttin’ me back in my place, Cait. I nearly forgot ye were higher born than me.”
Her friend closed her blue eyes and sighed. “I dinna mean it the way it sounded. I’m just trying ta get ye ta see reason.” She opened her eyes and pierced Elspeth with the intensity of her stare. “He is the one from my vision, El. He bears the mark. He will try ta take ye from us. And from what I’ve seen, he’s done a mighty fine job of that so far.”
The mark? Was it possible? Elspeth felt a connection to Ben Westfield, but she didn’t think it was the mark. It didn’t feel like she expected it to. But mark or no mark, he’d come for her help—actually her mother’s help, but it was the same power. If he thought Rosewyth could heal him, she was certain she could. She probably should have asked the extent of his ailment, however.
It was hard to imagine that he had anything wrong with him. She’d never met a more virile man. He’d searched the countryside all night looking for her hair combs. How many ailing men could do that? How many healthy ones could?
She leveled her dearest friend with a furious glare. “We each have our roles, Caitrin. You’re a seer and I’m a healer. If Benjamin Westfield needs me ta heal him, I’ll do so. I doona expect ye ta understand, but I do expect ye ta respect my decision.”
“Ladies,” Ben’s deep voice came from behind them.
Elspeth nearly jumped out of her skin. “Heavens, Ben! I dinna hear ye.”
A wolfish grin spread across his face. “I do tend to move quietly. Am I interrupting?”
Elspeth turned back to Caitrin to find her glowering. “Ye’re no’ the only one this affects, El. Bear that in mind.”
Then her dearest friend in the world stomped off through the trees.
Twelve
At first Ben didn’t believe his ears, though they’d never failed him in the past. Caitrin Macleod was a seer? The image of five beautiful women standing together at the Fergusons’ flashed in his eyes. A seer. A healer. A coven. Not the hooked-nose witches from Macbeth, but a coven just the same.
Did the good people of Edinburgh know who resided right under their noses? And what powers did the other three women possess?
Not that it mattered overmuch. He’d come for a healer, and he heard Elspeth vow to help him. Whatever Caitrin Macleod thought he was after, she was wrong. He wanted only to return to his Lycan self, then he’d leave them in peace.
Leave her. Elspeth. He’d only known the woman a day, but the thought of leaving her pained him. He shook the thought from his head. Major Forster had said a Lycan bonds with his healer. That’s all it was. Though the pull the lass had on him was stronger than any he could ever remember. He’d have to take special care not to let things progress to where they shouldn’t. He didn’t think Elspeth could handle it. Who was he kidding? He didn’t think he could handle it.
God, but she felt good in his arms.
“Ye look a million miles away, Ben.” Her lilting voice brought him back to the present.
“I suppose I was in a way. Are you really a… healer, Elspeth?” A witch, he wanted to ask, but thought better of it.
“Aye. As was my mother before me, and her mother before her, and on and on.”
Ben smiled. His family’s heritage was much the same. All Lycan males, until him. Until this.
“What exactly is yer ailment? I’ve never seen a healthier man.”
Healthy, at least, in all the ways anyone could see. It was inside where he was broken. Ben stared at her. To get her help he’d have to be honest. How was she to fix him otherwise? He’d left his home and come all this way to find her. Well, to find Rosewyth.
Still, being a Lycan wasn’t something one openly admitted. In London he’d be locked in Bedlam if he even thought of telling anyone. Or Newgate. He wasn’t sure which was worse. Creatures like him usually only confessed all to their intended mates.
An image of mating with Elspeth flashed in his mind, and he couldn’t shake it away. Bonding. It was just bonding with his healer. He could tell her. He had to.
“I’m a Lycan,” he blurted out before he came to his senses. “Do you know what that is?”
She shook her head, though he noticed she rubbed the skin of her wrist beneath her gloves.
“A werewolf, in layman’s terms.”
He half expected her to run through the woods, screaming like a banshee, but she simply tilted her head to one side and waited for him to continue.
“You have nothing to say to that?”
She shrugged. “What would ye like me ta say?”
“I don’t know. Maybe run in fear, at least.”
Her beautiful smile returned. “I doona believe there is a thing about ye I should fear, Ben.” Her gaze moved from the top of his head to the bottoms of his feet, lingering as though she’d find the secret of his creation somewhere upon his person. “What does all of this mean? What does bein’ a Lycan entail? Do ye change ta a wolf every night?”
He shook his head. “No. We change only when the light of a full moon touches us. The rest of the month we look like any other man, but beneath the surface the beast inside struggles to be released, stronger in the days surrounding moonful.”
“I see,” she said looking up into the forest canopy above the
m, though the sun was high in the sky. “The moon is but a sliver now.”
Ben heaved a sigh. It was easier to talk about this with her than he had expected. “I left almost immediately after the last moonful.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t transform.”
“And ye want ta transform?” she asked with a frown.
“Of course I want to change,” he barked. When her green eyes grew round, he shuffled his feet. “Sorry. I suppose I’m not explaining this well after all. The change is part of me, Elspeth, who I am. I need to fix whatever is wrong with me.”
Elspeth stared at the man in front of her. A Lycan. A werewolf. A beast. Caitrin had been right about that. Is that what the mark indicated? Again she rubbed the mark on her wrist. Was that what her father was? Was that why he’d sought out her mother?
“Do ye have a mark, Ben?”
“A mark?”
“On yer skin?”
He smiled. “How did you know?”
Elspeth shrugged. “Lucky guess. Where is it? Can I see it?” Did it look like hers?
His grin widened. “Only if I remove all my clothes.” He glanced around the woods. “I don’t think this would be the place to show you.”
Shivers danced across her skin at the thought of Ben Westfield without a stitch of clothing. As a healer, she’d seen men unclothed before, though she’d thought nothing of it. Somehow she didn’t think that would be the case with this man. “I’ll, um, need ta see it. But no’ here, no’ now.” Then she straightened her shoulders and looked him square in the eye. “I’ll need time ta figure out what ta do with ye. Can ye give me a few days?”
“You can have all the days you need, lass. Do you think you can heal me?”
“I’ve never encountered a case like yers before, but I’ll do everythin’ in my power.” And she would try to locate any notes her mother may have left about Lycans. Why hadn’t her mother told her more?
Caitrin threw open the door to her father’s study. She didn’t know who else to turn to, and she was furious. Angus Macleod looked up from the papers on his desk and regarded her with a look of amusement. “Havers, Cait! Ye look like a cat whose tail’s been set aflame.”
She glared at her father. “How flatterin’.”
He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “I’m glad ye’re here, lass. A gentleman came ta see me today about ye.”
Caitrin shook her head. Nothing he had to say could be more important than her current predicament. “Papa, did ye ever meet Elspeth’s sire?”
Her father frowned and tapped his chin. “No, but yer mother did.”
“Did she say anythin’ about him?”
His laugh warmed the room. “A thing or two. Nothin’ I’ll repeat in yer presence, lass. Yer mother wasna one for cursin’, but she made an exception for Rosie’s beast.”
Caitrin rubbed her hands across her face. Could the man never be serious? “Oh, Papa!” she groaned. “I’ve seen a man, a beast,” she clarified. “It’s all comin’ ta pass. He’ll take Elspeth from us and—”
“Now ye sound like my Fiona.”
“Why?”
“Doona work yerself up, Cait. The visions are no’ always accurate.”
She blinked at her father. What was he talking about? Her visions had always been accurate. She’d never once been wrong. “Papa, ye doona seem ta understand—”
“I lived with Fiona for a quarter of a century, Cait. I understand perfectly. She was right most of the time, I’ll grant ye. But she wasna right about Rosewyth. Maybe it’s somethin’ in the nature of these beasts; they mess with yer powers.”
“What do ye mean she wasna right about Rosewyth?”
Her father sighed and sat forward in his seat. “I’d never seen Fiona more upset than she was when she received the first vision about the beast. She kept rantin’ and ravin’. The man was goin’ ta take Rosie from the coven. The Còig would fall apart…”
Just like what she’d seen with Elspeth. Caitrin’s heart began to race. She had no idea her mother had seen something similar.
“… turn out that way. So ye see, lass, yer mother wasna always correct—”
“Papa, I missed what ye said. Go back. Mama thought the Còig would fall apart,” she prompted.
“Aye. Fiona said the man would come for Rosie and take her away. Then the man did come, but Rosie dinna go with him. She chose ta stay with the coven instead. Just because ye can see what is supposed ta happen doesna mean that people canna change the course of the future.”
It should have been good news that Rosewyth Campbell chose another path. It meant Elspeth could do the same. Yet it was troubling that her mother had been wrong. Caitrin hadn’t known that was possible.
“And speakin’ of the future, Cait. The fellow today, Mr. MacQuarrie, he stopped by early this mornin’, wantin’ ta speak with me.”
Caitrin shook her head. “MacQuarrie is inconsequential, Papa.” Though she wished he weren’t. She’d seen such strength in him the night before, and he made her warm and tingly all over. But his future lay along a different path.
“I’d hardly say that, Caitrin. The lad asked me for yer hand.”
She gasped. She hadn’t seen that coming either. Why not? Her mind was a jumble.
“I told him he had my blessin’ but that ye made yer own decisions. Just like yer mother.”
Thirteen
Ben ambled up the steps of Alec MacQuarrie’s stately home. Before he could knock, the butler opened the door with a frown. Ben sighed. Must all Scots frown at him? He was starting to take it personally.
Honestly, he really wasn’t such a disagreeable fellow. Most people, most English people, found him a delight to be around. He generally attended the best parties, told the best stories, and spent the rest of his time with the best women. He couldn’t understand why all of Scotland seemed to take umbrage with him. Well, all of Scotland except for Elspeth.
He’d left her in the care of the Fergusons and made her promise to get some rest, which was exactly what he planned to do once he reached MacQuarrie’s.
“My lord,” the butler began with a bow, “Mr. MacQuarrie would like a word with ye.”
Ben resisted the urge to groan. After their conversation last night, he wasn’t looking forward to another interview. Besides he was nearly dead on his feet. “Do tell Mr. MacQuarrie that I’ll see him at dinner.” If he was awake by then.
He turned his back on the dour Scot and climbed the stairs to the next floor. He made his way to his chambers and collapsed, facedown, onto the bed, leaving his boots dangling over the edge. His feet were heavy, and he wished he had someone here who would pull them off for him.
Elspeth.
He’d love for her to pull off his boots and then his trousers. He smiled into the pillow as an image of his lovely witch entered his mind, thankful again she wasn’t of the Macbeth variety.
Most men of his acquaintance would run in fear from a witch. But Ben wasn’t most men, and he did need her help. He thought again about how her wild red hair hung about her shoulders and the way she’d thrown herself in his—
Something cracked him on the back of his head. “Ow!” He rolled over, prepared to fight, only to find Alec standing over him brandishing a rolled-up periodical.
“That’s the thanks I get? You come to my home uninvited, and I let you stay as a guest. I ask you to leave Miss Campbell be, but the legendary Lord Benjamin Westfield can’t possibly do so. And when my man tells you I want to speak with you, you ignore him completely and pass out across your bed?”
“I didn’t ignore him,” Ben complained as he rubbed the back of his head. “I told the man I’d see you at dinner. I’m a bit tired, Alec.”
“Aye, from staying out all night, like I asked you not to.”
Ben pushed himself to a sitting position. Now he could take off his own bloody boots. “I’m a bit tired of the sanctimonious Alec MacQuarrie, to be honest. We both know I’m far from a saint, and we both know it, you Sc
ottish hypocrite, because you’ve been with me every step of the way. And now you decide to tell me which females I can and cannot spend my time with?”
Alec heaved a sigh and dropped into a chair just a few feet from the bed. “I didn’t want to speak to you about Miss Campbell.”
The fight instantly evaporated from Ben. “Oh. Well, I was just trying to catch a bit of sleep. I was up all night searching the woods for hair combs, if you can believe it.”
Alec gaped at him. Then his lips broke into a smile. He threw his head back and laughed.
“I can’t imagine what you find so humorous about the situation,” Ben grumbled.
Alec wiped a tear from his eye and brought his levity back under control. “And I thought I had it bad. You really must care for the lass.”
“I didn’t want her to worry about them.” Ben shrugged, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with his friend’s all-knowing eyes focused on him.
“Ah, of course not. Heaven forbid she get herself all worked up over a pair of hair combs.”
“What do you want, Alec?”
Immediately his friend sobered and sat forward in his chair. “I wanted to ask your advice about Miss Macleod.”
The pretty blond harridan who hated him? Ben had some advice concerning Miss Macleod. “Run the other direction.”
“I don’t think I can do that.” Alec frowned. “I spoke to the lass’ father this morning, and I asked for her hand.”
Ben nearly choked on his own tongue. He knew Alec was entranced by the girl… by the witch. Did his friend know that little detail? “How much do you really know about her?”
“I’d say a bit more than you know about Miss Campbell,” Alec shot back.
“Touché.” But did he know the girl was a witch, a seer? Not that he could tell him. Ben needed Elspeth’s help, and bringing attention to her coven wasn’t the best idea. “If you’ve already asked for the girl’s hand, what do you want to ask me?”
Alec grimaced. “Well, I’d hoped Mr. Macleod would accept my offer—”
“He didn’t?” Ben’s mouth fell open. MacQuarrie had more money than most Scots. He’d been well sought after in London by marriage-minded mamas and their daughters. He couldn’t imagine Mr. Macleod had received a better offer for his daughter.