by Lydia Dare
Alec towed Sorcha closer to the carriage and lowered his voice. “And the argument?”
Sorcha shrugged. “That’s how we always talk ta each other. Ye should ken that, Alec.”
Oh, he knew it. “Worse than sisters,” he agreed.
Sorcha’s brown eyes twinkled with joy. “That’s how ye ken we love each other. We only get worked up because we care.”
“And is that why you argue with me too?” He couldn’t help but ask, though he bit his cheek as he waited to hear her answer.
She nodded emphatically. “Of course. I’ve cared about ye my whole life, Alec.”
Her admission warmed him from the inside out, and he softly pressed his lips to hers. “The feeling’s mutual, Sorch.”
Somewhere behind them, Eynsford grumbled, “If I have to watch that the whole way to Edinburgh, I’ll be travel sick myself.”
“Hush,” his wife complained. “I think young love is adorable.”
Alec almost took a step back. Young love? He couldn’t love Sorcha. He adored her; he cherished her; and he wanted her beside him always. But he couldn’t love her. He didn’t have a heart anymore.
Sorcha blushed a bit, but thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice Alec’s distress as she stepped from his arms toward their traveling companions. “After watchin’ ye moon over Cait, I think ye’re the last person who gets ta complain, my lord. Now, where is my green travelin’ valise?”
“Should be with MacQuarrie’s coach,” Eynsford replied.
Sorcha glanced up and down the road. “Are they in front or behind us?”
“Why does it matter?” the marquess asked.
“Because,” Sorcha turned to stare at the man as though he was an imbecile, “I have my herbs in there. A bit of ginger will help settle Cait’s stomach.”
“Ginger would be just the thing,” Cait agreed.
“Renshaw!” Eynsford barked, stalking to the coach with newfound purpose.
“Yes, sir?” The coachman spun in his box to answer his employer.
“Has MacQuarrie’s coach passed us?”
“Not yet, sir.”
“Very good.” Eynsford turned back to the small group.
“Then why don’t we wait for them here? We’ll snatch your little valise up and keep it with us from now on. How does that sound?”
Sorcha agreed with a nod. “Perfect, my lord.Thank ye.”
“No thanks necessary. Just help her, lass.”
“I may no’ be as good as Elspeth at this sort of thing, but I’m better than Blaire or Rhiannon. So if ye canna have El, ye’re very fortunate ta have me along for this journey.”
Cait snorted. “I’d rather have ye instead. El doesna go anywhere without that annoyin’ lapdog of hers anymore.”
Eynsford coughed in surprise. “Caitie!” He gestured to his person, as though reminding her she’d married a man of the same breed as Ben Westfield.
“I would never say such a thing about ye, my love. But Benjamin canna help but get on my very last nerve with all the hoverin’ and dotin’ and—”
“He’s much better,” Sorcha began, “ever since Rose was born. Now he dotes on the little bairn like…” Then her face nearly turned scarlet and she turned away from the group.
What was that about? Why should talk of Ben and his daughter cause such a reaction in Sorcha? Alec glanced from Cait to Eynsford, wondering if his fiancée’s response made any sense to either of them. And that’s when it hit him.
Cait was expecting. He could see it in her bluer than blue eyes.
The travel sickness. Sorcha’s instant embarrassment at the mention of a bairn. A slip of the tongue, obviously. Still Eynsford didn’t seem to have figured it out. His concern for Cait might as well have been etched across his brow for all the notice he paid to Sorcha’s words.
So Cait was to be a mother. Would she birth a little witch or a litter of Lycans? He discovered it didn’t really bother him either way. If he’d stumbled upon this news a month earlier, it would have sent him into a downward spiral of self-pity and anger he was sure; now he was simply happy for her. After all, this life was apparently what she wanted.
Alec followed Sorcha toward a line of trees so they would be closer to Alec’s coach when it approached. He tapped her shoulder, and she nearly leapt out of her skin.
“Oh!” She spun around and then smiled when she saw it was him. “I thought ye were Cait.”
Alec laughed. “I’ve never been mistaken for her before.”
Sorcha’s adorable nose scrunched up. “Nay, I’m just certain she’s furious with me.”
Alec grasped her hand and pulled her into his arms.
“Eynsford is dense, lass. He didn’t realize what you said.”
Her mouth fell open, and instant regret flashed in her eyes. “Ye mean—”
“It was just a matter of time, wasn’t it?”
“I-I suppose.” She looked so concerned, so worried for him.
Alec adored her all the more for it, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “There’s no reason to worry about me, Sorch. I’ve told you time and again that I’m over Caitrin. It’s true. You don’t need to try to protect me.”
Her hands slid around his waist, and she pressed her head to his chest. “Ye canna tell a soul or she’ll boil me in a cauldron of oil.”
Cait’s temper was legendary, but Alec doubted cauldrons of oil would be necessary in this case. “Why doesn’t she want him to know? I’m sure he’d be over the moon.”
“She wants ta ken for certain,” Sorcha said against his chest. “She canna see her own future, ye ken.”
“Is that what your argument was about?” Alec tipped Sorcha’s chin up so she had to look at him. “You thought she should tell him?”
Sheepishly, Sorcha shook her head. “I was tryin’ ta blackmail her. I told her I’d keep her secret if she’d call off the marquess, if she’d let us just be and let us make our own decisions.”
Alec nearly roared with laughter. “My conniving little witch!” Here he thought she’d taken the high moral road, wanting to keep everything open and honest, but she was actually blackmailing Cait! Or trying to. He wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. Sorcha was priceless. “Oh, lass, you do make life interesting.”
She frowned at him. “I canna believe ye’re laughin’ at me, Alec MacQuarrie!”
“Not at you, Sorch,” he amended, bringing his levity back under control, “at the situation. You—” The sound of an approaching carriage caught Alec’s attention, and he looked over Sorcha’s shoulder. “There’s my coach now!”
Chapter Twenty
Sorcha spotted The Black Horse Inn from her window and breathed a sigh of relief. Cait hadn’t fared particularly well, even with the ginger. As soon as Sorcha had a room to herself, she could concoct something a little stronger. So much for getting to Edinburgh quickly. They’d be lucky to make it there by Michaelmas at this rate.
“Almost there, Caitie,” Eynsford soothed, caressing his wife’s arm.
“I am sorry,” Cait mumbled as the coach rumbled to a stop.
“It’s no’ yer fault.” Sorcha smiled at her friend. “As soon as I can steep ye a special pot of tea, ye’ll feel better than ever.”
Eynsford snorted. “Not me. I made a vow to myself never to drink tea a witch offers me, at least not while traveling.”
Even in her fragile state, Cait elbowed him in the stomach. “I canna believe ye can joke at a time like this.”
“Sorry, angel. Just breaking up the tension.” Eynsford opened the coach door, climbed out, and then scooped Cait up in his arms.
Neither Sorcha nor Alec had made a move to depart the conveyance, at least not yet. Alec chuckled to himself. “The man really is dense. How could he not see what is going on with her?”
Sorcha shrugged. “More worried than suspicious, I suppose.”
“Well, I suppose we should get you to your room so you can steep this magical tea.” He alighted from the carriage and offered her his ar
m.
A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Ye’re accompanyin’ me ta my room?” She stepped forward, laid a hand flat on his chest, and then batted her eyes at him in what she hoped was a coquettish move.
He leaned down a little to say quietly in her ear, “I don’t see any hovering Lycans lurking about to stop me, do you?”
“Eynsford is hoverin’ around Cait right now.” Sorcha glanced furtively around the courtyard. “How long do ye think we have?”
“It won’t take me very long,” she thought she heard him mumble.
“What did ye say?”
“I said we can have as long as it takes to make the tea, I’d assume,” he clarified.
She narrowed her eyes at him. That wasn’t what he’d said. But she’d leave it be.
When they entered the inn, they found that the marquess had already secured their rooms for them. Hers was directly beside Eynsford’s and Cait’s. And Alec’s was on the other side of the establishment.
“Interfering mutt,” Alec muttered.
Sorcha couldn’t keep from giggling. Alec reached into his pocket and passed the innkeeper a coin. “My wife would like some tea, but she prefers to steep her own. Could you please send whatever we require to my chamber?”
“Your wife, eh?” The innkeeper nodded dramatically and winked at them. Alec appeared none too pleased, however, and something in his expression must have worried the stodgy old man.
“Beg your pardon, sir. I’ll take care of it immediately for you and your wife. It’ll be my pleasure.”
*
No, it would be Alec’s pleasure, as soon as he had Sorcha alone in his chambers. But the innkeeper need not know that. He ushered her up the stairs as quickly as he could get away with. The delicate sway of her hips as she climbed the steps in front of him nearly had his mouth watering. He wanted her unlike anything he’d ever wanted before. Like a drowning man craves a breath. Like a starving man craves a meal.
The thought of a meal had his teeth descending before he and Sorcha even stepped into the room.
Sorcha chattered on about something. He wasn’t certain what, but he must have nodded at appropriate times because she kept talking. She didn’t stop until they had finally walked over the threshold of his bedchamber and he had closed the door behind them.
“Are ye all right?” she asked, her face clouded with worry.
“I am now,” he grunted as he grabbed her arm, tugged her to him, and dropped his mouth to hers. She didn’t pull back. She didn’t shy away. In fact, she rewarded his ungentlemanly behavior by stretching up on her tiptoes and pressing her lips tighter against his. “Sorch,” he groaned against her lips.
He’d have to slow down or risk scaring his little innocent.
He threaded his fingers into the hair at her temples and very gently stroked her. She purred as she pressed herself against his hand.
After a moment, she opened her eyes. And they grew round as saucers. “Why did ye no’ tell me?” Her eyebrows snapped together in consternation.
He had no idea what he’d done. “Tell you what?”
“That ye’re hungry,” she informed him as her gaze returned to his mouth. Of course, she saw his descended incisors.
“I always seem to be hungry for you,” he admitted. “Do I have to tell you all the time?” He tugged her hips closer to him. “Can’t I just show you?” His lips dropped to the side of her neck. She warmed beneath his lips, her pulse thumping beneath the delicate skin of her throat. The thump, thump, thump of her heart nearly overwhelmed him, and his teeth ached in cadence with the rhythm of her life force.
Sorcha gave a gentle shove against his chest. He ignored it.
“Alec,” she protested as she slapped him a little harder.
He raised his head and looked at her. She wasn’t unaffected by his kisses. But she obviously had something else on her mind. She turned her back to him and pulled her hair over her shoulder. “Help me out of this dress, will ye?”
Alec didn’t need to be asked twice. He had her unlaced before she could even inhale and then shoved her traveling gown down over her hips just as quickly. When she stood before him in only her shift, he stepped back to look at her.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed.
“Where do ye want me?” she asked, her voice terse and clipped.
He’d annoyed her? Of course he had. He was acting like an untried lad. He couldn’t keep his hands off her. Alec turned away from her and swiped a hand down his face.
Maybe if he didn’t look at her, some of the ache to take her would ease. “We should get you to your own chamber,” he said quietly without even looking at her.
“Over yer dead body,” she taunted. He glanced over his shoulder to find her index finger pointed at him. “Alec MacQuarrie, ye will take me. And ye will take me now.”
“I will?” This was bloody confusing.
“I’ll no’ let ye be hungry. No’ when I can fill that need for ye.” She stepped forward and stroked a hand across his back. “And I want ta fill that need for ye.”
She thought he was hungry for her blood? Dear God, he was. But that was nothing compared to his desire to become one with her. “Sorcha, I’m not worried about dining,” he said as he turned and faced her.
“Ye have ta eat.” She pointed toward his mouth. “Yer teeth are tellin’ me ye’re hungry.”
Alec fought his grin. “My teeth do that at the strangest times. Not just when I’m hungry for food.”
“Ye’re sayin’ ye’re no’ hungry?” She was beginning to look a little irked, standing there in her chemise and stockings. She crossed her arms beneath her delightful breasts.
He was hungry, truth be told. But it was a distant second in the race to get inside her body. He shrugged. “It can wait.” He advanced toward her again.
She held up a hand to stop him. “Nay,” she barked.
“Nay?” He probably sounded like an addled parrot. But his teeth ached as much as his manhood did. His mind was not his own.
“Nay,” she said again as she walked slowly toward him and laid a hand on the center of his chest. Then she shoved him. He allowed her to push him back a step.
“Sorcha, I’m sorry,” he started. For God’s sake, he was going to marry this lass. He was going to be with her forever. Or at least as long as her forever lasted. And he was treating her like a common tavern wench.
She shoved him again. This time, the backs of his knees hit the edge of a high-backed chair. “Sit,” she commanded.
“I’m not trained to sit and stay, Sorch,” he remarked playfully.
“Sit, please?” she tried. Her pretty little lashes swept against her cheeks like dark fans as she smiled at him.
Alec was completely under her spell, and he sat like the most well-trained dog. He reached for her hips as she stepped closer to him. But then her hands landed on his shoulders and she moved to straddle his lap. “What are you doing?” he croaked.
“Makin’ it so that ye canna get away,” Sorcha said quietly as she slid closer to his body. Instinctually, he reached and grabbed her bottom, drawing her flush against him. She gasped at the rough movement.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, but he couldn’t make his fingers let go of her bottom.
“I ken ye could force me from yer lap any moment, Alec,” she whispered, her lips a mere breath from his. “But I am also well aware that ye willna do so.”
There was nothing more than his trousers between his manhood and her softness. Sorcha wiggled her bottom in his lap, trying to get even closer. “Easy, lass,” he warned.
“Sorry,” she said with a giggle. “This is fairly scandalous, is it no’?” she questioned. Her heart was still thumping like mad.
“Perfectly scandalous,” he grunted. She was almost naked in his lap. Bloody hell, he wanted her.
Sorcha lifted her delicate little wrist close to his face and turned it toward him. “Do ye want me here?” she asked.
Her adorable little nose scru
nched up. He took her wrist in his hand and brought it to his nose. The apple blossom scent of her, combined with the knowledge that those delicate blue veins pounded just below the surface, nearly had him disgracing himself in his pants.
“Something tells me you’ll find fault with it if I take you there,” he said. He had no idea why she would. But she obviously had some preconceived notions.
“It’s no’ where Blodswell took Rhiannon.” At his dumbfounded expression, she clarified, “I saw the marks when I helped dress her hair for the weddin’.”
Alec shoved Sorcha’s hair from her shoulder and tugged her chemise until it hung off her shoulder. Those freckles winked at him and tasted just as wonderful as he’d thought they would, like springtime and Scotland all rolled into one.
He pressed his lips where her shoulder met her neck. “Did he take her here?” he whispered.
“Yes,” she whispered back. “Right there,” she cried out as he very gently nipped her sensitive flesh.
“There are other places where I could take you,” he informed her quietly, but he continued his assault on that sensitive flesh. The scent of warm apple blossoms was driving him mad.
“Like where?” she breathed.
His hand reached for her knee and slid forward until he nearly found her heat. “Like here,” he said, stroking his fingers across the pulse that pounded in her inner thigh.
“Ye’d have ta put yer head down there?” She looked appalled at the suggestion.
“You’ll love it,” he chuckled. Then he raised his hand to stroke her center.
“Alec! We canna do that. No’ right now,” she chided him.
“Ye’re havin’ dinner,” she reminded him.
“Aye, I am. I can’t wait,” he mumbled against her shoulder. But he didn’t remove his hand; in fact, he used his finger to bring some of her desire forward, to slicken the little nub he knew would send her over the precipice.
“Alec,” she cried as she buried her face in his neck, turning her head so that her neck was fully exposed. Her hips began to move on him, and the friction between his trousers and his manhood was nearly painful. He reached between them, freed himself from his confines, and then pulled her forward so she could ride the ridge of him. The slickness of her desire washed over him, and he almost exploded.