Never Been Bit

by Lydia Dare

  On one settee sat Elspeth and Lord Benjamin, who held their tiny red-haired witch in his arms. Not far away, Caitrin sat with Lord Eynsford on her mother’s prized, white brocade divan. In one of the high-backed chairs, a very expectant Blaire struggled to her feet when she spotted Sorcha. But she wasn’t quick enough to intercept her, as Rhiannon appeared out of nowhere and threw her arms around Sorcha’s neck.

  “Oh, Sorch!” Rhi gushed. “I am so happy for ye.”

  Sorcha clutched the weather-controlling witch to her tightly. “Rhi! What are ye doin’ here? Ye’re no’ gonna cry, are ye? I doona ken if the flowers will survive a downpour.”

  Rhi pulled back and swiped a tear of joy from her face.

  “I’ll be careful of yer flowers, ye goose.”

  Sorcha glanced around the room and now noticed Lords Kettering and Blodswell hovering nearby as well. “Where did ye all come from?” Rhi and Blaire in particular should be at their new homes in England.

  “Do ye think we would miss yer weddin’, Sorcha?” Blaire asked, stepping forward to squeeze Sorcha’s hand. “Ye were the only one, ye ken, who was at each of ours.”

  That was true, but, “How?” Was this what Wallace had meant when he’d said everyone had come home?

  But she knew the answer to that, and her eyes found Cait, still seated on the divan beside her husband. “Ye are the slyest witch ever born, Caitrin.”

  The blonde grinned. “We all have our talents, Sorcha Ferguson.”

  Sorcha sighed and shook her head. “We will have a long talk, ye and I.”

  Cait tipped her head sideways as though she was seeing the future event in her mind. “Aye, we will.”

  Where was Alec? And Papa? And Wallace? And Mr. Crawford, for heaven’s sake?

  “Relax, lass,” Lord Blodswell said quietly as he came to stand beside his wife. “Alec is in with your father and the vicar, signing some papers.”

  “How did ye ken what I was worried about?” she asked.

  He grinned back at her. “After six centuries, one learns to read expressions fairly well.”

  How she adored Lord Blodswell’s calm demeanor.

  “Thank ye again, my lord, for savin’ him.” For turning him into the creature he was now. If he’d died beside that icy loch, she never would have found her one true love. The situation wasn’t ideal, but it was so much better than if she’d never had him to begin with.

  “Oh, I think you’re the one who has saved him, lass.”

  But she hadn’t. Not in the way Rhiannon had saved Blodswell. Not in the way Blaire had saved Kettering. Alec hadn’t become human. He hadn’t become human because he didn’t love her. Sorcha grasped Lord Blodswell’s arm and dragged him into the far corner. “I havena saved him,” she whispered. “Ye must ken that.”

  With a genuine smile, Blodswell tipped her chin up so she had to look into his soft green eyes. “We’re all saved in different ways, Miss Ferguson. The man I saved, the man I tutored to live this life, was angry and bitter. He had no care for anyone or anything other than his own damaged heart. Never doubt that you saved him, my dear.”

  “But…” He was still a vampyre. Still incapable of returning her love. But Sorcha couldn’t bring herself to say the words aloud.

  “Love him, lass. Love him with all your heart.”

  “I already do,” she admitted.

  Blodswell winked at her. “I know. I can see that too.”

  From the doorway, Sorcha’s father cleared his throat, signaling his arrival. “Well, I see everyone is here. It appears, lass,” he looked directly at Sorcha, “that your weddin’ party is larger than I anticipated. There are even more in the ballroom. Shall we join them in there as I doona believe they’ll all fit in here?”

  Sorcha crossed the room to her father and took his proffered arm. “I canna believe all of my coven sisters are here! I never even dreamed of hopin’ for such a thing.”

  Her father began to direct her toward their ballroom, and he sighed. “They all love ye, lass. And who can blame them? As soon as Cait ordered everyone home and explained why, they came in droves.”

  Upon entering the ballroom, Sorcha scanned the throng of people. Cait and Rhiannon’s fathers stood together, talking to Rhi’s silly sister, Ginny, and her new husband.

  Lord Radbourne and his twin brothers nodded their welcome in her direction. Blaire’s two brothers each had linked arms with her new sister-in-law. All of MacQuarrie House seemed to be present, as did every neighbor and friend Sorcha or Alec had ever possessed. “Havers!” she muttered under her breath.

  “Indeed,” her father agreed. “If ye were less loved, we could have performed the ceremony in yer mother’s salon.”

  Then Sorcha spotted Alec at the far end of the ballroom beside a large window, talking with the bald-pated vicar, Mr. Crawford. Alec looked across the room at her, his dark, penetrating eyes so focused that Sorcha almost missed a step. Her heart pounded so hard that she thought for certain it would leap right from her chest.

  “Careful, love,” her father whispered as he led her through the guests and to Alec’s side.

  Once she reached him, she realized he had the silliest collection of apple blossoms tucked into his lapel. She couldn’t help but laugh. “What are ye doin’ with those?”

  Alec shrugged. “Found them in a magical orangery and couldn’t help but take a few.”

  Sorcha’s father placed her hand on Alec’s arm and then nodded for Mr. Crawford to begin the ceremony. “We are ready.”

  The vicar looked from Alec to Sorcha and back and repeated the old Scottish blessing, “Slainte mhor agus a h-uile beannachd duibh.” Then he nodded at Alec. “Repeat after me, sir. ‘Before God and these witnesses, I, Alec Lachlan Colin MacQuarrie, take ye, Sorcha Ivy Ferguson, ta be my wife, ta have and ta hold ’til death do us part.’”

  Alec squeezed Sorcha’s hand. “Before God and these witnesses, I, Alec Lachlan Colin MacQuarrie, take you, Sorcha Ivy Ferguson, to be my wife, to have and to hold ’til… death do us part.”

  Sorcha swallowed, wishing he hadn’t paused on that last bit. But death would part them, wouldn’t it?

  “And now ye, Miss Ferguson. Repeat after me—‘Before God and these witnesses, I, Sorcha Ivy Ferguson, take ye, Alec Lachlan Colin MacQuarrie, ta be my husband, ta have and ta hold ’til death do us part.’”

  Sorcha stared up into Alec’s dark eyes. “Before God and these witnesses, I, Sorcha Ivy Ferguson, take ye, Alec Lachlan Colin MacQuarrie, ta be my husband, ta have and ta hold forever.”

  One of Alec’s dark eyebrows rose in mild amusement.

  “You always surprise me, lass.”

  Mr. Crawford coughed delicately.

  Alec turned his gaze on the vicar. “You may continue, Crawford.”

  “But she didn’t say it exactly.”

  “She said what she meant,” Alec replied, all pompous Scotsman. “Now continue, Crawford.”

  The vicar stood a little taller, although a frown now marred his brow. “Do ye have a ring, Mr. MacQuarrie?”

  Alec nodded and then reached into his pocket. He retrieved a beautiful ruby ring, the color of a nice claret.

  Then he slid the ring onto Sorcha’s left hand.

  Heavy mist hung in the air. Sorcha glanced over at Rhiannon, who wiped a tear from her eye. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed back at Sorcha. Then she shrugged and leaned into her husband’s arms. The mist began to clear as he whispered in her ear.

  “With this ring, I thee wed,” Alec said quietly, drawing her back into the ceremony.

  Mr. Crawford’s voice rang out. “Ye may kiss yer bride.”

  Alec attempted to gather her gently into his arms. But she’d have none of that. She launched herself at him and threw her arms around his neck, nearly knocking him over in the process. But he just chuckled and grabbed her, lifting her to meet his waiting lips. Suddenly Alec yelped and dropped her to her feet.

  All the eyes of the coven sisters and their husbands shot to Rhiannon. She
shrugged. “My emotions are gettin’ the better of me,” she said.

  Lord Eynsford laughed aloud as his brothers looked on, completely unaware that Alec had just been zapped by a witch with a lightning bolt for being too amorous with his end-of-ceremony kiss.

  *

  Love him with all your heart. Lord Blodswell’s advice had echoed in Sorcha’s ears all morning. And an idea had taken root. Truly, the idea made all the sense in the world.

  Though she would miss her old life, at least she thought she would, spending the rest of eternity with Alec was worth every sacrifice.

  “I’d really rather not have a convergence of your circle in my parlor just now. We’ve already been surrounded by half of Edinburgh for most of the day,” Alec complained as his coach stopped before his home, or their home, really.

  Sorcha couldn’t help but grin at him. “It willna be for long, Alec. Besides, Cait said it was important.” And Sorcha had a feeling she knew why. Cait must have seen the future and realized Sorcha wouldn’t be counted amongst the Còig’s numbers much longer. It wouldn’t do to leave the others exposed. One last coming together was the least she could do for her lifetime friends.

  “It’s already too long, and we haven’t gotten inside yet.”

  “Be a good host, will ye?” she admonished.

  “So I should greet them with a smile and then tell them to turn around and leave my wife to me?” His brow rose suggestively. “We have some unfinished business to attend to, lass, and I am more than anxious to finally attend to it.”

  Warmth crept up Sorcha’s cheeks. She was more than anxious to attend to their business as well. But her final act as a Còig witch needed to be handled first. She owed that much to the others who had been such an important part of her life up until now.

  The driver opened the door, and Alec bounded from the carriage. Then he offered his hand to Sorcha. “Mrs. MacQuarrie.” He smiled and scooped her up in arms as he started toward their front door.

  Sorcha giggled. “I can walk, Alec.”

  “Tradition, lass, tradition,” he replied as he bounded up the steps.

  Before the door opened, a strand of ivy reached toward her and caressed Sorcha’s hand. Alec’s eyes grew wide at the contact. “Welcoming you home?” Awe laced his voice.

  Sorcha bit back a laugh. Not a welcome per se, more like a quick recounting of a most delightful tale. “Something like that,” she murmured as the front door opened and Gibson nodded at the pair.

  “Welcome home, sir, madam.”

  Sorcha had never been called madam before. It made her feel a bit older than her years, though that would be a common occurrence from here on out, wouldn’t it?

  Alec gently returned her to her feet and turned his eye on their butler. “We have guests right behind us, Gibson. Pray direct everyone to the green parlor.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “And refreshments, Gibson,” Sorcha added.

  The butler nodded and then started for the kitchens as Alec led Sorcha to the large front parlor where sunshine poured into the cheerful room. “Such a lovely day,” she commented.

  Alec pulled her into his embrace. “I never really noticed before that every plant leans toward you like the sun. You should tell your little friends that your husband is the jealous sort.”

  Sorcha laughed. “And ye should tell all of yer friends that yer wife is the jealous sort.”

  Something flashed in his eyes, and Sorcha had the feeling it had to do with a certain whore being chased off his property the night before. “I have no friends anymore other than you, lass.”

  “Well, then,” she reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his jaw, “ye are rather lucky ta have me.”

  “Lucky indeed,” he agreed.

  “I’ll say,” boomed Benjamin Westfield’s voice from the corridor. “No need to direct us, Gibson, I know just where to find Mr. and Mrs. MacQuarrie.”

  Alec rolled his eyes. “Gibson hates him.”

  Sorcha smiled up at her husband. “He’s yer friend, ye ken. Ben has always been yer friend.”

  He tweaked her nose. “Aye.” He sighed. “I suppose there’s no getting rid of the dog, is there?”

  Benjamin chose that moment to direct everyone into the green parlor. “Man’s best friend, you know.” He winked at the pair.

  Almost instantly, the other four witches surrounded Sorcha, making it clear they required her presence. “Ye doona mind do ye, Alec?” Rhiannon asked sweetly.

  A mild look of annoyance settled on his face. “After the blast you gave me this morning, Lady Blodswell, don’t think you can just charm me with the bat of your pretty eyes.”

  Rhiannon giggled. “Ye deserved it and ye ken it, MacQuarrie.”

  “We willna take up too much of her time,” Elspeth promised.

  “You better not, or I’ll be forced to whisk her away the same way Ben did you, El.”

  Her only response to that was a smile.

  Once the five witches had sequestered themselves in one of the parlor’s corners, Sorcha’s eyes began to water.

  She knew she was making the right decision, but she would miss her friends, her coven sisters, dearly.

  “Doona ye dare cry,” Blaire admonished. “He’ll throw us out.”

  Sorcha tried her hardest to smile, but then her eyes landed on Blaire’s wedding ring. Once upon a time it had belonged to Lord Kettering and had allowed the man to walk amongst the living in the daylight. The ring was an exact duplicate of Alec’s, well almost. Lord Kettering had had his resized to fit Blaire after their wedding.

  Blaire followed Sorcha’s line of sight and squeezed her hand. “Ye are like bottled sunshine, Sorch. We willna allow ye ta spend the rest of yer days hidin’ from the light. It wouldna be right.”

  Rhiannon reached into her reticule, retrieved something, and then opened her hand, revealing Lord Blodswell’s identical ring. “Matthew doesna have need of it anymore. We want ye ta have it.”

  Sorcha couldn’t stop the tears from trailing down her face at that, and her heart threatened to burst. “I was so afraid ye wouldna understand.”

  Elspeth dabbed at Sorcha’s cheek with a handkerchief.

  “Did ye think we would abandon ye, sweetheart?”

  She hadn’t been sure what their reaction would be and Sorcha shrugged.

  Elspeth swiped at a tear of her own. “Ye were the most loyal and true ta all of us. We will always be here for ye, for as long as our family lasts.”

  Up until now Cait had been very quiet, which was most certainly a rarity for their seer. Sorcha looked straight at the blonde witch. “Ye willna try ta stop me?”

  Cait shook her head. “I had the most interestin’ conversation with yer father today. He has an unusual theory on prophesies and the future rightin’ itself. I’m no’ my mother, and I willna stand in the way of yer future or yer happiness. Just follow yer heart, Sorch. That’s all I ask.”

  Sorcha nodded. “I am.”

  “I ken,” Cait replied. “And I ken ye are goin’ ta be very happy with Alec. Love him with all yer heart.”

  Almost exactly the same thing Lord Blodswell had said earlier that day.

  Across the room, the men laughed at something, and Sorcha turned her attention to the vampyre she would spend forever with.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  After several hours of entertaining the Còig and their husbands, Alec had endured all he intended to. Why wouldn’t they leave? It seemed like he had waited for Sorcha forever, and he didn’t plan to wait one more second. He had warned Elspeth that he wasn’t above whisking his wife away, and that was exactly what he planned to do.

  “I know that look.” Ben chuckled.

  “Aye, you should,” Alec agreed. “I’ve seen you wear it often enough.”

  “Doesn’t he, though,” Eynsford put in.

  “You’re one to talk.” Alec snorted. Then he looked at the quartet of men surrounding him. “The lot of you can stay or go. I really don’t care any longer. But
I’m done entertaining you.”

  He paid no attention to the twin expressions of amusement that adorned Blodswell’s and Kettering’s faces as he left their circle and strode across the floor to retrieve his wife. Alec nodded at Sorcha’s coven sisters as he placed his hand on his witch’s shoulder. “Do excuse us, ladies.”

  Then he bent at the knee and scooped Sorcha up in his arms. She gasped but didn’t look unhappy.

  “Feel free to visit any time,” Alec tossed over his shoulder as he strode from the parlor and started up the main steps.

  “Alec!” Sorcha giggled.

  He carried his bride across the threshold to his chambers, with her clutching him as closely as she could. “I know. I’m a terrible host in my own home,” he groused.

  She playfully smacked at his chest and scolded, “I canna believe ye left them all belowstairs and whisked me away.”

  “The interlopers stayed too long.”

  Her warm brown eyes twinkled. “They’re our friends and they’re perfectly delightful. Ye could have been a little more gentlemanly.”

  “What will be delightful is when I have you naked in my bed,” Alec growled, giving her a good look at his distended teeth. He wanted to disrobe her slowly. But after suffering through the ceremony, then the after-wedding assembly, and then the well wishes from her coven, he was too damn anxious to be inside her to even care about taking his time with her clothing.

  He dropped her to her feet, allowing her to slide slowly down his body until her feet hit the floor. He cupped the back of her head and pulled her in for a kiss. “Welcome home,” he whispered, just before his lips touched hers. She tasted like wedding cake. And smelled like apple blossoms. Apple blossoms and sin.

  Her heart beat rapidly within her chest. He could hear it.

  “Nervous?” he asked when he finally lifted his head.

  She ducked her head shyly. “Maybe just a little.”

  “Don’t be. I know what I’m doing.”

  “Thank heavens one of us does.” She bit her bottom lip, making the plump flesh pout a bit. “But I doona like that ye have been with other women.”