Never Been Bit (23 page)

“I’ve traveled the length of Britain with her more than once. I’ve never seen her like this.”

Blast Cait for not telling him the truth. Sorcha didn’t want to see the marquess suffer unnecessarily. Just as soon as Cait awoke, Sorcha would demand that her friend tell Eynsford the truth, or what she suspected the truth was.

“Just allow me ta get the tea ready, my lord, and we’ll go from there, all right?”

He nodded and then said in a low voice, “You were always my favorite of the bunch, you know.”

Sorcha’s mouth dropped open. “I beg yer pardon?”

Sheepishly, he smiled. “You were the only one to accept me in the beginning. You were the first to lend your support. You never shocked me with a bolt of lightning or anything like that. You are the embodiment of sweetness, Sorcha.”

She’d had no idea he’d felt that way. “Thank ye, my lord.”

“And from what I understand, you were the same way with Westfield and Kettering and my undeserving brothers. Unblinking acceptance.”

Sorcha wouldn’t really put it that way. And why did he think his brothers were so undeserving?

“Just be careful, lass,” the marquess continued as his eyes lingered on her neck. “I know your fate is on a certain course right now, but I’d hate to see you lose the sweetness that is your nature. Not
every
entity is worthy of your acceptance.”

Meaning Alec. He didn’t have to say it; Eynsford’s meaning was clear. But she’d known Alec her whole life, and she’d trust him with her heart, her body, and her future.

She didn’t want to have that particular conversation with the marquess, though, and certainly not in the hallway of The Black Horse Inn. So, she simply nodded her head instead.

Sorcha stepped inside her chambers to find a tray with a couple cups and a steaming teapot placed on a table near her bed. Luckily, all of her valises and portmanteaus that contained herbs, flowers, and seeds were awaiting her as well.

She quickly went to work and removed the lid of the teapot. In short order, she added a healthy dose of chamomile and another pinch of ginger for good measure.

Then she retrieved a tiny flaxseed and placed it in the palm of her hand and made a fist. Sorcha imagined Cait smiling, healthy, and happy with just the right coloring to her face.

Sorcha opened her fist, touched the seed with the tip of her index finger, and couldn’t help but smile as it turned to dust in her hand. Then she added the powder to the teapot and breathed in the soft aroma of chamomile. Cait would feel better in no time.

Just as Sorcha was about to toss the door open to inform Eynsford that the tea was ready, she found her maid, Maggie, in the hallway wearing the most confused expression. “Oh, there ye are, miss. The innkeeper is havin’ a tub brought up for Mrs. MacQuarrie. I think he thinks that’s ye, Miss Ferguson.”

Sorcha bit her bottom lip. She supposed someone should tell her poor maid what was going on. Or some of it anyway. “Maggie, I am Mrs. MacQuarrie.” How odd it felt to say those words aloud. At her servant’s rounded eyes, Sorcha hastened to explain, “I mean I will be just as soon as we get home and talk ta Papa.”

“Oh! That is wonderful news.” Her maid grinned, but then her face fell. “But the innkeeper said…”

How was she to explain this so Maggie would understand but not think badly of her at the same time?

“The innkeeper must have misunderstood, but tryin’ ta explain it now will just make it more confusin’. A tub is on the way up, ye say?”

“Aye, miss.”

“Wonderful.” Sorcha smiled at her maid. “I am covered in travel dust. I need ta peek in on Lady Eynsford and then I’ll be right back for my bath. Will ye help me with the tray?”

She pointed to the table beside the bed.

Maggie bobbed a courtesy and then bustled across the room to retrieve the tea tray. Sorcha stepped into the hallway and knocked on Cait’s and Eynsford’s door.

“She’s still sleeping,” the marquess said softly as he opened the door.

“Well, she’ll need ta be awake ta drink my special brew.”

Sorcha gestured to her maid a few steps behind.

Eynsford quickly ushered them both over the threshold.

“Thank you, lass.”

“This should work wonders,” Sorcha promised as her maid deposited the tray on a table near the room’s lone window. “Thank ye, Maggie. I’ll return ta my chamber in just a moment.”

As soon as her maid departed, Sorcha turned her attention to the marquess. “Ye should leave us for a bit too, my lord. I’ll wake her and make certain she starts right in on the tea.”

A series of expressions flashed across the poor man’s face. He appeared completely lost, not knowing what to do about Cait. “But—”

Sorcha had some things to say to her friend that she didn’t particularly want the marquess to overhear. “Why doona ye go for a quick walk and stretch yer legs? Ye’ve been all folded inta that coach for quite some time. Yer legs must be as sore as mine are.”

He frowned. “Places like this bother her. All these strange people. If I’m not here to keep the images at bay, every future of every person in this inn will start to invade her thoughts. It’s almost painful for her. My touch clears her mind.”

Which, of course, Sorcha knew. Yet if Cait was right about her condition, then a piece of Eynsford was already with Cait and the troublesome images would keep their distance from the seer. However, Sorcha couldn’t say as much to the marquess, not since she’d given her word that very day. “I need ta have Cait’s full attention for the tea ta take effect, my lord. Just for a few minutes.”

He looked nearly pained himself as he agreed with a nod and silently slid from the room.

Sorcha smoothed Cait’s blond locks from her face.

“Caitrin, ye need ta wake up,” she began soothingly.

Cait groaned and her blue eyes fluttered open. “Sorch?”

“Hmm.” Sorcha moved from Cait’s bedside to pour a cup of her special tea. “I want ye a drink this.”

Cait pushed up on her elbows and then sat up straight. “I feel awful.”

Sorcha pressed the cup into Cait’s hands. “Ye’re no’ the only one. Yer poor husband is nearly beside himself with worry. Ye have ta tell him, Cait.”

But her friend shook her head stubbornly, as only Cait could. “No’ until I ken for certain.”

But she did know for certain; she just hadn’t realized it.

“Caitrin, ye are in The Black Horse Inn. Are ye plagued with any unwanted futures?”

Cait blinked at her as though she had just realized she wasn’t bothered by the awful images. “Nay,” she whispered.

“My thoughts are my own.”

“It’s because ye are expectin’ a bairn, Cait. Ye’re expectin’
Eynsford
’s child. He doesn’t need ta touch ye ta keep the futures from floodin’ ye because he’s already with ye.” The happiest smile Sorcha had ever seen graced Cait’s face. “Aye, that makes sense.”

Sorcha sat on the bed beside her friend and squeezed Cait’s hand. “Please tell yer husband. The man is positively miserable.”

Cait agreed with a nod, but then she shook her head at the last moment. “But, Alec… We have a long trip ahead of us, Sorch. I doona want ta make it more difficult.”

“Alec already kens.”

Cait almost dropped her tea. “Ye told him? Ye promised ye could keep yer trap shut.” She smacked Sorcha’s arm and somehow managed not to slosh any tea from the cup.

“I dinna tell him. He’s a smart man.” Sorcha rubbed her ill-used appendage. “And doona hit me, Cait.”

Cait lifted the tea to her lips and inhaled. “Flax?” She turned up her nose like a finicky child.

Havers!
Sorcha heaved an impatient sigh. “Drink the blasted tea, Cait. It’ll help ye feel better.”

“Flax?” Cait complained.

“It was
one
tiny seed.” Sorcha tapped the bottom of the cup, silently encouraging Cait to drink. “If ye doona mind, I’d like ta cure yer travel sickness so we can get ta Edinburgh.”

“Someone’s in a hurry ta marry,” Cait said with a soft, sarcastic whistle and a wink. Then her gaze dropped to Sorcha’s neck. She sat forward on her knees to get a better look. “Sorcha, what is that?” she cried as she reached toward Sorcha’s bite wound.

Sorcha covered it with the palm of her hand. If the marquess hadn’t been so persistent, she’d have had time to cover it. “It’s nothin’,” she quipped, and stood up to bustle about the room.

“That is
no’
nothin’, Sorch,” Cait cried as she reached out, grabbed Sorcha’s hand, and then tumbled her back onto the bed. “Let me see that thing,” she ordered.

“It’s really none of yer concern, Cait,” Sorcha said as she felt the heat of embarrassment and anger creep up her face.

“He bit ye, did he?” Cait sat back against the headboard with a knowing grin.

“If ye must ken,” Sorcha returned hotly, “he did.”

“And how was it?” Cait nearly vibrated with something Sorcha didn’t understand.

Sorcha took a deep breath. “Cait, I ken ye willna understand about this since ye have normal relations with Eynsford. But please try no’ ta judge.”

“Judge?” Cait cried, looking much too pleased with herself. Then she tugged at the collar of her own gown and showed Sorcha the mark at the base of her neck. “I am the last person ta judge ye, Sorch.” She giggled.

“Ye had a vampyre bite ye as well?” Certainly Alec hadn’t… “
Havers
, no! Dash did it.” She looked supremely pleased by that fact. “It’s his mark. I like it.” She shrugged. “I have wanted ta tell ye all about it for so long.” Cait looked like she could dance across the room at any moment. “Now that ye’ve had relations with Alec, we can talk about everythin’.”

Sorcha gasped and jumped to her feet. “I havena had relations with Alec.” She thought about it a moment. “Well, no’ all the relations. No’ that I’m aware of.” Then she held up a hand to stop Cait’s pending questions. “I’m fairly certain there’s more ta it than what I’ve experienced.” Then beneath her breath she muttered, “At least I hope there is. It’s perfectly scandalous, is it no’?” She winced at the last.

“Dash bit me before he married me too.”

“Tell me more,” Sorcha prompted.

“He bit me the night he met me. After only a few moments. Then he was irrevocably tied ta me.”

“Poor man,” Sorcha teased. “He dinna even see ye comin’.”

“I dinna see him comin’ either,” Cait lamented. “Is it no’ wonderful?” She sobered. “What was it like?” She gestured toward Sorcha’s neck.

“Amazin’,” Sorcha sighed.

“Mine is just a mark. A way of solidifyin’ our bond. Yers is more than that.” She quieted. “Did he drink yer blood?”

Sorcha groaned. “Doona judge, Cait. Please?”

“Was it as wonderful as Rhiannon claims? Could ye feel what’s inside him? Could ye feel his love for ye?” Cait reminded her of a child waiting for a birthday gift, all anxious exuberance and wanting.

“It was wonderful.” But she hadn’t felt his love for her.

She’d felt his passion. And his grief. And his pain. And it had all overwhelmed her at once. His pleasure had taken the forefront. But she hadn’t felt any love. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t felt that at all. She’d always assumed love would wash over her like a tidal wave. Like a loud song sung at the opera. Like Rhiannon’s wind when she was angry. Like… nothing she’d felt in Alec.

“Why so sad all of a sudden?” Cait asked, obviously growing alarmed at Sorcha’s introspection.

“I couldna feel his love for me because he doesna love me.” Sorcha probably shouldn’t have said that aloud, and certainly not to the one woman Alec
had
always loved, but it was too late to take her words back once they had left her mouth.

Cait’s face fell and she reached for Sorcha’s hand. “I’m sure—”

“Stop, Caitrin.” Sorcha scrambled from her spot. “I, um, have a bath waitin’ for me.”

“But, Sorch—”

“Just drink yer tea, Cait.” Sorcha fled the room as quickly as she could before Cait could see the tears that had begun to pool in her eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Alec saw a flurry of skirts rush from Eynsford’s room and into Sorcha’s. Then the door slammed closed with a thud.

What the devil? If that Lycan had hurt Sorcha, he wouldn’t live to see the next full moon. Alec stomped down the corridor, but before he could even knock, soft sniffling from inside halted him.

“Sorcha,” he called through the door. “What’s wrong, lass?”

The sniffling stopped with an abrupt gasp. A second later, she said with feigned cheerfulness, “Nothin’.”

But
nothing
wouldn’t have made her bolt into her room as though the devil was chasing her. And
nothing
wouldn’t make her cry like this. “Sorch, tell me what happened.”

Not a sound came from within the chamber.

Damn it to hell! What the devil had happened? She’d been perfectly fine when she’d left his arms. Obviously something had transpired since their interlude. Sorcha was so sweet and sympathetic to a fault. Alec racked his brain, searching for an answer. “Did something happen with the tea? Is Cait all right?”

“Please just go away, Alec,” Sorcha begged, her voice sounding constricted and anguished.

The hell he would. Alec wouldn’t move from this spot for all the blood in London. “Sorcha, open the door.”

Another sniffle, and Alec’s chest hurt. He rubbed at it absently. He didn’t really need her to open the door, not with his strength. He could reduce the door to a pile of splinters with one well-aimed hit. Alec lifted his arm… “Sounds to me,” came Eynsford’s arrogant voice from the staircase, “as though the lass would like some time to herself, MacQuarrie. Can you not take a hint?”

Damn Eynsford! Alec looked over his shoulder as the Lycan ascended the final step. “Mind your own affairs.”

The golden-haired Lycan stalked toward Alec, his dark amber eyes filled with fury. “I told you once before that I’ll look out for Sorcha’s best interests.”

“No need any longer.” Alec glared at his onetime rival.

“As she’s my fiancée, her interests are mine, Eynsford. Now do be a good dog and go lie down out of my way.”

The Lycan snorted like an indignant wolf. “I don’t care,” he said so low that no one other than the two of them could possibly hear his words, “that she wears your mark like a brand. And I don’t care how many of them she sports. Until your ring is on her finger, Miss Ferguson is under my protection. And in the meantime, should she come to her senses where you’re concerned, I’ll do everything in my power to help her extricate herself from your hold.”