Never Been Bit (32 page)

“And me?” Alec muttered, not sure what to make of Ferguson’s tale.

“Well, I’m no’ certain how ye were supposed ta become a vampyre, originally that is. Most of the writin’ is about the witches, of course. Poor Kettering should have never been locked in that castle. But Fiona thought it would keep him away from Blaire’s destiny. And ye got messed up in all of that. But, like I say, the future has a way of rightin’ itself. And yer future has always been with my Sorcha. Vampyre and all.”Alec scrubbed a hand across his face. He still couldn’t quite believe that he was supposed to be a vampyre. This life had been his destiny. And, apparently, Sorcha’s. “And you’re all right with that. You’re all right with handing your daughter over to a man like me?”

Finally, Seamus Ferguson flashed him a toothy grin.

“Well, of course. Like I said, I’ve kent ye since ye were a wee one, MacQuarrie. I ken the sort of man ye are. And if I was ta try and let old prejudices keep ye from Sorcha, I’d be no better than Fiona, now would I? My Bonnie wouldna be very happy about that, I can assure ye.”

“So if Mrs. Macleod was still alive, you’re saying she’d try to keep me from Sorcha?” After what she’d done to Elspeth and Kettering, Alec didn’t even want to think about what the crafty witch would have come up with for him. The idea almost made him shiver.

Seamus tapped the old books with his fingers. “The
Còig
is an ancient entity. It served its purpose in past centuries, but the times are changin’. The world is changin’. Ye ken those locomotives they’ve been fiddlin’ with the last few years? Trevithick and the like?”

Alec nodded absently. He knew a little about the contraptions. Their usage seemed a little far-fetched, but his interest had always been more history related. Though he figured he’d see plenty of history happen in his neverending lifetime.

“Soon there’ll be a public railway takin’ people from one end of Britain ta the other.” Seamus touched his nose. “A smart man would invest in such ventures. It’s no coincidence the family of the seers has always done relatively well financially speakin’, if ye ken what I mean.”

Seamus Ferguson always did have his mind on business matters, yet Alec wasn’t certain how they’d ended up talking about locomotives and investments. “I suppose so.”

Sorcha’s father nodded as though he’d made a valid point. “Well, poor Fiona couldna see that. Human advancements were one thing, but changes within the coven were somethin’ else. She couldna let go of the past traditions long enough ta embrace the future. She wanted ta ensure that the strength and purity of the coven would always remain intact.”

Meaning that marriage to Lycans and vampyres would destroy the fabric of the coven. Ferguson didn’t have to say the words aloud; Alec could see the truth of that in the old man’s eyes. “Does Sorcha know all of this?” She certainly hadn’t let on if she had.

Her father shook his head. “Bonnie wanted ta make certain this generation of witches would meet their destinies without interference from any other seers. Luckily, Caitrin is a bit more forward thinkin’ than her mother. But Bonnie couldna ensure that was the case. So she took these books from Fiona and hid them away from everyone, except for Wallace, it seems. The lad was just as enamored with Bonnie as I was and sat at her feet, silently watchin’ everythin’. After she passed away, God rest her soul, Wallace showed me the books. And I kent she’d want me ta keep them safe.”

“These books were Fiona’s?”

“Oh, of course.” Seamus continued. “Traditionally, the prophecies were always kept with the seer. But Bonnie felt Fiona had misled the coven, and so she absconded with them.” He smiled wistfully. “She was pretty and soft as flower petals, but my Bonnie had a spine of steel and an innate sense of right and wrong. She dinna believe Fiona could be trusted with the relics any longer. After ye marry Sorcha, I’ll return them ta Cait. The lass has proven herself worthy in my estimation, and I think Bonnie would agree.”

Alec didn’t necessarily care who kept the books; only their contents mattered. “It’s a little hard to come to terms with the fact that my life is on a path over which I have no say. That one way or the other, the future will right itself, as you said. That I was supposed to be this way.”

“I ken it’s difficult.” Seamus Ferguson turned his back on Alec to reach up onto a high shelf in the room and retrieve a long wooden object. Alec watched closely until he realized what it was.

“Don’t make me disarm you, Mr. Ferguson,” Alec warned as his teeth descended.

“Ye mean take this little thing from me?” the old man teased as he tossed a wooden stake from one hand to another. “Sorcha made this little instrument. Well, so ta speak anyway.”

She had? Alec was certain he looked like a dolt with his mouth hanging open. The lass he was to marry had fashioned a wooden stake? That seemed like something a vampyre should be made aware of.

“It was for that vampyre, the one who showed up last winter tryin’ ta finish Kettering off,” Ferguson explained.

“Needless ta say, a slight battle ensured. In the midst of the brawl, Sorcha asked a nearby elm ta create this weapon for her.”

Alec hadn’t been present for that battle, but Rhiannon had told him enough about it that he felt as though he’d seen it with his own eyes. He hated that Sorcha had had to witness such a horrible event. After her close call with that malevolent vampyre, the same one who was partially responsible for Alec’s own death, it was still hard to believe Sorcha could accept him as he was.

“As I ken what yer kind is capable of, MacQuarrie, it seems hard ta believe that a little piece of wood can fell ye.”Except that the stake in Ferguson’s hand couldn’t really be described as little. “I’d rather not put it to the test, sir,” Alec replied, trying to maintain a casual air.

Mr. Ferguson tossed the stake to him, and Alec caught it in the air. “That was all that was left after the fellow burst inta flames.”

Just the thought of such an occurrence made Alec queasy. “Are you warning me, sir?” He tucked the stake high on a shelf behind him.

“If ye hurt my daughter, MacQuarrie, I’ll no’ have ta worry about buryin’ yer carcass. The
Còig
will do it for me.”

“They like me,” Alec muttered and was glad for the truth of it.

“Keep it that way. And put yer teeth away, damn it,” the old man growled. “They make me a little nervous.”

“Thank God for small favors.”

“Speakin’ of God, ye’ll marry my daughter properly in a ceremony. No declarations. No anvil wedding. Her mother would be furious if I allowed such a thing. It willna be in a church, but it’ll be legal and binding and holy. Do ye understand?”

“I’m still surprised you’ll let me marry her at all, considering my circumstances.”

“I’d be a fool ta stand in the way of destiny. Besides, ye are an honorable gentleman. Ye always have been. And that is why ye will marry my Sorcha.” His eyes bored directly into Alec. “And make her yer Sorcha.” He coughed as though trying to dislodge a lump in his throat.

“Aye, sir,” was all Alec could get out, because instead of a lump of emotion in his throat, he had a pain nagging in the center of his chest.

Then Seamus pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket.

“Special license with yer name on it. And Sorcha’s.”

A special license? Alec reached for the letter, and Mr. Ferguson handed it to him without the slightest delay.

“How?” was all he managed.

His soon-to-be father-in-law shrugged. “It was in with the letter Eynsford sent this evenin’, tellin’ me Sorcha had returned. Apparently that English duchess who seemed so enamored of my lass had this drawn up a month or so ago, from the date.”

Alec gaped at the license in his hand. Fate, or whatever it was that went about “righting” the future, sure had some interesting friends. The Duchess of Hythe had been in on this little charade with Cait from the beginning. Good God!

Who
else
had been conscribed to place him on his destined path? Miss Overton and her mother? Radbourne and his brothers? Bexley? The list made his head hurt. But he was a vampyre, and vampyres’ heads never hurt.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Sorcha paced back and forth across the Dining hall.

Certainly, if her father planned to deny Alec’s suit, he’d guide him back this direction before he kicked him out of the house. Then she could rush into the corridor and throw herself upon her father’s love for her. She’d swear never to see Papa again if he didn’t permit the marriage to take place. That was it. That would work. He’d never accept her total absence from his life. He loved her too much.

Alec was a fool for even thinking about telling her father what he really was. And she knew he was thinking about it.

She could see it in his dark eyes when he’d followed Papa from the dining hall. His foolish honor would ruin everything.

After all, what father in his right mind would give his only daughter to a vampyre? Sorcha knew what Alec was. Why couldn’t her father leave it at that? She was the one who was marrying Alec. And she accepted him exactly as he was, pointy fangs and never-ending life and all.

“Ye look green,” Wallace remarked as he shoveled another bite of raspberry cream into his mouth.

“I do no’ look green,” she insisted, and hoped she was right. Showing her nervousness wouldn’t help her cause with Papa.

“Suit yerself.” Her brother shrugged and took a sip of wine.

Sorcha frowned at her much older brother, as she finally stopped her pacing a dropped into a spot across from him at the table, still keeping her eyes on the main doorway.

“Do ye ken why everyone has come home?” Wallace asked.

Why must he speak so cryptically? Who was everyone?

Alec and herself? “I’m no’ in the mood for idle chitchat, Wallace.”

“Nay.” He placed his goblet back on the table and smirked. “Ye’re preoccupied. Yer mind is lingerin’ outside Father’s study, wonderin’ if he’ll decapitate MacQuarrie.”

Papa wouldn’t try something so foolish, would he? She leapt to her feet.

“Sit down!” her brother commanded. “Neither of them will appreciate it, Sorch, if ye involve yerself in somethin’ that’s no’ yer concern.”

She didn’t sit. She punched her hands to her hips instead and glared at her ogre-sized brother. “Who I marry, Wallace Ferguson, is most definitely my concern.”

He chuckled. Blasted brother.

Out of the corner of her eye, she looked to her beloved potted plant once more for help. The stem leaned toward Wallace and poked him in the eye.

Wallace laughed again as he rubbed at the pain. She hadn’t told the plant to hit him hard enough to do damage but had told it merely to annoy him, much like he was doing to her. “Oh, I have missed ye, lass. What will I do when ye move inta MacQuarrie House and leave me all alone?”

Sorcha sank back into her seat. “Ye think Papa will give his blessin’?”

Her brother shook his head as though he couldn’t believe she’d even ask such a question. “Has he ever refused ye anythin’ ye wanted, Sorch?”

Not that she could think of, but she’d hate for him to start now, of all times. At that moment, the sound of male laughter filtered into the corridor and she leapt back to her feet.

“All that pent-up energy,” Wallace began, “is goin’ ta give ye a stomachache.”

She glanced briefly at her brother, who was just now finishing the last of his raspberry cream. “Somethin’ ye should ken a lot about, Wallace.” Then she turned her attention back to the dining hall door and held her breath until her father and Alec walked back into the room.

“Ye look a little green, Sorch,” her father said, concern marring his brow.

“Told her the same thing,” Wallace said from the table.

“She chose no’ ta pay me any attention.”

Normally, Sorcha would have bantered with her brother.

She would have told him that only a fool would pay him any attention. But all she could do was seek Alec’s black-asnight gaze, hoping to find some sort of reassurance there.

Unfortunately, what she saw reflecting back at her was an expression she couldn’t quite read. In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever seen him wear such a look before.

“Go on,” her father urged, pushing Alec in her direction.

“Tell her the good news, or she’ll faint dead away. Look at her color.”

Alec finally smiled at her as he crossed the distance between them. He grasped her hand in his and brushed her knuckles with his lips. “Sorcha Ferguson, your father has given me his blessing to marry you.”

Relief filled Sorcha’s lungs. Then she squealed with delight and threw her arms around Alec’s neck. He held her tightly for a minute before he stepped back and placed her from him. “He’d like for us to say our vows in the morning, lass. Is that acceptable to you?”

In the morning? She was surprised her father had agreed so readily. “Where shall we make our declarations?” She nodded eagerly.

Behind them, her father loudly cleared his throat.

Alec shook his head. “No declarations, Sorch. It seems the Duchess of Hythe was kind enough to secure a special license for us.”

The Duchess of Hythe?
Sorcha couldn’t help but frown.

How could the duchess have possibly secured a license in so short a time? She’d barely ruined herself verbally before she and Alec, Eynsford, and Cait… It was Cait. She knew it in her heart. For once, that meddlesome witch had done something grand.

She wasn’t quite certain what to think about her friend’s interference, and she shook her head. “She kent all along.”

Alec’s dark eyes twinkled. “It appears as though she did. Someone must have been whispering in Her Grace’s ear for the license to have been procured more than a sennight before my arrival.”

A giggle escaped Sorcha’s throat. “That’s why ye were invited. Maddie couldna figure it out. Ye were no’ the same as the others.”

Which was an understatement. Alec’s brow rose in question, and then he shook his head. “Don’t tell me. I’m sure I don’t want to know what you meant by that.”

Sorcha’s father stepped forward and clapped a hand to Alec’s back. “All right, lad, ye better be off if ye’re ta be here bright and early in the mornin’. And I have ta go pay a visit ta our good vicar.”