Sophie ached to tell him what she thought this marriage might accomplish, but bit back the words. She could be wrong. It would be cruel to convince him all would be well now, only to discover nothing had changed. One look at Nella’s wide-eyed expression told her that her maid was thinking much the same.
“My arse hurts,” Nella blurted out.
There was a moment of heavy silence. Sophie could feel that Eric and Alpin were struggling as hard as she was not to laugh. She finally croaked out the word “bath” and headed toward her bedchamber, Nella quickly following. If she understood Alpin’s strangled words correctly, he was also going to bathe and wanted her to join him in his bedchamber in one hour. Just the thought of what would ensue when she joined him in an hour had Sophie’s blood running so hot she doubted she would need the fire to heat her bathwater.
Alpin stared at the meal set out upon a table near the fire. Coward that he was, he had eaten the meat prepared for him and had quickly had his plate removed. Sophie might understand and accept him for what he was, but he still shied away from complete exposure. It was one of the things he had been reduced to that he himself found hard to bear.
Sensing her approach, he turned to face her as she entered the room. She looked beautiful in her thin, lace-trimmed nightshift, and he found her scent to be a heady perfume. She also looked delicate, soft, and innocent, and he felt doubt assail him. Surely it was wrong to drag such a warm, gentle soul into his world of shadow and blood?
“Ye cannae change your mind now,” Sophie said as she moved to the table and helped herself to a honey-sweetened oatcake.
“Ye dinnae belong here, locked into the darkness,” he said.
“I belong with ye, Alpin, be it in shadow or in sunlight so bright it makes our eyes hurt.” She looked at the food on the table, then back at him. “Ye cannae eat any of this?”
“Nay. There is nay longer a taste to it for me, and the act of eating it only serves to stir up a strong need for the other.”
“Do ye miss it?”
“Och, aye. I yearn to sit at a table weighted with food of all kinds and eat until I cannae move. I yearn to stand in the sunlight and nay fear the warmth of its light. I yearn to have people look at me without fear, without crossing themselves or making the sign to ward off evil. I yearn to see the flowers grow in the bailey.”
Sophie moved to wrap her arms around his waist and rest her cheek against his chest. “Ye shall have those things again.”
He gently gripped her by the chin and turned her face up to his. “Ye sound so sure of that.”
“One of us has to be.”
Alpin smiled faintly. “When I knelt beside the Lady Margaret, that undying hope of yours was one of the things I thought of. I may ne’er share it, but I wanted it. I thought of smiles, your smiles and your sweet laughter. I thought of how ye dinnae fear me, e’en when I am bellowing and ranting. And when the priest asked me to speak my vows, I looked at my trembling and weeping bride, and realized I couldnae say them to her. She was terrified of me and repulsed. If ye hadnae come into my life, I probably would have accepted that, for ’tis what I have become accustomed to. But ye gave me a thirst for more, Sophie. I suddenly kenned that I yearned to be loved,” he added in a near whisper.
“Oh, ye are, Alpin.” She hugged him tightly and rubbed her cheek against his chest. “I love ye.”
He felt the warmth of those words flow through his veins. Holding her close, he rested his chin on the top of her head. He started to smile when, after a few moments of silence, she began to grow tense. His smile widened to a grin when she slipped her hand inside his robe and pinched his waist. It was probably a little unkind to tease her so, but he was sure that she knew exactly how he felt.
“Alpin,” she muttered crossly.
“I love ye too, Sophie mine. Ye are the sun that warms the cold shadows of my prison.” He frowned slightly when he felt a slight dampness seep between her cheek and his chest. “Are ye crying?”
“’Tis just happiness, Alpin.”
“Ah, I thought your arse might hurt.” He laughed at her startled look, picked her up in his arms, and carried her to his bed.
“Time for the wedding night? Or, rather, dawn?” she asked with a smile as he set her down on the bed and shed his robe.
After tugging off her shift, he sprawled in her arms. “With ye in my bed, my wee wife, I think I could actually grow to like the dawn.”
“What are ye doing awake?” Eric asked Nella as she joined him at the table in the great hall.
She cut herself a thick piece of bread. “Hungry. I shall get some rest after I eat.” Nella cut a thick slice of cheese, set it on the bread, and stared at the food in her hand. “Do ye think it will work?”
“Ah, fretting about that, are ye?”
“Arenae ye?”
“Some, aye. It seems as if it ought to, but this trouble has plagued us for so long, I find hope a hard thing to grasp.”
Nella sighed. “So do I. I have heard all the tales of the sad lives of the Galt women and, though it makes sense that this is the answer, it just seems too easy.”
“Ye think there ought to be some spell done, herbs and smoke and magic words?”
“Aye. A ceremony of sorts, I suppose. Ah, weel, mayhap the marriage itself was all the ceremony needed.”
“It has its own power, true enough. Weel, ye eat and then rest, lass. Ye will need your strength.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Because if Sophie is right and this ends the curse, there will be a wild celebration. If it doesnae, if she is wrong, she will be needing a lot of comfort.”
Chapter Nine
Alpin stretched, poured himself a tankard of cider, grabbed a couple of honey-sweetened oatcakes, and walked to the window to stare down into the bailey. He felt at peace for the first time in his life and it was a good feeling, one he savored and prayed would continue. A day and a night spent in the arms of his passionate little wife undoubtedly had something to do with that, he thought as he washed down the oatcake with a drink of cider and started to eat another one. He was loved and it soothed a lot of the pain he had suffered in his life. There were troubles ahead, but he no longer feared the future as much as he had.
As he finished his third oatcake and washed it down with the last of the cider, he realized there was a lot of activity in the bailey. It looked as if every resident of Nochdaidh were out there. He nearly gaped when he saw what he was sure were Eric and Nella dancing around like fools. It was a little late to still be celebrating his marriage, he thought as he turned to look at Sophie, thinking to rouse her to come and see what was happening.
The sight of her distracted him for a moment, even though only her head was visible above the covers. She looked so young, sweet, and delicate as she slept, but he well knew the strength beneath that soft beauty. Her thick hair was splayed out over the pillow and coverlet, looking more golden than ever with the morning sun gilding its length.
His empty tankard slipped from his suddenly nerveless hand as Alpin realized what he had just done, what he was seeing. Alpin stared at the tankard as he accepted the wonder of having eaten oatcakes and drunk cider. The only hunger the act of eating had roused in him was one for more oatcakes and more cider. The sunlight was filling his room. He had seen all his people so clearly because they had been hopping and twirling about in the sunlight.
“Sophie,” he called, realized his voice was little more than a soft croak, and cleared his throat. “Sophie!” he yelled.
When she just groaned and turned over, he ran to the side of the bed. He yanked the covers off her, grabbed her by the shoulders to pull