Eric stared at Nella for a moment, then cursed. “Of course. ’Tis there to see in the last few lines of that bitch’s curse. ’Tis so clear, I wonder that we didnae all see it the moment we heard it. Heart o’er gain. Sophie o’er Margaret. And ye are right. It must be his choice, one made without prodding or trickery. Wheesht, lass, ye have set a heavy burden upon my shoulders.”
“Aye, ’tis a hard thing to ken and nay be able to act upon,” Nella said.
“Exactly. I can see hope within our grasp, but I must stand silent. All I can do is pray that Alpin acts as he must to free us all.”
Nella looked back at Alpin’s door. “Pray that as he holds her close, he comes to need that verra much, indeed, so much that he decides to cast aside that noble plan to free her for her own sake.” She shook her head. “Pray, for all our sakes, that your laird has one blinding moment of selfishness which lasts long enough to ensure there is nay turning back.”
Alpin watched the firelight caress Sophie’s skin as she stood before the fire and washed herself. Each time she dampened the rag in the bowl of water and ran it over her skin, he felt desire tauten his insides. She was so beautiful, so graceful, it made him ache. He was not blind to the bruises upon her skin, however, and had to fight back a strong urge to hunt Sir Ranald down and kill him.
That rage and bloodlust had still held him firmly in its grip when he had first brought her into his room. Alpin could vaguely recall stripping them both and climbing into his bed with her in his arms. He had held her while she had wept. At some point during that emotional storm, she had fallen asleep. Still holding her close, he, too, had dozed, waking when she had slipped from his arms. And, despite the fact that he wanted her back in his arms, he was thoroughly enjoying the view.
Sophie blushed when she dried herself, turned to go back to bed, and caught Alpin watching her. She hurried to the side of the bed, gasping with surprise when he suddenly moved, grabbed her, and pulled her into his arms. The man could move with astonishing speed, she thought, as he tucked the bedcovers over them both. She wrapped her arms around him as he nuzzled her neck.
“I can still smell him,” Alpin muttered, then tightened his hold on her when she tried to move away. “Stay.”
“But if the smell troubles you,” she began even as she relaxed in his arms.
“It but restirs the urge to tear him apart.”
“He didnae, er, finish.”
“I ken it. I fear I would be able to smell that, too, and that would stir a rage I couldnae control.”
“Oh. Do ye ken, I think having such a keen sense of smell must be a burden at times. Some of the scents wafting through the air arenae verra pleasing.”
He smiled against her neck, then lightly nipped the life-giving vein he pressed his lips against. There was a dark part of him that hungered for a taste of what pulsed through that vein, but he did not fear it. He knew that, as long as he retained even the smallest scrap of sanity, he would not hurt Sophie. She was his sunlight, that bright warmth he so yearned to enjoy again, but which would only bring him death now. She was the flowers that no longer grew in his shadowed world, the laughter that so rarely echoed in the halls of Nochdaidh, and the hope they had all lost but yearned to regain. And, he realized, she could reach the man still inside of him even at the height of his bloodlust.
“I am sorry I wept all over ye,” Sophie murmured. “’Tis odd, for, whilst that fool was attacking me, I was mostly furious. Then, ye came, and I was safe, yet I wept.”
“He hurt you.” Alpin raised himself up on one elbow and began to gently touch each bruise upon her silken skin. “And, ’tisnae how one acts after the danger has passed that matters. ’Tisnae unknown for men to collapse, trembling and terrified, after the battle is done. I heard ye call to me,” he said quietly as he lightly kissed a bruise upon her throat. “In my mind I heard ye call my name.”
“How wondrous strange. I did call your name—inside my head. Weel, our families have been bound together by Rona’s curse for o’er four hundred years. Mayhap that has something to do with it.” She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him close as he kissed the bruises upon her breasts. “They dinnae hurt,” she said when he frowned at a bruise as he traced its shape with his long fingers.
“The bastard left his mark upon your skin.”
Sophie placed her hands on either side of his head, turned his face up to hers, and brushed a kiss over his mouth. “So I stink of him and am marked by him. There is a solution to that problem.”
Alpin settled himself between her slim legs and gently nipped her chin. “And what would that be?”
“Ye could replace his scent with yours,” she replied softly as she stroked his long legs with her feet. “Ye could put your own mark upon me.”
“Such a clever lass. Ah, but it could take a wee bit of time and effort.”
“Oh, I do hope so,” she whispered against his mouth before kissing him.
Chapter Eight
It took every ounce of Alpin’s will to leave Sophie while she still slept. Today was his wedding day, and knowing he could not hold her in his arms all night again made him want to crawl back into the bed and cling to her like some frightened child. He should make her leave, but he could not bring himself to say the words. Alpin feared the darkness in his world would be complete if he could not at least see her now and again. There would be no more lovemaking, however, he swore as he forced himself to walk out of his bedchamber. Today marked the end of their stolen idyll and he had to draw that line deeply and clearly.
Once in the great hall, he fixed his attention upon the final wedding preparations. Since the priest refused to enter the gates of Nochdaidh, they would have to go into the village. That had required Alpin to gain special permission to be married after sunset, claiming some difficulty with sensitive skin. Embarrassing, but it had worked. A heavy purse sent along with the request had helped. That money had undoubtedly helped the church dismiss the dark rumors about him as well. So, he mused as he looked at his pale, trembling bride, he was free to marry.
As the day dragged on, Alpin fought the urge to go to Sophie. His mood grew darker with every passing hour, every badly smothered sob of his distraught bride. Alpin did think it odd that Eric seemed to share his mood. It was not until they gathered in the bailey to begin the ride to the church that Alpin realized he had not seen even a fleeting glimpse of Sophie or Nella all day.
“Where is Sophie?” he asked Eric as the man rode up, leading the horse Alpin would ride to the church.
“Gone,” Eric replied while Alpin swung himself up into the saddle.
“Gone? Gone where?”
“She and Nella left to return to their home a few hours ago. Lady Sophie said ’twas best, for ye would be tied to Lady Margaret by vows said before God and that was a line she didnae want to cross. Feared she might be tempted if she stayed here. I sent three of the lads with them. Couldnae let them travel alone.”
“Nay, of course not,” he muttered, blindly nudging his mount into following the others to the village.
Alpin was stunned. He had wanted Sophie to leave, had thought it for the best. Yet, now that she was gone, he felt more desolate than he ever had before. This was how it should be, yet it felt all wrong. He certainly did not feel noble. When a man gave up what he wanted for the greater good, for the benefit of someone else, should he not feel some pride in himself, some warmth in the knowledge that he had done the right thing? All he felt was cold; chilled to the very bone.
It made no sense, he thought as he blindly obeyed someone’s command to kneel next to his weeping bride. Sophie had only been in his life for a month. Most of that time he had tried to avoid her or he had been yelling at her. How could the