Alpin MacCordy looked up from the letter he had been reading. His right-hand man Eric stood across from him at the head table in the great hall. There was no hint of amusement upon the man’s rough features, yet he had to be joking. Visitors did not come to Nochdaidh. Anyone traveling over his lands was quickly and thoroughly warned to stay away. The dark laird of Nochdaidh was not a man anyone came calling on.
“Has the weather turned so ill that it would force someone to seek shelter e’en in this place?” he asked.
“Nay. She has asked to speak to you.”
“She?”
“Aye.” Eric shook his head. “Two wee lasses. The one who calls herself Lady Sophie Hay says she must speak to you.” He suddenly turned and scowled at the doors. “Curse it, woman, I told ye to wait.”
“My lady is cold,” said the thinner of the two women entering the great hall, even as she pushed the other woman toward the fireplace.
“I am fine, Nella,” protested the other woman.
That soft, husky voice drew Alpin’s attention from Eric, who was bickering with the woman called Nella. He felt a slight tightening in his belly as the lady by the fireplace pulled off the hood of her cloak, revealing a delicate profile and thick, honey-gold hair. At the moment she was distracted by her maid’s efforts to get her cloak off and the argument between Eric and Nella. Alpin took quick advantage of that, looking his fill.
Her beautiful hair hung in a long, thick braid to her tiny waist. The dark blue woolen gown she wore clung to her slim, shapely hips and nicely formed, if somewhat small, breasts. Her face was a delicate oval, her nose small and straight, and her mouth full and inviting. She was tiny but perfect. Her maid was also small, dark haired, somewhat plain, bone thin, and plainly not at all intimidated by the burly Eric’s harsh visage or curt voice.
Alpin rose and moved closer to his uninvited guests. When the lady looked at him, he needed all his willpower not to openly react to the beauty of her eyes. She had eyes the color of the sea, an intriguing mix of blue and green, and just as mysterious. Her eyes were wide, her lashes long, thick, and several shades darker than her hair, and her equally dark brows arced delicately over those huge pools of innocent curiosity.
For a moment he thought this beautiful young woman had somehow made it to his gates without hearing about him, then he looked at the woman she called Nella. That woman’s dark eyes were filled with fear and horror. She clutched one thin hand tightly around what looked to be a weighty collection of amulets draped around her neck. The women had obviously been thoroughly warned, so why were they here, he mused, and looked back at Lady Sophie. That woman shocked him by smiling sweetly and holding out her small hand.
“Ye are the laird of Nochdaidh, I assume,” she said. “I am Lady Sophie Hay and this is my maid, Nella.”
“Aye, I am the laird. Sir Alpin MacCordy at your service, m’lady.”
When he bowed, then took her hand in his and brushed a kiss over her knuckles, Sophie had to swiftly suppress a shiver. Heat flowed through her body from the spot where his warm lips had briefly touched her skin. She started to scold herself for being so susceptible to the beauty of the man, then decided she should have expected such a thing. They already shared a bond in many ways. They were caught in the same trap set by the vindictive Rona so long ago.
And he was beautiful, she thought with an inner sigh. He was a tall man, a foot or more taller than her own meager five feet. He was lean and muscular, his every move graceful. His hair was long and thick, gleaming black waves hanging past his broad shoulders. Even his face was lean, his cheekbones high and well defined, his jawline strong, and his nose long and straight. He had eyes of a rich golden brown, thickly lashed, and nicely spaced beneath straight brows. His mouth was well shaped with a hint of fullness she found tempting. If this was how Rona’s lover had looked, Sophie could understand the pain and anger of losing him to another, even if she could never forgive the woman for how she had reacted to those feelings.
“Why have ye come to Nochdaidh, m’lady?” Alpin asked as he reluctantly released her hand.
“Weel, m’laird, I have come to try to break the curse the witch Rona put upon the MacCordys.”
The disappointment Alpin felt was sharp. She was just another charlatan come to try and fill him with false hope. As too many others had over the years, she would ply her trickery, fill her purse with his coin, and walk away. She but hoped to slip her lovely hand into his purse using lies and fanciful spells or cures.
“The tale of Rona the witch and her curse is just that—a tale. Lies made up to explain things that cannae be understood.”
“Oh, nay! ’Tisnae just some tale, m’laird. I have papers to prove ’tis all true.”
“Really? And just how would ye have come to hold such proof?”
“It was left to me by my aunt. Ye see, Rona was my ancestor. I am one of a direct line of Galt women—”
She squeaked when he suddenly pulled his sword and aimed at her, the point but inches from her heart. The fury visible upon his face was chilling. Sophie was just thinking that it was a little odd to still find him so beautiful while he looked so ready, even eager, to kill her, when Nella thrust her thin body between Sophie and the point of Alpin’s sword.
“Nay!” Nella cried in a voice made high and sharp by fear. “I cannae allow ye to hurt my lady.”
“Now, Nella,” Sophie said in her most soothing voice as she tried and failed to nudge her maid aside, “I am sure the laird wasnae intending to do me any harm.” A sword through the heart was probably a fairly quick death, she mused.
“Are ye? Weel, ye would be wrong,” Alpin drawled, but sheathed his sword, the surprising act of courage by the trembling maid cutting through the tight grip rage had gained on him. “There would undoubtedly be some satisfaction in spilling the blood of one of that witch’s kinswomen.”
“Mayhap, but that wouldnae solve the problem.”
“How can ye be so sure?”
“Why dinnae we all sit down to discuss this?” said Eric, pausing to instruct a curious maid to bring food and drink before grabbing Nella by the arm and dragging her toward the head table. “Always better to sit, break bread together, and talk calmly.”
“Fine. We will eat, drink, and talk calmly,” Alpin said in a cold, hard voice, “and then they can leave.”
This was not proceeding well, Sophie mused as she watched Alpin stride back to the table. It was not going to be easy to help someone who, at first, wanted to strike you dead, then wanted you to leave. She should have suspected such a reaction. She had not sensed one good feeling since entering the shadows encircling Nochdaidh. Despair, fear, and a bone-deep resignation to the dark whims of fate were everywhere.
The laird was filled with the same feelings and much darker ones. When he had touched her hand it was not only attraction Sophie had felt, his and her own. There was anger in the man. It was there even before he had discovered exactly who she was. She had also felt dark, shadowy emotions, ones she had only felt on the rare times she had somehow touched the spirit of a predator, such as a hawk or a wolf. Alpin MacCordy was fighting that part of him, the part born of her ancestor’s curse. As she collected the chest with Morvyn’s things and started toward the table, Sophie hoped she could convince Sir Alpin that she could be an ally in that battle.
“What’s that?” demanded Alpin as Sophie took the seat to his left and set the small chest covered in runes on the table.
“The truth about the curse,” Sophie replied, opening the chest to take out the scrolls. “Rona’s sister Morvyn wrote it all down and, just before she died, she hid it. I found it whilst cleaning the cottage left to me by my aunt.”
“So, to help me ye thought it wise to bring more sorcery into my keep?”
Sophie