Never Been Bit (33 page)

“Ye’re throwin’ Alec out?” Sorcha protested.

“Ye’ve got the rest of yer life ta spend with the man, Sorch. One last night for yer old Papa is no’ too much ta ask, is it?”

Tears started to well up in her eyes, and she shook her head. Tomorrow, she’d leave her father’s home for good.

One last night was not too much to ask at all. “I’ll just see him out then.”

Her father winked at her as Sorcha linked her arm with Alec’s and ushered him toward the main entrance.

As soon as they were alone in the corridor, she glanced up at him. “What did he say?”

“He said aye.”

She smacked his arm. “That’s no’ what I meant at all, and ye ken it. Did ye tell him? I mean, did ye tell him everythin’?”

Alec shook his head. “He told me. He knew it all. What I am, that you were predestined to be my wife, everything.”

So there was nothing to hide from her father. She breathed a sigh of relief. How wonderful not to have to keep any secrets from Papa. She smiled up at Alec and noted that he looked a little pale.
Havers!
It had been too long since he’d fed. “Alec, ye doona look well. I think ye need a bit of blood.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. “I can’t, Sorch. Not right now.”

What a ridiculous thing to say. It wasn’t even a secret that he was a vampyre. Her father knew and seemed all right with the circumstances. “Why ever no’?”

A pained look spread across his face, and he pulled her into his arms. “Because, lass, I want ye more than anything. And I don’t think I’ll be able to stop with just a bit of blood.”

She didn’t want him to stop with just a bit of blood. She could tug him up the steps to her room, and there’d be no reason for him to stop this time. “Then take all of me.”

He groaned. “I’ve managed this long, Sorch. I can manage one more night.”

“But—”

“You mean more to me than just a bit of blood, Sorcha. Let me show you the respect you deserve by having you after we’ve said our vows. Let me do that right, will you?”

He looked so sincere, so much like the Alec she’d always known. Her heart pounded in her chest, threatening to overflow with affection. She nodded.

Very softly, Alec touched his lips to hers, and tingles raced across her skin. She would never tire of Alec’s kisses. Not if she lived a million years, right along with him.

He stepped away from her and bowed slightly. “Until the morrow, Miss Ferguson.”

“Tomorrow, I’ll be Mrs. MacQuarrie,” she said with a giggle.

“Indeed, you will,” Alec called over his shoulder as he walked toward the front entrance.

“Oh, Alec,” she called to him.

He looked back, distraction on his face.

“Never mind,” she said with a shake of her head. She really should tell him about the spell she’d whispered to his ivy, but there was no need. Not now.

“Get some rest, Sorch,” he teased. “I plan to keep you very busy tomorrow.”

“Oh, the weddin’ will be just fine.” She brushed his comment aside.

“I meant
after
the wedding, love,” he said. Then he disappeared inside the carriage and it pulled away.

Sorcha’s belly dropped all the way to her toes.

~*~

Exhausted, Alec climbed the stairs of his home and pushed open his bedchamber door. Clearly, Forbes had arrived in one piece at MacQuarrie House. Alec’s black robe lay across a striped Hepplewhite chair and… Alec’s head jerked to his four-poster. Lying across his counterpane, wearing nothing more than a smile, was Delia Sewell. She lay on her side, with her head resting in the palm of her hand.

“What are you doing here, Delia?” Alec snapped as he picked up his robe and tossed it in her general direction.

She let it fall beside her but didn’t bother to cover her nakedness.

“I thought you might need me,” she purred.

“I don’t,” Alec tossed back. “You can see yourself out the same way you saw yourself in.” He turned his back on her.

“How
did
you find your way inside?” he asked. He’d serve any member of his staff up on a platter if he found out one or more of them had helped her gain entrance to his home, much less his bedchamber.

She cooed from behind him. “Alec dear, you know you want me.”

But he didn’t. She didn’t appeal to him at all. Not even the smallest bit. He turned back around to face her, to tell her just that. As he turned to face her, she parted her thighs and laid a hand on the pulse he knew beat beneath that wizened, well-used skin. “Actually, Delia,” he began with a sigh, “I do
not
want you.”

Her lips formed an unattractive pout. “But you and I, we have been together so long.”

He remembered it quite differently. It had been a month at the most. They’d shared some moments. He’d drunk her blood and paid her well for it. “You knew what our arrangement was back then. You still do.” He picked up his robe again and draped it over her body like a coverlet. She batted at the length of it, but at least she tucked it beneath her armpits. “A bit of coin, a bit of pleasure. There was never any relationship between us.”

Her face fell. “You woke in my bed, day after day,” she insisted.

“You traveled with me so I wouldn’t have to charm anyone into being my meal. And you were well compensated.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “Any business relationship we had is over. I’m getting married tomorrow.”

“To that little mousy Scot?” she gasped as she jumped to her feet and glared at him.

“To Miss Ferguson,” he reminded her.

“Your Miss Ferguson doesn’t have the skills that I have.”

He knew exactly what skills he was referring to. “Thank God for small favors,” he said with a light chuckle.

Her face reddened in anger. “How dare you?” she gasped. “I served you well.”

“And I paid you well,” he quipped. “Gather your things and dress. I’m certain you can find another of my kind who can offer you what you desire.”

“I desire
you
,” she snapped.

“Then I am sorry for you,” he returned. “The only woman in my life from now on will be my wife.”

“But—”

Alec jumped when his bedroom window gave a loud squeak as it was pulled open from the outside. What the devil? He was on the upper level. There was no way that window could be opened by anyone.

Finally, Delia clutched the robe around herself. “What’s going on?” she asked.

Alec wished he knew. “No idea,” he mumbled as he stalked to the window. He looked out the open portal, but all he could see was some ivy and the rose bushes on the trellis outside his window. They appeared to be a little greener than they should be that time of the year. Perhaps Sorcha had given them a stroke? But what had opened the window? He reached to close it. But a thorny little vine shoved at his arm. “Ouch!” he cried as a thorn scraped the back of his hand. Then the vine tickled the underside of his palm. “Oh, good God,” he mumbled.

Alec watched helplessly as a large clump of vines crept over the window sill and spread across the room. Two of them went for Delia’s slippers, which lay on the floor beside his bed. The vines grasped them in their greedy little clutches and pulled them back to the window where they tossed them into the dark night.

“Umm, Delia,” Alec said helplessly. “You might want to dress.”

She hopped on top of the bed when some of the vines trailed in her direction. “What’s going on, Alec?” she cried.

“What are they?”

Alec chuckled. That little witch. She’d put a spell on his plants. Alec tossed Delia her shift just as the vines tugged her stockings from the back of a high-backed chair where she’d draped them. “Again, I would suggest that you dress,” Alec urged. “The quicker the better.”

She dropped the robe and tugged the shift over her head. The vines retreated out the window, tugging her stockings along with them. Alec leaned over his sill to peer down to the lower level, where her stockings and slippers now lay in the garden.

Alec reached for her dress when the vines grabbed it, but they were too strong. While one of them tugged the dress out the window, another wrapped around his hand to keep him from grabbing for it. Now all of her clothing, aside from her shift, lay on the garden walkway below.

Delia danced around on his bed, her feet sinking into the soft surface as she screamed, “Those are my clothes!”

“Indeed, they are,” he chuckled. “I did warn you.”

Her gaze shot to him. “You didn’t say anything about thieving plants!” She narrowed her gaze. “How the devil is that happening?”

Alec shrugged and leaned casually against the edge of his four-poster bed. He whistled softly. “I can just imagine what they’re coming for next.” His Sorcha wouldn’t leave the job half done. She’d pitch Delia from the window as well.

“Or, who.”

A particularly tricky little vine crept up the side of the bed and sneaked around Delia’s wrist like a shackle. Then it tugged. She nearly toppled headfirst from the bed, but she found her footing after a moment and ran toward the window as the vine pulled her. She stuck her head out and looked down at her belongings.

“Have a good night, Delia,” Alec called to her as the vines bodily picked her up and—rather gently, truth be told —carried her from the window and deposited her on the garden floor.

Her screams would certainly wake the neighbors. But he was enjoying the performance so much that he didn’t particularly care. He could make them forget tomorrow. Just as she could be made to forget. He walked to the window and looked out once more. Delia was frantically putting her clothes on as the vines stood sentinel. When she was done, they gave her a shove, much like a man would shove another man he really wanted to get rid of. Delia wasted no time. She didn’t even look back up at Alec. She ran. She left one of her slippers behind and didn’t seem to care. But the vines must have noticed it at the same moment Alec did because one of them picked up the discarded footwear and tossed it at her, hitting her square in the backside.

Delia stopped and picked up the shoe.

It was a damn good thing she did, or the slipper would have kicked her arse all the way back to the Thorne and Rose.

Alec hadn’t laughed so hard since he’d become a vampyre. “Oh, Sorch,” he said to himself, “I believe I’m in for a challenge. One I will enjoy almost as much as I enjoy you.”

Tomorrow he would marry a witch with extraordinary powers. Powers that could toss a lass out a window and throw shoes at her head. Powers that could tie people up.

Powers that were quite possibly endless.

Tomorrow he would marry. He would marry Sorcha, and he would make her happy. Because heaven forbid what she would do to him if he didn’t.

Chapter Thirty

Sorcha had stayed up half the night talkingwith her father and promising him that she truly loved Alec. Her father had never mentioned Alec’s condition, and she hadn’t, either.

She knew he was well aware of the truth, but her love for Alec was more important than Alec’s life after death.

Dressed in her soft yellow gown, she entered her late mother’s favorite salon. She didn’t even have time to glance at the daffodils and lilies she’d spoken with the night before. She knew they were draped across the room overhead, but she was so stunned by the other occupants of the room that she noticed nothing else.

On one settee sat Elspeth and Lord Benjamin, who held their tiny red-haired witch in his arms. Not far away, Caitrin sat with Lord Eynsford on her mother’s prized, white brocade divan. In one of the high-backed chairs, a very expectant Blaire struggled to her feet when she spotted Sorcha. But she wasn’t quick enough to intercept her, as Rhiannon appeared out of nowhere and threw her arms around Sorcha’s neck.

“Oh, Sorch!” Rhi gushed. “I am so happy for ye.”

Sorcha clutched the weather-controlling witch to her tightly. “Rhi! What are ye doin’ here? Ye’re no’ gonna cry, are ye? I doona ken if the flowers will survive a downpour.”

Rhi pulled back and swiped a tear of joy from her face.

“I’ll be careful of yer flowers, ye goose.”

Sorcha glanced around the room and now noticed Lords Kettering and Blodswell hovering nearby as well. “Where did ye all come from?” Rhi and Blaire in particular should be at their new homes in England.

“Do ye think we would miss yer weddin’, Sorcha?” Blaire asked, stepping forward to squeeze Sorcha’s hand. “Ye were the only one, ye ken, who was at each of ours.”

That was true, but, “How?” Was this what Wallace had meant when he’d said everyone had come home?

But she knew the answer to that, and her eyes found Cait, still seated on the divan beside her husband. “Ye are the slyest witch ever born, Caitrin.”

The blonde grinned. “We all have our talents, Sorcha Ferguson.”

Sorcha sighed and shook her head. “We will have a long talk, ye and I.”

Cait tipped her head sideways as though she was seeing the future event in her mind. “Aye, we will.”

Where was Alec? And Papa? And Wallace? And Mr. Crawford, for heaven’s sake?

“Relax, lass,” Lord Blodswell said quietly as he came to stand beside his wife. “Alec is in with your father and the vicar, signing some papers.”

“How did ye ken what I was worried about?” she asked.

He grinned back at her. “After six centuries, one learns to read expressions fairly well.”

How she adored Lord Blodswell’s calm demeanor.

“Thank ye again, my lord, for savin’ him.” For turning him into the creature he was now. If he’d died beside that icy loch, she never would have found her one true love. The situation wasn’t ideal, but it was so much better than if she’d never had him to begin with.

“Oh, I think you’re the one who has saved him, lass.”

But she hadn’t. Not in the way Rhiannon had saved Blodswell. Not in the way Blaire had saved Kettering. Alec hadn’t become human. He hadn’t become human because he didn’t love her. Sorcha grasped Lord Blodswell’s arm and dragged him into the far corner. “I havena saved him,” she whispered. “Ye must ken that.”

With a genuine smile, Blodswell tipped her chin up so she had to look into his soft green eyes. “We’re all saved in different ways, Miss Ferguson. The man I saved, the man I tutored to live this life, was angry and bitter. He had no care for anyone or anything other than his own damaged heart. Never doubt that you saved him, my dear.”