Eternal Lover. Lynsay Sands
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body and did not crawl back into bed with her, just snatched up her nightshift and yanked it over her head. He ignored her muttering as he dragged her over to the window.
“Look out there and tell me what ye see,” he ordered.
Sophie struggled to do as he asked. As she slowly woke up, she realized Alpin was acting strangely, could feel his tense agitation. She frowned down into the bailey, wondering just what she was supposed to be looking at.
“Weel, I have to say that the people of Nochdaidh are some of the worst dancers I have e’er seen,” she muttered and heard Alpin both laugh and curse. “And your mon Eric is the worst of all. He is leaping about in the sun like some sort of drunken—” Sophie’s next words became locked in her throat. “Jesu, Alpin, the sun is shining on Nochdaidh,” she whispered after a moment, then looked at him. “Did ye get hurt by it?” she asked worriedly as she looked him over.
Alpin sagged against the wall and put a shaking hand over his eyes. “Nay. I but sought to get ye to tell me whether I was dreaming or not.” He reached out and yanked her into his arms. “The sun is shining o’er Nochdaidh, Sophie.”
“Aye, and your people are hopping about like toads on hot sand,” she murmured and held him tightly, feeling almost as unsteady, disbelieving, and elated as she sensed he was. A minute later, she jumped in surprise along with Alpin when the door to their bedchamber was flung open so hard it crashed into the wall.
“Alpin, the sun shines again!” yelled Eric, then grunted as Nella ran into the back of him.
Nella stepped around Eric. “Did ye see, m’lady? It worked! Praise God, it worked! I kenned ye were right.” Her eyes slowly widened when she suddenly realized Alpin was naked. “Oh, my.” She cursed when Eric clapped a hand over her eyes.
“For mercy’s sake, Alpin, put some clothes on,” Eric grumbled.
Even as Alpin moved to yank on some clothes, he eyed Sophie with a growing suspicion. “What worked, Sophie?”
“That ye chose her o’er the Lady Margaret,” Nella replied and gave up trying to remove Eric’s hand from her eyes.
“Sophie,” Alpin pressed. “What plot or trick have ye been weaving?”
“No plot or trick, Alpin,” she replied, then sighed. “I was fair certain I had puzzled out the key to unlocking the curse.” She repeated the last lines of Rona’s curse. “Do ye see? ’Twas right there, right before our eyes.”
“And ye didnae think I ought to be told about what ye had learned?”
“Nay learned, Alpin, only suspected. It had to be your free choice, and I feared that if I told ye about it, the choice might not be so verra free. I also feared I might be wrong, and, if I convinced ye that I had found the answer only to have naught change, it would be cruel.”
Alpin stared at her for a moment, then yanked her into his arms and heartily kissed her before striding out of the room. Sophie grabbed his shirt, yanked it on over her nightshift, and hurried after him. When she, Nella, and Eric reached him, Alpin stood unmoving, staring at the doors leading outside with his hands clenched tightly at his sides. Sophie stepped closer and took one of his hands in hers.
“The last time the sun’s light touched me, it nearly killed me,” Alpin said quietly.
“I dinnae think it will this time, my love,” Sophie said, then drawled, “We will pull ye back inside if ye start smoldering.”
“Wretch,” he murmured, then, taking a deep breath and keeping a firm grip upon Sophie’s hand, he strode outside.
Sophie stayed close by his side as he went down the steps and cautiously moved out into the bailey. She stood quietly, feeling his tension and fear fade as his exaltation grew. His grip on her hand grew tight enough to be a little painful and she looked at him. His face was turned up to the sun, his eyes closed, and tears seeped from beneath his eyelids. Sophie moved to hug him, pressing closer when he wrapped his arms around her and rested his cheek against the top of her head.
“I fear to believe it,” he said as he fought to compose himself, since nearly all of the people of Nochdaidh were there watching him.
“Weel, how do ye feel?”
“I think I might actually be feeling something that has long been missing from Nochdaidh—hope.”
“Trouble, m’laird,” said Eric, moving to stand beside Alpin.
Looking at the crowd of villagers rushing in through the gates carrying torches and crude weapons, Alpin drawled, “Mayhap I spoke too soon.” He kept his arm around Sophie’s shoulders as she turned to face the crowd.
The embarrassment Sophie felt over being seen so strangely attired by so many people faded quickly as she realized what had brought the villagers to Nochdaidh. Several smiles and small waves from a number of the women in the crowd told Sophie she would have allies if she chose her words carefully. The confusion that had beset so many of the crowd as they realized Nochdaidh was no longer shrouded in shadow and the laird was standing before them looking nothing like a demon would also aid her.
“This is my fault,” she told Alpin. “I neglected to solve poor Donald’s murder. I shall see to this.”
“Shall ye now?”
He had to bite back a grin as she stood straighter and frowned at the villagers. She wore only his loosely laced shirt over her nightshift, her feet were bare, and her hair was hanging loose and obviously unbrushed. Her appearance seemed to have taken some of the fight out of the mob, who were already confused by the sunlight warming the bailey, so he decided to let her rule for a while. She knew more about the incident than he did, and all his men were subtly moving into a defensive position around the crowd, ready to act if the mood grew dangerous again.
“I suspect ye havenae come to congratulate me on my wedding,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.
“M’lady, we have come seeking justice,” said Ian the butcher as he stepped to the fore of the crowd. “The killer of my son must pay.”
“Did I talk to the wind that day? I believe I said the laird had naught to do with it.”
“If ye will pardon me saying so, ’tis clear ye are under the mon’s power. Who else could have murdered my lad? He had no enemies. We cannae find a single mon who disliked him.”
“Then he will be kindly remembered, and that should comfort ye. But what about a woman?”
“My lad was true to his wife and, ere he wed her, he was a lad of strong morals. And he was a big, strong lad. What lass could kill him?”
Sophie shook her head. “One cutting his throat as he slept, just as I told ye was done. Aye, and one of those strikes upon his head may have come first to make sure he didnae wake whilst he was being murdered.”
“But, he wasnae one to play with the lasses,” Master Ian protested.
Although Gemma felt no guilt over her crime, Sophie sensed that the woman was afraid and her rage had not been satisfied with the spilling of poor Donald’s blood. That was the woman’s weak point and Sophie prepared herself to strike at it hard. “That doesnae mean there was no lass who wanted him to play.” She sighed and shook her head. “A vain woman he turned aside, mayhap? Some woman who couldnae accept that he, or any mon, could resist her charms. Or that Donald would resist her allure to hold fast to his sweet, loving, beautiful wife—”
“Who couldnae satisfy any mon!” Gemma yelled, then paled as she realized what she had done.
Sophie could not believe the woman had broken so quickly, then stepped behind Alpin as chaos ruled. Only the quick, occasionally rough intervention of Alpin’s men kept Gemma from paying for her crime at the hands of the mob. As she was dragged off to the dungeon to await judgment, she screamed out enough confirmation of her guilt to hang her. Sophie slowly approached a desolate Master Ian, noting out of the corner of her eye a plump