His Immortal Embrace. Lynsay Sands
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there is a curse at work here, e’en though, deep in his heart, I think he kens the truth. He willnae allow me to enter what he sees as his private hell, to share in his damnation. And if I tell him of my wealth to make him choose me, will the fact that his heart welcomes that choice end the curse, or will it become just another choice of wealth and land? I dare not risk it, for I truly believe he must choose between wealth and love, turning away from one to embrace the other.”
“It makes sense, yet how can a curse tell the difference? It has no thoughts or feelings.”
“Something keeps it alive, year after year. Something keeps each MacCordy laird alive, keeps them breeding that heir to carry on the curse, and something keeps killing the love in the hearts of the men chosen by each daughter of Rona’s bloodline. I dinnae understand how, just that this curse somehow keeps itself alive and will continue to do so unless Rona’s demand is met.”
“So what can ye do?”
“Weel, I have a wee bit more than a week to make Alpin love me enough to want me to stay.”
“Aye. Unless, of course, he already loves ye and that is why he will make ye leave.”
“That is the dilemma I face, aye. Not an easy knot to untangle.”
Nella stared down into the bailey. “What is that strange cart? Do ye ken, it looks a wee bit like a coffin on wheels.”
Chilled by the image, Sophie wrapped her arms around herself. “ ’Tis what poor Alpin must shelter in if he cannae find and defeat the enemy ere the sun rises. ’Tis made of iron with holes at the bottom to let in the air and some light, yet keep out the sun’s rays. Once beyond the shadows, heavy cloaks arenae enough protection any longer.”
“Odd that none of the lairds simply walked out into the summer sun and let death take them. It would have freed them.”
“I think the curse wouldnae allow it. It needs the heir. So a hint of hope, a sense of self-preservation, and the poor mon survives long enough to fulfill his sad destiny. Rona set her trap weel. Her magic was verra strong indeed.”
“Yours be strong as weel, m’lady, but ’tis a good, kindly magic. Ye must try to have more faith in it.”
“I think ’tis more important that Alpin have some faith in it. His surrender to a dark, sad fate runs deep, Nella, and I truly fear it will condemn us all.”
“She watches ye,” said Eric as Alpin mounted his horse. “I believe her anger has eased.”
Alpin glanced up to see Sophie’s pale face in the window of her bedchamber. “Then I shall have to think of something to fire it again.”
Eric cursed softly. “Alpin, that beautiful lass cares for ye. Why dinnae ye—”
“Nay,” Alpin snapped, glaring at his friend. “Cease shoving temptation beneath my nose. Look ye,” he pointed at the iron cart as it rolled by, “I must carry my coffin about with me. ’Tis the rock I must crawl beneath if the sun rises whilst I am still afield. I go now to kill men because the father of my bride wishes them dead. And we both ken how I will revel in the slaughter,” he added in a low, cold voice. “The scents of blood, fear, and death rouse the beast within me. I breathe them in as if they are the sweetest of flowers. It will take all my will nay to feast upon the enemy like the demon all think me to be.
“I can hear your heart beat, Eric,” he continued. “I can hear the blood move within your veins.” He nodded toward a young man several yards away. “Thomas had a woman recently. Dugald has dressed too warmly and begins to sweat. Henry’s wife has her woman’s time,” he nodded toward a couple embracing by the wall, “but he bedded her anyway.”
“So ye have gained a sharp ear and a keen nose.”
“I have grown closer to the wolf than the mon, Eric. I have resisted marriage longer than any MacCordy laird, but duty beckons. The bargain my father made must be honored. And despite my plan to seed no woman, to breed no child, I am nay longer sure I can defeat my fate so easily. As the wedding draws nigh, I feel something stirring within me that can only be called an urge to mate. ’Tis as if I am descending into a state of rut.”
“Then mate with the woman we both ken ye really want.”
Alpin shook his head. “There is a coward within me who trembles at the thought of Sophie watching me descend into madness, become a beast who needs caging or killing. There is also a strangely noble mon within me who cannae condemn her to watching her child step into monhood and begin the fall into this hell. I will wed Margaret.” He took one last look at Sophie, then kicked his horse into a gallop, fleeing her and the friend who tried so hard to weaken his resolve.
Chapter Six
Alpin strode into his great hall, saw who waited there, and cursed. Now was not a good time to face his timid bride and her family. The battle had been fierce and bloody, the smell of it still upon him. He knew how such ferocity, such bloodletting, made him look. His people were accustomed, but his bride and her family were not. He had retained enough of his senses to wash his hands and face, but it was obviously not enough, not if the wide-eyed looks of his bride’s family were any indication. As he approached the head table where most of them sat, Margaret gave out a small sob, her eyes seemed to roll back in her head, and she slipped from her chair in a swoon.
“Considering the fact that I spend a great deal of my time in battle,” he drawled as he stared down at his unconscious bride, making no move to lift her up off the floor, “this could prove to be a problem.”
He heard a faint rattle and knew Nella approached. The woman looked at the men, who did not move, then looked at the girl on the floor. Nella crouched, grasped Margaret under the arms, and looked at Alpin. Her eyes widened, but then she frowned.
“M’laird, did ye ken that your eyes look just like a wolf’s?” she asked, glancing around in surprise when several people gasped.
Leave it to Nella to simply blurt out what everyone else pretended not to see, Alpin mused. He felt a tickle of amusement creep up through the bloodlust still thrumming in his veins. A smile touched his mouth, much to his amazement, but he knew it was a mistake the moment he did it. Several muttered curses cut through the silence and he saw a number of the MacLanes cross themselves. Nella’s eyes widened even more, but she looked more curious than afraid.
“Your teeth have grown, too, havenae they?”
“Aye. ’Tis what happens when I have been in a battle.”
“Ah, aye, the beastie comes out. All that killing, maiming, and blood spurting stirs him up, eh? Are ye going to sit in your chair, m’laird?”
A little startled by her abrupt change of subject, Alpin shook his head. To his utter astonishment, the small, bone-thin Nella easily lifted up the several stone heavier and half a foot taller Margaret. Nella set the woman in his chair with little care for any added bruises or concern for Margaret’s appearance. His betrothed was sprawled in his chair like some insensate drunk.
And what was this talk of a beastie? he wondered. The moment he asked himself the question, he knew the answer. It was how Sophie had explained his affliction to Nella. Nella believed in the curse as strongly as Sophie did. Sophie had obviously told Nella that the curse had put a beast inside of him. It was a nice thought, far better than the truth. The truth was that the beast was him and he could not exorcise it. Soon, he suspected, he would not be able to control it, either.
“Your food and drink are in your bedchamber, m’laird,” said the buxom maid Anne, pulling him from his dark thoughts.
“Good,” he said. “ ’Tis time I sought my solitude.”
“Shall I—” began Anne.
“Nay.”
Knowing she was offering him the use of her body, he wondered at his reluctance. It had been far too long since he had had a woman and his body was taut and needy. Anne had serviced him in the past when