Читать книгу His Immortal Embrace - Lynsay Sands - Страница 10

The curses were bellowed so loudly Sophie was surprised they did not shake loose a few of the stones in the thick walls of Nochdaidh. She was strongly tempted to ignore Alpin when he shouted her name. After all, he had ignored her very thoroughly for the last week. If not for the times she and he had crossed paths and she had caught a look in his eyes that could only be described as passionate, she could easily think he hated her. The only other times he had taken note of her existence was to flay her with his temper. She was only trying to help the ungrateful fool. It was hardly her fault he kept stumbling upon her shields and protections in ways that tended to cause him some minor injury. Did the man never sleep? she thought crossly.

“Sophie Hay!”

It was a little astonishing how that deep voice could penetrate such thick walls, she mused, as she rose from the pallet she slept on. Although it was not the most comfortable of beds, she far preferred it to the one she had been given. That bed had been the site of far too many trysts. Sensitive to such things, she had felt the ghostly remnants of passion, lust, pain, and even fear; had been unable to shield herself completely from all the lingering memories of so many strong feelings. Nella now slept in the bed. Fortunately, Nella was so accustomed to Sophie’s ways, she had not questioned the why of such an unusual arrangement. Sophie could not tell her very protective maid that those memories of lovemaking had caused her to have some very shocking and sensual dreams concerning herself and Sir Alpin.

As she hurried out of the room in response to a snarled demand that she best be quick or be prepared to suffer dark, but unspecified, consequences, Sophie was a little surprised to see that Nella still slept soundly. The sight that met her eyes as she turned toward Alpin’s bedchamber had her feeling both aroused and a little amused. Sir Alpin, the much-feared laird of Nochdaidh, was wearing only his hose and a loose shirt that revealed a great deal of his broad, smooth chest. He was also sitting on the floor grimacing and rubbing one of his bare feet.

When he looked at her, she understood why he inspired such fear in people, even though she felt only a brief flicker of unease. His eyes resembled those of a wolf, the golden brown having become more yellow in color. The lines of his face had changed slightly, giving him a distinctly feral look. She could feel his anger, feel the wildness of it. Then he ran his gaze over her and she felt his emotions shift from anger to need. Her body quickly responded to that look, but he seemed unaware of that. His control was admirable, even somewhat astonishing, but she was beginning to heartily dislike it.

“Ye roared, m’laird?” she asked, crossing her arms and inwardly grimacing when she realized she wore only her thin linen nightshift.

“What are these?” he demanded, pointing to the stones lined up outside his bedchamber door.

“Rune stones,” she replied. “Since ye had retired for the night, I set them there to shield ye as ye slept. I had planned to collect them ere ye woke. I hadnae realized ye were in the habit of slinking about in the dark of night.”

“Nay? Perhaps I felt the need to feast upon some innocent bairn?” He noticed she had begun to tap her small, bare foot against the floor. “I am, after all, a creature of shadows, comfortable beneath the cloak of night, which so many others fear.”

“Ye dinnae help matters by saying such foolish things.” She gasped in surprise when he suddenly grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down until she was sprawled in his lap. “My laird, this is undignified and improper.”

Sophie had wanted to sound imperious, but even she could hear the breathlessness in her voice. It should not surprise her that she was so weak-willed around this man. She had spent the last week dreaming of that first kiss, aching for another, and for so much more. Falling in love with this man had to be one of the most idiotic things she had ever done, but her heart refused to be swayed by good sense. Instead of learning how to fight his allure, she found herself hurt and angered over how easily he could fight the attraction between them.

He gave her a faint smile that barely parted his lips, then nuzzled her throat. Sophie trembled and wrapped her arms around him. When she felt the light touch of his teeth at the pulse point in her throat, she supposed she ought to be a little concerned. Instead, she curled her fingers into his thick hair and held him closer as she tilted her head back. The feel of his tongue upon that spot where her blood pounded in her veins, the damp heat of his mouth as he lightly suckled her skin fed her nearly desperate need for him to place those soft lips against her own. When he kissed the underside of her chin, then her cheek, she turned her face a little, trying to press her mouth to his.

“I can hear each beat of your heart, Sophie,” he said against her temple, his voice deep and seductive. “I can hear the blood rushing in your veins. I can smell your desire,” he whispered and lightly nipped her earlobe. “I can taste it upon your lips.” He teased her lips with fleeting kisses.

“And I can feel your desire, Alpin.” She nipped at his bottom lip and smiled faintly when he growled low in his throat. “It feeds my own.” The way his narrowed eyes glowed, his nostrils flared, and his features tightened into a predatory expression should have frightened her, but Sophie only felt her passion soar. She suspected she might look nearly as feral as he did as she ran her tongue between his lips and said, “So taste it, Alpin. Drink deep.”

Alpin did, holding her tightly as he kissed her. She met his growing ferocity with her own. It was astonishing to him that this delicate woman did not flee his raw desire, but welcomed it, equaled it. A flicker of sanity pierced the madness seizing him. It would be easy to simply revel in what she offered, but he had to resist. Instinct told him that Sophie would not give herself lightly, and he could offer her no more than a bedding.

He ended the kiss, pulling back from her until his head hit the wall. He closed his eyes against the sight of her flushed face, her passion-warmed eyes, and the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. When he felt his control return, he looked at her again only to catch her staring at his bared chest with a look so heated he almost lost control again.

“Cease staring at my chest, Sophie,” he drawled, pleased at how calm he sounded, no hint of the need tearing at his insides to be detected in his voice.

For a moment Sophie did not grasp the almost cold tone behind his words, then she felt the sting of the abrupt ending of their passionate interlude. She felt anger push aside her desire and glared at him, saying with an equal coldness, “I wasnae staring at your chest, ye vain mon. I was but noticing that your laces are badly frayed.”

She was good, Alpin thought, as he watched her stand up. If his senses of smell and hearing were not so acute, he might believe she was as unmoved by the kiss as he pretended to be. He could still scent her desire, however, still hear it pounding in her veins. Pride led her now, and, he realized, he could use that to keep her at a distance, to stop her from tempting him with her warmth.

“Best collect your rocks ere ye hurry away,” he said.

“They are rune stones,” she snapped as she picked them up.

He shrugged as he stood up slowly. “They are nonsense, foolish superstition. I begin to lose patience with all these games.”

“And I begin to lose patience with the air of defeat that fair chokes the air at Nochdaidh!”

“After so long, ye must forgive us for no longer believing in cures. And if the air here is so foul to ye, mayhap ye ought to go do your breathing elsewhere.”

“Oh, nay, ye willnae get rid of me so easily. Fine, go and wallow in your self-pity. I am nay ready to quit. If ye dinnae wish me to fight for you, so be it, but I will continue to fight for myself and for the sake of any children I am blessed with.” Seeing the look of fury upon his face, Sophie decided she had pushed him hard enough and she started back to her room. “And best ye get those weak laces seen to ere they snap. Ye could put an eye out, ye ken.”

She shut her bedroom door quietly, resisting the urge to slam it shut. Seeing that Nella was still asleep, Sophie shook her head and put her rune stones away. She crawled into her bed and closed her eyes, knowing sleep would be slow to release her from the tumultuous feelings still gripping her. As she struggled to calm herself, she decided it was not the despair of holding love too briefly and losing it that she needed to worry about. If she was not careful, Alpin would drive her utterly mad long before then.

“M’lady, what troubles ye?” asked Nella as she walked through the village with Sophie. “Ye have been verra quiet.” She cast a fearful glance at Sophie’s throat. “Did the laird drink too much of your blood?”

Sophie was abruptly pulled from her dark thoughts and stopped to gape at Nella. “Ye think the laird has been drinking my blood?”

“Weel, there is that mark upon your neck.”

Clasping her hand over the mark upon her neck, Sophie grimaced. “I hadnae thought it so obvious.” She sighed and told her maid about the confrontation between her and Alpin last night. “I assume ’tis something men like to do and, at that moment, it was quite, er, pleasant. I had thought I had hidden it.”

Nella moved to adjust Sophie’s braid as well as the collars of her gown and cloak. “ ’Tis better now. Keep your cloak tied at the neck and it should remain hidden. Dinnae want too many catching a peek at it. If they ken ’tis a love bite, your reputation will be sorely marred, though I suspect most will think what I did.”

“I fear so.” She frowned as she caught sight of a crowd of people at the far end of the road. “A meeting?”

Two men ran past her and Nella, rushing to join the crowd. Sophie caught the word “murder” in their conversation and froze. This was the very last thing Alpin needed. Sophie was about to turn back toward the keep when one of the women in the crowd saw her, called to her, and drew everyone’s attention to her.

“M’lady, ye must come see this,” Shona the cooper’s wife called. “This will make ye see the danger of staying within the walls of such a cursed place.”

“I really dinnae want to see this,” Sophie murmured to Nella even as she started to walk toward Shona, Nella staying close to her side. “For them to cry murder means ’tis nay a clean death. No death is pleasant to witness, but murder can leave a verra untidy corpse.”

“Ye fret o’er the oddest things,” Nella said as she nudged her way through the crowd. “Dead is dead. Aye?” Nella abruptly stopped and shuddered. “Oh, dear.”

Sophie took a deep breath to steady herself, stepped around Nella, and looked down at what had once been a man. She felt her gorge rise and took several deep breaths to calm herself, her hand cupped over her nose and mouth to shield herself from the scent of death. Aware that the villagers were all watching her closely, she carefully studied the corpse. She knew what they believed, knew the accusations and questions that would soon be spoken aloud, and she searched out every clue she could find to be used to proclaim Alpin’s innocence.

“ ’Tis Donald, the butcher’s eldest lad,” said Hugh the cooper. “Weel, nay a lad. A mon with a wife and bairns. The poor woman found him like this. Said he often came here to sleep if one of the bairns cried too much in the night. Since their wee laddie is cutting teeth, he was setting up a fair howl all night long. The laird must have been on the hunt, and poor Donald was easy game.”

“The laird didnae do this,” Sophie said, her voice steady and firm.

“But his throat was torn out.”

“Nay, ’tis cut.” She crossed her arms and waited as Hugh crouched down to look more closely. “A verra clean cut it is, as weel. Swiftly done with a verra long, verra sharp knife.”

Ian the butcher wiped the tears from his ruddy cheeks and looked closer. “Aye, she be right. I couldnae have done it neater myself. But that just means the laird used his sword.”

For one brief moment, Sophie considered the fact that the laird had been awake and wandering about last night. Then she felt both guilty and ashamed. Alpin would never do this. Even if he turned into a beast, she had the sad feeling he would cut his own throat before he attacked some innocent. The trick would be in convincing these people who considered every MacCordy laird cursed, or a demon.

“Did anyone see the laird last eve?” she asked. “I did—in the keep, barefoot, cross and bellowing, and with nary a drop of blood on him. Now, I ken what ye think the laird is, that ye think he feasted upon poor Donald last eve. Look ye at the ground beneath Donald’s neck. ’Tis soaked in his blood. If the laird did this, acting as the demon ye think he is, do ye truly think he would let all that blood go to waste?”

“He gutted the lad,” said Hugh. “Mayhap the innards were what he craved this time.”

Even as Sophie opened her mouth, Ian shook his head. “Nay. ’Tis another clean cut and I didnae see aught missing,” he added as he covered his son with a blanket someone handed him.

“And that wound bled verra little,” Sophie said, “as did the wounds to his head and face. Do ye ken what that means, Master Ian?”

“I think so. My poor lad was already dead and fair bled dry ere the other wounds were made. But why?”

“To make all of ye think the laird did this.” Sophie patted the grieving Ian’s broad shoulder. “If the laird had come a-hunting, had become the beast of the night ye all claim he is, he would not have left such an intact body. He wouldnae have let all that blood sink into the dirt. Nay, if he had become the demon ye fear is within him, he would have torn this poor mon apart, drank the blood, and nay cared if ye caught him bathing in the gore. This was done by someone else, someone who crept upon Donald as he slept, for there is nary a sign of a struggle, cut his throat, and then desecrated the body to try to hide their crime. Nay, worse, to try to fix all blame upon the laird. Poor Donald made someone verra angry.”

“She just tries to protect her lover,” spoke up a buxom young woman who suddenly appeared at Ian’s side. “He has already made her one of his slaves. Look ye at her neck! He has been feasting upon her!”

Sophie felt herself blush deeply and clasped her hand over her neck. “Nay!”

“Och, aye,” said Shona, and laughed softly. “Someone’s been feasting on the lass, true enough. ’Tis a love bite, Gemma, ye foolish cow. Now cease your nonsense and help your mon. He has a son to bury.”

“I thought ye said it wouldnae show if I kept my cloak tied,” Sophie grumbled to Nella.

“Weel, it would have, if ye didnae have such a wee skinny neck that pokes its way out of anything one tries to lash to it.”

Sophie’s response to that insult was lost as her gaze became fixed upon Gemma. It took all of her willpower not to cry out in accusation, to remain calm. She knew who had killed Donald, although she could not yet even guess why.

“Ian,” she called, drawing the man’s attention back to her, “until we ken who murdered your son and why, ’twould be wise to guard his widow and bairns.”

She held his gaze and inwardly sighed with relief when he nodded. The brief look of fury that touched Gemma’s round face only confirmed Sophie’s suspicions. The problem was going to be proving the woman’s guilt without revealing any of her own special gifts. She shook her head, then noticed Shona remained although everyone else had left, and the woman was watching her with an unsettling intensity.

“The laird didnae kill Donald,” Sophie said.

“I ken it,” replied Shona. “I dinnae ken what to think about the mon who lives in that shadowed place, but I do believe he didnae do this. Ye shouldnae hope that many will share my opinion, however.” She smiled faintly. “Ye ken who did it, dinnae ye? Do ye have the sight?”

A scowling Nella stepped between Shona and Sophie before Sophie could reply. “Aye, she does, but if ye tell anyone I will take a searing hot poker to your rattling tongue.”

“Nella,” Sophie protested.

“Fair enough,” said Shona, grinning at Nella. She stepped a little to the side, reached out, and touched the mark upon Sophie’s neck. “Mayhap I have the sight, too, for I am that sure ’tis the laird himself who has been nibbling on ye. Best ye push the rogue away.”

“He willnae hurt me,” Sophie said.

“ ’Tisnae him ye need worry on, but them.” She nodded toward the keep.

Sophie stared at the people, horses, and carts entering the gates of Nochdaidh. “Who are they?”

“The laird’s betrothed and her kinsmen.”

“His what?”

“The marriage was arranged years ago. The deed will be done in a fortnight. He didnae tell ye?”

“Nay, he didnae.” Torn between pain and fury, Sophie spoke through tightly clenched teeth, then started to march back toward the keep.

“Wheesht, she looked verra angry,” murmured Shona.

“Aye, she did,” Nella agreed in a mournful voice.

“Will she put a curse on him?”

“She isnae a witch,” Nella snapped, then sighed as she started to follow Sophie. “Howbeit, she is so angry that the laird may begin to think another curse upon The MacCordy is the lesser of two evils.”