her bruised heart and stung pride.
For one brief moment, she felt guilty. Margaret was his betrothed bride and a betrothal was as sacred as a marriage. She was not only trying to take Margaret’s soon-to-be husband away from her, but, in the eyes of many, committing a sin very close to adultery. Then she shook her head, telling herself she had no cause for guilt concerning Margaret. The woman did not want Alpin. She was doing as her father commanded, but made her despair painfully clear to all. And if there was a penance for giving Alpin all her love when they were not married and might never marry, Sophie knew she would pay it gladly.
A sound at the door made her heart skip with anticipation. Alpin was coming to her. She turned and gaped, the sharp sting of disappointment swiftly pushed aside by a wary fear. It was not Alpin but one of Sir Peter’s men entering her room and hastily barring the door behind him. She did not need to ask why he was there; the reason was clear to see in his expression. It was a chillingly lustful look, the sort of lust that he would satisfy whether she agreed to service him or not. She had seen that look upon his face a few times, but had foolishly thought he would never dare to act upon it.
“I suggest ye leave, Sir Ranald,” she said, pleased with the calm tone of her voice, for inside she was trembling. “My maid will soon come and will be sure to set up a cry if the door remains barred.”
“That bone-thin bitch Nella?” Sir Ranald chuckled. “Nay, I dinnae think so.”
“What have ye done to Nella?” she demanded, suspicious of his certainty that they would not soon be disturbed.
“Just a wee tap to send her to sleep. Sat her up against the wall outside your door. Anyone sees her, they will think she nodded off to sleep whilst guarding your door.”
“She sleeps in here and all ken it.”
“Just as they all ken ye are far more than the laird’s healing woman, aye?”
“Dinnae be such an idiot.” As he approached, she started to step away, wondering if she had any chance at all of reaching the door, unbarring it, and fleeing before he could grab her. “And if I am more than that, attacking me isnae verra wise. ’Tis certain ye have heard all that is said of Sir Alpin. Such a mon isnae a good one to insult or anger.”
“Ach, he willnae do anything about a mon helping himself to a wee taste of a whore. And he cannae do too much to me, can he? I am cousin to the bride.”
He lunged at her and Sophie darted out of the way. Several times she managed to elude his grasp, throwing everything she could get her hands on. It all barely made him stumble in his relentless pursuit. She managed to get to the door, felt a tiny flicker of hope as she began to lift the bar, only to have it painfully doused when he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her back.
Although she fought with all her strength, Sir Ranald soon had her pinned to the bed. The sound of her nightshift tearing sent a chill of panic racing through her veins. She had only enjoyed one night of passion in Alpin’s arms. She could not allow this man to defile her, possibly damage her ability to feel desire ever again, or, worse, cause shame to cool Alpin’s passion for her or hers for him. Sophie cursed Sir Ranald, desperately tried to break his hold on her, and screamed for Alpin in her mind.
Alpin sipped his wine and calmly watched Sir Peter talk. It was hard to conceal his contempt for the man. Sir Peter spoke of the vanquishing of his enemies as if he had done it all himself, even though all knew he had waited out the battle safe at Nochdaidh. The man was a coward willing to toss his daughter into the lair of the beast so that someone else would do his fighting for him.
“Alpin!”
He tensed and looked around, certain he had just heard Sophie call to him. A tickle of superstitious fear ran through him when he could see neither her nor Nella. No one else showed any sign of having heard her call, either.
“Alpin!”
It was in his head, he realized in shock. There was a touch of fear in the way his name was being cried out. Alpin did not know how Sophie got into his mind, but he felt every instinct he possessed, those of the man and those of the beast, come roaring to life. Something was wrong.
Sophie was in danger, he thought as he slowly stood up. He was certain of it. Then he saw that Sir Ranald was missing from the great hall. The man had often stirred Alpin’s anger with the way he looked at Sophie. Alpin looked at the man who always sat with Sir Ranald, but that man refused to meet his gaze.
“Sophie,” was all Alpin said as he ran out of the hall.
Eric had noticed the change start to come over Alpin, and, vaulting over the table, raced after him. He had no idea what had set Alpin’s beast loose, but the way the man had said Sophie’s name had sent a chill of alarm down Eric’s spine. If some fool was hurting Sophie, Eric feared he was about to be faced with the awesome task of trying to stop his enraged laird from killing a man.
Alpin halted before the door of Sophie’s bedchamber. He saw Nella slumped against the wall, but the sound of her heartbeat told him she was only unconcious, and he turned his attention back to the door. A cry of pain from within spurred him on. He slammed his foot into the door, twice, and heard the bar crack. Then he rammed his shoulder against the thick wood, breaking the door open so fiercely it crashed against the wall.
He scented Sophie’s fear and the hot lust of the man pinning her to the bed. With a soft growl, he leapt toward the bed just as Sir Ranald looked to see what had caused the loud noise. The man screamed and tried to flee, but Alpin grabbed him by the throat and the crotch. He held the cursing, praying man over his head and then threw him against the wall.
A hand grabbed his arm and he easily shook it off. A small, still sane part of his mind recognized Eric’s voice, but Alpin ignored his friend. He hoisted the now weeping Sir Ranald over his head again.
“Alpin, ye came in time.”
That soft, husky voice calling his name cut right through Alpin’s rage. The bloodlust still roared in his veins, however. He ached to kill this man who had touched Sophie, had hurt and frightened her. Yet, he could not do so in front of her. Still holding Ranald, Alpin walked out of the room to the head of the stairs and tossed the man into the crowd of MacLanes hurrying up the steps. He then returned to Sophie’s bedchamber, walked to the bed, and reached for her.
Sophie did not hesitate. She flung herself into his arms, wrapping her arms about his neck and her legs about his waist, clinging to him like a small child. She sensed the fury and bloodlust which still pounded in his veins, but she felt only the comfort of his arms, the protection he offered her. As he walked out of her bedchamber, she caught sight of Nella and made a soft sound of distress.
“She lives. E’en now she wakes,” Alpin said and continued on to his own bedchamber. “Eric will see to her care.” He stepped into his room and barred the door behind him.
Eric helped a slowly rousing Nella to her feet, putting his arm around her to steady her. “Ye will be fine, lassie.”
“Oh! My lady!” Nella cried, suddenly recalling who had attacked her and easily guessing why.
“The laird has her.”
“Ah.” Nella slumped against Eric, finding comfort in the burly strength of the man. “’Tis a wonder, as I ne’er thought such words would cross my lips, but I am glad he has her.” She squeaked in alarm, although she did not move, when Eric suddenly drew his sword and held
