was no controlling the heart in such matters. At the moment, she could see no future in loving him. She would leave, alone and heartsore, he would marry Margaret, and they would all remain prisoners of the curse.
The thought of such a cold future made her hug him closer, and she kissed the top of his head. When he lifted his head and smiled at her, she smiled back and knew she would love him always, no matter what the future held. She would hold that love close and cherish it. Unlike so many of her ancestors, however, she would not wallow in grief over what she had lost. She would find joy in her memories and she would continue to fight the curse, to try to find a way to break it.
Sophie kissed him, felt him harden within her, and silently swore that she would turn her love for him, returned or not, into a strength. With that strength she would find a way to end the curse, to give him the full, natural life he deserved, even if it was not a life he would share with her. It was what her love demanded of her, the least she could do in return for the joy he gave her, no matter how briefly it lasted.
Chapter Seven
Sophie sat before the fire to brush dry her newly washed hair and wondered what she should do next. As far as she was concerned, last night had set her course for her, but she was not sure if Alpin felt the same. He had not turned cold toward her, but there had been no opportunity or time to even speak to him. The MacLanes and the coming wedding had taken up most of his attention. She had caught a look in his eyes now and again, one of such passion it had caused her blood to run hot, but that did not mean he intended to make her his lover. Last night could have been seen by Alpin as no more than a weakening of his control, something he would now fight to regain. Sophie found that possibility very painful, but also understood it. He sought to protect her.
What she needed to decide was whether or not she would go to him if he did not seek her out. That would require her to swallow a great deal of pride, perhaps even subject herself to a harsh rejection as Alpin sought and regained his control. Then again, time was swiftly running out for her to make him love her enough to choose her, to have enough faith in her to know she would never turn from him no matter how dark the future. If she was right about the way the curse could be broken, then such cowardly behavior as fearing how he might hurt her or damage her pride was almost as great a sin as Rona’s. All of their futures could rest upon his choice of bride and, if she allowed him to set her aside, that choice would definitely be Margaret. If she failed, she would have years to nurse 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,
