“Nella, I need some time alone,” Sophie said, halting her maid when the woman tried to follow her into the bedchamber they shared.
“But, m’lady,” Nella began to protest.
“I need to think, Nella. Just give me a wee while alone, then come help me ready myself to dine in the great hall.”
“Because the laird hurled ye to the floor and tried to ravish ye?”
“Actually, Nella, I fell, knocked him to the ground, and he kissed me. That is all. Now, go. Please. I will be fine.”
The moment Nella left, Sophie hurled herself facedown on the bed. She knew she had been attracted to the laird from the first moment she had set eyes on the man. Now, with one kiss, he had shown her that what she felt was far more than an interest in a mysterious, troubled, handsome man. She loved him. She loved a man who could not abide the sun, drank blood, ate raw meat, and could tear his enemies apart with his bare hands. Sophie doubted she could have handpicked a man more certain to ensure that she continued to walk the sad path trod by far too many Galt women before her.
Chapter Four
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.”
