Eternal Lover. Lynsay Sands

      “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 he had returned from a battle, so he knew she could endure the wildness in him at such times. Then he saw the glint of fear and disgust in the woman’s eyes, visible beneath the arrogance and anticipation. Whatever her reasons were for offering herself, one of them was certainly not desire. Inwardly shaking his head, he headed for his bedchamber. He wanted only one woman anyway, and he could not have her. Not only did she probably not understand how to prevent a child from taking root, but he could not subject her to a bedding by the beast raging inside of him.

      A bath awaited him and he took quick advantage of it, scrubbing the scent of death from his skin. Although he ached to find the strength to turn away from the meal set out for him, he could not. His hunger was too great and he feared what he might do if he did not slake it in some way. Alpin tore into the meat barely seared on either side, his speed in finishing it born of both need and revulsion. He poured himself some of his enriched wine and stood by the window, staring down into the torch-lit bailey. A little of the ferocity within him eased as he fed the craving that so disgusted and terrified him. When would enriched wine and raw meat cease to be enough? he wondered.

      He tensed as he heard someone slip into his room. The fact that the scent he picked up was Sophie’s did not ease his tension at all. This was a very bad time for her to come to his bedchamber. He listened to her take a few hesitant steps toward him, then stop. Slowly, he took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he savored her scent. She had bathed; her warm skin smelled of woman, with a hint of lavender. To him she smelled of laughter, of warm sun and wildflowers, of hope. He could almost hate her for that.

      Another scent tantalized him and he grew so tense his muscles ached as he opened his eyes to stare blindly out of the window. Sophie smelled of desire. Alpin hastily finished his drink, but it satisfied only one hunger. There was another now raging inside of him, fed by the hint of feminine musk. He breathed it in, opening his mouth slightly to enhance his ability, and the blood began to pound in his veins.

      “Go away, Sophie,” he said. “’Tisnae a good time for ye to be