She thought about it a moment. “Well, no’ all the relations. No’ that I’m aware of.” Then she held up a hand to stop Cait’s pending questions. “I’m fairly certain there’s more ta it than what I’ve experienced.” Then beneath her breath she muttered, “At least I hope there is. It’s perfectly scandalous, is it no’?” She winced at the last.
“Dash bit me before he married me too.”
“Tell me more,” Sorcha prompted.
“He bit me the night he met me. After only a few moments. Then he was irrevocably tied ta me.”
“Poor man,” Sorcha teased. “He dinna even see ye comin’.”
“I dinna see him comin’ either,” Cait lamented. “Is it no’ wonderful?” She sobered. “What was it like?” She gestured toward Sorcha’s neck.
“Amazin’,” Sorcha sighed.
“Mine is just a mark. A way of solidifyin’ our bond. Yers is more than that.” She quieted. “Did he drink yer blood?”
Sorcha groaned. “Doona judge, Cait. Please?”
“Was it as wonderful as Rhiannon claims? Could ye feel what’s inside him? Could ye feel his love for ye?” Cait reminded her of a child waiting for a birthday gift, all anxious exuberance and wanting.
“It was wonderful.” But she hadn’t felt his love for her.
She’d felt his passion. And his grief. And his pain. And it had all overwhelmed her at once. His pleasure had taken the forefront. But she hadn’t felt any love. Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t felt that at all. She’d always assumed love would wash over her like a tidal wave. Like a loud song sung at the opera. Like Rhiannon’s wind when she was angry. Like… nothing she’d felt in Alec.
“Why so sad all of a sudden?” Cait asked, obviously growing alarmed at Sorcha’s introspection.
“I couldna feel his love for me because he doesna love me.” Sorcha probably shouldn’t have said that aloud, and certainly not to the one woman Alec had always loved, but it was too late to take her words back once they had left her mouth.
Cait’s face fell and she reached for Sorcha’s hand. “I’m sure—”
“Stop, Caitrin.” Sorcha scrambled from her spot. “I, um, have a bath waitin’ for me.”
“But, Sorch—”
“Just drink yer tea, Cait.” Sorcha fled the room as quickly as she could before Cait could see the tears that had begun to pool in her eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Alec saw a flurry of skirts rush from Eynsford’s room and into Sorcha’s. Then the door slammed closed with a thud.
What the devil? If that Lycan had hurt Sorcha, he wouldn’t live to see the next full moon. Alec stomped down the corridor, but before he could even knock, soft sniffling from inside halted him.
“Sorcha,” he called through the door. “What’s wrong, lass?”
The sniffling stopped with an abrupt gasp. A second later, she said with feigned cheerfulness, “Nothin’.”
But nothing wouldn’t have made her bolt into her room as though the devil was chasing her. And nothing wouldn’t make her cry like this. “Sorch, tell me what happened.”
Not a sound came from within the chamber.
Damn it to hell! What the devil had happened? She’d been perfectly fine when she’d left his arms. Obviously something had transpired since their interlude. Sorcha was so sweet and sympathetic to a fault. Alec racked his brain, searching for an answer. “Did something happen with the tea? Is Cait all right?”
“Please just go away, Alec,” Sorcha begged, her voice sounding constricted and anguished.
The hell he would. Alec wouldn’t move from this spot for all the blood in London. “Sorcha, open the door.”
Another sniffle, and Alec’s chest hurt. He rubbed at it absently. He didn’t really need her to open the door, not with his strength. He could reduce the door to a pile of splinters with one well-aimed hit. Alec lifted his arm… “Sounds to me,” came Eynsford’s arrogant voice from the staircase, “as though the lass would like some time to herself, MacQuarrie. Can you not take a hint?”
Damn Eynsford! Alec looked over his shoulder as the Lycan ascended the final step. “Mind your own affairs.”
The golden-haired Lycan stalked toward Alec, his dark amber eyes filled with fury. “I told you once before that I’ll look out for Sorcha’s best interests.”
“No need any longer.” Alec glared at his onetime rival.
“As she’s my fiancée, her interests are mine, Eynsford. Now do be a good dog and go lie down out of my way.”
The Lycan snorted like an indignant wolf. “I don’t care,” he said so low that no one other than the two of them could possibly hear his words, “that she wears your mark