Eternal Lover. Lynsay Sands

we shallnae tell him.”

      Alpin knew he should not go to the great hall even as he found himself walking toward it. Sophie would be there with her smiles, her undampened hope, and that innocent beauty that made him ache. Avoiding her did not work, for he found himself trying to catch glimpses of her like some besotted youth. She also had a true skill for appearing around every corner. It was time to stop hiding in his own keep, he mused, as he strode into the great hall and straight into something hard.

      Cursing softly, Alpin was just wondering what fool had placed a stool upon a chair right inside the doorway when something soft landed on him. His body immediately recognized Sophie, and he quickly wrapped his arms around her to stop her fall. Despite his best efforts, however, he lost his balance. Knowing he could not stop his own fall, he turned so that he took the worst of it, sprawling on his back with the sweet-smelling, viciously cursing Sophie sprawled on top of him.

      He quickly became almost painfully aware of how good she felt in his arms, her gentle curves fitting perfectly against him. The scent of her filled his head, a stirring mixture of woman, clean skin, and a hint of lavender. When she shifted slightly on top of him, he tightened his grasp, unwilling to let her go. He could hear her pulse quicken, sense a building heat within her, and was sharply disappointed to find that she, too, feared him. Then he took another deep breath and realized it was not fear but desire that was stirring within her. Alpin beat down the strong urge to toss her over his shoulder and run to his bedchamber. He met her wide-eyed gaze with a hard-won calm, idly noting that desire made her eyes appear more green than blue.

      “Might I ask what ye were doing?” He glanced at the stool and the chair, then looked back at her.

      “I was hanging a few rowan branches o’er the door,” she replied.

      “Ye could find no one to help?”

      “I didnae ask. I was trying to do it secretly. If I got someone to help me, then it wouldnae have remained a secret, would it?”

      Alpin looked at the branches nailed over the door to the great hall, and sighed as he returned his gaze to her face. “Why?”

      “For protection. Ye are fighting the curse,” she hurried on before he could protest, “and I decided to do what I can to help. I plan to surround ye with protection, shields against evil, and things to help strengthen your will to fight, or, at least, keep it strong.” She sighed. “I ken ye dinnae like such things so I thought to do it secretly.”

      “So ye planned to lie to me.”

      “Nay! I planned on telling ye nothing at all. Ye need such things to help ye hold firm whilst I search for a cure, but since I kenned ye would deny that or argue against my plans, I decided ’twas simplest to just boldly grasp the reins and charge ahead.”

      “And ride right o’er me.”

      “Weel,” she grimaced, then smiled at him, “more like ride beside ye.”

      It was all nonsense, of course, Alpin mused. Rowan branches, magical stones, special herbs, and all such trickery could not save him. The earnest hope in her lovely eyes both attracted and annoyed him. He wanted to savor the sweetness of it and crush it with the cold, heartless truth. She was going to drive him mad long before his affliction accomplished the deed.

      Then he found himself asking when had anyone at Nochdaidh last felt any hope at all? When had anyone worked so hard to try to help him? Never in his memory was the answer. Alpin did not share her hope, but her desire to help touched some deep need within him. He put his hand on the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her long, soft hair, and pulled her mouth down to his. The feel of her slender body, the scent of her, and even her foolish plots to help him shattered his resistance. He had to kiss her, had to steal a taste of her sweet innocence, of her precious if fruitless hopes, and of her desire.

      Sophie tensed as he brushed his lips over hers. Heat flooded her body and she gasped. Alpin’s kiss grew fierce and demanding as he invaded her mouth with his tongue. Such a sudden assault should have frightened or angered her, but it did neither. It inflamed her. Each stroke of his tongue coaxed forth a deep, searing need. She did not need to feel the telltale hardening of his lean body to know he desired her. She could feel it in his kiss, could taste it upon his tongue. That desire fed her own. The passion flaring to life within her was so heady, so sweet, she had no will to fight it.

      “’Tis a strange place ye have chosen for some wooing,” drawled a deep voice, “and nay verra private, either.”

      The kiss ended so abruptly, Sophie felt lost and unsteady. Alpin gracefully stood up with her in his arms, and set her on her feet. She swayed a little, then, realizing Eric stood there, nervously tried to tidy her appearance. Not only was she severely disappointed that the kiss was over, but she suddenly wished she were alone. After experiencing something so stirring, so shattering to her peace of mind, she would like a little privacy to sort out her feelings and thoughts. It would be easy enough to leave, but she did not want anyone to think she was fleeing out of embarrassment or shame.

      “Sophie fell and I caught her,” Alpin said, giving Eric a hard look that dared the man to argue.

      Eric met that gaze for a moment, then shrugged and moved to pick up the stool and chair. “What are these doing here?”

      “The stool was upon the chair and Lady Sophie was upon the stool. I walked into them.”

      “Why would ye do something like that, m’lady?” Eric asked, only to have Alpin silently reply by pointing to a spot above the doors. “Oh, I see. Rowan branches.”

      “Aye,” replied Sophie. “’Tis said they protect against witches.”

      “’Tis about four hundred and thirty years too late for that,” murmured Alpin, and met Sophie’s cross look with one raised brow. “Do ye plan to do a lot of this?”

      “In every place I can. I have a few other ideas as weel. I dinnae suppose I can convince ye to wear an amulet or two, can I?”

      “So I might rattle about the place like Nella? Nay, I think not.” He looked up at the rowan tree branches. “I must resign myself to the constant sight of dying greenery, must I? I think this might count as sorcery.”

      “I consider it healing.” Seeing the look of amused disbelief in his eyes, Sophie decided it was time to retreat. “I shall just go and clean up,” she murmured as she hurried out the door.

      Alpin was surprised when Nella glared at him before following Sophie. He shook his head and looked at Eric, only to find that man eyeing him with an uncomfortable intensity. Kissing Sophie had been an error in judgment. He had succumbed to a weakness, and, he mused, being caught at it was probably a just punishment.

      “What ye saw was a moment of utter madness,” Alpin said before Eric could speak.

      “Are ye certain that was all it was?” asked Eric.

      “Aye, and that is all it ever can be. A woman like Lady Sophie Hay can ne’er be for me. She is all hope, sweetness, and smiles.”

      “With a hearty serving of tartness, stubbornness, and passion.”

      “Aye. A perfect mixture,” Alpin murmured and shook his head. “Sophie needs laughter, sun, and love. She cannae find any of that with me. Although I am drawn to her, the first woman to show no fear, to offer help, I must turn from her. When she realizes nothing she does will help, she will lose that innocent faith that is so alluring. If I try to hold her, she will see me become the creature my forefathers did. ’Tis cowardly, mayhap, but I find I cannae stomach the thought of watching her begin to fear me, revile me, to watch me become more beast than mon.”

      “But she might be able to help you,” protested Eric.

      “Nay, I doubt that verra much,” said Alpin as he picked up the chair and took it back to the table. “I dinnae doubt for one moment, however, that I will destroy her. If I try to hold her, I will simply smother all that sweet light with my own darkness. I am not yet beast