Eternal Lover, page 19
“So, to help me ye thought it wise to bring more sorcery into my keep?”
Sophie was prevented from responding to that by the arrival of the food and drink. When Sir Alpin asked if her men needed anything and she told him no men traveled with her, the look he gave her made her want to hit him. She was pleased, however, when he cleared the great hall of all but the four of them as soon as the food and drink were set out.
“Ye traveled here alone? Just ye and your maid?” he demanded the moment they were alone.
“I have no men-at-arms to drag about with me,” she replied. That was close to the truth, she mused, for the men guarding Werstane were not yet her men, not in their hearts. This scowling laird did not need to know that she had slipped away unseen to avoid having to take any Werstane men with her. “I have a cottage, sir, and nay a castle like this.” It was another half-truth for, although she was determined to stick to her plan to hide her wealth, she found she did not really want to lie to this man.
“But your maid calls ye her lady.”
“Good blood and a title dinnae always make for a fat purse. I am a healing woman.” She unrolled the scrolls. “Now, about the writings Morvyn left—” She tensed when he touched the smaller one.
“This was written in blood.” Alpin studied the hastily scrawled writing. “Rage for rage,” he murmured then scowled. “Curse it, my Latin isnae so good.”
“Allow me, m’laird.” She saw how the other three at the table all tensed. “Without the herbs and all, they are but words.” She began to read. “Rage for rage, pain for pain, blood for blood, life for life. As mine shall walk alone, so shall yours. As mine shall be shunned, so shall yours. Your firstborn son shall know only shadows, as shall his son, as shall his son’s son, and thus it shall be until the seed of The MacCordy shall wither from hate and fade into the mists.
“From sunset of the first day The MacCordy becomes a mon, darkness will take him as a lover, blood will be his wine, fury will steal his soul, yearning will devour his heart, and he will become a creature of nightmares. He will know no beauty; he will know no love; he will know no peace. The name of the MacCordys will become a foul oath, their tale one used to frighten all the Godly.
“Thus it shall be, and thus it shall remain, until one steps from the shadows of pride, land, and wealth and does as his heart commands. Until all that should have been finally is.”
Sophie nodded her agreement with the action when both Eric and Nella crossed themselves. The laird stared at the scrolls, saying nothing, but she could feel his anger. She knew he wanted to deny the curse, but that a part of him believed in it.
“Why write such filth down?” he finally asked. “Why not let the words die with the bitch who spoke them?”
“Because Morvyn needed to ken exactly what was said if the curse was e’er to be broken,” Sophie replied. “Morvyn spent her whole life trying to undo the evil her sister had created. She failed, but hoped someone who came after might succeed.”
“And ye think ye are the one, do ye?”
His sarcasm stung. “Why not? And what can it hurt to at least let me try?”
“What can it hurt? I believe your ancestor Rona showed what harm can be done by letting a Galt woman practice magic. Ye must excuse me, but I cannae help but view any offer of aid from a Galt woman with mistrust.”
“Then view my offer as utterly self-serving. Curses carry a price for the one who makes them, m’laird. When Rona cursed your family, she cursed her own. ’Tis said that a curse will come back threefold upon the one who casts it. As every MacCordy of Ciar’s blood has suffered, so has every daughter of Rona Galt’s blood.”
“Ye look fine to me.” Too fine, he mused, but tried to ignore her beauty.
“Rona cursed your soul, your heart. In doing so, she robbed all women of her line of any happiness. The moment a Galt woman finds love, tastes the sweetness of having her love returned, ’tis stolen away from her. No Galt woman of Rona’s blood can hold on to her heart’s desire. She grasps it just long enough to ken the pleasure of it, to gain a need for it, and then it dies.”
“It sounds like a tale spun to explain poor choices in a mate.”
Sophie inwardly cursed. “Do ye really think every woman born in Rona’s line for four hundred and thirty-five years chose wrongly, gave her heart foolishly? Every woman, m’laird, ended her days gripped tightly by despair. The heart’s ache was deep and everlasting. ’Twas worse for the ones who actually married the men they loved, for they were bound forever to a mon they loved, one who had once loved them, but would ne’er do so again. Many lived to a great age burdened by that loss. Others couldnae bear it, and, despite the threat of suffering in hell’s fires for such a sin, took their own lives. My mother hurled herself into the sea, unable to bear the pain another day, a pain e’en the love of her children couldnae ease.”
It was Eric who finally broke the heavy silence. “Ye believe we are cursed then? That the ill fate which has befallen the MacCordys for so verra long is born of the curse of this one angry woman?”
“Are ye nay shunned?” Sophie asked softly. “Do ye nay walk alone? Do ye nay live in the shadows? Although the sun shines o’er the village, this place sits in the shadow. Do ye think that natural?”
“If this Morvyn couldnae end this curse, what makes ye think ye can?” asked Alpin.
“Weel, Morvyn ne’er came here,” Sophie replied. “I doubt any Galt woman has e’er come here. That could make the difference. I have the strongest feeling that I will be the only one to e’en try since Morvyn hid this chest. Ye may not believe in curses, m’laird, but I do, and I wish to try and end this one. I wish no more Galt women to hurl themselves into the sea out of despair,” she added softly.
Those last words killed Alpin’s refusal on his tongue. He could deny himself hope, but not her. Hope was a paltry thing to cling to; bitter, fruitless, and painful, but she needed to discover that hard truth for herself.
“Stay then, and play your games, but ye best not trouble me with such nonsense.”
Before she could protest that, he had called in two maids to take her and Nella to a room. Sophie decided she had pushed him hard enough for now. She had succeeded in getting permission to stay and try to find a way to end the curse. There was a chance she would not need his complete cooperation, but, if she did, there was now time and opportunity to sway him. As she and Nella went with the maids, Sophie prayed the hope that had stirred to life inside of her was not doomed to be crushed.
* * *
Alpin glared at the door Lady Sophie and her maid had disappeared through. He took a deep drink of the wine mixed especially for him, a thick mixture of sheep’s blood and wine. It fed the need which grew stronger every year and he doubted some wide-eyed lass could effect a cure. He wanted to feel pleased that the women descended from Rona Galt had suffered as his family had suffered, but could not. None of them had deserved the misery visited upon them. He also wanted to hold fast to his previous scorn concerning the possibility of a curse, but found himself wavering, and that angered him.
“Mayhap she can help,” said Eric, watching Alpin closely.
“So ye believe me cursed?” drawled Alpin. “Ye think our troubles caused by some woman long dead who danced about a fire one night, uttering those fanciful words as she sprinkled some herbs upon the flames?”
Eric grimaced and dragged his hand through his roughly cut dark hair. “Why do ye resist the idea of a curse? What besets ye and has beset every MacCordy laird before ye for hundreds of years isnae, weel, normal.”
“Not every disease affects so many people it becomes common. Just because an affliction is rare doesnae make it the result of some curse or sorcery.”
“Then, if ye truly believe ’tis nay more than bad blood, why have ye let the lass stay?”
Alpin grimaced. “A moment of weakness, or insanity. It was her wish to nay see any more Galt women hurl themselves into the sea out of despair. I have no hope left, but I couldnae bring myself to kill hers. ’Twill die soon enough.”
“I sometimes think that is some of our trouble. We have lost hope.”
“Only a fool clings to it for four hundred years,” Alpin drawled.
“Mayhap.” Eric stared out the window, seeing only another of the many shades of darkness he had spent his whole life in. “I often wonder if that loss of hope brought on this never-ending shadow we live under.”
“Ye grow fanciful. And, if it is born of the death of hope, then we best be prepared for it to grow e’en darker.”
“Why?”
“Because our little golden-haired Galt witch will all too soon be burying hers.”
Chapter Three
“Eric, wait!” Sophie ran the last few feet toward the man she had been hunting down and grabbed him by the arm. “If I didnae ken better, I would think ye are trying to avoid me.” She did not need Eric’s glance behind her to know Nella had caught up to her; she had heard the rattle of her maid’s many amulets. “I just wish to ask ye a few things, Sir Eric.”
“M’lady, ye have been here but a sennight and have spoken to near everyone within the keep, outside the keep, and probably for near a dozen miles around,” Eric said. “I cannae think that I can tell ye anything that ye dinnae already ken.”
“If I am to break the curse, I need all the knowledge about the MacCordy laird that I can gather. I am certain the grip of this curse can be broken if I can just find the right key. Morvyn failed, but she ne’er came to see exactly what the curse had done. That might be why she failed. So, I am gathering all the truth I can and recording it. The answer is in there, I am certain of it. I can feel it within my reach.”
Eric leaned against the side of the stables he had been trying to escape into when she had caught sight of him. “The lairds of the MacCordys grow to monhood watching their fathers change into some creature from a nightmare. They then become men and begin to change themselves.”
Sophie crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “That isnae verra helpful. How do they change? A lot of what I have been told is difficult to believe. I do ken that the laird cannae abide the sun.”
“Nay. The light of the sun fair blinds him. Alpin finds it increasingly painful as he ages. Three years ago he spent but an hour in the sun and it was as if he had been dropped into boiling water. If not for the heavy clothing he wore, I think he would have died. He hasnae ventured beyond the shadows since that day, except at night, or, if heavily cloaked, on sunless days.”
“And he needs blood.”
“Aye,” Eric snapped, then sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “That need grew slowly. He now eats naught but nearly raw meat, seared just enough to warm it, to make the juices flow. His usual drink is now an even mix of wine and blood.”
“Do ye ken if he felt the change immediately, or if it was a slow awareness?”
“Since this affliction has been visited upon every laird, ’twas expected, so I cannae say. The first hint comes when the heir becomes a mon and when next he becomes angry. The eyes change to those of a wolf and the teeth become sharper. After so many years we have learned to watch for the change, to guard against that first attack of anger. There were some tragedies in the early days ere we learned what to expect. Alpin was little trouble, for he, too, had studied the matter and was prepared.” Eric shook his head. “He has great strength, m’lady, and fights to control this affliction, but the change cannae be stopped.”
“What if one ceased to feed the need for blood?” she asked.
“Och, nay, ye dinnae wish to do that. ’Twas tried and the need grows to a near madness, endangering all who draw too near.”
“Restraint willnae work?”
“Nay, not e’en if one finds the means to hold him in a way he cannae break free of. The strength of these men can be terrifying to behold. So can their ability to persuade, to beguile, be beyond compare. E’en if ye find chains strong enough to bind them, they can eventually get some poor fool to set them free.”
Sophie stared down at her foot as she tapped it slowly against the hard-packed dirt of the bailey, her hands clasped behind her back. Most of what Eric told her matched what she had learned from others. He told her the truth without any gruesome elaborations or tales of the devil, however. The truth was not good. No normal restraints or cures had worked. It had been foolish to think the MacCordys had left any stone unturned in the course of over four hundred years. Rona’s curse refused to be denied its victims.
“None of the lairds lives to a great age, aye?” she asked, looking back at Eric.
“Sadly true. A few have killed themselves, a few died in battle, some are murdered by their own people.”
“But nay until they have bred an heir.”
“Aye, and after the son is born, the change often happens more quickly. The old laird, through sheer strength of will, held back the worst of the affliction for thirteen years, but I believe seeing the curse appear in Alpin broke his spirit. The verra next battle he fought, he died, and I think he planned to do so. In battle, the beast within the lairds bursts free in many ways. Their strength is that of many men, their ferocity unmatched, and their skill at laying waste to the enemy a source of legends. ’Tis why we are so often sought out by men who wish us to fight their battles for them.”
“Has there been a laird or two who was seduced by such power, began to welcome it?”
“Oh, aye, a few. But nay Alpin,” Eric said firmly, “if that is what ye think. Alpin has more strength of will than any mon I have e’er kenned or heard of. If any mon could beat this, he could, but there isnae any sign that he is winning that battle. Nay, at best he but slows the tightening of the grip of this affliction.”
“Then he doesnae grow worse as quickly as his father or grandfather?”
“Nay, but his father was married by now and had bred the heir. His grandfather, weel,” Eric shrugged. “He was verra bad from all that I hear. I dinnae ken if he was weak or one of those who reveled in the fear he could stir. He was killed by the villagers after he killed his wife. Tore her to pieces, ’tis said. Her and the lover he found her with.”
Sophie ignored Nella’s muttered prayers and nodded. “The rage. Catching one’s wife with another mon would certainly stir it up.” She suddenly smiled at Eric and rubbed her hands together. “I think I have a plan.” She briefly scowled at Nella, who groaned, then looked back at Eric, pretending she did not see the smile he quickly hid. “I shall immediately start doing all I can to help Sir Alpin fight this curse. I ken all manner of things to shield him, protect him, strengthen him. Rowan branches, rune stones, herbs,” she muttered, trying to recall all she had and to think of what more she might need.
“Er, m’lady—” Eric began.
Caught up in her thoughts, Sophie started toward the keep. “I dinnae suppose the laird would wear an amulet or two. Nay, he is being most uncooperative. He avoids me as if I am some toad-sucking demon waving a dead mon’s hand at him,” she mumbled to herself.
“Arenae ye going with her?” Eric asked Nella, who just stood there frowning after Sophie.
“She is muttering,” replied Nella. “ ’Tis sometimes best nay to hear what she is saying when she mutters. She only mutters when she is angry, and though she be a sweet, big-hearted lass, when she is angry she can have a verra wicked tongue.”
“She willnae give up, will she?”
“Nay. She is a stubborn woman, and I think she is weighted with shame o’er what her ancestor did. Aye, and she was sorely grieved by what happened to her mother. M’lady will keep at this ’til she joins the angels.”
“Nella?” called Sophie, suddenly realizing she was alone.
“Coming, m’lady.” Nella hurried to Sophie’s side.
“Good. We must change and go to collect some rowan branches.”
“For what?”
“I intend to place as many as I can around this keep to try to weaken the power of the curse,” Sophie replied as she entered the keep and hurried up the stairs.
“The laird isnae going to like this,” Nella said quietly as she followed Sophie.
“Then 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?”
