In the Heat of the Bite (23 page)

As soon as the quadrille came to an end, Radbourne led Rhiannon toward the refreshment table, but they had to stop in their tracks when the Duchess of Hythe planted herself in their path. “Miss Sinclair and…” She stopped and lifted a quizzing glass to her eye. “Radbourne, is it?” She sounded none too pleased at the recognition. “I don’t recall your name making my guest list.” She peered over their shoulders and narrowed her eyes. “Nor those of your unruly brothers.”

Rhiannon took a slight step forward. “Lord Radbourne offered ta accompany me this evenin’, Yer Grace.”

The old woman’s icy blue eyes refocused on Rhiannon. “And where exactly is the Earl of Blodswell?”

Rhiannon had no idea where the Earl of Blodswell was exactly, so she shook her head. “Detained.”

“Detained?” the duchess frowned.

“Out of town, I believe.”

“My dear girl, we should have a conversation.” The old woman reached for Rhiannon’s arm while her eyes made a dismissive trail across Lord Radbourne. “You are not needed, my lord. You and your unruly brood may stay for now but don’t make me regret my generosity.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Radbourne muttered with none of his usual mirth.

An instant later, the duchess, moving much quicker than Rhiannon would have given her credit for, towed Rhi down a long, winding corridor. “There are too many ears in there.”

Too many ears? What in the world did the woman want to say to her?

They finally stopped at a small study, and the duchess waived Rhiannon in before her. “Sit, sit,” the woman directed.

Rhiannon sat in an overstuffed leather chair. “I confess, ye have me a bit worried.”

The duchess paced a small path in front of the grate. “Do you know who Lord Blodswell
really
is, Miss Sinclair?”

Rhiannon could do nothing but gape at the old woman. Certainly, the
duchess
didn’t really know who Matthew was. “I-I beg yer pardon.”

The woman’s icy eyes twinkled. “I can see that you do.”

Matthew winced as he stepped over Alec MacQuarrie’s threshold. He generally was impervious to temperature, but the Edinburgh air was particularly frigid and he couldn’t hold back a shiver.

“S-sir,” MacQuarrie’s stoic butler stammered, “we were no’ expectin’ ye.” He held the door wide for the two gentlemen to enter.

Alec waved the man off. “Please start a fire roaring in my study, Gibson. And have a room prepared for Lord Blodswell.”

“Of course, sir.” The butler scampered off in the direction Alec had indicated.

Matthew’s next step was a bit wobbly, and he soon found himself leaning on his protégé’s arm for support. “Why the devil you felt it was necessary to make the trip, Matt, I’ll never understand,” the Scot complained. “You can barely walk, let alone run.”

Matthew would rather not acknowledge the truth in Alec’s words, so he grunted instead of actually speaking.

Alec narrowed his black eyes. “You’re not in any condition to even
see
Dougal Sinclair. He’s more than a bit self-absorbed, but even
he
would know something was wrong with you. When did you last feed?”

Matthew couldn’t even remember. He shrugged. “I had the merest of drops from Rhiannon.”

“And before that?” Alec barked.

“Something you gave me. Something Callista gave me. I’m not certain.”

Alec growled low in his throat as he towed Matthew down the corridor toward a room from which a warm glow seemed to emanate. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“I already was,” Matthew replied dryly.

“Not amusing.”

The two of them entered the study that radiated warmth. Alec led him to a large leather chair that was soft with wear, and Matthew closed his eyes, letting the heated air wash over him.

“All I’ve got here is some whiskey,” Alec complained. “Let me find
something
for you to drink.”

“No!” Matthew’s eyes shot open. “I’ll be all right. Just give me a moment.”

Alec frowned. “You look the furthest thing from all right, my friend. I’m perfectly capable of acquiring someone for you.”

That fact, Matthew didn’t doubt. Ever since Alec had been reborn, he had taken to the vampyre lifestyle with gusto. Most of their kind were charismatic, but Alec had taken his charisma to a whole new level. “I told Rhiannon I wouldn’t take from anyone else.”

His friend’s mouth fell open. “What a foolish thing to have said. Have you looked in the mirror, Matt? You need blood.”

“Just give me a moment to recover from the journey, and you can take me to Mr. Sinclair’s home.” Matthew closed his eyes again, drawing all of his energy together.

Alec grumbled unintelligibly, more grunts and groans than actual words, and then he stalked from the room. Matthew didn’t expect him to understand. In fact, he had a hard time understanding the situation himself. What he did know was that nothing satisfied him the way Rhiannon Sinclair did.

He’d be fine. He just needed to collect his power and get a tiny bit of rest, and he’d be fine.

Alec stalked into the corridor and then up the staircase to his chambers, which hadn’t been occupied in months. He’d probably given poor Gibson an apoplexy by showing up unannounced, but he hadn’t had much of a choice, not with Matthew’s condition. Alec was sadly inept to handle this situation, which was more than a little frustrating. But he hadn’t been a vampyre long enough to know what to do for Matthew.

He had no idea how to make this situation any better, especially if the damned knight wouldn’t even take sustenance. He’d originally come along on this little excursion as an emissary of sorts, to introduce Matthew to Dougal Sinclair. Now he wasn’t sure if it was a miracle that he’d come to ensure his maker’s safe return or a hindrance, as he had no idea
how
to ensure his maker’s safe return.

After pacing the length of his chambers several times, Alec finally dropped onto his four-poster and closed his eyes. How could he get Matthew to partake of the life-giving elixir that he needed so badly?

A scratch sounded at his door.

“Come,” Alec called, as he lifted up on his elbows.

Gibson pushed the door open and stepped over the threshold. “Mr. MacQuarrie,” his butler began, his expression more stoic than normal. “I’ve put Lord Benjamin in the green parlor.”

Alec scratched his head.
Benjamin Westfield?
Good God! Speaking to Ben Westfield was the very last thing he wanted to do. Now or ever. He’d successfully avoided his oldest friend ever since he’d been reborn because he had no idea how to explain his current situation. “I’m not at home, Gibson.”

The butler shuffled his feet nervously. “Well, sir, the problem with that is, I sent for his lordship after ye arrived.”

“Why the devil would you do that?” Alec bounded off the bed and was before his servant in the blink of an eye.

Gibson did, in fact, blink at him, as though trying to figure out how Alec had moved so quickly. “I-I, well, Lord Benjamin asked me ta contact him if ye were ta return home.”

Alec frowned at his butler. “The last time I checked, Gibson, you work for me, not Westfield.” In fact, Gibson had never liked Ben and had taken special pleasure in tormenting the Englishman in the past.

“He was worried about ye, Mr. MacQuarrie. Beside himself with worry.”

Ben must have put on quite the performance to have swayed Gibson to his cause. “I don’t suppose you can send him away?”

His butler shook his head. “Ye ken how persistent Lord Benjamin can be.”

Yes, Alec knew. In their younger days, every spot of trouble the two of them had gotten into had always been of Westfield’s making and even so, he was able to convince Alec to join him time and time again. “I suppose there’s nothing to do then.”

Gibson released a breath of air. “Thank ye, sir.”

Alec begrudgingly left his chambers, descended the stairs, and made his way toward the green parlor in question. Immediately, he was assaulted by the scent of a darkened forest. It was a scent he’d never smelled until his recent association with Lycans. What the devil!

He stepped into the parlor to find his old friend Benjamin standing behind an emerald settee where his very expectant wife sat with a protective hand resting on her belly. Alec’s eyes flashed from Benjamin to Elspeth and back. The woodsy scent had only intensified at his entrance. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

“Well, that’s a fine welcome.” Benjamin frowned at him.

“Heard that, did you?” No one other than a Lycan would have picked up his words. Alec’s stomach dropped. He’d first met Ben Westfield at Harrow when the two of them were twelve years old. Since that time, the two of them had been nearly inseparable. So how had Ben hidden the fact that he was a werewolf for fourteen bloody years? Had their friendship been
that
one-sided?

“I’ve been worried about you, Alec.”

Alec ignored his friend’s words and focused instead on the red-haired witch still sitting on his settee. Were witches simply enamored with Lycans? Is that how he’d lost Caitrin? Because
Còig
witches were fated to marry the beasts? “Lady Elspeth, you look well, considering.”

Her green eyes darkened with concern. “Considerin’ what exactly, Alec MacQuarrie?”

Considering she’d thrown in her lot with a slobbering, snarling, howling wolf. How long had she known the truth? Before she married Ben? Sometime after? “Considering your condition, love,” he answered instead.

“We know about Briarcraig,” Ben said without preamble. Ben always did cut to the chase. Was that impatience also a trait of Lycans? “We know what happened there.”

“Do you, now?”

Elspeth Westfield nodded fervently. “Blaire and Lord Kettering told us everythin’.”

“So there are no secrets between us, then?” Alec finally met his oldest friend’s eyes. “Nothing you want to tell me, Ben? Nothing you want to confess?”

Ben shook his head, confusion in his hazel eyes. “What do you think I’m keeping from you, my friend?”

Alec closed the parlor door tightly behind him. He had no desire for any of his staff with their prying ears to be privy to this conversation. “Well, you both have secrets, don’t you?” He turned back around to face his guests. “You’re a Lycan, are you not? And your beautiful bride a witch…” A
healing
witch.

The truth of that nearly knocked Alec to his knees. He’d been so consumed with his worries over Matthew that he would have never considered tracking down his old friend or his healing wife. What a fool he’d been. And how fortunate that Ben had come in search of him.

In the space of a heartbeat, Ben was at his side, keeping Alec from stumbling backwards. “Are you quite all right?”

Alec shook him off and straightened to his full height. “As all right as a man can be when he discovers his oldest friend has lied to him his whole life.”

Ben glowered in response. “Who told you? Eynsford? That prick?”

“Benjamin!” his wife chastised, though Alec couldn’t determine if the rebuke was for his friend’s language or the fact that Ben had derided the marquess.

Alec shook his head. “I can smell it on you. But your deception of more than a decade is inconsequential at the moment.” He turned his attention to the fiery-haired witch. “I need your help, Elspeth. Rather, my maker needs your help.”

“Maker?” Ben barked.

“What’s wrong with him?” Elspeth struggled to her feet.

“Sit right back down, Ellie,” her husband ordered.

She paid him no attention. “Has he been injured?” The sweetest concern radiated from the witch. “I thought yer kind was able ta heal themselves.”

“Elspeth!” Ben growled low in his throat. “You are carrying our child.”

Her eyes flashed to her husband. “I doona even ken Lord Blodswell, Benjamin. I have no affection for the man. If I can heal him, it willna do our daughter any harm.”

Alec shook his head at his friend’s luck in finding such a lovely selfless lady as Elspeth. She didn’t refer to Matthew as a creature, a monster, or even a vampyre. She’d called him a man. He didn’t even think of himself as such any longer. “He hasn’t been able to feed.”

Elspeth’s eyes widened at the admission. “That is a curious problem. What have ye tried?”

Alec shrugged. “I’ve given him sheep’s blood and he’s consumed fresh human blood, but it was no use, the only…” He let his voice trail off. If he told them about Rhiannon, would Elspeth still be willing to aid them?

“The only…?” she prompted, touching his sleeve.

“We’ve come to Edinburgh so Blodswell can formally ask Dougal Sinclair for Rhiannon’s hand.”

“Rhi?” Elspeth’s green eyes twinkled with glee. “Truly?”

Alec was so disarmed by her expression of happiness that he nodded. “
Her
blood is all that quenches his thirst, it seems.”

“Meant ta be,” Elspeth muttered to herself. “Take me ta him, will ye?”

Alec opened the door and directed the lady to his study, with Ben quick on their heels, grumbling protests the whole way. As soon as they stepped over the threshold, Elspeth gasped at the sight that met them—Matthew in a heap in the middle of the floor.