Dare, Lydia - Tall, Dark and Wolfish

Miss Campbell rushed past him and into the house, the door slamming hard behind her.

Ben bent at the waist as he worked to catch his breath. "The woman runs like a wolf. Never seen anything like it," he said to Alec.

"Like a what?" Alec scratched his head.

"Like a deer. The woman runs like a deer." Ben corrected himself.

"Did you just run—" He stopped and pointed toward the woods. Then his eyes opened wide as he realized the two of them must have run all the way from the Fergusons' to the Campbells'. "I've seen you do a lot of things to get a woman into bed, my friend, but this one has to be the best."

Alec didn't even finish the thought before he found himself pressed against the door, Ben's arm beneath his throat, his feet several inches off the ground.

"I'll not allow anyone to speak of Miss Campbell that way," Ben snarled.

Alec grunted and pulled against Ben's arm, but Ben ignored his struggle. "Put me down," he gasped.

Ben fought his conscience, unsure of how to respond. The wolf in him wanted to show his dominance, to make Alec come to heel. But the friend in him was ready to release the poor gent. The choice

was taken from him when the door was flung open and they both fell inside in a heap.

Eight

"Just what do ye think ye're doin', Lord Benjamin?" Miss Macleod asked, her hands upon her hips, standing above them.

Alec pushed him off and shrugged to his feet. "Protecting Miss Campbell's honor, I believe," he muttered as he held a hand out to Ben and pulled him up.

"From ye?" Miss Macleod asked. "Why in the world would he need ta do that?"

"Why, indeed?" Alec asked, his head cocked to one side as he regarded Ben with curiosity.

Ben dusted himself off and leveled Miss Macleod with his haughtiest look, the one only sons of dukes ever seemed to master. "What's the matter with Mr. Campbell?"

Her lip quivered and she blinked back tears. "He's dyin'. He has been for some time. El's done everythin' she can ta keep him alive."

Elspeth couldn't possibly have the funds to hire a decent physician. Ben took in the cottage. It was tidy and clean, but quite small. Different in every way from the Fergusons' mansion and the Macleods' impressive home. Paying for a physician wasn't, however, a problem for him.

He turned to Alec. "What are you waiting for, MacQuarrie? This is your city. Find your best doctor and bring him here."

Miss Macleod gasped. "Ye think a doctor can do better than Elspeth has?"

Ben frowned at the girl. Was Alec right? Were they all uneducated and superstitious? "Knowing herbs is one thing, Miss Macleod, but science is another. The finest medical school in Britain is here in your fair city."

She puffed herself up to her fullest height. "Thank ye for seein' her home, but I think ye should leave now, my lord."

If she'd punched him, he wouldn't have been more shocked. Alec clapped a hand to his back. "Come along, Westfield. I'll take ye home." Then he smiled at Miss Macleod. "Will you be all right here, lass?"

She nodded. "Thank ye, Mr. MacQuarrie, for everythin'."

Ben allowed himself to be dragged from the cottage. "There's nothing to be done, Westfield," Alec said.

"How can you say that? Are all you Scots completely mad?"

Alec pulled open the door to his coach. "You can call on her in the morning if you're of a mind."

Against his better judgment, Ben climbed inside the coach and settled against the leather squabs. "This feels wrong, Alec."

His friend sighed as the coach slowly rambled down the dark lane. "You know as well as I there's nothing to be done for a wasting disease, Westfield. Even London's most prestigious doctor wouldn't be able to save Mr. Campbell."

A wasting disease? Ben cringed as he realized Alec was right. Poor Elspeth.

Elspeth clasped her grandfather's hand. It was clammy and she noticed his pulse had slowed dangerously. She shouldn't have left him to go to Sorcha's silly party. "Papa, can ye hear me?"

She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked back to see Caitrin swipe a tear from her eye.

"He'll be all right," Elspeth vowed.

But Caitrin shook her head. "Ah, sweetheart, I wish it were so."

She blinked at her friend. "What do ye mean by that?"

Caitrin smoothed Elspeth's wild hair and sniffed back more tears. "Mr. MacQuarrie was walkin' me ta my door when I saw yer grandfather, El, in my mind. He's no' goin' ta wake up. I sent for ye as soon as I realized."

Tears poured from Elspeth's eyes as she turned back to her grandfather. She clutched his hand tighter and willed him to wake. "Papa, I'm here. Doona leave me."

Caitrin squeezed her shoulders. "Ye should get some rest. Ye're goin' ta need it."

Elspeth shook her head. "Ye saw him die?"

"Aye."

"Then ye must've seen me stay with him until then." She'd never leave him. Not now. Not when he needed her the most.

"Aye," Caitrin whispered. "I saw that, too."

Elspeth barely noticed when the others arrived. But soon her grandfather's small room was filled with all the witches of the

Còig.

Sorcha and Blaire lit candles in every corner. Then the five of them joined hands around Mr. Campbell's bed, Elspeth's sisters offering silent support.

Elspeth had never felt so helpless in all her life. What was the point of being able to heal others if she couldn't save her own grandfather?

In the dead of night, old Liam Campbell took a loud, deep breath and released it. His chest stopped rising and falling. Elspeth staggered to her feet and pulled the family plaid up under his chin. She kissed his cold cheek and stumbled from the room.

Caitrin stopped Sorcha from going after Elspeth. "She needs some time alone."

Sorcha bit her bottom lip but did as she was asked.

"There's somethin' ye're no' sayin'," Rhiannon whispered, successfully catching the others' attention.

Caitrin hated that she was so easy to read. Still, there was no point in denying the truth. She nodded. "It's the Sassenach, MacQuarrie's friend."

"Lord Benjamin?" Blaire asked.

"Aye. I've seen him before."

"When ye went ta London last year?" Sorcha reasoned.

"

Mo chreach

, ye're daft," Rhiannon complained. "He's the one, Cait? The one from yer vision?"

"Aye," Caitrin admitted. She hadn't been certain until after she and Alec MacQuarrie had left the ball. A vision flashed in her mind during the short journey home before she'd seen Mr. Campbell take his last breath. Westfield intended to take Elspeth from them; there was no doubt in her mind. He wore the mark she'd seen weeks earlier.

"I ken he was trouble," Rhiannon grumbled. "He had her hair undone. No gentleman does such a thing."

"But she said nothin' happened," Sorcha protested.

As the two of them argued, Blaire touched Caitrin's arm. "What're we ta do?"

"I doona see us keepin' her," Caitrin whispered, the words ripped from her soul. But it was true. She didn't see them winning.

"Well, we canna give her up. Ye say the man's a beast?"

Unable to speak, Caitrin only nodded.

"So we'll fight ta keep her. We'll move her ta yer house. She'll stay with ye and we'll outlast him. He canna get through all of us."

It was a losing battle. But Blaire was right, they couldn't just give up on Elspeth. She was part of them. She was their sister.

"Rhiannon, make the arrangements with the vicar, will ye?" Caitrin asked.

"Of course."

"And, Sorcha, ye and Blaire can help me pack up the house. The sooner we move Elspeth, the better."

Elspeth sat in a small chair and stared off into her memories. She knew this day was coming, but it was still hard to believe. It didn't seem all that long ago that her grandfather had been a robust man, the strongest she knew.