Dare, Lydia - Tall, Dark and Wolfish

"Now ye sound like my Fiona."

"Why?"

"Doona work yerself up, Cait. The visions are no' always accurate."

She blinked at her father. What was he talking about? Her visions had always been accurate. She'd never once been wrong. "Papa, ye doona seem ta understand—"

"I lived with Fiona for a quarter of a century, Cait. I understand perfectly. She was right most of the time, I'll grant ye. But she wasna right about Rosewyth. Maybe it's somethin' in the nature of these beasts; they mess with yer powers."

"What do ye mean she wasna right about Rosewyth?"

Her father sighed and sat forward in his seat. "I'd never seen Fiona more upset than she was when she received the first vision about the beast. She kept rantin' and ravin'. The man was goin' ta take Rosie from the coven. The

Còig

would fall apart…"

Just like what she'd seen with Elspeth. Caitrin's heart began to race. She had no idea her mother had seen something similar.

"… turn out that way. So ye see, lass, yer mother wasna always correct—"

"Papa, I missed what ye said. Go back. Mama thought the

Còig

would fall apart," she prompted.

"Aye. Fiona said the man would come for Rosie and take her away. Then the man did come, but Rosie dinna go with him. She chose ta stay with the coven instead. Just because ye can see what is supposed ta happen doesna mean that people canna change the course of the future."

It should have been good news that Rosewyth Campbell chose another path. It meant Elspeth could do the same. Yet it was troubling that her mother had been wrong. Caitrin hadn't known that was possible.

"And speakin' of the future, Cait. The fellow today, Mr. MacQuarrie, he stopped by early this mornin', wantin' ta speak with me."

Caitrin shook her head. "MacQuarrie is inconsequential, Papa." Though she wished he weren't. She'd seen such strength in him the night before, and he made her warm and tingly all over. But his future lay along a different path.

"I'd hardly say that, Caitrin. The lad asked me for yer hand."

She gasped. She hadn't seen that coming either. Why not? Her mind was a jumble.

"I told him he had my blessin' but that ye made yer own decisions. Just like yer mother."

Thirteen

Ben ambled up the steps of Alec MacQuarrie's stately home. Before he could knock, the butler opened the door with a frown. Ben sighed. Must all Scots frown at him? He was starting to take it personally.

Honestly, he really wasn't such a disagreeable fellow. Most people, most English people, found him a delight to be around. He generally attended the best parties, told the best stories, and spent the rest of his time with the best women. He couldn't understand why all of Scotland seemed to take umbrage with him. Well, all of Scotland except for Elspeth.

He'd left her in the care of the Fergusons and made her promise to get some rest, which was exactly what he planned to do once he reached MacQuarrie's.

"My lord," the butler began with a bow, "Mr. MacQuarrie would like a word with ye."

Ben resisted the urge to groan. After their conversation last night, he wasn't looking forward to another interview. Besides he was nearly dead on his feet. "Do tell Mr. MacQuarrie that I'll see him at dinner." If he was awake by then.

He turned his back on the dour Scot and climbed the stairs to the next floor. He made his way to his chambers and collapsed, facedown, onto the bed, leaving his boots dangling over the edge. His feet were heavy, and he wished he had someone here who would pull them off for him.

Elspeth.

He'd love for her to pull off his boots and then his trousers. He smiled into the pillow as an image of his lovely witch entered his mind, thankful again she wasn't of the

Macbeth

variety.

Most men of his acquaintance would run in fear from a witch. But Ben wasn't most men, and he did need her help. He thought again about how her wild red hair hung about her shoulders and the way she'd thrown herself in his—

Something cracked him on the back of his head. "Ow!" He rolled over, prepared to fight, only to find Alec standing over him brandishing a rolled-up periodical.

"That's the thanks I get? You come to my home uninvited, and I let you stay as a guest. I ask you to leave Miss Campbell be, but the legendary Lord Benjamin Westfield can't possibly do so. And when my man tells you I want to speak with you, you ignore him completely and pass out across your bed?"

"I didn't ignore him," Ben complained as he rubbed the back of his head. "I told the man I'd see you at dinner. I'm a bit tired, Alec."

"Aye, from staying out all night, like I asked you not to."

Ben pushed himself to a sitting position. Now he could take off his own bloody boots. "I'm a bit tired of the sanctimonious Alec MacQuarrie, to be honest. We both know I'm far from a saint, and we both know it, you Scottish hypocrite, because you've been with me every step of the way. And

now

you decide to tell me which females I can and cannot spend my time with?"

Alec heaved a sigh and dropped into a chair just a few feet from the bed. "I didn't want to speak to you about Miss Campbell."

The fight instantly evaporated from Ben. "Oh. Well, I was just trying to catch a bit of sleep. I was up all night searching the woods for hair combs, if you can believe it."

Alec gaped at him. Then his lips broke into a smile. He threw his head back and laughed.

"I can't imagine what you find so humorous about the situation," Ben grumbled.

Alec wiped a tear from his eye and brought his levity back under control. "And I thought I had it bad. You really must care for the lass."

"I didn't want her to worry about them." Ben shrugged, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with his friend's all-knowing eyes focused on him.

"Ah, of course not. Heaven forbid she get herself all worked up over a pair of hair combs."

"What do you want, Alec?"

Immediately his friend sobered and sat forward in his chair. "I wanted to ask your advice about Miss Macleod."

The pretty blond harridan who hated him? Ben had some advice concerning Miss Macleod. "Run the other direction."

"I don't think I can do that." Alec frowned. "I spoke to the lass' father this morning, and I asked for her hand."

Ben nearly choked on his own tongue. He knew Alec was entranced by the girl… by the witch. Did his friend know that little detail? "How much do you really know about her?"

"I'd say a bit more than you know about Miss Campbell," Alec shot back.

"Touché." But did he know the girl was a witch, a seer? Not that he could tell him. Ben needed Elspeth's help, and bringing attention to her coven wasn't the best idea. "If you've already asked for the girl's hand, what do you want to ask me?"

Alec grimaced. "Well, I'd hoped Mr. Macleod would accept my offer—"

"He didn't?" Ben's mouth fell open. MacQuarrie had more money than most Scots. He'd been well sought after in London by marriage-minded mamas and their daughters. He couldn't imagine Mr. Macleod had received a better offer for his daughter.

"He gave me his blessing but said Caitrin herself would have to accept me."

Understanding dawned on Ben. "She won't give you the time of day." She was too busy interrupting Ben's affairs.

Alec grinned, but only for a moment. "Well, I did win a kiss from her last night, quite a nice one actually; but she's a stubborn lass, and I'm not quite sure how to convince her."

"Quite a nice one? Please don't tell me that you saw sparks when your lips touched hers. Because that would quite turn my stomach, old friend." Ben lay back on the bed and put his forearm over his eyes. He raised his head when Alec groaned and swatted him again. "Seduce her, MacQuarrie," he finally said.