Lydia Dare Wolf Bundle

by Lydia Dare

  “I’m a Lycan,” he blurted out before he came to his senses. “Do you know what that is?”

  She shook her head, though he noticed she rubbed the skin of her wrist beneath her gloves.

  “A werewolf, in layman’s terms.”

  He half expected her to run through the woods, screaming like a banshee, but she simply tilted her head to one side and waited for him to continue.

  “You have nothing to say to that?”

  She shrugged. “What would ye like me ta say?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe run in fear, at least.”

  Her beautiful smile returned. “I doona believe there is a thing about ye I should fear, Ben.” Her gaze moved from the top of his head to the bottoms of his feet, lingering as though she’d find the secret of his creation somewhere upon his person. “What does all of this mean? What does bein’ a Lycan entail? Do ye change ta a wolf every night?”

  He shook his head. “No. We change only when the light of a full moon touches us. The rest of the month we look like any other man, but beneath the surface the beast inside struggles to be released, stronger in the days surrounding moonful.”

  “I see,” she said looking up into the forest canopy above them, though the sun was high in the sky. “The moon is but a sliver now.”

  Ben heaved a sigh. It was easier to talk about this with her than he had expected. “I left almost immediately after the last moonful.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t transform.”

  “And ye want ta transform?” she asked with a frown.

  “Of course I want to change,” he barked. When her green eyes grew round, he shuffled his feet. “Sorry. I suppose I’m not explaining this well after all. The change is part of me, Elspeth, who I am. I need to fix whatever is wrong with me.”

  Elspeth stared at the man in front of her. A Lycan. A werewolf. A beast. Caitrin had been right about that. Is that what the mark indicated? Again she rubbed the mark on her wrist. Was that what her father was? Was that why he’d sought out her mother?

  “Do ye have a mark, Ben?”

  “A mark?”

  “On yer skin?”

  He smiled. “How did you know?”

  Elspeth shrugged. “Lucky guess. Where is it? Can I see it?” Did it look like hers?

  His grin widened. “Only if I remove all my clothes.” He glanced around the woods. “I don’t think this would be the place to show you.”

  Shivers danced across her skin at the thought of Ben Westfield without a stitch of clothing. As a healer, she’d seen men unclothed before, though she’d thought nothing of it. Somehow she didn’t think that would be the case with this man. “I’ll, um, need ta see it. But no’ here, no’ now.” Then she straightened her shoulders and looked him square in the eye. “I’ll need time ta figure out what ta do with ye. Can ye give me a few days?”

  “You can have all the days you need, lass. Do you think you can heal me?”

  “I’ve never encountered a case like yers before, but I’ll do everythin’ in my power.” And she would try to locate any notes her mother may have left about Lycans. Why hadn’t her mother told her more?

  Caitrin threw open the door to her father’s study. She didn’t know who else to turn to, and she was furious. Angus Macleod looked up from the papers on his desk and regarded her with a look of amusement. “Havers, Cait! Ye look like a cat whose tail’s been set aflame.”

  She glared at her father. “How flatterin’.”

  He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “I’m glad ye’re here, lass. A gentleman came ta see me today about ye.”

  Caitrin shook her head. Nothing he had to say could be more important than her current predicament. “Papa, did ye ever meet Elspeth’s sire?”

  Her father frowned and tapped his chin. “No, but yer mother did.”

  “Did she say anythin’ about him?”

  His laugh warmed the room. “A thing or two. Nothin’ I’ll repeat in yer presence, lass. Yer mother wasna one for cursin’, but she made an exception for Rosie’s beast.”

  Caitrin rubbed her hands across her face. Could the man never be serious? “Oh, Papa!” she groaned. “I’ve seen a man, a beast,” she clarified. “It’s all comin’ ta pass. He’ll take Elspeth from us and—”

  “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 s
miled 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.

  “Seduce her?” The man looked slightly ill. “You’ve done it before. This time, do it with marriage in mind.”

  “Seduce her. I might just give that a try,” Alec muttered as he stepped from the room and closed the door. Then he opened the door again. Ben didn’t bother to raise his head.

  “Don’t go and get similar ideas about Miss Campbell, Ben. Mark my words. Seducing that one is not in her best interest. Or yours.” The door clicked shut.

  Ben turned his head in his pillow and closed his eyes while he worked to get a girl with hair the color of fire and fury off his mind. But even in repose she met him in his dreams.

  Elspeth dropped her head in her hands and groaned. “I canna take one more day of this, Rhiannon. No’ one more day. If another person comes ta the door with well wishes, I might just lose my temper.”

  “I honestly dinna ken ye had so many friends, El. It’s pretty nice ta see them all comin’ together for ye.”

  El pushed the corners of her mouth up and glared at Rhiannon. “But my face is goin’ ta freeze like this if I have ta smile at one more person.”

  “Only one more day. The burial will be tomorrow and then ye can start fresh.”

  Only one more day. Elspeth repeated the phrase over and over in her mind.

  “Uh-oh,” Rhiannon said as she removed her feet from the settee where she reclined. She crossed quickly to the window. “Ye’ve company, El.”

  Elspeth rose and raised the drapes to peer out. She quickly threw open the door when she saw the man approaching. He met her with a smile.

  “Lord Benjamin,” she said.

  His eyes twinkled. “I thought I gave you leave to use my given name, Miss Campbell.”

  The door opened farther and Rhiannon spoke over her. “’Tis no’ proper, and ye ken it,” she whispered vehemently.

  “Shush yer mouth, Rhiannon. His lordship is here to see me. No’ ye.” She very nearly stuck out her tongue. “Stay with my grandfather, will ye?” Then she turned and closed the door behind her. “What can I do for ye, Ben?”

  “To be quite honest, I wanted to see if you have any ideas for how to heal my little…” He grimaced. “Affliction.”

  “I do have quite a few questions on the topic. I suppose I could take a walk with ye.” She looked over her shoulder and saw Rhiannon staring daggers at her from behind the window glass. This time she did stick out her tongue. Ben chuckled at her.

  “Lead the way, and I will follow.” He motioned toward the lane.

  “No’ that way,” she said, motioning over her shoulder. “The best views can be found in the other direction.”

  As they started down a well-worn path, Elspeth began her line of questioning.

  “How long have ye been a Lycan, Ben?”

  “Since birth, Elspeth. It’s a family trait, passed from one male to another. One cannot choose to be Lycan or not. It just is. I find that I miss it quite a bit, now that I no longer have it.”

  “Did ye lose it because of illness? Were ye sick? Or did ye suddenly just lose the ability ta change?”

  “There was an incident,” he said as he glanced at her out the corner of his eye.

  “What sort of incident?”

  “The sort that I can’t explain to a woman of your standing.” Color crept up his face.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon? Ye canna tell someone who’s illegitimate about yer incident?”

  “Oh, no, no!” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “I truly don’t care if you had one parent or two. You could be born of a gypsy tribe and I wouldn’t feel differently about you.”

  “Just how do ye feel about me, Ben?”

  Fourteen

  HOW DID HE FEEL ABOUT HER? GOOD QUESTION. IT WAS one thing he needed to think about. She was more of a distraction than any woman
he’d met in quite some time. She was the only woman he still thought about when he walked away from her. But he couldn’t possibly tell her that. Because very soon he would be on his way back to London.

  “I have great trust in your ability to heal me.” He hoped she didn’t realize what effort it took to hedge around her question.

  “Then ye have more trust than I do, Ben. Because I’ve no idea if I can help ye or no’. Why did ye come all the way ta Scotland ta find help? There are no healers in London?”

  “There are doctors, yes.” He nodded his head as he absently plucked a piece of tall, dry grass and rolled it between his fingertips. No mythical healers, however. No one like her.

  “But no one ye could tell about yer Lycan side, I assume?” She raised her face to his. Her hair shone like fire, and he wanted nothing more than to put his hands in it. He coughed to cover his moment of discomfort.

  “It’s a bit difficult to talk about,” he admitted. And it was forbidden. “If any of my Lycan brethren knew I’d revealed any of this to you, they would feel terribly betrayed.”

  “No’ ta fear, Ben. I can keep a secret when it’s needed.” Her smile was all the reassurance he needed. “May I see yer mark?” she asked.

  “The mark of the beast?”

  “Aye, the mark of the beast. I’m simply curious.” She shrugged her shoulders and suddenly looked vulnerable.

  Ben looked around. The area was secluded. No one would see, and there wasn’t anywhere else they could be alone. One of her coven or another was always there, sitting watch.

  He tugged his shirt from his trousers and slid the top button of his waistband through its buttonhole.

  She gasped slightly, her hand fluttered to her pinkened cheek. There was no doubt in his mind she was an innocent.

  Ben took her hand in his and gave it an affectionate squeeze. “I don’t have to show you.”

  Elspeth shook her head. “I forgot ye said ye’d have ta remove yer clothes.”

  Ben chuckled. “Not completely.” He lifted his shirt and pointed to a spot just below his waistband. “It’s here.”

  Elspeth leaned over to get closer to the mark. He immediately felt the warm touch of her breath against the tender skin of his abdomen and stepped away from her.