Page 31 of Alec

“You’ll do whatever I wish, aye?” he demanded.

“It’s how I was raised,” she said in a low, calm tone as she placed her garments in the laundry basket. “I was taught from birth to be obedient to my aunt. No matter what she told me to do, I did it.” She finally met his gaze. “Would you rather I argue with you again? I’m not really any good at that. Or maybe you’d like me to do something else. Please be specific.”

“You neednae do anything for me.” The sparkle of temper in her gray eyes took him aback. “I but wish to protect you, lass.”

“I told you, I can take care of myself.” She picked up her fripperies box and placed it on top of the garments in the basket. “I’m ready.”

He escorted her to the chatelaine’s chamber, which still had three beds inside, covered by the piecework blankets that Inga made from scraps of trimmings from the sewing room.

“How beautiful.” Olivia ran an admiring hand over the most intricate blanket. “I know embroidery and clothes-making, but I’ve never learned to quilt.”

“Doubtless Inga shall teach you.” Alec squashed a surge of jealousy—over a blanket, was he going mad?—and headed for the door. “Take care, my lady.”

“When will I see you again?” she asked, stopping him in his tracks.

He didn’t turn and look at her. “I’ve many duties. I cannae say.”

“I’m going to work in the gardens for Eachann. I like seeing things grow.” Olivia walked up to him, stopping only a handspan from his back. “I’m going to make some clothes, too. That’s all I have planned for today, unless you’d like to spend time with me.”

Alec stared at the door. He had only to walk another three strides to leave the chamber. Just three strides.

“We don’t have to do anything,” Olivia added. “We could just go for a walk.”

Did she believe him made of stone? Alec closed his eyes for a moment, and then turned to face her. Another mistake, for now he saw the tears gleaming in her eyes.

“’Tis too dangerous, Olivia,” he finally told her. “This thing between us, ’tis no’ what I want. I’m no’ the man...I cannae be your...you must find someone else to keep you company.”

“All right.” She tried to smile. “If you change your mind, you know where I am.”

Alec nodded, and then left as fast as he could without running from her.

Meeting Roxy at Charles Kingston’s memorial service would have given Bodach the opportunity to bespell the buxom brunette again for another leisurely romp, but she didn’t show, and he rarely used mortal females for sex more than once. Instead, he had to sit and listen to the broken-hearted sobbing of Charles’ mother, who had doubtless paid top dollar for the lavish wake and funeral. Somehow she’d even convinced a minister to preside over the expensive affair. The old woman had no idea that, by having her only son commit suicide, Bodach had saved whatever was left of her retirement. In time he was sure Charles would have gambled the rest away. Even if he’d told her, she simply would have called the authorities.

Mortals never valued his efforts.

He had more on his mind today than how unappreciated he was in this realm. Several calls had come into his answering service inquiring about Olivia Gibson; two had come from prominent journalists. It seemed someone outside her circle of acquaintances had been poking around asking questions. He would deal with whoever it was, of course, but the timing couldn’t have been worse.

“Dear Lord, grant our beloved Charles Kingston peaceful rest in Heaven,” the minister said as he finished the graveside service. Raising his voice to be heard over Rebecca’s wild sobbing, he added, “Let your holy light shine on him forever, amen.”

It always amused Bodach how mortals believed they were all entitled to an afterlife of everlasting happiness. Although he hadn’t willingly committed suicide, Charles certainly hadn’t done anything in his wasteful life to deserve eternal bliss. If the beliefs most popular among his kind held true, he would be heading in quite the opposite direction.

Hell for Charles Kingston would be eternity in a casino where he always got the winning hand while being unable to wager so much as a penny.

One stern-looking older male approached Rebecca Kingston after the funeral concluded and asked her something that made her lash out at him with her shiny black purse. Clearly shocked, the man drew back. She then sobbed noisily into a handkerchief as two of her friends flanked her and walked her toward the line of waiting, flagged cars.

Bodach turned back to catch the mortal’s visible exasperation, as well as his eye color, which was a steelier version of Olivia Gibson’s. The man sat down in one of the folding chairs and took out his phone to send a text, and then stared at the grave with unseeing eyes while the other mourners departed. If he were a relation, he could end up creating new problems, so Bodach decided to go over and chat him up.

“I’m so sorry about my aunt’s behavior,” Bodach said, holding out his hand. “Robert Kingston, and you are...?”

“I’m Jarom Gardner,” the mortal said, grasping his fingers in a half-hearted clasp. His expression changed from stern to hopeful. “Did you happen to know Charles Kingston’s girlfriend, Olivia Gibson?”

“Not very well, I’m afraid.” He released a heavy sigh. “We were hoping she would attend, but for some reason she wasn’t able to come to the service.”

“Do you happen to know where I might find her?” Gardner asked. “It’s imperative that I see her before I go back to Utah.”

Although he had every intention of wiping this mortal’s memory and sending him on his way, he became intrigued. “Why is that, sir?”

“I have been searching for her for twenty-eight years.” The man’s face turned haggard. “I just learned that my daughter died ten years ago. I was able to trace Olivia here, but no one seems to know where she is. I don’t even have a recent photo of her.”