Master Wolf

by Joanna Chambers

  Drew stared wordlessly at Lindsay with his heart racing and his wolf pacing and whining inside him.

  “Not this time,” Lindsay said wearily. “It’s taken a while, Drew, but I’ve finally realised that you’ll never accept me the way I want you to.”

  “Accept you?” Drew repeated slowly, irritation building now “You say that as though I have any control here. You bit me, Lindsay. I had no choice about anything.”

  Lindsay gave an exasperated huff. “And we’re back to this.”

  “What?”

  “I bit you. You did not consent. What exactly do you want me to do about it, Drew?” He sighed wearily. “Please, tell me what it is you want from me.”

  “You know what I want,” Drew gritted out. “I want you to free me. I want to stop craving you.”

  Lindsay said nothing. His expression was tormented and his scent was a tangle of longing and grief. He was hurting, and in a way that was so similar to Drew’s own pain that Drew couldn’t hold onto his anger any longer. Turning away to hide his distress, Drew said, his voice rough, “I just want to be free, Lindsay. That’s all.”

  “I know.” Lindsay said quietly. He was quiet for a long time then, but at last he spoke again. “It’s hard to be separated from you, but I’ve come to accept that it’s best that we’re apart.” He paused. “I may not be able to free you, Drew, but I can, at least, stay away from you from now on.”

  Pain pierced Drew’s heart, like he’d taken a lance to the chest. He opened his mouth to—what? Protest? Argue?—but before he could form words, Lindsay’s scent swirled, the door opened and closed, and when Drew turned back…

  Lindsay was gone.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The present

  * * *

  Edinburgh, November 1820

  * * *

  Three days after Bainbridge offered to show Drew his “creature”, a note arrived from him inviting Drew to visit at four o’clock the next day. The note explained that Bainbridge was staying near Colinton village, a few miles outside the city, at the house of a friend who was presently away.

  The invitation had been brought by a youth who’d been asked to wait for Drew’s reply. Drew dashed off a note of acceptance and handed it back to the youth with a coin for his trouble.

  When Marguerite returned to the house and he told of her this development, she suggested they go to Albany Street to discuss the matter with Wynne and Lindsay.

  “Lindsay has asked me to stay away,” Drew said tentatively, his face warming with shame at the admission.

  Marguerite only waved an impatient hand. “Yes, yes. However, we need to consult with him and Wynne—he will understand.”

  “What is there to consult about?”

  “We need to decide who is going,” she replied, already replacing the bonnet she had just removed.

  “I thought to go alone,” Drew said. “The invite is only addressed to me.”

  “As if I would permit that!” Marguerite scoffed, as she strode to the front door, forcing Drew to follow her. “Really, I am surprised that you would suggest such a thing. Consider what you will be walking into! We will need two of us at least, or three preferably, if any action requires to be taken.”

  Drew frowned but he had to admit she had a point.

  Although it was after noon when they reached Albany Street, the curtains over Lindsay’s bedchamber window remained closed. A familiar pain twisted in Drew at the sight. It had been four days since he’d last seen Lindsay, and in all that time he’d felt no trace of the connection between them, only a terrible aching void.

  Perhaps a few weeks ago, that would have struck him as a good thing, but now—knowing what Lindsay was doing to himself to break the bond—Drew was filled with guilt and sorrow.

  Lindsay had made it plain when Drew had last seen him that he intended to continue with the Wolfsbane. Indeed, Drew feared that Lindsay might have increased his use in his desperation to finally and completely sever his bond with his wolf. He dreaded how he might find Lindsay.

  The door was answered by the servant, Robert, who showed them into the empty parlour.

  “Mr. Wildsmith says he and Mr. Somerville will be down shortly,” the servant said. “May I fetch you some refreshments?”

  “Some tea,” Marguerite said. “And cake if you have it. Or even better, meat pie. I am famished, aren’t you, my love?”

  “Hmm. I suppose,” Drew said absently.

  If the servant was surprised at Marguerite’s unladylike request, he gave no sign, only nodded and withdrew.

  Drew had thought that Lindsay and Wynne would come down directly, but when the door opened again ten minutes later, it was only the same manservant, this time with a heavily laden tray containing a whole meat pie, a whole seedcake and two pots of tea.

  Clearly he was well trained. Marguerite clapped her hands delightedly.

  She had finished a sizeable portion of the pie and was starting in on the cake when the door finally opened again to admit their hosts. Drew rose from his chair, starting forward only to halt where he stood when Lindsay said, “Sit down, both of you. Wynne will get me comfortable first.”

  Wynne was practically holding Lindsay up, his arm about Lindsay’s slim waist, and Lindsay was more pale and drawn than ever, though his eyes glittered almost feverishly. His thin frame was swamped by his crimson dressing gown, his arm in the black silk sling. And all Drew could think of was his poor ulcerated skin and the black-green poison spread over it. Did it burn, he wondered. He thought of the red, weeping sores and his throat closed up.

  Wynne guided Lindsay to the chaise longue and helped him settle into a reclining position. He fussed over him, piling cushions behind his head and shoulders and draping a heavy woollen blanket over his legs. Drew watched, inappropriate jealousy writhing in his gut.

  “Better?” Wynne asked Lindsay gently once he was finished, and Drew’s wolf gave an ugly snarl to see the tender affection on Lindsay’s face as he nodded.

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  “Well,” Marguerite said lightly, “Now that we have Lindsay settled, shall we discuss the arrangements for tomorrow?”

  “By all means, my dear,” Lindsay said. “What do you plan to do?”

  “I had intended to ride out to Spylaw Tower,” Drew said, before Marguerite could take charge. “Since the invitation was only for myself, and Bainbridge won’t be expecting anyone else.”

  “But as we’ve already discussed,” Marguerite interjected sweetly, “there is no question of you going alone. You do not know what you will be walking into. Bainbridge claims to be holding a werewolf captive. If that is true, he must have other humans at Spylaw Tower. I therefore intend to accompany you”

  “I agree Drew should not go alone,” Wynne said. “But given the terms of the invitation, it will surely arouse suspicion if you go with him, Mim. Better that I go.”

  “I will arouse suspicion but you will not?” Marguerite retorted, raising one fine eyebrow. “So far as Bainbridge is concerned, you and Drew barely know one another—you did not profess to be friends at the ball last week. It would appear very strange for you to accompany him, whereas Bainbridge already believes me to be a clinging sort of woman who accompanies her husband everywhere and resents his absences.”

  “I had no intention of presenting myself as Drew’s friend,” Wynne said calmly. “I would simply play the role of a servant. It’s not as if I haven’t done it plenty of times before.”

  “A valet?” Marguerite said scornfully.

  Wynne chuckled. “No, of course not. I shall be the coachman—I can drive, you know.”

  “And how is that any better?” Marguerite demanded. “If Drew really was going alone, Bainbridge would expect him to ride. At least if I go, we have an excuse for taking a carriage.”

  “You make an excellent point, my dear,” Lindsay said. “In which case, all three of you can go, if Wynne plays coachman. None of you know what situation you will be going into, so that is
certainly the best course of action. As Wynne will be left outside with the horses, he can investigate the perimeter of the house while you two are taken inside and shown whatever it is Bainbridge has hidden there.”

  “And leave you alone here?” Marguerite said disbelievingly. “Absolutely not.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Lindsay said briskly. “I’ll be fine for one afternoon. And I’ll rest easier knowing that you’re all looking after one another. Besides, you won’t feel happy with only two of you going, will you?”

  Marguerite scowled. “I don’t like the idea of you alone here.”

  Drew agreed—and so did his wolf. What if Duncan came here while they were at Spylaw Tower?

  “It’ll be a few hours at most,” Lindsay said. “And all I’ll be doing is sleeping—it feels like that’s all I ever do these days.”

  Marguerite pressed her lips together, thinking.

  “The thing is,” Lindsay said softly, meeting Marguerite’s gaze, “If they are holding Alys, this may be your only chance to get her back. You’ve been waiting for this chance ever since I’ve known you. This is not a time to hold back any resources, and you know it.”

  At last Wynne said into the silence, “Has there been any news from Francis?”

  Marguerite shook her head, but they all knew that didn’t mean much. If Francis had to move quickly to follow Duncan, no letter would get to Edinburgh any sooner than he would get here himself.

  Lindsay smiled at them all, and it was a singularly sweet smile, one that made Drew want to reach out and touch his mouth, to trace the gentle curve with his fingertips.

  “Listen,” Lindsay said. “I know you’re all worried about Duncan, and that you want to protect me from him, but the reason I am here in Edinburgh—the reason why I’ve stayed here all these months—is because I want to confront him. And it’s going to happen, whether you like it or not. Whether you’re here or not.” He gazed at them all, his eyes moving over each of their faces and coming to rest on Marguerite’s. “I’ve been running from Duncan MacCormaic since the day you liberated me from his dungeon. Do you realise what that means?”

  Marguerite shook her head.

  “It means that I’ve never really been free of him. This constant flight is itself a sort of imprisonment. Until I confront him… I will never be free.”

  Drew’s heart twisted painfully.

  “Freedom?” Marguerite said hoarsely. “Is freedom worth this?” She gestured at him, lying on the chaise longue, weak and frail.

  Lindsay’s gaze was kind on Marguerite, almost pitying. “Yes,” he said. “It is worth everything, I think. Worth dying for even.”

  Marguerite’s face crumpled, tears springing to her dark, expressive eyes. “How can you say that?” she whispered.

  “Because when it comes down to it,” Lindsay said, “A life is defined by the choices a person makes. If I can’t make my own choices, what is the point of any of it?” Lindsay’s gaze moved to Drew then, standing beside Marguerite, and his mouth curved into a familiar and uniquely sweet smile. “You see, my dear—I do understand. Finally.”

  Drew found he could not answer him. His voice did not appear to work anymore, and even if it had worked, he could not have articulated his own confused thoughts. The strangest sense of gratitude—at finally being seen—warred with regret over the death of their bond and a growing conviction that, even without the bond, he felt more connected to Lindsay now than he ever had.

  As he gazed at the frail, defiant man before him—the brightest and bravest he’d ever known—Drew finally accepted a truth he had been avoiding for a very long time.

  He was connected to Lindsay by something far more permanent than the mate bond. Something that Wolfsbane could not touch.

  He loved Lindsay.

  In that moment, he realised something: when the last trace of their mate bond was finally severed, for good and all, it may turn out that Lindsay would get what Drew had wanted all these long years.

  Freedom.

  Freedom from Drew. From a man who understood nothing of his own heart and who had never been able to make another person happy.

  Strangely, Drew found he wanted that for Lindsay. Even knowing now, that it was not something he would ever have for himself.

  Chapter Twenty

  It was grey and drizzling when they set off for Bainbridge’s house the next day. The days were very short now, and though it was only a little after three o’clock in the afternoon, the sun—which was little more than a borehole of hazy light behind the heavy clouds—was already low in the sky.

  It would be dark before long.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to ride inside?” Wynne asked, glancing at Drew. He was driving and Drew was riding up top alongside him.

  “Yes,” Drew said shortly.

  Wynne smiled ruefully.“I don’t blame you. Mim is in a strange mood today.”

  “She is,” Drew agreed. “And it is difficult for me to be at close quarters with her when she is like this.”

  “It must be strange for you,” Wynne said. “Knowing how other people feel all the time, just from how they smell.”

  Drew shrugged. “I don’t always know what people’s scents mean,” he said. “Sometimes it’s obvious, but often there are too many emotions tangling up in complicated ways. Francis reads scents far better than I do.”

  Wynne looked thoughtful.

  Drew said, “Since you took up magic again, you have been careful to mask your scent from me. Why do you do that?”

  Wynne shrugged a negligent shoulder. “I don’t care for my feelings to be known.”

  “I can understand that,” Drew said. “If it helps, I can assure you that even when I can read people, I don’t go around telling others what I detect.”

  Wynne nodded. “I know,” he said simply. “All the same. I prefer to keep my feelings private. Particularly the ones that are unreciprocated.”

  “What makes you think they’re—” Drew began, then scowled. “Wait—are you fishing for information?”

  Wynne laughed, a soft amused sound that somehow had a bleak edge. “I already know that my feelings are not entirely unreciprocated. Perhaps misaligned is a better word.”

  He gave his attention to the horses then, steering the carriage around a tight corner as their great hooves churned up the path, spraying mud.

  “Colinton village is just down there,” Wynne said once they were round the bend, pointing at a collection of rooftops with his whip. He had ridden out alone the day before to check the route. “Spylaw Tower is about a quarter of a mile outside the village. We will be there very soon.”

  Sure enough, only a few minutes later, he was slowing the horses to a stop outside a pair of high gates. Drew jumped down to open them and Wynne steered the horses through, waiting while Drew closed them again.

  “I’ll get inside the carriage now,” Drew said, and Wynne nodded.

  Opening the door, he clambered inside to find that Marguerite was huddled up against the far side door, the carriage blanket draped over her legs. She had been gazing out of the window, but when the door opened, she turned to look at him. Immediately, a wave of anguish swamped him, shocking him with its intensity. When they’d set off, she’d been nervous and on edge, but this was something of an entirely different order.

  “We’re nearly there,” he said, eyeing her carefully as he settled himself on the opposite bench. “Are you all right? You seem—” He broke off, unsure how blunt he should be.

  She forced a mechanical smile that did not begin to touch the despair in her eyes. “I will be fine,” she said quietly. “I will have myself under control before I leave the carriage.”

  Drew frowned and leaned closer, watching her warily. “What’s wrong?” he said. He had never seen her like this. Truly shaken.

  She swallowed hard, and he saw that her gloved hands were in tight fists in her lap. “I am… I am almost sure that Alys is here.”

  Drew raised his nose, scenting the air fo
r another wolf scent, an unfamiliar one. But he could detect nothing. Oh, there were traces of all sorts of smells, mostly everyday ones, but nothing with that unmistakable lupine edge.

  “It is not her scent,” Marguerite whispered. “I think it is our bond.” She raised one of her hands, still held in a tight fist, and pressed it against her body, underneath her left breast, knuckling and kneading, as though trying to burrow inside. She was pressing her fist so hard, it would leave bruises.

  “You are almost sure?” he said.

  “I—cannot be certain,” she said in an agonised tone. “It has been so long and… perhaps it is because I wish it so hard? But what else could it be, Drew?”

  She was distraught and hopeful at the same time.

  Slowly, Drew said, “Do you want to wait in the carriage? I could go in alone.”

  She shook her head in swift negation. “No. I will come with you. I must do this.”

  “All right. Once we’re inside, if you become certain that Alys is there, give me a sign like this.” He demonstrated for her, extending his thumb and smallest finger while closing the other fingers into his palm.

  Marguerite nodded. Then carefully, with an obvious effort of will, she dropped her fisted hand back to her lap and made the sign Drew had demonstrated. When he looked back up at her face, she had donned the mask of Madame Niven. And not a moment too soon, for the now the horses were slowing as the carriage drew up before the house.

  Drew gazed out of the window at Spylaw Tower. God but it was an ugly house, like a dungeon that had been built aboveground instead of below it, with no care for symmetry or elegance. A square box of dark grey stone, its mullioned windows were small, few and placed irregularly around the walls. Drew doubted much light made it through them—the glass looked thick and warped with age, the small individual panes murky.

  Opening the carriage door, he jumped out.

  “Good day, Mr. Niven,” a voice called from front door of the tower.