The Witch and the Wolf
by
Tricia Schneider
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
The Witch and the Wolf
COPYRIGHT Ó 2010 by Tricia Schneider
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by Nicola Martinez
The Wild Rose Press
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0706
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First LINE Rose Edition, 2010
Published in the United States of America
Dedication
For my mother, Patty Zimmerman (1958-1989).
Acknowledgements
To my editor, Callie Lynn Wolfe, for her hard work and enduring patience.
Chapter One
“I was not born a werewolf. I was not bitten, at least, not that I can remember. I am cursed. There, I’ve said it. You may now run to fetch the masses. You cannot allow such a creature to exist among women and children and innocent men. Stock up those silver bullets and do your worst.” North finished with a flourish, waving one hand in the air while the other held loosely onto the decanter of brandy he attempted to empty. Unfortunately, more of the amber liquid splashed onto the glossy wood of the table than into the glass he had been aiming to fill. He grunted, paused then re-aimed the decanter.
“Begging your pardon, my lord,” Amery replied, with a bored expression etched upon his weathered face. “But, we don’t know if silver bullets work. We haven’t tried that, yet.”
“Through the heart should do, I think. Quick and clean, as may be.”
“Silver or lead, what difference does it make if there’s a hole in your heart? Any bullet through the heart might do. We haven’t tried any manner of heart piercing.”
“The night is still young, my good man.” North gave a shout of triumph as he raised his sticky glass of brandy into the air.
Amery sighed. “Perhaps it’s best to get a good night’s rest, my lord. You’ll need it for tomorrow.” He made to stand, ready to help his errant lord find his way to his bedchamber.
North made a gesture to stop him. He took a gulp of brandy then set it down on the table next to the decanter. He turned back to his comrade, his friend, and leveled a serious stare in his direction.
“You must kill me, Amery. That is why I told you my secret all those years ago. You were hired to kill the evil creature that lives within me.”
“Aye, but not the good man who stands before me now,” Amery returned. They’d been through this scenario many a time before the night of a full moon. Amery knew this night would be no different from the many before. “I couldn’t murder you no matter how much ye paid me.”
“A thousand pounds,” North offered.
“No.”
“Five.”
“Can not, my lord.”
“Can not or will not?”
“Both.”
“Ten.”
“You haven’t got ten thousand pounds!”
“No, but my brother does. He will pay you amply.”
“For murdering ’is younger brother? I’m sure ’e will, sir,” Amery rolled his eyes and sighed. This bargaining was new.
“Explain to him that you put a poor man out of his misery and saved the lives of many potential victims in the near future. Or create any excuse as you like, you excel at that.” North frowned, seeing he was not getting his point across.
“I apologize, my lord.”
“Amery,” North said a note of sorrow in his voice. “You’re sacked. In the morning, I shall find someone else to murder me properly. Someone who can do the job without any silly remorse.” He picked up his glass and swallowed the remainder of the liquid in one gulp. “And I’ll be damned sure not to allow him to become accustomed to me the way you have obviously become.” He gave a disgusted sneer toward his companion before turning back to pour more brandy.
“You’re foxed, my lord. I doubt you’ll remember this conversation in the morning.” Amery stood, walked to the table and tried to take the glass away from his employer. North had consumed nearly the entire bottle. He’d have the devil of a headache come morning.
“Oh,” North said, sorrowfully, “I will most definitely remember. I remember everything.” He paused. He leaned heavily on the table, his head down, his eyes glazed over in that lost look he wore so many times. “Everything except—”
“Now’s not the time to be goin’ over such things. It’s past time to get some much needed rest. Come now, my lord, I’ll help ye to yer bed.” Amery moved the bottle away and took one of North’s arms in his hands, hoping he would move willingly. Amery didn’t much approve of his lordship’s getting foxed, but he understood the source.
North resisted Amery’s urgings and stayed rooted to the floor. “How can you allow me to live, Amery? Knowing of such destruction. Of such death…”
“You did magnificently well in the war, my lord. I cannot want for a better comrade than a werewolf.” Amery said, hoping to veer his lordship’s mind from the path it had taken. Amery knew what North remembered. The images of those he had killed haunted him still. Even Amery was horrified to see what had been left of the bodies. But Amery knew the beast within North was not the man himself. He had no memory of what he had done as a wolf. They were two separate entities trapped within the same body.
“No man deserves to die such a death.” North whispered staring into the space before him with such haunted eyes. “And no man deserves to live such a life as mine.”
“Come, my lord.” Amery pleaded not above begging. He would say anything to convince his employer, his friend, not to dwell on such thoughts, though knew it a hopeless attempt at distraction. North dwelt on these things all day, every day. And for every full moon he tried to gather the courage to end his life. But he always failed. He feared punishment in the afterlife. He dared not condemn his soul when his life was already damned.
****
Lillian Merriweather trudged through the snow-covered lane, pausing every few feet for a look around to catch her bearings. It did no good. She found herself well and truly lost. She had misplaced sight of the wheel tracks from the last carriage that had passed through. They had long since been covered with the falling snow. And as dusk had settled upon her, the light from the cloud-masked sun now dwindled to nothingness. It would not be long until she became encased in pitch black with nothing but the wetness on her cheeks to tell her if the precipitation had stopped or not.
She had long since retracted her aversion to finding shelter and determined she had great need of it. As Lillian brushed away the dusting of snow that had accumulated on her arms and shoulders, she wiggled her fingers, testing each one, and felt the barest amount of movement. She paused, did the same with her toes and in dismay discovered the same results. Though she had bundled herself exceedingly well, the cold still seeped into the layers of cloth. She suspected if she failed to find shelter soon, she would become an unintended addition to the surrounding landscape.
Lillian paused to reassess her position to what she thought might be the road. As she tilted her head, she was surprised to see a flicker of light up ahead. Narrowing her eyes to see through the onslaught of snowflakes confirmed her susp
icions.
A house, up ahead!
She tilted her head back, closing her eyes and sighed in relief.
Glory be, she was saved!
Without any other thought, Lillian plodded through the knee-deep snow, keeping her eyes focused on that sliver of twinkling light. Above all, she feared since salvation had fallen upon her that she would lose sight of it and all hope of rescue would wash away. Flakes covered her eyelashes, and she squinted through them, afraid to even blink until the shape of the house became clearer.
A huge house―likely a manor home, not some villager’s dwelling as she had hoped. It would have been nice to cozy up to a cottage’s warm fire with its quaint occupants. And no need for exceedingly imaginative explanations.
With a nobleman’s house…
She prayed the owner of this estate would not inquire too deeply into her past or her reasons for being stranded on the roadside during what had turned into a blizzard. She had not fabricated a story in advance of such occurrences. But then, she had not prepared to be recognized at that last inn, either.
When she reached the dwelling, she debated briefly whether to seek the warmth and security of the stables. Surely, she could manage to find a dry bed in the hay used for the animals but after a moment’s hesitation and the yearning for a warm fire to roast her frozen toes beside, she pulled at the knocker on the door, in hopes someone would hear the sound echo through the halls. She suspected, by this time, if the occupants kept country hours, all would be abed. After several moments of waiting and continued pounding on the door, she gnawed her bottom lip and glanced back at the stables, wondering if perhaps she would have a bed of hay tonight after all.
Closing her eyes, she felt herself sway with sudden exhaustion. Now that she had stopped moving, she felt the fatigue she’d held at bay for the last several hours. She debated whether to wait any longer at the door with hopes that someone would, at long last, answer her knock or if she should use the last vestiges of strength to drag herself to the safety of the stables.
Before she could formulate a decision, Lillian heard the sound of the doorknob turning, and she looked back, relief flooding her until her knees grew weak. The door swung open and the light from a candle shed a luminescent glow upon her causing her to blink at the sudden brightness.
“What the devil?” A rough male voice thundered in her ears.
Lillian wavered on her wobbly legs. She opened her mouth to beg for pity. To let her in. To let her warm herself by his fire, but her lips became immobile and the brightness began to fade.
She heard another muttered curse before the darkness and cold enveloped her.
Chapter Two
There were several moments Jeremy North suspected he suffered hallucinations. Most of those times had been when he had first begun to change into the beast during the full moon. And now, as he answered the knocking he had at first imagined to be the pounding in his skull, he wondered if the brandy he had been drinking this evening was perhaps tainted. He could not quite believe his eyes.
A woman stood on his doorstep, covered in a layer of snow, her bright blue eyes silently pleading to him just before her eyelids fluttered closed, and she crumpled at his feet. He managed to set the candle down safely on a table in time to catch her before she cracked her head on the stone beneath her. He lifted her effortlessly into his arms, brought her into the house, slamming the door closed with his foot. He hurried into the library with his unexpected guest. North had returned earlier seeking the warm oblivion of yet another glass of brandy. He grimaced at the memory of countless other sleep-deprived nights spent in much the same way. Sans an unconscious woman, however.
He placed the bundled woman onto the sofa, ignoring the fact that the snow was bound to create a water stain on the fabric once it melted. He leaned over her, pushing the curly brown strands of wet hair off her face and checked to see if she still breathed. Satisfied when he felt her breath on his hand, he went back to the corridor.
“Amery!” He roared.
Turning back to the woman on his sofa, he again felt the necessity to blink his eyes, wondering if they played a trick with his senses. He lit more candles to brighten the room and added more wood to the fire. Then he walked back to the woman and knelt at her side. He found her hand dangling over the edge of the sofa and took it gently in his, the digits frozen stiff. He inhaled a gasp. He cupped both of his hands instinctively around hers, hoping to lend her his warmth.
He heard the shuffle from the hallway and Amery’s muttering, then a noisy yawn.
“Bloody hell! What is this?” Amery bellowed from the doorway.
North ignored the query. “We need blankets,” he said, instead. “She’s frozen through.”
Amery nodded and left.
A muffled groan from behind drew his attention, and he turned to see the woman’s eyelids flutter open. He inhaled sharply as her bright blue gaze fell upon him.
She studied him for a moment.
And then, she smiled.
The sight of her smile sent spasms through his gut.
“Oh,” she said her voice husky and breathless. “Hello.”
The blue of her eyes blazed ethereal and otherworldly. And her smile warm, delicate and fragile. Even with the limp strands of wet hair framing her face, he could not help but to admit, if only to himself, that she was beautiful.
“Do you make a habit of falling at the feet of strangers?”
He watched in fascination as her cheeks flushed pink, a much more desired color than the pale white skin he had seen before.
“Only during snowstorms, I’m afraid,” she said.
North returned her smile.
Amery entered the room with a bundle of blankets. Setting them on the edge of the sofa, his eyes met those of their guest, and he, too, smiled.
“Ah, you’re awake, miss,” he said, the relief in his voice evident. “You gave us quite a start. I thought for certain we had a dead woman on our doorstep.”
“I feared in another few moments you would have a frozen one at the very least,” she said.
They helped her sit up and remove her cloak. Her arms moved stiffly as if she had lost the sense of feeling and control in those particular limbs. But she managed to hold on tightly to a bag she had concealed within her cloak. Amery offered to take it but the woman shook her head, refusing. After they removed her cloak, Amery wrapped her in a blanket but he found the snow had soaked through her cloak and into her garments.
“You’ll need to get out of those wet things, miss,” Amery suggested. “I’ve lit a fire in the guest room, my lord. Perhaps we could relocate her there where it’ll get a tad warmer than this drafty room.”
North nodded. “Yes, very good, Amery. Here, miss, allow me.” Before she could utter a protest, he slipped his hands beneath her and without any effort lifted her into his arms.
She gasped.
“I’ll put a pot of water on to boil for tea, my lord.” Amery said and left them.
****
“I can walk,” Lillian protested. Her hand came into contact with the skin of the man’s chest as he lifted her into his arms and carried her out of the room. She squirmed to get free but he tightened his hold.
“So I can have you fall again to my feet?” the man asked with a grunt. “I think not.”
She could not argue her weariness with him. It must be evident from the way he looked at her. She grimaced as she imagined him taking in her appearance with the dark circles under tired eyes and wet hair dripping onto his carpet. Indeed, she noted with alarm, she dripped all over him.
“Sir, you are becoming quite sodden with snow. Please, allow me to walk so I may dampen you no further.”
“It is a bit late for that,” he said, a tiny smile tilting the corners of his mouth. “The damage is done, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, dear,” Lillian muttered. She closed her eyes, aghast with humiliation. Not only did she faint dead away on his doorstep, but she likely ruined his sofa and the robe he no
w wore. She shuddered to think what further damage she would cause for him allowing her the safety of his house during the snowstorm.
“We are nearly there,” he said, a note of worry in his voice.
She blinked her eyes open to see he watched her with concern. For the second time, her lungs seemed to fail as she found herself caught in his gaze. The first time had been when she opened her eyes to see him kneeling next to her.
Am I dreaming?
Whoever this man may be, he was certainly the most handsome Lillian had ever seen. His hair was the darkest shade she had ever known. Not dark brown, by any means, but black like the midnight sky. His eyes were green. She could not determine as of yet whether they reminded her of emeralds or moss. The shade seemed indeterminable in the light of the candles, and she looked forward to seeing their color during the light of day. She couldn’t ignore the strength in the arms that wrapped around her. He was no lazy nobleman whose body had become soft from gambling and drink. Quite the opposite. Even through the layers of cloth between them, her hand on his chest confirmed what she suspected.
She blushed anew, the blood stinging her cold cheeks with warmth.
They ascended a staircase and down a long hall. He then turned into a cozy fire-lit room and set her gently on a wing chair beside the hearth. She suppressed the sudden regret she felt at the absence of his arms around her.
He took several steps away. “You have need to remove those clothes,” he said, hesitantly.
Lillian watched him warily as he took another step toward the door. “If you can manage to undress yourself, I’ll fetch you something you can wear.” Without another word, he disappeared.
She stared after him, wondering why he had not summoned a maid to assist her. She looked down at her hands, which remained numb of feeling. It would be impossible for her to unbutton anything with her fingers still motionless with cold.
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