Secrets to Reveal

by Tilly Wallace

  Hamish reined the horses to a halt and jumped down. He slapped one of the mismatched pair on the rump. “I’m sorry it is nothing fancy, but they will do over these rough roads.”

  He picked up Dougal and stick, giving the latter a wistful glance, and then placed them both on the seat. Then he grabbed Aster’s bag and stowed it behind with his saddle bags.

  Aster smiled. “I rode the public coach out to Lowestoft. This is fancy by comparison.”

  “Do you have the list secure?” he asked.

  Aster tapped her chest where the slip of paper crinkled against her skin. “Close to my heart.”

  He took her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles and then helped her up. “I will guard you both, I promise. We will make London tomorrow, but it will be a hard journey.”

  Aster glanced back at the cottage as Hamish climbed in and took up the reins. So much had changed under the little cottage’s thatched roof. As Hamish told the horses to trot on, the little stone building receded into the distance. Its shape was reclaimed by the hillock that embraced it until Aster could see nothing except the rolling countryside.

  Hamish pushed the horses, and Aster was sure he swore under his breath at being slowed to the pace of a gig instead of galloping along on horseback. They changed horses at regular intervals. The time it took to unharness one lot and hitch up the next was the only break Aster and Dougal had to stretch their legs and relieve themselves. She changed her opinion of the stagecoach she’d taken out to Lowestoft; it was pure luxury compared to the gig. She was sure every single rock and pebble in the road was pushed up into her spine as they rattled along at a cracking pace.

  Now that Hamish’s affliction was out in the open, Aster’s curious mind demanded more information. He narrated events of the last two years, peppered with Aster’s questions. She wanted to know why some men took to the change readily, like Hamish and his cousin Alick, whereas some poor souls lost their minds and then their lives. She hypothesised there was something in their family blood that protected them.

  “Do you think there was a wild lycanthrope in your family history?” she asked.

  Hamish laughed. “There have always been rumours of wild wolves in the Highlands and certainly my great-uncle was said to be one. That was why the mage set his trap there. I have heard the family stories but I thought they were just that, stories. And some would say Alick was never far removed from being a wolf.”

  The English countryside passed them by with a variety of grazing animals, lush paddocks, and sheltering trees. Aster found herself daydreaming about a stop along the way to ease the growing aches in her body. As she stared at Hamish’s hands holding the reins she could only think of those strong fingers working free the knots in her muscles.

  “Where will we go in London? Is it somewhere safe?” she finally had to ask, mainly to distract herself from thoughts of making love under the sun with blue cornflowers and yellow daisies brushing her naked skin.

  He glanced at her with humour dancing in his gaze, before turning his attention back to the road. “I have a great-aunt in London. Her husband was the wolf, if you believe the family tales. You’ll be safe with her. Not much gets past Margaret.”

  She curled her hand around the edge of the gig. She wasn’t sure she could face a relative of Hamish’s, especially one who didn’t miss much. Would she be able to tell that Aster had lain with her nephew? That could be an awkward dinner conversation if she pointed a chicken bone at Aster’s head and screamed ‘wanton lush’.

  The day wore on, and Aster found herself clutching the side of the gig more often. Her body wearied of the jarring and constant motion, just as the events of the last few days pressed in on her mind. They made one more stop to switch out the horses, and it took all her energy to lean against a tree while Dougal sat at her feet. Even the terrier’s indefatigable energy seemed to have finally run out.

  As Hamish handed her up, concern crinkled the corners of his eyes. “The next stop will be our last for today. Dusk is not far off, and there is a respectable tavern where we can take rooms for tonight.”

  His hand lingered at her waist, and she wondered about the sleeping arrangements. Would it be separate rooms, or one? A single room would be safer; Hamish would want to guard the list and her person, impossible to do from another room. And Aster desperately wanted to sleep in his arms. But due to the hard journey, she smelled foul and was so exhausted her snoring would probably keep him awake. Not the most romantic plan for an evening.

  For the next leg of their journey, Aster’s tired mind tried to recall the reports and essays she had read about the Unnaturals while in the Records Office. Centuries of mages twisting the laws of Nature had resulted in tears in the aether, and the veils between worlds thinned and creatures of both dreams and nightmares leaked into the world. There were more than mages, wights, vampyres, and lycanthropes roaming the countryside. The Unnaturals Act would gather under its control witches, seers, selkies, gorgons, golems, and strix—and those were just the creatures that found themselves committed to paper and passed across her desk. What else lurked in the dark corners or waters that had yet to be catalogued and named?

  Late afternoon dropped into dusk. Birds flew to the treetops to roost for the night as the light faded. Just as the sparrows settled in the hedgerows, Aster longed to settle into a bed. Twilight was turning to full dark as they trotted into the yard of an inn. A boy ran out and took the reins as Hamish jumped down and held out a hand for Aster.

  The interior of the inn had a cheery, welcoming feel. The candles burned in holders that were regularly cleaned of leftover wax. Posies of wild flowers sat in jugs on the tables, and a cat hissed at an inquisitive Dougal. Then it hissed at Hamish, but one glare from him and the feline fled to a high beam to watch with wary yellow eyes.

  A tall, broad man came around the counter.

  “Evening, sir, how can I help you?” He wiped his hands on the apron hanging around his neck.

  “A room for the night, please. And we will be away at first light,” Hamish said.

  The owner glanced at Aster, who swayed on her feet and grew paler every moment. He raised one eyebrow. “Are you all right, miss?”

  Aster managed a half-hearted smile. “Yes, just exhausted. It’s been a long day.”

  Hamish drew her to his side and lent his strength to keep her upright. “My wife and I are on our way to London. Our aunt is terribly ill, and we wish to see her before she passes.”

  “Of course, my condolences,” he muttered. “This way.” He picked up Aster’s little bag and tossed Hamish’s saddle bags over his shoulder, then led the way up the stairs.

  The room was similarly equipped to the cottage and the visual reminder squeezed Aster’s heart. A double bed was pushed up under the window. There was a table with two matching chairs, and a comfortable armchair waited by the hearth.

  “Would you like a bath?” the tavern owner asked.

  Aster sighed. What she would give for a long, hot soak, but she shook her head. “No, I would probably nod off and drown. I don’t know if I can even keep my eyes open for a meal. I shan’t be long from bed.” She was exhausted, and besides, the thought of a bath reminded her of the outside one at the cottage. With Hamish near, her body heated. She couldn’t bathe with him so close, not unless he would join her.

  “Could you just bring us a meal, please?” Hamish asked.

  The man nodded and disappeared.

  “I apologise for the arrangements, but it wouldn’t be safe to take separate rooms. I cannot protect you if you are down the hall. And, practicalities aside, I simply want to keep you close.” Hamish dropped his saddlebags over the back of a chair.

  When he looked up, the heated gaze that rested on Aster almost made her forget the exhaustion washing over her body in waves. Almost.

  “I will be poor company tonight, I am afraid.” Events of the last two days threatened to crash over her. She had learned her father was killed, thrown herself in the path of an enemy vam
pyre, given herself to Hamish, and realised how deeply she loved him.

  Hamish walked toward her and drew Aster into his arms. She leaned into him with a sigh, his heart a regular beat under her cheek.

  His hand stroked her hair. “Tonight you need to sleep. Parliament may strip my rights, but I can still act honourably. We will continue your education on certain topics when you are rested and we have more time.”

  They didn’t wait long before a knock sounded at the door and a maid entered, carrying a delicious-smelling tray. Aster’s stomach rumbled as she laid out the food, and Dougal had a highly expectant look on his face. They ate in silence. Aster was too tired for conversation. Her eyelids drooped, growing heavier with every mouthful of food.

  Her vision wavered, and exhaustion threatened to pull her under. She placed her unfinished dinner on the floor, and Dougal promptly buried his snout in stew. “I know you will want to be up early, so I’ll retire now before I fall asleep at the table.”

  Hamish looked up from his empty plate and then pushed back his chair. He rose and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Goodnight, Aster. Dougal and I will guard your sleep.”

  “Goodnight, Hamish. I will see you in the morning.” She tried to smile, but even her facial muscles refused to cooperate.

  “I’ll take Dougal for a quick walk while you get ready. Otherwise my chivalrous intent may waver.” He tapped his leg and the little dog trotted to his side.

  As tired as she was, a small dollop of disappointment drifted through her stomach. She wouldn’t have minded if he joined her and repeated the performance that drove her to mind-shattering ecstasy. Perhaps she should have broached the subject before he ate his pudding? At least he did promise to do it again when she was rested. She really needed to acquire books on the subject so she could learn a trick or two of her own.

  With a great heave of her chest, she plonked down on the bed and removed her shoes and stockings. Next she pulled off her dress and unlaced her short stays. Everything was folded and placed on the chair for the next morning, her shoes tucked underneath the bed. She blew out a few of the candles before climbing between the crisp sheets and pulling the blanket up around her neck. She had no idea how long Hamish and Dougal stayed out. Her mind drifted off to sleep shortly after she rested her cheek on the pillow. The wolf button was curled in her fist, the only part of Hamish she could reach.

  Hamish

  * * *

  Hamish returned to find Aster fast asleep. Her breathing was gentle and regular from under the blankets and, despite her concerns, she didn’t snore. Dougal looked to him and then to the bed and back again.

  “Off you go then, lad,” he whispered, and gestured with his hand.

  The dog didn’t need to hear the offer repeated. He jumped on the bed, turned three times, and settled next to Aster’s feet.

  Hamish stripped off his clothing, folded shirt and trousers and placed them on a chair. Then he changed form. The wolf padded around the room, checking the window and door. Then he crept closer to the bed. Dougal looked up and the terrier gave one thump of its tail at the superior creature. Hamish sniffed the little dog and blew a snort of air over him. Dougal licked the wolf’s muzzle then laid his head back down on his paws. The wolf had accepted the smaller dog as part of his pack weeks ago. The terrier had sensed the wolf that lurked under Hamish’s skin, even as his mistress was unaware.

  Next he laid his large head gently on Aster’s stomach. She muttered in her sleep, reached out and stroked his ears. Satisfied she rested comfortably, he left her side to return to the fire. He dropped on the worn rug and crossed his front paws. The wolf would guard his mate. The animal’s senses were far keener than Hamish’s in human form, and the creature would be alert to anything that threatened its own.

  As he stared into the fire, he contemplated the extraordinary woman with the shimmering violet gaze. He found himself stuck with a puzzle. She asked for nothing from him, but he wanted to give her everything. He intended a lifetime with her by his side. She should drift off to sleep every night in his arms, a satisfied smile on her lips. If he couldn’t offer her marriage, how would he ensure Aster Simmons became a permanent part of his life, bed, and heart?

  Hours later, something pulled him from his watchful state. He kept his eyes shut, but his ears open. Was there someone in the room? The wolf’s hackles rose as it sought the origin of what disturbed him. There—he heard it again. Like an indrawn breath but sharper, more ragged. His mind identified the sound: a sob. The wolf’s head swung toward the bed on the other side of the room.

  Aster was crying.

  The wolf stood and flowed into the man. A tiny sliver of moonlight angled in through the window and brushed over the room. It provided enough illumination for him to see the furniture and to find his way to the bed. He crept across the floor on bare feet and looked down on his sleeping star. A shiver ran over her form as another sob took hold, but her eyes were shut, her dark lashes feathered against her cheek.

  A sword lanced his heart. Such troubles plagued her mind that they followed her into sleep. He would not leave her alone, not when he could offer some comfort. He slid his arms under her body and cradled her to his chest. He walked back to the armchair by the fire and sat down, careful not to wake her. She curled into him, her head tucked under his. As he held her in his arms, the sobs and shivers stopped, but silent tears continued to run down her face. Reaching down, he grabbed the blanket and drew it over both their bodies.

  He swallowed down the guilt that raced up his throat. In the space of only a week she had outwitted enemy agents, fled for her life, decoded a supposedly indecipherable list, found out her father was murdered, and discovered she had lain with a wolf.

  Hamish, by contrast, had chased his tail and then satisfied his own base urges with her delectable body. Despite the fact that she gave freely of herself, she was overwhelmed and grieving. He should have said no and insisted upon it. It would have been the honourable thing to do, but such was his need to possess her physically that he had acted dishonourably toward her. And Lord, what he would give to repeat that night over and over for all the years to come.

  He needed advice, and there was only one person who knew about wolves and how to unite two hearts.

  Aunt Maggie.

  24

  Aster

  * * *

  Aster stretched and hit a solid object. Had she rolled over next to the wall? She opened one eye to find Hamish’s chest. His arms were wrapped around her and a blanket was draped over her shoulders. Rather than being stretched out in bed they were both curled up in the armchair. Her neck had a crick, and her muscles protested the long day in the gig and a night holding one position. Her heart took a different view and she couldn’t imagine anywhere else she would rather be. She just had no idea how she ended up in his arms. Surely she hadn’t been that tired? She cast a quick glance down, but she was still wearing her shift.

  “How did I end up here? Not that I’m complaining.” She frowned as she tried to remember what happened the night before.

  Hamish was awake and watching her, and must have been incredibly uncomfortable. He reached up with one hand and stroked her hair. “You were crying. I didn’t want to wake you, nor did I want to leave you.”

  “Oh.” She thought it had been a dream. She had watched all the things she wanted in life snatched away from her: family, safety, love. They were all destroyed, torn like autumn leaves and scattered on the wind, while she stood by powerless. The loneliness had crashed over her, pulling her under a wave of despair. And then she found a rock to cling to, something in the dark that kept her head above water and gave her hope. Hamish.

  She stroked his jaw, which showed the rough stubble of new growth. “Thank you, but you must be terribly stiff from sitting here all night.”

  His gaze flared with heat and humour. “You have no idea.”

  He pulled her head to him and took her lips in a leisurely kiss. He urged her lips apart so his tongue could
explore and stroke along hers. Aster sighed and pressed herself closer. As she squirmed in his lap, she encountered his stiffness issue. She also realised Hamish was completely naked and the heat he radiated seemed to burn through her light shift.

  She smiled against his lips. “I think I detect the problem sitting here has created.”

  A growl rumbled through his chest. He really was like a larger version of Dougal. “My problem is that we either get dressed now so we can make London in good time. Or I take you to bed and we won’t make London until tomorrow. Or possibly next week.”

  Aster quite liked the idea of hiding for a week while she drank her full of Hamish. The only problem was that the vampyre pursuing the list wouldn’t wait patiently outside the door while they dallied. Nor could she have more deaths on her conscience. At times it was difficult to act with responsibility.

  “I’ll get dressed.” She kissed his cheek and slid off his lap, dragging the blanket with her. Aster lowered her lashes and bit her lip as she glanced behind her. Hamish appeared to have quite a large morning problem.

  Hamish blew out a noise that was half sigh and half strangled yelp as he rose and quickly threw on his clothes. “I’ll take Dougal out while I find us breakfast and have fresh horses harnessed to the gig.”

  He thrust his feet into his Hessians, tapped his thigh for Dougal to follow and the two men in her life headed out the door.

  When Hamish returned, they packed their bags and walked back downstairs where they ate a quick breakfast. Hamish chatted to the tavern owner about horses and the war, while Aster stared at her porridge. The enormity of her situation, and her loss, swept over her in waves. Her mind was preoccupied with Sir John, and she hoped he hadn’t suffered at his end.