Secrets to Reveal

by Tilly Wallace

  * * *

  Hamish could kiss Aunt Maggie. She was a genius. He should have known she would cut to the heart of the matter. She had reminded him of one important fact: He was a Highland wolf. It didn’t matter what parliament ultimately decided, he would thumb his muzzle at them and retreat back to his home in Scotland. Having Aster hand-fasted to him was as good as an English marriage contract and his people wouldn’t care if he was an earl, laird, or terrier.

  He wanted to sweep Aster into his arms and charge up the stairs, but he was their captain and leader. He wouldn’t behave like an eager schoolboy with his men standing around, and the eagle eye of Aunt Maggie scrutinising his every move and word. First he needed to rid the world of the threat against Aster, then he would sweep her away.

  As he whispered that Aunt Maggie would soon have them bound together, her wide violet eyes were an evening sky. That incredible gaze darkened to an inky midnight with a scattering of stars. He could kneel at her feet forever and simply lose himself in the depths of her eyes.

  Once, many years ago, he had thought he loved a lass. He, the lowly second son, had offered for her hand, and she had laughed in his face. Only recently had he realised that what he had actually suffered was but a brief infatuation. His younger self had splashed in a shallow puddle left after a rain shower, but what he felt for Aster was like plunging into the depths of the ocean. His feelings for his star ran so deep they did not end and had no limit.

  He loved her so fiercely it overwhelmed him, stole his good sense, and left him tongue-tied. The wolf preferred action over words and was quite in favour of picking her up, kissing aside any protestations, and carrying her upstairs to a vacant bedroom. Instead he wanted to do what was right by her. The thought of any harm befalling her, or of spending a lifetime without her, terrified him.

  “Until tomorrow,” he whispered. The words choked in his throat. He should have blurted out I love you, but the hopeful youth he had once been cowered and snatched the words back. What if Aster poured scorn on his declaration? No. He had only to gaze in her eyes to know she returned his feelings. Light caught on the chain around her neck. She would never have kept the button if she felt nothing for him. But how deep did her feelings go? Did she realise that, far more than being his love, she was the wolf’s mate?

  “Until then,” she said and slipped back into the parlour.

  Ewan replaced Aster and he closed the parlour door behind him as Hamish pulled on his gloves. He glanced to the closed door; only snatches of conversation drifted through the thick wood. Ewan lounged against the wall, one foot propped on the high skirting.

  “You will have a care for her,” Hamish said.

  Ewan shrugged. “Of course.”

  Hamish ground his jaw. His lieutenant’s casual words did nothing to allay the fear growing in his gut. “Promise me.”

  One black brow arched and a cool blue gaze washed over him. “How deep does your regard run for our Aster?”

  Hamish finished jamming the kid leather over his fingers. He couldn’t dispel the cold sweat that broke over his back at the thought of Forge with Aster bound to a chair as he readied his knives. He met Ewan’s gaze until his second looked away. “She does not yet realise it, but she is my mate and you will guard her with your life.”

  A faint smiled touched the other man’s lips and curiosity lit his gaze. “She will be as protected as the sister we consider her to be, or as the mate of our pack leader. Will you follow through with Aunt Maggie’s hand-fasting idea, then?”

  Hamish grabbed his top hat and secured it on his head with a tap. “Do not mock me, Ewan.”

  “Mock? Never. I envy you, that you have found a woman who touches you so profoundly that she has reached your wolf.”

  Hamish glanced up, expecting to find humour, but for once there lingered a trace of sadness in Ewan’s face. Perhaps he wasn’t quite dead inside yet, if he could recognise what he was missing. He slapped his second’s arm. “Thank you. There are yet things that need to be said between Aster and me.”

  The wry smile returned. “Not that you have any cause to worry about her. Aunt Maggie may only be a quarter the size of Alick, but I swear she is four times as terrifying. Do you know that, quite apart from the blunderbuss she keeps under the chaise, I have discovered a cannon on the roof?”

  Hamish laughed. “Don’t worry, she has promised not to use the cannon unless absolutely necessary.”

  Later that night, Hamish sat in a tavern in the East End and stared at the dark ale in his tankard. He had drunk only a few sips; he wanted nothing to cloud his mind or dull his wits. His wolf brushed close to the surface, for tonight he needed his senses fully alert. He ran his thumb through a drop of moisture on the outside of the tankard. Shame that within was tepid, anaemic ale. It took no great effort to abstain from drinking. The stuff tasted as though it had already passed through a drunkard and was then further watered down.

  The tavern was a contact place for underworld types, Unnaturals, and peddlers of illegal items. He sat here tonight, hoping a particular person would see him. He needed to lure Callum Forge to him. The man might become suspicious if Hamish sought him out and he didn’t know how much the other agent knew of events.

  Darkness enfolded the occupants, and tonight he dressed more like the second son than the heir, with a worn and mended coat on his back and a dented hat on the table. His boots were scuffed and dirty, as much as it pained him to leave the house without a high shine on them. Alick sat in a dark corner, playing cards with a group of ruffians. He slipped amongst them with ease. His cousin was more at home in these sorts of places, where his scarred face went unremarked.

  Thoughts of Aster kept escaping from the corners of Hamish’s mind. He remembered her limbs tangled with his and, just as intoxicating, the tilt of her chin as she considered replicating the code to make a substitute list. He could see her mind at work. He could imagine her wit and intelligence wielded to keep the estate running and the tenants happy. He didn’t need to imagine long Highland nights filled with passion; he had only to remember. He shooed his musings away. As much as he wanted to dwell on her, he needed to deal with business first.

  Another man slipped onto the chair next to him and placed a jug on the table. “I see you found your missing cryptographer.”

  His hand clenched around the tankard. He had found two missing cryptographers, one dead and one very much alive. Hamish’s failure would haunt him. Aster’s father had paid with his life because Hamish had not appreciated the threat lurking under their noses. He drew a deep breath to clear the image of Sir John’s abused body from his mind. “Too late for him, unfortunately. Or Harry Wilkes.”

  The other man made a noise in his throat. “Terrible business, but these are dangerous times. Many lives are lost during war, and we often don’t know who to trust.”

  “So true.” Hamish lifted the tankard and took a drink, trying to displace the horrid taste talking with Forge left on his tongue. The wolf sniffed and snarled inside him. There was a faint odour of garlic and death about Forge; his cloaking charm must be wearing off.

  His companion poured ale from the jug into a tin mug. “You disappeared soon after Sir John was discovered. Where did you go?”

  The man knew his movements, damn him. What else might he know? Had he uncovered the truth of the Highland Wolves? Hamish glanced sideways. Forge was likewise dressed to blend with the surrounding patrons. Once out the door he would slip into the night and disappear, a shade who carried a lethal blade—not that he needed one, with the fangs concealed in his mouth.

  “A dead man cannot tell you what he did with a piece of paper. I found nothing at Sir John’s home except mention of a rural cottage. I thought there was a chance he had hidden what we seek there, but it was empty. The locals had not seen him for some months.”

  Silence fell between them. Chatter and laughter washed over the room as a buxom maid circulated. She picked up empty mugs and plates with a steady patter of, “Everythin’ all
right, love?”

  They waited for her to pass with a smile and a wink. Anybody could be listening to their conversation, and anybody could be an agent, Unnatural or ordinary. Hamish started to have some appreciation for Sir John’s paranoia and the phrase he had drummed into Aster: Trust nobody, verify everything.

  Forge drank from his jug, but his gaze stayed on Hamish. “Do you think he talked, then, and gave it up?”

  Hamish thought that more a question for Forge, since his hand had wielded the knife that removed Sir John’s tongue. Instead he held a tight rein on his thoughts, and shrugged. Forge’s cold gaze could be unnerving, even more so once you knew he was quite dead on the inside. Forge’s soul could never be pulled back from the frozen depths of hell where it dwelt, unlike Ewan’s. Another difference between wolves and vampyres—at least Hamish was still alive with a heart beating in his chest.

  “If the assassin found what he seeks, then I imagine he would have moved on. What have you heard? Is he still in London?” Hamish already knew the answer, of course—the bastard was seated next to him and had been foiled in his pursuit of the list. The only real question was, where were the three men Aster said took Sir John?

  Forge was a danger to Aster. Part of him wanted to plunge a knife into his gut and pull his liver out to remove the threat. It would be so simple, except this was a hydra. He didn’t want to cut off just one head, but all of them. He needed as much information as possible to sniff out their plot against England. Let him play this undead double agent at cross and double-cross. He held the image of Aster in his mind, her eyes heavy with desire as he stroked her body. He would see that again as soon as he made her safe.

  Forge took a long drink as though considering his words, but he didn’t swallow. He played at drinking as did Hamish, or perhaps he no longer thirsted for anything except blood. “I hear a whisper that certain men are still in London with a very particular mission. Questions are asked in hushed tones about one name.”

  “Simmons,” Hamish said. “The missing secretary.”

  “Yes. The man has vanished like a wraith. One could almost doubt that he ever existed—or perhaps a mage has covered his trail.” Cold eyes regarded him. Not a flicker of emotion showed within them as he waited for Hamish to volunteer more information.

  Did his torture of Sir John even register with him, or did he do such things as easily as another man carved a piece of cooked beef? It seemed that Forge’s transformation to Unnatural had taken every last sliver of what might have once been human inside him.

  Hamish grunted and drank from his tankard. That Forge was asking such questions implied Sir John had taken Aster’s identity to his grave. He walked a delicate edge, needing to reveal enough to keep Forge playing the game by his rules, but not so much that the other man became suspicious as to the source of his knowledge. “I met him once, at the Records Office. Seemed a smart enough man, but then I doubt Sir John would hire him otherwise.”

  “No ghost, then.” Forge’s gaze gleamed like polished coal. Now that he scented a trail a flicker of emotion passed behind his eyes, and it was greed.

  Hamish wondered what price he had taken to switch allegiance and have his heart stilled as a French vampyre. A title, property, or simply a pile of gold?

  “Do you think he would contact you?” Forge asked.

  Hamish shrugged. “I have a hope the lad will seek my help, but we have a scant association. That is why I plan to stay in London, on the chance I spot him, unless he has bolted already.”

  Forge’s hand tightened on his mug at mention that Simmons and the list might be long gone.

  “If Simmons holds what we seek, then he must know what it is. Do you think he could decipher it?” Hamish ventured another tease.

  A soft laugh blew from Forge’s throat. “I hear it is impossible and mages can only stabilise the message, not decipher it. With Sir John gone, Scovell himself would be needed to have any chance of cracking the code.”

  Hamish went back to staring at his tankard, rather than the visage of the laughing murderer at his side. Pride swelled in his chest, for his Aster had deciphered the names. She equipped them with valuable weapons in this secret war. Hamish knew Forge was a turncoat and how to defeat him. “It would almost seem pointless to try and find the lad. We would need the foreign hand the list was intended for, to reveal its secrets.” Let Forge think he would give up and look elsewhere.

  The vampyre scratched his hairless chin. “No need to abandon our course yet. Let us wait and see if he emerges from his burrow first, and then decide. Contact me if he approaches you; we should handle this together. Meanwhile, I will ask my own questions about Simmons.”

  Hamish nodded, but a drop of sweat trickled down the inside of his shirt. Let Forge ask his questions, and he prayed to God that Sir John and Aster had done a good enough job of concealing her gender and identity.

  26

  Aster

  * * *

  Aster and Aunt Maggie ventured out into the garden and picked as much vervain, or verbena, as they could find. Then cook placed it in a pot with water and they distilled it down to make a tea. Aster was determined to have Quinn’s blood swimming in vervain, in case Forge sank his fangs into him.

  Meanwhile, she delighted to find Aunt Maggie an entertaining companion. She had only to pick a curio up, and the older woman launched into a tale of where and how she acquired the item. With a natural gift for storytelling, she held Aster entranced as the hours slipped away. Even Quinn joined in and took his turn picking obscure items, like a feather cloak that originated in far-off New Zealand. That led to a tale of Captain Cook’s exploration to the furthest point on the globe, and stories of the fierce Maori.

  The next afternoon Quinn left them for an orchestrated meeting with Hamish, while Aster settled into the parlour with Aunt Maggie and a tea tray.

  “It’s nice to have another woman in the house for company. Not that I don’t love those pups, but it’s not quite the same,” Margaret said as she poured the tea.

  Aster took the offered cup and leaned back in her chair. “Have you been on your own for long?”

  A smile tugged the corner of the older woman’s face. “I lost William ten years ago.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Aster said.

  Aunt Maggie patted her hand. “I’m not. We had forty years before that, so I have plenty of memories to keep my nights warm, until I see him again on the other side.”

  Aster had a few memories of her own that kept her warm at night, and she looked forward to the years to come. “Was he really a lycanthrope?”

  Aunt Maggie winked. “Indeed, although they had become so rare most didn’t believe the stories about him. Now we have a whole pack to inject new blood into the Highlands.”

  Aster read over the newspaper as she took the cup and saucer. “The Unnaturals Act will soon go to the vote. Hard to believe a stroke of a pen will decide the fate of so many.”

  “Hamish will ensure you never want, regardless of what that bunch of toffs decide. Wolves are loyal to the end. When you possess a wolf’s heart you have the most valuable thing in the world.” Aunt Maggie’s eyes moistened and she sighed over her biscuit.

  Aster had already determined that having Hamish’s heart was the most precious thing she could ever desire. “What is life like, with such a man?”

  “You’ll never go cold or hungry with one at your side. Although you have a bit of work before you. With the creation of the Highland Wolves you have just become pack mother to a dozen men.” Aunt Maggie grinned and dunked the biscuit in hot tea.

  Aster had never considered the wider implications of life with Hamish. She made a mental note to find a zoological book on wolves and their habits. “Do the men follow the patterns of the animal, with packs and such-like?”

  Aunt Maggie nodded. “Yes. The new ones are still finding their feet, from what I understand from Hamish. As mate to their pack leader you will be a steadying influence on the pups. I recommend you keep a rolled-up n
ewspaper handy. A quick smack over the muzzle will keep them in line.”

  Aster laughed. Rather than be daunted, she couldn’t wait. All her life she had wanted to be part of a large and rambunctious family, and now she had been claimed by one. Perhaps she could write a book on what she learned about the lycanthropes.

  “I shall equip myself with a rolled-up newspaper, and perhaps some brisket bones to reward good behaviour.” Aster winked at Aunt Maggie, who chortled in delight.

  “You’ll be good for him, Aster. You have a good head on your shoulders. I never did like that other lass Hamish mooned over when he was younger. Her nose was too high in the air to see what was right beneath it. She never deserved a man like him, much less being suitable for a wolf.” Aunt Maggie slipped another biscuit onto Aster’s saucer.

  “I just pray they find the traitor, so life may settle into some semblance of normality.” So much pressed on her mind. The future beckoned with many different possibilities, but what path they took depended on how current events both unfolded and resolved themselves.

  * * *

  Somewhere in Hyde Park, while Aster sat in the parlour, Hamish and Quinn conducted an orchestrated meeting with enemy eyes watching them. When Quinn finally stepped through the door he found himself ambushed in the entranceway. Two women, one wielding a rolled-up newspaper, demanded to know the plan.

  “We will have a public exchange tonight, at a dance. Do you have the new list yet, Aster?” Quinn asked.

  Hamish had provided a list of five new names the night before. The sixth name was Callum Forge, as he would expect to find himself named. They left the seventh, the duke, unchanged, for Hamish suspected Forge already knew of the conspirator so close to the crown.

  Aster laboured all day to encode each name in line with the original cipher. “Almost. I am nearly done, with just one name left. It will be completed by tonight and hidden in the book.”