Compelled by Love (Kendawyn Paranormal Regency)

by Amanda A. Allen

  “I heard the horse go the other way,” she said as they struggled towards her home.

  “Where are we going? To the Crossings?”

  She had to gasp before she could reply. He was so heavy, a load of bricks on her back, she supposed. Though she had little idea what that would actually feel like. His face pressed against the top of her hair, and she remembered that each step was a struggle for them both.

  “Yes,” she finally said.

  “How far?” He ground out the question from clenched teeth.

  When she said a mile, he didn’t stop, but she could feel the way it affected his next step. He was a strong man, a man who wouldn’t admit defeat, but there was no way…

  “We can go to the fort,” she said. “I think you’ll be safe there, and then I can run for Algernon.”

  “How far?” The strength of his voice had lessened somewhat. He didn’t ask her to explain. He must have decided to trust her in this—it was such an odd feeling to lead. Even now, when he barely had the energy to move, she didn’t think that her cousin Algernon would behave in the same way.

  “Not too much farther,” she lied.

  They walked on. It was at least a quarter of a mile, but they took it a step at a time, and it took far longer than it would have for her to run for Algernon. But there was this need for stealth that wouldn’t leave her. And this urgency to protect him. He must be hidden before she left him again.

  And he did not argue.

  They finally reached the little fort that she and Algernon had built forever ago, and they’d fortified it since for Algernon and Mariah’s children. Alice carefully arranged him inside, wrapping her shawl around his shaking shoulders.

  His wound and the walk had left him shivering and glassy-eyed. He stared at her, perhaps trying to recognize her, before his eyes closed against the pain. He was far too pale. She lifted his chin, betraying all social strictures.

  His gaze met hers.

  “I’ll run.”

  He nodded.

  “Be safe.”

  He nodded.

  She turned away before turning back to say, “You aren’t alone.”

  His gaze met hers fully. It was a promise, and he’d heard it.

  He nodded.

  Alice darted through the trees using the old path she and Algernon had chased each other down in their childhood, so long ago. But her muscles remembered enough to almost let her fly.

  When she reached the house, she looked down at herself. That need for stealth rode her hard. But she was covered in dirt and blood. If even one servant saw her…

  She gazed towards the house. Algernon’s study was on the bottom floor. He was almost always in there at this time. She gazed back and forth several times before darting across the darkened lawn to the window under his study. She squatted under the window ledge and pressed her back against the house. She felt both like a burglar and her childhood self. She took several quick breaths and then scooted up enough to dart a glance inside.

  He was alone.

  She stood, tapped the window once, pressed a finger to her lips, and then pointed at the woods.

  He scowled at her, but she knew he understood. She tried to tell him with her look that she needed him to hurry, and then she rushed back into the trees where the shadows would hide her and her blood spattered gown from the lights of the house.

  Algernon appeared moments later.

  “Alice,” he called. He sounded irritated but also worried.

  “Shush,” she commanded.

  Once he got a view of her, his mouth dropped open. She shook her head to stop him from speaking and rushed out, “There was a shooting. There’s a Wolfemuir wolf, I think, in the fort. The shooter…I feel certain he will be coming back. He needs help. We must help the man.”

  “What man?”

  “Get my cloak, Algernon,” she ordered, cutting him off and wanting to slap his head for being an idiot. “Get my cloak and a blanket for us to carry him on and hurry.”

  Algernon almost protested, looked her over again, and their shared memories of childhood combined with his knowledge of her. It was enough. He spun and ran towards the house.

  She waited until he returned, grabbed her cloak to hide the blood, and then ran. She commanded over her shoulder, “Be careful. Don’t forget the shooter.”

  She knew he’d follow her. He was her cousin and life-long friend. He overtook her minutes later, and she felt only relief to know that he was ahead of her.

  Once they reached the little fort, he scouted around before he would let her go to the man inside. Then she crawled through the opening and scrambled to the werewolf.

  The wolf’s eyes cracked, his hand shifted, and she froze when she saw there was a branch in his hand.

  “I have my cousin,” she said quietly, almost into his ear. “You are not alone.”

  Algernon entered a moment later, eyed the wound, the searing burn of it, met Alice’s gaze, and then said to the werewolf, “I can carry you on this blanket with my magic.”

  Algernon didn’t touch the man, simply lifted the injured with magic onto the blanket that Alice laid out. Together they lifted the blanket. Algernon’s magic took the majority of the burden, but they held the sides steady. He was vastly better at magic than she—but that wasn’t saying much.

  They stepped into the lengthening shadows. Full dark would arrive long before they got home.

  “Alice, we’ll have to put him in your room.”

  She didn’t argue. She refused servants in her room and cleaned it herself. Her obsession with privacy would protect the injured man for servants only dared to enter Alice’s rooms when they were invited.

  “We’ll lift him in through the window.”

  Alice looked down at the man whose gaze was fixated on her face. “You need to hide until you’re well?”

  He did not respond.

  “The wolf has taken him,” Algernon said. “I saw it happen at school a few times. He’ll be unable to clearly communicate until he’s a bit better.”

  “We can’t ask for help,” Alice said. “We don’t know who shot him.”

  “Alice,” Algernon said. “Do you think we can’t trust the magistrate?”

  “I think that there are very few reasons to shoot someone in Kendawyn. There’s a reason behind this we don’t know, and we don’t know who his friends are.”

  “We can discover his family.”

  “Algernon,” Alice said, “it is far better to let him decide who he trusts than to entrust him to an enemy.” The protectiveness she felt towards the man didn’t make any sense, she thought. But somehow the feeling of him breathing in her hair and trusting her to burn his wound closed had made him hers.

  “I would say you are being paranoid--” Algernon stepped forward boldly, but their ears were as cocked as a mage’s could be, and they walked a path that they’d created themselves during their childhood. Few others knew it beyond, Alice, Algernon, and the children.

  “--except he was shot.”

  It took careful maneuvering to get the man into Alice’s bed without anyone seeing. It would have been impossible if it hadn’t been night.

  Alice entered the front hall, trusting the werewolf to Algernon. She held her cloak closed.

  “Alice,” Mariah scolded, “I almost had servants scouring the woods for you. Little Algie already ran to the rectory to find out when you left. Wherever have you been?”

  Alice jumped, faced the dark, curvy, little form of her cousin. A complete opposite to Alice and Algernon, who was a male version of Alice.

  “Picking flowers,” Alice said. “Would you believe that I tripped and crushed them all?”

  “But Alice, it’s full dark.”

  “Yes, I know. I suppose I was introspecting,” Alice was far too aware of the servants who listened boldly.

  “Well, give me your cloak, silly, and wash up, so we can have dinner.” Mariah approached to take the cloak from Alice, but she skipped back.

  �
�I’m filthy,” Alice said. “I tripped in the mud and simply must have a bath immediately.”

  “Oh, Alice,” Mariah said. “Dinner--”

  “Oh, have it without me,” Alice said airily. “I passed Algernon on the way. He said to tell you that he’d be delayed.”

  “Whatever is happening today,” Mariah exclaimed. “First Gerald getting ill and now you and Algernon, too? I give up.”

  “Jennings,” Alice said. “Bring a bath to my dressing room, please.”

  “Don’t you want it in front of your fire, Miss?”

  “No,” Alice said. “I was sorting books earlier, and I’m afraid that they’re stacked everywhere. I want a bath immediately.”

  “I can send Katy into--”

  “Thank you, Jennings, but I’m afraid that I have my books in a very particular order.”

  Alice skipped up the stairs before the servants could continue their attempts to be helpful in an entirely unhelpful way. Thankfully, her rooms were a full suite. She had a large dressing room, a full, separated dressing room, and a sitting room. The sitting room and dressing room both had fireplaces. She rushed through her sitting room, locked the door to her bedroom, and spun to find the man lying on the floor. He seemed more a solid bundle of clothes than a person, slumped as awkwardly as he was. Algernon had, of course, only been able to get the werewolf inside the room. With her rooms being on the second floor, it was the best her cousin could do.

  She rushed to the injured werewolf, knelt beside him, and took his chin in her hand. His yellow gaze met hers.

  “You’re safe,” she told him precisely.

  He was growling low in his throat, but when his gaze met hers, he stopped. He nodded.

  “You are in my own rooms. If you can help me get you to my bed, I’ll dress your wound. And then you can rest.”

  He looked imperiously at her, but all she heard was a low growl at the back of his throat.

  “You’re in my rooms. We’ll hide you until you’re better.”

  He grunted and then nodded. But she felt the tension ease from him.

  She got him into bed and cleaned his side as well as she could while listening to the servants fill the bath in the next room. Katy knocked on the door to tell Alice the bath was ready. “Thank you, I’ll be out in a few minutes. I’m sure I won’t need anything else.”

  “Are you certain, Miss?”

  Dismissing the servants before even looking over the bath was a bit unusual even for her. But home did not have the feeling of safety it usually did. She felt as though lions were at the gates and dragons skirted the borders. She felt as though they’d be invaded any moment. She felt as though she and the werewolf were being hunted. She wasn’t ready to leave him alone or to leave the weak safety of her bedroom.

  Not yet.

  “Yes, of course,” she snapped at Katy and then felt immediately guilty. The servant had such a delicate, little heart.

  There was another knock, and Alice almost growled.

  “Yes,” she called. Her irritation was obvious even to her. She needed to calm down or the servants would gossip even more.

  “It’s me, deary,” the housekeeper called.

  When Alice didn’t answer the door, Mrs. Slate continued, “Algernon sent me.”

  Relief poured over Alice. Mrs. Slate was so much more capable. Alice opened the door. Mariah stood behind their trusted housekeeper. Mrs. Slate, a bony stretch of grey hair and stringy muscle, moved to the bed as Mariah’s knowledge-filled eyes met Alice’s. She didn’t need to be told that Algernon had filled his wife in on what was happening.

  “Oh, Alice,” Mariah said as she stared at the giant of a man in the bed. Alice turned to look at him with Mariah and realize she hadn’t had a chance to take in more than the size of him and the yellow of his eyes. He was handsome, with wide shoulders, a narrow waist, a strong jaw, and straight nose. He was handsome in the wolf way—powerful, domineering even, and in the way of the wealthy, with clothes that were made for his body, a face that had never been damaged by scars or acne. He had dark, thick hair and was tanned. He looked like a god of the ton, and she thought he must be. This couldn’t be Wolfemuir himself could it? She scanned his fingers for a signet ring, but there wasn’t one. There was, however, slightly lighter skin on his left forefinger.

  He had worn a ring before. A ring that wasn’t there now.

  It didn’t matter to her. What mattered was this startlingly need to touch his face and the surprising feel of jealousy towards Mrs. Slate, who was wiping his cheeks with a cloth.

  Alice turned to her cousin, who was looking at her with such shocked eyes that Alice realized what had happened. She’d rescued a shot man, she’d carried him through the woods, she’d…she’d…

  The horror of what had happened flooded through her, and because it was Mariah, she could let her cousin see all the terror of it. The need to hide, the fear, the worry, the horror of burning the man’s wounds closed.

  “Oh, Alice,” Mariah said again, looking back towards the bed with shock. It was unheard of, insane, to have someone shot near Miller’s Crossings. The village was so small they didn’t have their own church. The last person who’d been shot was Mr. Daniels, who’d shot his big toe off cleaning his guns. He was proud of the cane he carried.

  Alice didn’t know what to say, but her cousin simply hugged her close for a moment and then said, “Go take the bath, clean up, I’ll stay.”

  Alice hesitated.

  “Alice, darling, you have to leave while we do this part.”

  She knew it was true. Propriety demanded it of her—even though it felt like she was abandoning him.

  She stripped off her dirty, bloody gown, put on her robe, and entered the dressing room where Katy waited.

  “Go on with you,” Alice said, not hiding her irritation that the servant had waited.

  The girl dropped a curtsy, and Alice stared at the bath. She needed to clean herself, she felt like she was crawling with blood.

  “Alice.”

  She turned immediately and saw Mariah. “He’s fighting us. I think we need to give him something to keep him quiet.”

  Alice shook her head. It was well-known that the werewolves needed potions created specifically for them. Whatever Alice’s family had could hurt him. She returned to the room and Mrs. Slate, edging past the servant to take the man’s chin again. It felt so much more personal this time as the other two women watched.

  He turned his yellow gaze to hers. She leaned close and whispered to him, “I’m here.”

  He growled low in his throat.

  “They’re helping you.”

  The growl stopped. His wild eyes shifted away towards the others and then back. She took his hand, wrapped both of hers around it, and said, “I’ll stay with you.”

  “Alice,” Mariah snapped.

  “I didn’t think a wolf could be reasoned with. I only ever saw one under the control of his wolf respond like this once before,” Mrs. Slate said, awed. It was clear she wanted them to ask her about it.

  Alice turned away so she wouldn’t see his body, and she listened as Mrs. Slate carried on when they asked no question. “It was this werewolf from up towards Dremmerington. He’d been injured in a bear trap. Went all crazy until his wife showed up. She was his mate, and he settled right down for her. She told him to stop putting up a fuss and get control of himself. Snapped it like he was a misbehaving mutt, and he did.”

  “Alice isn’t this man’s mate,” Mariah said, irritated by the presumption of Mrs. Slate despite her valued position in the household.

  “Didn’t say she was. Just talking about the other werewolf.”

  Alice shook her head and stared down at the eyes that were fixed on her. She wasn’t anything to him but the person he trusted most right now. He’d get better and return to his family. Perhaps his wife and his children. But in the meantime, it felt nice to have someone need her.

  Long minutes passed before Mrs. Slate said, “I think that’s enough
.” She stepped back, muttering under her breath, “I just don’t know what this world is coming to.”

  Alice didn’t listen as the other two worked out their plan. Something about her catching a chill and being ill. Her gaze was on his. He was drifting off, hand tight on her own. She finally stood, the feel of his drying blood more than she could stand. As she did, his eyes snapped open.

  “I won’t leave.”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll be a room over, cleaning up.”

  He growled and then finally nodded.

  “You aren’t alone.”

  He heard the promise again, and once again nodded.

  Alice wasn’t able to leave her rooms for eight days. During that time, Algernon set off an old spell of Grandfather’s from the war that disguised the scents of their home to prevent trackers. Mariah kept the children close, and Algernon reported that he’d felt watched several times.

  But not watched in particular.

  Someone had looked for the man.

  During that time, the man had a fever so high Alice thought for sure he’d die. She spent two nights swabbing his face with lavender water because they weren’t sure what spells to use and weren’t sure who to trust. They debated time and again going for a healer, but Algernon—hyperaware after being followed in the woods—gave the man another spell that Grandfather had stock-piled. This one said it was specifically for any of Kendawyn’s creatures. It was also very old.

  The fever broke soon after, and they continued to keep the werewolf hidden away.

  Sometimes in the night time when she tended him, she read to him. He always seemed to know when they were alone and that was when he’d wake. He’d watch her as she paced, reading poetry. One evening she brought out her violin-cello and played for him.

  That was the night his color returned, and the man gazed from his eyes again. No longer was his gaze yellow. A deep, chocolate brown followed the movements of her hands on the instrument.

  “Hello,” Alice said as she put down her bow.

  “Hello,” the man said. His eyes were heavy on her, as heavy as a touch.