The Wolf Next Door

by Lydia Dare

  ———

  “Benjamin, are you going to tell me what is going on or shall I have to pound it out of you?” Prisca demanded after begging and pleading hadn’t worked. She paced around the green parlor, glaring at her brother-in-law. She had adored Ben since she was a child. She had trusted him her entire life. But now when she needed him to, he wouldn’t tell her a blasted thing.

  The current object of her ire lounged in a chintz chair with his arms bent at the elbows, his fingers steepled in front of his chest as he frowned at her—the same thing he’d been doing since the duke and his ward had gone off after Will.

  “I never believed Pierce and Darius when they complained about what a pest you were, Prissy,” he sighed. “I shall have to offer them my condolences, belated as they are.”

  She narrowed her eyes on him. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking you can distract me. Ever since I married Will, none of you have been yourselves and I am getting weary of it. I…”

  “On the contrary, love, we’ve all been ourselves, our real selves. I am sorry if it’s difficult for you. I was very fortunate with Ellie. Of course she was predisposed to believe what I told her, to accept things outside the ordinary.”

  She stopped mid-pace, gaping at him. Just what was that supposed to mean? “What exactly did you tell Elspeth? Because Will hasn’t said a thing to me. He gets a wild look in his eyes and orders me to stay put, but he hasn’t told me anything.”

  Ben rested his head against the back of the chair. “It’s not my place to say anything, Prissy. I’ve already said more than I should have when Will left for Scotland. Now that he’s back, he has to tell you the way of things, not me.”

  They’d all been their real selves. The words of the mythical books filtered into her mind.

  It had been there all along. She just hadn’t let herself believe it, but having watched an unborn child heal a deathly ill woman had opened Prisca’s eyes to the more fantastical ideas.

  All the Westfield men had exceptional hearing. She’d noticed years ago that Will and Ben were different, more agitated as the moon grew full in the sky. Lily had once asked her the same thing about Blackmoor, though she hadn’t thought anything of it at the time.

  Will’s skin was warm to the touch; perhaps Ben’s and Blackmoor’s were, too. Will wore the mark of the beast, she was certain of it. His birthmark, a crescent moon, looked exactly like the drawing in the book.

  Prisca couldn’t even believe she was contemplating such thoughts. Bedlam was in her future after all.

  Still, if she was right, the book said Lycans lived in packs—with their families. She swallowed and then mustered her courage to ask, “Ben, do you wear the mark of the beast?”

  His hazel eyes twinkled briefly before he looked away from her. “I don’t think that’s an appropriate question for you to ask your brother-in-law.”

  It certainly wasn’t a “no,” was it? She nearly growled and stomped her foot at his evasiveness, but she forced herself not to behave like a spoiled brat. It was most difficult, but having a tantrum wouldn’t get her anywhere.

  “Well, since all the other Westfields aren’t appropriate and I am now one of you, I don’t see why I should have to stand on ceremony. Now do you wear the mark, or don’t you?”

  Ben rose from his seat and folded his arms across his broad chest. “You should ask your husband that question.”

  “You do,” she said slowly, certain now that she was correct, and stepped toward him. “Let me see it.”

  In the blink of an eye, he was across the room, leaning against the window frame. Prisca gaped at him. No one could move that fast. No human, anyway.

  A grin settled on his lips. “Trust me, Prissy, you wouldn’t want to see where mine is, and I don’t think Elspeth would be at all happy about you forcing the issue.”

  Prisca was certain the blush that instantly warmed her cheeks would never go away. What was she thinking? “Forget I asked,” she mumbled.

  “I’m certain that will be hard to do,” he replied with a chuckle. “Though I shall try.”

  She winced and then noticed that Ben stood a little taller. His ears actually perked up.

  “Do excuse me. My wife is in need of my assistance.” He quickly exited the room.

  Prisca sank onto the settee and buried her face in her hands. A Lycan. She didn’t dare believe it.

  Twenty-Nine

  Will pulled and pulled to no avail at the chains that bound him. Brimsworth was right; they hadn’t budged at all. Will had never been engulfed in despair before, but now he was flooded with it. If he couldn’t get free, he couldn’t protect Prisca. He couldn’t keep her safe from the earl. The Monster of Eynsford. The Lycan who couldn’t control himself.

  “Agh!” he cried out in agony.

  If Brimsworth meant to punish him, to torture him, he couldn’t have done a better job. Will howled again out of frustration, not willing to give up, not willing to concede the loss.

  Then off in the distance he heard a sound. A familiar growl he’d known all his life.

  Simon.

  Thank God. Relief washed over him. “Simon!” he called at the top of his lungs. “Simon!”

  Within moments, he heard two sets of boots pounding toward his location, and his heart thudded to a stop. Two sets! Damn both of his brothers for leaving Prissy unprotected. Before he could even yell out, the door of the cottage was thrust open. Moonlight flooded the room until Simon eclipsed it.

  “Good God, Will!” his older brother rasped as he rushed inside.

  Will tugged on his chains. “He’s gone after Prisca! How could you leave her alone…” his voice trailed off as he realized Oliver, the thirteen-year-old Earl of Maberley stood behind the duke, his mouth agape. “Where’s Ben?”

  Simon picked up one of the chains and shook his head. “He’s with our wives. You don’t think I’m a complete dolt, do you? How the devil did you get yourself into this situation?”

  Will growled at his brother. “Just get the bloody things off me, will you?”

  The duke nodded and trailed his hands down the chain, finding the lock that held the ends together. “Where’s the key?”

  The key? Will winced as if he’d been struck. Brimsworth must have it. “I don’t know.” His heart constricted with the admission.

  “Just pull them apart,” Oliver suggested from inside the doorway.

  “It’s titanium,” Simon grumbled, his eyes boring into Will. “Too strong even for us.” Then he glanced over his shoulder at the boy. “Look around for the key, Oliver.”

  Will closed his eyes, not wanting to see the concerned expression that was certain to be on Simon’s face. He heard Oliver rummage around the small room. “He has it on him. You know it as well as I do.”

  “There’s only one thing left that we can do,” Simon said as he surveyed the iron bed frame.

  “What?” Will grumbled.

  Simon scratched his chin. “It would take weeks to heal from something like that.”

  Will’s mouth fell open. His brother was actually considering it?

  “Maybe the baby?” Oliver pitched in quietly.

  “Do be quiet,” Simon snapped. “We’ll not ask the unborn to grow new hands for Will.” Suddenly, he stood and jerked the foot of the bed, until it slid several feet from the wall. “And I had so many wonderful memories of this bed. Lily will have your head for forcing me to dismantle it.”

  Will found it hard to keep his mouth shut as Simon slid his hands beneath his body and then lifted him in one smooth motion and flipped him so that he stood behind the iron headboard.

  “I hate it when you do that,” Will mumbled.

  “Of course you do,” Simon said blandly as he tore the mattress from the bed and swiftly broke the slats that held the mattress up from the floor.

  “It’ll be a bit of a hindrance carrying the headboard back,” Simon said. “Can you manage it?” He arched one dark eyebrow.

  “No, perhaps you should carry me and
the headboard,” Will growled. Of course, he could handle it. Why was Simon suddenly treating him like an invalid?

  “Let’s go then. We have a wild Lycan to catch.”

  ———

  Prisca paced back and forth in the entryway, waiting for Will to return.

  “You said you loved Will when you were talking with Mother. Did you mean it?” Ben asked.

  “How did you know?” He raised an eyebrow at her. Of course, he’d heard her. She stared at her hands, avoiding Ben’s gaze. “I suppose.”

  “Try not to sound so happy about it, will you?” Ben said as he lightly squeezed her shoulder. “When he comes back, talk to him. I wish I had talked more to Ellie. I wasted some time I could have spent loving her, hiding from myself.”

  A clatter arose on the front steps. It was followed by a clank, a curse, and some mad shuffling. Prisca held her breath until Will was inside, followed by Blackmoor and Oliver. Yet, above Will’s head was the oddest contraption.

  “If you hit me with that thing one more time…” the duke growled.

  “I’m very sorry to burden you with my anchor,” Will spat back. “The next time someone chains me to a bed, I’ll be sure and have the madman leave a key, just for your convenience.”

  “What is he holding?” Prisca asked under her breath.

  “It looks like a headboard,” Ben answered, sounding just as surprised as Prisca felt.

  Not just any headboard. She’d recognize it anywhere. It was from the same bed the two of them had shared in Blackmoor’s crofter’s cottage. The same cottage she doubted Lily knew a thing about. Someone had chained him to that bed?

  Her mouth fell open in astonishment, and a squeak escaped. How dare he? She’d just spent the better part of an hour worrying about Will’s whereabouts. She’d just finished telling Ben how much she loved the rogue. She’d fretted over him, for God’s sake. And all that time he’d been chained to a bed?

  “Is she all right?” Will asked, his voice full of concern.

  She couldn’t even form a sentence she was so furious. He’d kissed her and caressed her, and he’d gone off on some quickly remembered assignation?

  “She will be,” Ben said softly.

  “Prisca?” Will asked. “What is it?” He turned toward Ben ‘s voice, forcing Simon to duck to avoid being decapitated by the spinning headboard. “Has Brimsworth been here?” He spun again, this time bumping into Maberley, who wasn’t quite as fast to evade the blow. The boy fell to his knees as he clutched his head.

  “Sorry, Oliver,” Will grunted.

  “No harm done,” the boy said graciously as he regained his footing.

  “Perhaps you should stand still until that thing is removed, William,” the duke growled.

  “Priss?” Will asked again, a question certainly in his gaze, though she hadn’t enough control of her thoughts to figure out what it was.

  “Yes, Will?” she asked, wishing him to the devil.

  “Oh, God, Priss,” Will said as he closed his eyes tightly. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

  She tried to suppress a snort, failing miserably. She turned to address Benjamin. “Would you ask Billings to ready a carriage, please. I’d very much like to go home now.”

  Then she escaped back into the parlor and slammed the door shut, ignoring Will’s call for her to stop.

  ———

  “Ben, get out of my way,” Will grumbled as he tried to get past his younger brother into the green parlor after Prisca. In the process he clocked Simon in the head again with the top of the iron headboard.

  “For God’s sake,” the duke grumbled.

  “Sorry,” Will offered and then turned his attention to Ben. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She hasn’t had an easy time of it, Will. You may want to leave her be for the moment.”

  Like hell. Will reached for the handle again, but Simon’s arm on his shoulder halted him. “Billings!” the duke barked.

  When the butler appeared, his eyes grew round as they landed on Will. “My lord?” The old man’s mouth dropped open.

  “Summon Mr. James,” Simon ordered.

  “The blacksmith?” Billings asked, still in awe.

  “Do you have a better suggestion of how to get this off him?”

  Billings shook his head. “You’re right, of course, Your Grace.” Then he started down the hallway at a spirited clip.

  Will paid them very little attention, his gaze focused on Ben. “What do you mean she hasn’t had an easy time of it?”

  “She’s figured out what you are, what we all are.”

  Will’s shoulders slumped from both the weight of the iron headboard and Ben’s words. “She figured it out?” he snarled menacingly.

  Prisca couldn’t possibly have figured it out! The word Lycan didn’t simply pop up in one’s mind if someone else hadn’t planted the seeds. Benjamin would be wise to hide until the end of time for his own safety. The dolt would need both Elspeth’s healing power and that of their daughter to put himself back together.

  His younger brother gulped. “She came right out and asked me where my mark was.”

  Will purposely bumped Ben with the headboard. “And did you show her?”

  “Of course not!” Ben pushed at Will’s chest. “That’s your place, not mine. Though I did tell Ellie right from the very beginning, and I’m not quite sure what you’re waiting for.”

  “She’s not ready,” Will said, but he recognized the growl in his own voice and softened his tone. “She’s not ready for this.”

  Prisca stepped out of the parlor, a book clutched in her arms and pressed tightly against her chest. Will recognized it immediately. Lycans and Lore. What the devil was she doing with that?

  Will’s fingers twitched to touch her, but Prisca stayed just out of reach. She turned her violet eyes on him as both of his brothers and Oliver all seemed to disappear into one room or another. “Priss,” he began.

  But she slipped past him. “Save it, William. I’ve heard all of your lies I intend to.”

  “Lies?” he echoed and tried to reach for her, but the blasted headboard got in the way.

  “Yes, lies.” She glared at him. “How long have I known you, William?”

  What kind of question was that? “Forever.”

  She nodded in agreement. “I’ve known you my whole life, and just today found out you’re not really a man.”

  “I’m not quite sure how to respond to that. You can take my word for it that my masculinity has never been called into question before.”

  Her glare darkened. “Don’t feign ignorance. Everyone in this house knew what you were but me. Even that snooty Scottish witch. She referred to you as a beast earlier. I had no idea that she meant it in earnest.”

  The air whooshed out of Will. He expected that she’d be afraid or skittish when she found out, but… angry? “Priss, I was going to tell you.”

  “Indeed?” she asked mordantly. “You’ve had nearly twenty years to do so, William. Pray, forgive me if I have a difficult time believing you now.” She looked down at the book clutched in her hands, and a smile he didn’t think she felt crossed her face. “They should make one of these for women.”

  “There are no Lycan women,” Will said softly. She looked like she could break at any moment.

  She scoffed. “I mean for the ignorant women who love them.” She started down the corridor, walking away from him.

  “Prisca!” he called after her.

  She stopped but didn’t turn back to face him. “I believe I’ll go stay with my father for awhile.”

  “Sir Herbert?” His heart thudded in his throat. She couldn’t mean to leave him.

  “Of course,” she snapped. “He’s never kept secrets from me or made a habit of lying to me.”

  It wasn’t the same thing at all. “I wish you wouldn’t say it like that. This isn’t something I’ve ever told anyone.”

  “I’m not just anyone, William. I am your wife.” She continued her escape d
own the corridor.

  “Prisca Westfield, come back here this instant!” he bellowed.

  But she didn’t stop, and the iron bed frame prevented Will from chasing after her.

  Thirty

  Prisca tossed one dress after another into her trunk. She should have a maid pack for her, but none of them would answer her summons from the bellpull. Most likely they were following William’s directive. It was probably better this way. Packing her own clothes gave her something to focus on. Something other than her husband anyway.

  A bed! He’d been shackled to a bed, for heaven’s sake. He’d left her to run off, and someone had shackled him to a bed. Prisca wasn’t in a hurry to see him anytime soon.

  A knock sounded at her door, and Prisca glanced briefly at it before stuffing her favorite blue muslin into the trunk. “Go away, William.”

  The door cracked open, and Alice poked her head inside. “Prisca dear, do you have a minute for me?”

  She nodded and sank down onto the bed. “Only if you promise not to plead his case.”

  Alice winked at Prisca and closed the door behind her. “Love them as I do, none of my sons handled this aspect of their marriages particularly well. Not that Jonathan handled it any better all those years ago.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  Alice took a spot on the bed beside Prisca and tucked a wayward curl behind her ear. “Elizabeth would have been so proud of you.”

  It had been years since anyone had mentioned her mother. A lump formed in Prisca’s throat.

  “After five sons, she desperately wanted a daughter, you know,” Alice continued. “You look so much like her.”

  “I wish I’d known her.”

  Alice’s eyes crinkled as she smiled. “She was so spirited, so full of life.”

  Her father always said the same. Elizabeth Hawthorne had been a pillar of society, the life of every event.

  “She was fearless,” the duchess continued.

  Fearless? Prisca stared at her mother-in-law. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Elizabeth would never have turned tail and run away. She was made of sterner stuff. If Herbert had done something foolish, she would have made him atone for the mistake.”